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the-Stars
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Гарри Поттер
Написано в звездах
Автор:
TheBlack'sResurgence
Поскольку Сириус заперт в Азкабане за предательство Поттеров,
Альбус Дамблдор не видит другого выбора, кроме как поместить
юного Гарри к его маггловским родственникам. Однако, к большому
удивлению директора, на мальчика претендует другой, и хотя он
пытается предотвратить это, Гарри Поттера будет воспитывать
последний из его волшебной семьи, но не тот, кто носит имя
Поттера... Дурмстранг история
Рейтинг:
Художественная литература M
– английский – драма/приключения – Гарри П., Виктор К., OC,
Кассиопея Б. – Главы: 36 - Слов: 241 120 - Отзывы:
1 988
- Избранное: 5 485 - Читает: 6 634 - Обновлено:
29.11.2023, 11:43:17
– id: 14141345
27.09.2022, 03:07:52
– Опубликовано:
1. Prologue
Prologue
A/N
Well, here is the prologue for my newest fic.
Of course, When the Roses Bloom Again will continue to be
uploaded until is complete here 2x per week, but the story is
finished, so do head over to the discord pager where you can access
further chapters.
I have updated the link on my profile to do so.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little adventure as you have my
others, and of course, follows, favourites and reviews are most
welcome.
Apologies for any errors here, I recently acquired a new laptop and
I'm still getting to grips with it.
Happy reading,
TBR
November 12th, 1981
Under normal circumstances, she would savour the bouquet of the wine
she was sipping, but as it had these past few years, the usually sweet
vintage left a bitter taste in her mouth.
In truth, Cassiopeia didn't know why she continued to indulge.
Perhaps she hoped that it would dull the heartbreak and pain of watching
from afar the demise of her family.
Maybe it had just become habit to seek solace in the bottom of a glass
that would never be empty.
Regardless, she drank, and though it brought her nothing of what she
sought, she had nothing else.
As Voldemort rose, her family had fallen, many becoming puppets who
had their strings cut, and others simply unable to weather the storms that
life brought.
Cassiopeia was still here, however, without purpose, an existence she had
endured for more decades than she cared to count.
She had grown old over the passing years, her once luxurious, dark hair
now marred with grey and the wrinkles around her eyes growing only
deeper.
Still, she was alive.
Even if she couldn't fathom why, she yet breathed whilst all others she
held dear had perished.
She took another sip of wine to swallow the painful lump that had
formed in her throat.
Cygnus and Druella had been the first to go.
From what little she had heard of their fates, they had died in service to
Voldemort, as had Regulus early in the conflict.
The boy had been too keen to please his mother who had also died,
though Cassiopeia knew no more details than that.
A simple check of her own copy of the family tapestry had confirmed it.
Orion too was gone, and once more, Cassiopeia didn't know the
circumstances surrounding his passing.
Andromeda had left the family years ago and married a mudblood, and
Narcissa had been married off to a spawn of a Malfoy.
What Cygnus was thinking allowing that, Cassiopeia didn't know, but the
man had never been especially bright.
Dorea, her sweet, strong-willed sister had died from Dragonpox, and
according to Arcturus, Charlus had followed soon after.
Cassiopeia didn't know the man so well other than for his part in the war
on the continent, but he had a reputation for being an exceedingly gifted
wizard.
Arcturus had suspected, and Cassiopeia agreed, that the man had died
from a broken heart.
Despite her feelings about him, Cassiopeia couldn't deny the love Charlus
had for Dorea.
Bellatrix had joined the Dark Lord but had been captured after attacking
the Longbottoms with her own foolish husband and his brother.
The woman would never see the light of day again.
Arcturus had died during the conflict, likely from a mixture of despair
and disappointment at what had become of their once great family.
The man had been too lax as their lord, had allowed the family too many
liberties, in Cassiopeia's opinion.
Still, there was nothing to be done about it now.
He was dead.
Most of them were or no longer carried the family name.
The biggest surprise out of them all was what she had just learned about
her great nephew and was the reason Cassiopeia found herself hosting
the man who had introduced himself as the family solicitor.
"Would you mind repeating yourself, Mr Moon?" Cassiopeia requested.
Moon nodded.
"Sirius has been sent to Azkaban for the murder of twelve muggles and a
wizard named Peter Pettigrew."
Cassiopeia frowned.
The name Pettigrew was not familiar to her, but she was taken aback by
the revelation that Sirius had proven himself more of a Black than any
other in several generations.
"Are you sure of this?"
Moon nodded.
"There are several witnesses who saw what he did," Moon explained.
Cassiopeia released a deep breath as she placed her glass on the table.
"I am flabbergasted," she admitted. "Sirius never seemed the type, but I
do not see how this is any concern of mine."
Moon rubbed his eyes tiredly.
Evidently, he'd had a long, stressful day.
"Usually, I would not interfere, but I liked and respected your brother,"
he sighed. "Arcturus was concerned about the succession, and only took
comfort in his last days knowing that Sirius would replace him as the
Lord Black."
Cassiopeia raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"The last I heard; he was cast out of the family."
"Not officially," Moon explained. "Arcturus never ratified the request."
Cassiopeia snorted amusedly.
That would have displeased Walburga if she was still alive.
"So, he is the new Lord Black?"
Moon shook his head.
"He is a known murderer and will either spend the rest of his days in
Azkaban or be executed. Had he formally accepted his title, he would be
the Lord until his eventual death, but he did no such thing."
"So, that means what exactly?"
"That the title will immediately pass on to the next eligible male from the
Black line. In this case, it would usually be Lady Malfoy's son, Draco."
"Usually?" Cassiopeia asked suspiciously.
Moon swallowed deeply as he nodded.
"There is a complication, and that is why I am here."
"A complication?"
Moon released a laboured breath as he shook his head.
"Sirius, as the heir, created a will only a few months ago," he explained.
"He left everything to his godson."
"Including the title of Lord Black?" Cassiopeia asked confusedly.
"Unintentionally, I believe," Moon murmured. "Sirius believed that he had
been cast out."
"Even though he hadn't," Cassiopeia mused aloud. "I still don't understand
how this complicates things. No one other than a Black can inherit the
title."
"Correct," Moon confirmed, "but Sirius's godson is a Black by blood. The
boy in question is none other than Harry James Potter, son of James
Potter…"
"Son of Dorea Black," Cassiopeia whispered sadly.
She had never gotten to know her nephew, but what she had heard was
that the boy had been quite the pain at school.
Harry Potter was a name that had only become familiar to her over the
past week, the stories she heard from the Greek locals whilst she was out
buying wine as fantastical as anything she'd ever heard.
According to the rumours, the babe had killed Voldemort, and had even
survived the killing curse.
Hogwash, as far as Cassiopeia was concerned.
No one survived the curse, and babies did not vanquish Dark Lords.
Moon nodded, pulling her from her thoughts.
"Son of Dorea," he confirmed, his own tone matching Cassiopeia's.
"So, he will be the next Lord Black?" she asked hopefully.
Anyone else would better than the family name being absorbed into the
Malfoys.
"It seems that way, but that is not the end of the complications."
"Why does that not surprise me," Cassiopeia huffed irritably.
Moon chuckled as he slid a pile of parchment towards Cassiopeia.
"This is the marriage contract your brother and Charlus Potter signed for
Dorea's hand."
"Really?" Cassiopeia asked interestedly as she picked up the hefty
document.
"Most of it is innocuous enough," Moon explained, "but the part that
should interest you is the part I have highlighted."
Cassiopeia frowned at the document until she found the page that had a
green circle drawn around a section of text.
At the request of both parties, should either family find themselves in a
position where they are unable to provide suitable care and upbringing for an
heir befitting their station, that care will, without prejudice, revert to the other
family to ensure suitable preparation for future responsibilities. This is to
coincide with the second term of this agreement, and in addendum to that, the
heir should be educated in the traditions and practices of their primary
paternal family.
That was quite the addition to a marriage contract, and Arcturus had
once more, though unwittingly, proven his brilliance.
"So, does that mean that James's son's claim is stronger than that of the
Malfoy boy?"
Moon smirked this time as he nodded.
"Harry James Potter was not only named Sirius's sole heir, but he fulfils
the criteria of being a Black. He has as much Black blood as he does
Potter."
"But the boy is a mudblood," Cassiopeia pointed out.
Moon grimaced at her rebuke.
It was common knowledge that James Potter married a muggleborn.
"True," he conceded, "but does that matter? Your family is done, Miss
Black. It is now your choice whether or not it falls into the hands of the
Malfoys, or to your sister's grandson. I know what Arcturus would prefer,
and that is why I am here."
Moon wasn't mincing his words, and Cassiopeia respected that about the
man.
"Read the section of the contract again, really read it," he urged.
Cassiopeia did so, and the reality of what the man was trying to do set in.
"You want me to raise the boy?" she choked in disbelief.
"Yes, and Arcturus would ask the same of you if he was here," Moon
pointed out. "The boy is already famous. He defeated a Dark Lord. Think
of the potential he must have and think of your brother. He would be
heartbroken to know his legacy was going to be squandered. At least this
way, you can shape the boy and your family would be put to rest in one
that is respectable, one that Dorea married so wholeheartedly in to."
Cassiopeia deflated as another thought crossed her mind, one that should
have come before her first observation.
"Does that mean James and his wife are dead?"
Moon nodded solemnly.
"Voldemort killed them," he confirmed. "From what little I know, he then
turned his wand on the boy, but his killing curse backfired and killed him
instead."
"How?"
Moon shrugged.
"I don't know."
Cassiopeia swallowed deeply.
Dorea would be devastated that her boy had died so young, but if he was
anything like Charlus, James Potter would have died defending his wife
and son.
"Who has the boy?"
"Albus took him into custody for his protection," Moon explained. "The
Death Eaters are still out there, and he fears they will look for him."
Cassiopeia's nostrils flared at the mention of the man.
"What has Dumbledore got to do with it?" she growled.
"Who knows," Moon sighed, "but he made it very public he is the one
caring for the boy. Without Voldemort, I doubt anyone would attempt to
attack the boy if he is with him."
Cassiopeia conceded the point with a nod.
"I don't get it," she mumbled. "Surely he can't raise the boy. He has a
school to run. He shouldn't be raising the boy anyway."
"No. he shouldn't," Moon agreed. "The wishes of the family were that he
is raised by a Black, according to the contract at least," he added, tapping
the document with a finger.
Cassiopeia smirked.
Moon was not a foolish man and knew exactly what he was doing.
He disliked the Malfoys as much as he did Dumbledore, but his heart was
in the right place.
He had been Arcturus's confidant for years when it came to the legal
matters of the family, and both men considered the other a close friend.
"No, I have no idea how to raise a child," she huffed.
"You have an elf," Moon pointed out. "He can take care of the early years,
and you can take over when he is old enough to learn what he needs. He
will be an influential wizard, Cassiopeia, merely for what happened
between him and the Dark Lord."
Cassiopeia worried her lower lip as she pondered what Arcturus and
Dorea would want.
The former would inform her of her responsibility as a daughter of house
Black pertaining to the contract he had signed with Charlus, and the
latter would ask her to for no other reason that the boy was her great
nephew.
Cassiopeia cursed her siblings under her breath.
Despite everything that had happened throughout her life, she couldn't
shirk her duty and she could not allow Dorea's grandson to be raised by
any other whilst she lived.
How she would cope, she knew not, but it seemed that she now had a
purpose in life, a reason to live for.
Besides, this was the perfect opportunity to exact some revenge on
Dumbledore and irk the Malfoys in one fell swoop.
She'd never had much to do with children, but it seemed that she would
soon become familiar with having one around.
"I'll do it," she said in little more than a whisper.
Moon grinned before standing.
"They'd be so grateful, Cassiopeia," he said sincerely. "Leave it with me,
and I will begin the process. It may take a few weeks, but I have no doubt
that we will be successful in this endeavour."
With that, Moon swept from the room, and Cassiopeia immediately began
to regret her decision.
What was she thinking?
She didn't know the first thing about raising a baby, but she knew an elf
that did.
If Harry Potter truly was the heir of the Black family, and she was his
legal guardian, he would answer her call.
"Elgar?"
With a loud crack, the elf Arcturus had employed when he left
Grimmauld Place so many years ago appeared before her.
"Miss Black," he greeted her with a low bow.
"It seems that we will soon have a guest. Can you see to it that we have
everything we could possibly need for a future Lord Black?"
The elf smiled sadly as he nodded.
"Elgar will see to it at once, Miss."
He vanished with another crack, and Cassiopeia picked up her glass of
wine, noticing that some of the sweetness she enjoyed had returned with
her next sip.
(Break)
Albus exited the pensieve having reviewed the memory for what must
have been the hundredth time since he had walked into the Potter
residence in Godric's Hollow.
No matter how often he reviewed it, what had occurred did not make
sense to him.
He was dealing with magic that was unprecedented, after all, however,
he had hoped to grasp a semblance of understanding.
James and Lily were dead, that was an undeniable fact, and Harry was
alive, a peculiar but no less truth of what had happened.
Tom.
Although there had been an unmistakeable permeation of death, dark
magic, and despair, no body of the man had been discovered.
Albus had no doubt that Tom had been physically destroyed by the
magical backlash, and that Harry had somehow indeed survived the
killing curse.
The essence of sacrificial magic belonging to Lily Potter that hung over
the darkness was more than enough for Albus to deduce what had
happened.
Still, there was still very much something of Tom within the room, not
dead but not quite alive, and despite his best efforts, Albus realised he
was out of his depth.
It would take time to discover just what had happened, but for now,
Harry was safe and that was all that mattered.
The boy would grow without the burden of fame and the death of his
parents hanging over him.
He should be granted a snatch of innocence before he came to Hogwarts
in a little less than a decade.
Housing him with Petunia also meant that Albus could watch him closely
to ensure that the magic he had been subjected to at such a vulnerable
age would not prove to be detrimental in any way.
It was a concern of the headmaster, and he hoped beyond hope that it
wouldn't be so, but such a dark unknown was worrying to say the least.
No, Harry would be better off with his aunt, unburdened and allowed to
enjoy something of a childhood.
The world would one day look to him, more so than they did Albus after
he had defeated Gellert and expect young Harry to continue being their
saviour.
Albus pitied the boy.
He would one day be pulled from pillar to post by those that would wish
to use him for their own gain, and Albus knew not what to do.
It was difficult to decide what was worse; the vultures that would come,
or the monsters that lay in wait.
Even now, Harry Potter had enemies, dangerous ones that would do all
they could to get their revenge against him.
The war was being lost, but the babe had changed that.
Tom's followers were being round up, but Albus was under no illusion
that they would all be caught, and in truth, he was not even convinced
that Tom Riddle was dead.
Baby Harry's room may have reeked of it, but there was more life than
death, two contradictories painting a bleak future for a boy who did not
know just how special he would one day be.
'Neither can live whilst the other survives.'
The words that had been spoke to him, as ominous and poignant as they
were, sent a shiver down his spine.
No, Albus could not yet explain what had happened in Godric's Hollow,
but he did not believe that it was the end.
If anything, this was only the beginning.
(Break)
November 15th, 1981
It had been many years since Cassiopeia had been in Britain, but now felt
compelled to return. Perhaps she wanted to understand just how
devastating the war had been for the country, or she was curious to
experience the mood for herself.
Regardless, she was here now, and neither Diagon Alley nor Knockturn
Alley had changed much.
Most of the establishments she had visited during her teenage years could
still be found in the former, and though the names had changed over the
years, Cassiopeia quickly discovered the shops in the latter were owned
by the same shady characters, for the most part.
It was not the shops that she was interested in, however.
Cassiopeia found herself in a rather seedy pub she had visited once or
twice in the past, nursing a glass of whiskey, her disguised features
hidden beneath a robe.
She was no more out of place than any other person here, and she
listened to the nearby conversations.
The furore of Voldemort's downfall had slowly ebbed away, and now, it
was those that had supported him that were left to pick up the pieces of
what remained of their lives, if they could avoid being arrested by the
aurors.
"You're joking!" a voice hissed a few tables away. "Crouch's own son?"
Cassiopeia frowned as she sipped her drink.
"Karkaroff dropped him in it apparently," the man's companion informed
him. "Old Barty arrested him on the spot."
"His own son," the other murmured. "He'll have to resign to save face.
Can't have a head of department with that blemish."
"It doesn't look good, does it? Just imagine what information the boy
could have passed on over the years."
"No wonder he was so successful. Still, he's gone now, and the less we
talk about him the better."
The two men fell silent, and Cassiopeia pondered just how far
Voldemort's influence had reached.
If the son of the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had
been involved with him, then it couldn't have stretched much further.
"Are they still looking for the boy?" one of the men asked.
The other looked around to ensure they weren't being overheard and
nodded.
"Not that they will manage much," he snorted before draining his glass.
"Not until he is older and away from Dumbledore."
"The Dark Lord will be forgotten by then."
"No, not whilst there are those that remain loyal," the second man
countered. "There was no body, and most of his followers believe he is
still alive. That's why the Lestranges went after the Longbottoms
apparently, well, that's what Lucius told me before he was taken in."
"Well, if he is alive, he will be back."
"And I will be ready."
"What will you do now?"
The second man stood, and Cassiopeia realised how enormous he was.
With fingernails like claws, and his face illuminated by the dim light, she
finally recognised him.
"I'm taking my pack to the continent," Fenrir Greyback announced. "They
need to be fed," he added with a raspy chuckle.
Clapping his companion firmly on the shoulder, he left the bar, and
Cassiopeia followed a moment later.
The infamous werewolf was gone, but she had heard enough.
Despite what was believed to have happened to Voldemort, Harry Potter
still had enemies here, and if the Dark Lord was indeed alive, the boy
was in more danger than he could comprehend.
Regardless of where Dumbledore was keeping him, Harry was not safe,
and with the buffoon in charge of his care, he would be ill-prepared for
what the future held for him.
Releasing a deep breath, Cassiopeia activated her portkey and was
whisked away from Britain, a place where war may no longer be
ravaging the country, but a conflict that was seemingly far from finished
lurked on the horizon, her thoughts focused on the task ahead of her.
She was still not sold on the idea of raising the boy, but he was family,
and though Cassiopeia had no clue what she was doing, she had to try,
for those she had already lost.
(Break)
November 19th, 1981
Life in Britain seemed to be finally settling down with the Death Eater
trials finally underway, and Albus couldn't be more grateful for it, though
it appeared that there would be little consequence for those that had
supported Tom in his endeavours.
Already, many prominent lords and ladies that had found themselves
embroiled in the pureblood movement were claiming that they were not
acting of their own accord, and much to Albus's dismay, Millicent seemed
to be buying into it.
Whether she genuinely believed it or not was irrelevant. What mattered
was that she would likely accept what was being said, if only to put an
end to the unpleasantness Britain had endured these past years.
Albus sighed as he shook his head.
Only today, an unusually bedraggled Lucius Malfoy had all but begged
for forgiveness on his hands and knees, promising to pay charitable
restitutions for his 'unwitting' participation.
Albus, among many others, were not falling for the theatrics, but the
Minister and others had.
The man had escaped a stint in Azkaban by the skin of his teeth.
Lord Doge had even gone as far to suggest the use of Veritaserum, but
that idea had been dismissed.
Lucius's lawyer, another who had likely supported Tom had pointed out
that the Lord Malfoy's mind was vulnerable from his time under the
Imperius Curse and that the use of such a potion could be dangerous.
Having consulted several healers on the matter, they had agreed with the
assessment, meaning that Lucius, and any other claiming they were not
acting wilfully would be spared.
Coincidentally, many others were scheduled to be represented by the
same man, and Albus had no doubt that they too would get away with
their crimes.
It left the headmaster feeling disappointed in the justice system, and the
Minister for being so forgiving.
Albus believed in second chances for the most part, but there was never
an excuse for what atrocities the Death Eaters had committed, and many
would be allowed to walk free and continue to live amongst them as
though nothing had happened.
He was pulled from his maudlin thoughts as the fire flared into life, and
the head of one of his least favourite people appeared before him.
"Millicent," Albus greeted the Minister tightly. "How may I help you?"
The woman was tired.
The war had taken its toll on her, and Albus knew she wouldn't be in
office much longer.
"I think you had best come through, Albus," the minister sighed deeply.
"Something has been brought to my attention that will concern you."
"That sounds rather ominous," Albus mused aloud. "What is it?"
Millicent nodded.
"I don't think it is wise to discuss it here," she said pointedly. "Come
through."
With that, the woman's head vanished but the flames remained a
flickering, emerald, green where she had left the connection open.
With a shake of his head, Albus stood and approached the fireplace,
wondering what could be so important that it couldn't wait until the
morning.
Stepping through, he entered an office that was usually as well organised
as the woman it belonged to; however, the room was untidy.
Stacks of parchment were piled on the desk and floor.
"Are these all upcoming trials?" Albus asked.
Millicent nodded.
"They are," she confirmed, "and everything else pertaining to the war
from start to finish, but I didn't ask you here to witness my misery. Take
a seat and read this," she urged, sliding a folder towards him.
Albus opened it and frowned.
"That was given to me an hour ago by Ambrosius Moon," Millicent
explained.
"A formal notification of the intent to house Harry James Potter with his
legally recognised guardian," Albus read aloud.
The more he read of the document, the deeper his heart sunk into his
very core, and when he read whom had signed the declaration, his blood
felt as though it had frozen in his veins.
"Cassiopeia Black."
The woman had not been seen nor heard of in decades in wizarding
Britain.
Just what she was playing at, Albus knew not, but this wasn't good.
How she believed she had any claim to guardianship was baffling, but
Cassiopeia Black was nothing if not ruthless and thorough.
Albus remembered her as a girl when she had passed through Hogwarts,
but even more so for her association with Gellert.
She had been his most ardent supporter, and when he had been defeated,
the woman had vanished into obscurity.
Until now.
"What did Ambrosius say?"
"That he would be returning with Miss Black shortly, and that he would
prefer for this to be dealt with quietly, and out of the public sphere."
"She's coming here?" Albus asked worriedly.
Millicent nodded.
"That is what Moon said," she reiterated. "What would she want with the
Potter boy?"
Albus couldn't even begin to imagine her reasoning, but Cassiopeia Black
never did anything without purpose.
She had been quite the brilliant witch, but a misguided one in her youth.
A Black through and through.
"We can't allow this," Albus said firmly.
"We will not," Millicent assured him, "but we must tread carefully with
her."
Albus nodded his agreement as a knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," Millicent called, sitting straighter in her chair.
Albus recognised Ambrosius Moon immediately.
He was perhaps the best wizarding lawyer in Britain, the very reason the
Blacks paid him handsomely for his services.
The lady that entered behind him was aged but appeared considerably
younger than the years she had lived.
Cassiopeia Black retained much of the beauty the Blacks were known for,
and there was no questioning her sharpness.
Her grey eyes were as lit with intelligence as they had been in her
formative years, and though she glared grudgingly at Albus, she said
nothing.
"I must say that I am taken aback by this," Millicent began, retrieving the
declaration from the desk and holding it aloft.
"What is there to be taken aback by?" Ambrosius questioned. "The form is
quite simple, is it not?"
Millicent's nostrils flared at his mocking tone, and Albus intervened to
prevent the already delicate situation deteriorating any further.
"I'm afraid I do not understand your reasoning," he broke in. "Surely you
have heard of the circumstances surrounding Sirius and what he has
done?"
Albus had not believed the young man would betray James and Lily in
such a way, but there was no denying the evidence of those that had
witnessed what had transpired.
Sirius had not helped himself with his own admission that he was to
blame for the death of the Potters, and his mad ramblings had seen him
sent to Azkaban on a dozen counts of murder.
The man, by all accounts, was quite insane, the madness that famously
plagued his family having infected him also.
Perhaps it was the months living in isolation in such trying times that
had done it, but Sirius Black had indeed cracked.
"I know what the boy did," Cassiopeia snapped irritably, "but I am not
here to discuss Sirius. My only interest is in my great nephew."
Albus leaned back in his chair.
Even he had forgotten that Harry was in fact related so closely to the
Blacks, but if this was the only justification Cassiopeia had for claiming
guardianship, she would be leaving disappointed.
"He is your great nephew," Albus acknowledged, "but that does not give
you guardianship, not when Harry has closer relatives than yourself."
Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes at him, but it was Moon that spoke next.
"Unless you have magicked another Potter out of thin air, then you may
want to read this," he suggested, removing a thick document from within
his briefcase and handing it to Albus.
"A marriage contract between Charlus Potter and Arcturus Black," the
headmaster murmured.
"Read the circled section," Cassiopeia instructed, grinning gleefully.
"At the request of both parties, should either family find themselves in a
position where they are unable to provide suitable care and upbringing
for an heir befitting their station, that care will, without prejudice, revert
to the other family to ensure suitable preparation for future
responsibilities. This is to coincide with the second term of this
agreement, and in addendum to that, the heir should be educated in the
traditions and practices of their primary paternal family."
Albus leaned back in his chair.
The contract was signed by William Potter, but that did not mean all was
lost.
Albus could use Harry's unfortunate circumstances to his advantage.
"I will personally educate Harry to prepare him for his eventual
responsibilities," he declared.
"Is that so?" Cassiopeia questioned, raising a delicate brow. "Moon."
The man handed Albus another document, and the headmaster knew that
all was lost.
"Sirius made Harry his heir," he muttered tiredly.
"Which means that the boy must know how to run the Black affairs,"
Cassiopeia pointed out. "Only a Black can teach him that, and those
lessons must begin during childhood. With Harry as the heir to both
families, he will need to be raised by a suitable person, and in this case, I
am the best available."
Albus could not deny that, but that didn't mean he was comforted by the
situation.
"Why?" he asked simply.
"Because with no one else available, it is my duty," Cassiopeia answered.
"The boy is also family, my sister's grandson."
Oddly, her last words seemed to be sincere, something that Albus had not
expected.
"Without Harry, the Black name will disappear into the Malfoy line.
Arcturus would turn in his grave if that happened," Cassiopeia continued,
the harshness in her tone fading the more she spoke. "Harry Potter may
be the last chance for the Black line to continue, or at the very least, be
absorbed into a worthy family."
Albus understood the sentiment the woman held for her name.
The Blacks had once been among the most prominent, a position that had
declined over the past century or so, the last few years more than ever.
Still, he couldn't give in.
"You do not understand the danger Harry is in," he sighed.
"I understand," Cassiopeia growled. "I have spent time listening to those
that would see the boy harmed for what happened. He has enemies, and
when they can, they will come for him. I do not know what you have
done with the boy, but he will never be safe, Dumbledore. He must be
ready for what he will one day face, and you do not have the balls to do
what is necessary. You couldn't even bring yourself to kill Gellert!"
Albus could not deny the truth of her words, but he couldn't just pass
Harry off to the woman.
"You think that I would harm him, don't you," Cassiopeia accused. "If you
believe that, then you do not understand our magic. If Sirius wasn't
Orion's heir, Walburga would have throttled him in his sleep. I could not
harm the boy if I wished to. If anything, I would be compelled to protect
him, as I did Arcturus even when we fought on opposing sides of a war."
Albus eyed the woman questioningly.
The thought of her wanting Harry to harm him, or hand him to someone
who wished to had crossed his mind.
"You may not like it, Dumbledore, but I am the best hope he has to be
prepared for the future, the best option to ensure he is raised knowing
what he needs to and that he is kept safe. Even you couldn't find me or
breach the defences of my home."
Albus rubbed his temples as he felt a headache begin to set in.
"I am here now because I wish to keep this as quiet as possible,"
Cassiopeia huffed. "I could have done this very publicly, and even in
front of the Wizengamot if I wished to. Do you think any of them would
vote against the wishes of two well-respected lords of their families?"
Albus knew it was unlikely.
The bond between two lords was of paramount importance to the
purebloods.
That was one of the very few things the Wizengamot would agree
unanimously on.
Although every instinct was telling him to not concede, Albus could see
no way out of this, and evidently, neither could the Minister, but there
was still one more test Cassiopeia Black would need to pass before he was
satisfied.
"You will care for him?" he asked.
"As I would for any that has my blood flowing through their veins."
"You will protect him?"
"With my own life, if necessary."
"You will teach him?"
Cassiopeia smirked.
"By the time I am done with him, anyone would be foolish to cross his
path. He will be the best of both of his families."
The declaration sent a shiver down Albus's spine, but not one that was
unsettling.
If anything, it brought a semblance of comfort to the man.
Both families had produced notably strong and intelligent men. With the
ruthlessness and cunning of the Blacks, and the stubbornness and honour
the Potters were renowned for, Harry would indeed be an influential
man, something he already had the makings of from his incredible feat of
magic.
Perhaps it would be best for him to be raised by Cassiopeia Black, after
all, something Albus had not though he would be considering by the end
of the conversation.
Still wary of doing so, he however nodded, conceding to the woman.
He may one day regret the decision and would always have his
reservations, but he truly wanted the best for Harry, and though he was
reluctant to admit, Cassiopeia Black was just that, under the
circumstances.
"Where is he?" the woman asked.
"I will take you to him," Albus declared, curious to see what would
happen when they arrived at the address of Vernon and Petunia Dursley.
"May I use my portkey, Millicent?"
The Minister nodded her consent, and Albus offered his arm to Cassiopeia
as he stood.
With a grimace, the woman took hold of the sleeve of his robes and Albus
removed the phoenix pendant he wore around his neck before activating
the portkey.
"I would have always been on hand if he needed me," he assured the
woman when they arrived at their destination.
Cassiopeia looked around, a deep frown marring her features.
"Muggles?" she hissed. "You would have had him raised by muggles?"
Albus held up a hand to placate the woman.
"What would you have done?" he returned gently. "Who could I have
trusted with his care?"
Cassiopeia deflated as she pondered the question.
"The people living here are Harry's family, the last that he has," Albus
explained sadly.
"He has me," Cassiopeia said firmly.
Albus watched as she walked towards the house, not truly surprised that
wards did not react to her.
If she meant to harm Harry, the results would have been most unpleasant
for her.
"Are you coming?" the woman asked irritably.
With a nod, the Albus followed, and tapped smartly on the door.
It was nearing nine pm, but the lights were still on, and the door was
answered by a burly man.
"We don't buy or sell here," he said gruffly. "We're not interested in
religion."
"Mr Dursley," Albus greeted him. "We are here to collect young Harry
from you."
The man began to purple, his bushy moustache twitching.
"You're from that lot," he growled accusingly. "I told Petunia to get rid of
the boy, but she wouldn't listen. Said that she'd been threatened."
"Vernon, who is it?" a thin blonde questioned as she came to the door,
cradling a bundle of blankets to her chest.
At the sight of Albus, she paled.
"What do you want?" she whimpered.
"Mrs Dursley, we have come to collect Harry. He will be staying
elsewhere from now on," Albus explained.
The woman swallowed deeply and began sputtering as though she had
been caught doing something she shouldn't.
"Hand him over," Cassiopeia demanded angrily, holding out her arms.
Petunia held the blankets tighter to her chest.
"This is my son, Dudley," she explained frantically. "The boy is…"
"Is where?" Albus interjected.
Petunia began to tremble, and her eyes darted towards the cupboard
under the stairs.
Not for the first time this evening, Albus felt his heart sink and he pushed
passed the Dursley's.
Opening the door, he was mortified to find Harry sleeping in a basket,
shoved in the cupboard as though he was nothing more than a vacuum
cleaner.
"You put him in a cupboard?" Cassiopeia whispered furiously as she drew
her wand.
Albus intervened, diverting the sickly yellow spell she cast away from the
Dursleys into the wall.
The paint began to bubble and drip to the ground, much to the horror of
the muggles.
"Don't!" Albus said sharply. "The wards will not take kindly to them being
harmed."
Cassiopeia's nostrils flared, but she reigned in her anger in favour of
retrieving Harry.
"He looks like one of us," she commented almost affectionately as she
looked upon him.
Albus nodded.
Harry already had many features shared by the Blacks, but there was no
denying his Potter heritage either.
He looked very much like James but had one defining feature of his
mother.
"Perhaps we should leave," Albus suggested, wishing to avoid any more
unpleasantness.
Cassiopeia nodded but glared at the Dursleys a final time before exiting
the house.
Albus followed suit, and closed the door behind him, horrified at what
kind of life Harry would likely have had here.
Was Petunia so petty to treat her nephew so poorly?
"And you believed he was safe here," Cassiopeia snarked as she adjusted
the sleeping boy in her arms. "I will not forget this, Albus," she warned.
Albus deflated as he looked at the woman.
She had no idea what she was letting herself in for, not really.
"The day will come where we will have to discuss many things," he said
sadly, "but they can wait until it is necessary to do so. Raise him well,
Cassiopeia. He will need to be ready for more than you could hope to
know."
Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes at him.
Were she not such a stubborn woman, she may have questioned Albus
further, but instead, she simply nodded.
"He will be ready for anything," she replied confidently before activating
her own portkey.
"I hope you're right," Albus murmured into the night before he too
vanished from Privet Drive.
(Break)
Moon had been waiting for Cassiopeia to return home, and Harry had
remained asleep since doing so. It had been much than anticipated to
convince Dumbledore to surrender the boy to her, but Cassiopeia had
been left unsettled by the final part of their conversation.
"May I make a suggestion?" Moon broke into her thoughts.
Cassiopeia nodded and gestured for the man to continue.
"The family affairs will need to be looked after until the boy is old
enough to do so himself, both families."
Cassiopeia frowned thoughtfully.
She didn't have the faintest idea how to fulfil the duties of a head of
house.
"Are you volunteering?"
Moon chuckled as he shook his head.
"No, I am a solicitor, Cassie, I wouldn't know where to begin," he
explained. "I will continue representing the Blacks where required, and
also the Potters if you wish me to."
Cassiopeia nodded gratefully.
"Then who?"
"Well, during the war with Grindelwald, Arcturus placed Lord Parkinson
as his proxy. The man did a more than admirable job in the position."
"Can he be trusted?"
"I believe so," Moon assured her. "He is a friend of mine and admitted
that he helped fund the pureblood movement but did not become a
follower. Most families did so, whether they will admit it or not. It was
the best way to ensure their safety."
"Do you believe him?"
Moon nodded.
"He is unmarked, and not an evil man, Cassie. I would trust him with
this. He knows what he is doing."
Cassiopeia released a deep breath, not having considered this.
"Bring it up with him," she instructed, "but only the Black side of things
to begin with."
Moon offered her a bow as he stood.
"I will do so tomorrow, quietly, of course. If you have any further need of
me, I will be available."
Cassiopeia nodded gratefully and Moon exited the room, and only a
moment later, the front door closed leaving Cassiopeia cradling a still-
sleeping babe.
"Elgar?" she called.
The elf appeared immediately, his gaze shifting to his new master.
"He is the Lord Black," Elgar confirmed.
"Potter," Cassiopeia corrected. "He is the Lord Black, but he carries the
Potter name."
"Like Master Charlus."
Cassiopeia nodded.
"He is Charlus's grandson."
Elgar smiled fondly.
"Master Charlus was a good man."
Cassiopeia hummed.
She and Charlus had never gotten along.
Her respect for him as a wizard and as her brother-in-law could never
overshadow the fact the man had fought against Gellert.
"Watch him, Elgar," she instructed, handing the elf the bundle of
blankets. "If he wakes, feed him."
"Elgar will protect the Lord Black," the elf assured her proudly.
He would too, and as Cassiopeia took her leave of the house, she couldn't
help but wonder just how different her life would be and what the future
held for the boy she had taken in.
Already, he was unique simply because he would be the lord of two
prominent families, but the circumstances surrounding the fall of
Voldemort made him even more so.
Cassiopeia could not comprehend any kind of magic or power that would
have resulted in such a feat, but there was one person who just might.
(Break)
For thirty-six years he had been housed within his own prison, and for
most of that time, Gellert had wished that Albus had killed him. If there
was anything he couldn't stand, it was living a tedious existence.
Still, things had improved since his initial imprisonment.
He was allowed books and even some small birds to keep him company.
Of course, he wasn't allowed a wand, but that was for the best.
Gellert still craved power and keeping his means of obtaining it away
from him meant that the world was safe from his more visceral
inclinations.
"Did I miss another sleep?" he asked as he heard footsteps approaching
his cell.
"No, it is just late," Cassiopeia replied as she reached his cell.
Gellert greeted the woman with a smile.
Besides Albus, she had been his only visitor over the years.
"What is bothering you, my dear?" he asked, noting her uncharacteristic
expression of worry.
The explanation he received was not anything Gellert would have
expected in his wildest dreams, but he did not interrupt the woman as
she spoke, allowing her to vent until she was breathless from doing so.
"The boy is the grandson of Charlus Potter?" Gellert asked interestedly.
Cassiopeia scowled as she nodded, and Gellert chuckled.
"You still hold a grudge against the man," he sighed. "You hold on to the
past too much, my dear. I have let it go, and so should you."
Cassiopeia raised an eyebrow at him and Gellert shook his head.
"You're certain he survived the killing curse?"
"Dumbledore is."
"Then that is indeed what happened," Gellert mused aloud. "Albus is not
prone to lies or flights of fancy. I don't suppose he was too pleased that
you bested him."
"No, but I don't know what to do, Gellert," Cassiopeia murmured. "The
boy has powerful enemies and will likely have more when certain people
learn of his position."
Gellert nodded thoughtfully.
If the boy was anything like his grandfather, he would be a capable
wizard, and with Cassiopeia raising him, he would be as ruthless as her
brother had been.
Quite the combination indeed, but with so many enemies, and a potential
dark lord still out there somewhere, would it be enough?
If Albus believed this Voldemort was still alive, then Gellert had no
reason to think otherwise.
Cassiopeia had taken on quite the task indeed.
"Did Albus say anything else?"
"Only that there were things that I didn't understand, and that we would
need to discuss them when Harry is older."
Gellert shook his head.
Albus, as ever, was holding back vital information, but Gellert knew him
well enough to know he would not give it up until he was ready to do so.
"The boy must be prepared for anything," Gellert sighed.
Cassiopeia nodded her agreement.
"I will need your help, Gellert," she almost pleaded.
Gellert reached through the bars and grabbed the woman comfortingly
by the hand.
"You will have it," he assured her.
Cassiopeia Black had remained loyal to him, and the least he could do
was return that loyalty.
Besides, Gellert was very interest to see just what such a boy could be
capable of.
If anything, he was looking forward to it.
"Keep me updated on him, my dear, and when the time is right, I will
help you ensure that there is nothing that he won't be able to face. If
Voldemort comes for him, he will be ready, and if any other chooses to
make an enemy of him, they will regret doing so," he mused aloud.
"You have a plan," Cassiopeia said almost accusingly.
"I always have a plan," Gellert replied. "Now, off with you, I need to
finalise it."
Cassiopeia frowned but bid him farewell before leaving and Gellert took
a seat at his rickety desk to ponder everything he had learned.
Humming to himself, he reflected briefly on the absurdity of the
situation.
Cassiopeia Black was raising the grandson of who had been one of his
greatest foes, and Gellert would now be dedicating his time to helping
the boy.
The irony was not lost on the former dark lord, and he chuckled to
himself as he set to work.
"You'd better appreciate this, Potter," he grumbled to himself.
2. An Animated Child
An Animated Child
A/N
Here is chapter 2 for you guys…
Enjoy,
TBR
December 1984
It was not often that Julius Parkinson donned his best robes, but today
was such an occasion that he would. Checking his reflection in the
mirror, he straightened them, and his gaze shifted to the unmoving
portrait of his late father.
Julius had not expected his time to ascend to the position of the head of
his family would come so early in his life, nor so suddenly.
His father had been a strong man, and intelligent to boot, so his rather
abrupt departure after a short illness had come as quite the shock.
From since he had been but a boy, Julius had spent many hours at his
father's heel, watching how he conducted himself, learning the ins and
outs of the family businesses, but he had never comprehended that there
would be additional duties he knew nothing of, things that had not been
disclosed to him until he had been summoned to his father's deathbed the
previous year.
Flashback August 1983
According to the healer caring for him, Lord Thomas Parkinson was not
long for this world, and there was nothing that could be done except to
ensure he passed painlessly and comfortably as possible.
Julius had often envisioned the day his father would pass the mantel of
head of the Parkinson family onto him, but not as the man was soon to
breathe his last.
It had been retirement that Julius had expected, not the death of the man
he so adored.
Still, he knew what his responsibilities were, and they would begin the
moment his father was no longer with them.
Julius swallowed the lump that formed in his throat at the thought and
released a deep breath before entering his father's private chambers.
Never had he seen the man looking so frail, and as he seated himself in
the chair next to the bed, he took the man's hand.
"You sent for me, Father?"
Thomas nodded before a coughing fit took him.
"Water," he gasped.
Julius poured him a glass and helped him take a sip to cease the
coughing.
Thomas nodded gratefully and patted his son's hand.
"You're upset," he croaked.
Julius snorted humourlessly.
"You're dying."
Thomas nodded.
"All men must die, my son," he pointed out. "I did not wish for my time to
come so soon, but it will soon be here, and there are things we must
discuss."
He coughed once more and waved Julius off as he reached for the glass
of water.
"I know what my duties are," Julius assured him.
"You do," Thomas agreed, "and you have learned everything I have to
teach, but there are things you must be made aware of, things that could
be as dangerous as they are advantageous."
Julius frowned questioningly, wondering if his father's mind had been
weakened by his ailment.
No, his eyes, though heavy, were as sharp as they had ever been.
"During the war with Grindelwald, I was tasked with the overseeing of
the Black family affairs," Thomas whispered. "It was an honour to do so,
and because of it, I earned the trust and respect of Arcturus Black."
Julius's eyes widened.
To be asked to fulfil such a role by any Lord was an honour, but there
was none higher than the Blacks, not a few decades ago, at least.
"Two years ago, I was asked to fulfil the same role," Thomas continued.
"On behalf of Lucius's son?"
Thomas shook his head, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.
"No."
Julius frowned.
"But with Sirius in prison, Draco is the heir of the family," he pointed out.
"Lucius has taken much glee in bragging about it."
"Lucius is a fool who does not know what he speaks of," Thomas
muttered. "No, it is not Draco that will be the head of the family."
"Then who?"
Thomas met his son's gaze, his expression becoming stern.
"What I am to tell you is not to be spoke of with any other," he said
firmly. "I want your word that this will remain a family secret."
"You have it," Julius assured him without hesitation.
Thomas nodded satisfactorily.
"Before he was imprisoned, Sirius Black named his godson his heir, and
that boy will inherit the title upon reaching his majority."
"His godson."
"None other than Harry Potter."
Julius choked at the revelation.
"Potter?"
Thomas nodded severely.
"When he comes of age, he will be one of the most powerful and
influential men in the country," he explained. "I need not remind you of
his already envious fame. That coupled with the power of two prominent
families behind him means that he has the potential to be one of the most
influential men in the country, and we are currently in a position to be in
his good graces."
Julius nodded his understanding, though he had his concerns.
"So, what shall I do?"
"You will fulfil the role I accepted to look over the family matters on his
behalf, and ensure they remain profitable," Thomas informed him, "for no
other reason than it is an honour to do so, and that Arcturus Black was a
man I respected greatly. I would not see the Black family squandered by
us."
"And the Potter boy?"
"Should be afforded the respect of the positions he will one day hold,"
Thomas instructed. "This is quite the opportunity for us, and I would see
that we keep the promises made."
"Understood," Julius assured his father.
"Good," Thomas sighed. "I'm sure you will have the opportunity to meet
the boy in the future, but you should know that he is being raised by
Cassiopeia Black."
Once more, Julius's eyes widened.
"Cassiopeia?" he gasped.
Thomas nodded.
"Now you understand the magnitude of your responsibilities to them.
Cassiopeia is a dangerous woman, and the Potter boy will be more so
when he is grown if she has a hand in his upbringing. Remember, Julius,
he has the blood of the Blacks and the Potters running through his veins."
"Merlin, even if he was a squib, he could have most eating out of the
palm of his hand."
"He could," Julius agreed, "but remember, this is not merely about what
we can gain from this. It is about a promise to a man who I considered a
close friend. That is what you must bear in mind first and foremost."
"I will, Father," Julius promised.
"Good, now let me rest boy," Thomas sighed.
End Flashback
Thomas Parkinson had passed away only a day after that conversation,
and the weight of the responsibility Julius had inherited weighed heavily
on his shoulders. Still, he had done as he had been bid by his father and
had ensured the continued growth of the Black and Potter family wealth.
Today, at the behest of Cassiopeia Black, he would be meeting with the
woman for the first time.
He had written to her upon his father's death to inform her of his
ascension, and to ensure her that the Parkinson family would continue to
look out for her interests and would do so discreetly.
Cassiopeia's response to his letter had been terse, but not unexpected.
Parkinson,
Give me no reason to regret my decision to seek your help, and you may live
to see old age.
CB
Julius had been nothing but beneficial to both additional families and
had invested wisely on their behalf.
Nonetheless, the letter inviting him to meet with her had been quite the
surprise.
Cassiopeia Black expected a report of what had been done over the past
few years, something Julius had prepared down to the very finest detail.
"How do I look, Daddy?"
Julius smiled as Pansy entered his study.
She was wearing a green dress with a matching ribbon in her hair, and
she gave him a twirl that elicited a chuckle from the man who bent down
to pick her up.
"You look wonderful," he replied.
Pansy beamed at him, and Julius adjusted the bow in her dark hair.
"Now, you remember where we are going today?"
Pansy nodded; her light brown eyes widened in excitement.
"We are meeting a very important lady."
"Good."
"And it is a special secret," Pansy continued.
"Exactly," Julius praised. "What does that mean?"
"That only you, me, and Mummy can know."
Julius smiled once more before placing a kiss on his daughter's cheek and
placing her back on the ground.
"You're a smart girl, Pansy. Now, are you ready?"
Pansy nodded eagerly and Julius removed the portkey Cassiopeia had
delivered to him via their family elf.
"Remember, hold on tight."
Pansy rolled her eyes at him.
"I know, Daddy," she huffed.
With a snort of amusement, Julius activated the portkey, wondering what
kind of reception he would receive.
Regardless, this was an opportunity that Pansy should not miss out on.
It would one day be important for her to make connections, and this one
could, as his father had explained, perhaps be the most beneficial one
available.
(Break)
Cassie had intended to take Moon's advice by allowing Elgar to raise
Harry during his early years. She'd never been a maternal woman, never
had the urge to have children of her own, not even when her younger
siblings had been born.
Her interest in them had been minimal, nothing more than a curious
glance at their faces as their mother held them.
Beyond that, she had mostly ignored Arcturus and Dorea until they could
speak.
Little Harry, however, had not made such a thing possible.
The morning after she has fetched him from the muggles, she had entered
the kitchen to find the elf feeding the boy in a highchair, and not having
the easiest time in doing so.
Harry had porridge smeared over his cheeks and had been giggling as
Elgar patiently tried to feed him, but as the boy noticed Cassiopeia, he
had looked up at her with those brilliant green eyes of his.
Cassie had never seen such a shade.
They almost glowed like gently flickering flames, and the expression of
curiosity was not one she could easily be so dismissive of. What she did
know was that they were not inherited from the Potters.
Both William and Charlus had brown eyes, and she was certain that
James did too.
Harry must have gotten his from his mother.
Still, she didn't know what to do with a baby and had merely smiled
awkwardly at him before fixing her own breakfast.
For the first week, she barely saw Harry, and continued living her life the
way she had been for the past several decades, but she should have
known better to believe that things could progress so smoothly.
The first indication she got that something wasn't right came in the
middle of the eighth night he had been with her.
Cassie had been woken in the early hours to the sound of whimpering
coming from the adjoining room she had allocated to the boy, a more
appropriate place for the future lord of two houses to sleep.
The thought of him being left in a cupboard still angered her, and the
urge to throttle his relatives had yet to abate.
With a sigh, she had left her own room and entered his to find a worried
Elgar holding the seemingly sleeping boy to his chest.
"Is he sick?"
"No, Miss Black," Elgar whispered. "He is having bad dreams."
Cassiopeia frowned.
What kind of baby had bad dreams?
Still, Harry whimpered pitifully, and continued to do so when his eyes
shot open a moment later.
There was a fear within them, a fear that did not belong on the face of a
babe.
"Elgar doesn't know what to do, Miss," the elf murmured. "He wakes like
this every night."
Cassiopeia released a deep breath as she approached, and Harry looked
up at her almost pleadingly.
To this day, Cassie didn't know why she had done it, and often whished
she hadn't, but with a gentle probe of legilimency, she saw what it was
that haunted the boy.
She would never forget seeing the redheaded woman pleading for Harry's
life nor the mocking laughter of the Dark Lord as he murdered her in
front of her infant son before turning his wand on the boy.
The killing curse.
Cassie had been sceptical of the veracity of the claims that Harry had
somehow survived it, but having seen the memory of the boy for herself,
she no longer doubted the truth.
For Harry to remember it so vividly…
It was something that would haunt him for the rest of his days,
something that would undoubtedly play a part in shaping him as he
grew.
"Oh, you poor boy," she had choked as she took him from Elgar's arms
and held him clumsily in her own. "He remembers it."
Elgar had nodded in response.
"He does, Miss," he whispered, "and the scar will always remind him."
"Scar?"
Elgar gently moved Harry's fringe away, revealing the red, puckered
mark that marred his skin.
"That is where the curse hit him." the elf explained. "Very bad magic,
Miss. Very, very bad."
Cassiopeia swallowed deeply as she rocked the boy in her arms.
Harry's dreams had continued throughout the years since, but they had
eventually become less common. Though he never spoke of them, not
even now at the age of four, but other than the occasional night he
needed to be comforted, he had proven to be resilient.
He would need to be.
He was proving to be quite the curious child too, always asking questions
to the point that the incessant pestering annoyed Cassie, something that
Harry seemed to get a kick out of.
There was undoubtedly a mischievous side to him, the victorious grin he
wore when he got a rise out of her, however, was still preferable to the
broken child she still sometimes saw in the small hours of the night.
Harry was becoming quite the character, and Cassie had no doubt that he
would get into more than his fair share of trouble in the years to come.
"Merlin help me," she murmured as she watched him playing with some
of his toys in front of the fireplace.
Despite everything, Cassie was happy with how he was progressing.
Harry already had a deep interest in magic, and always watched with
interest whenever she used her wand, even for the inanest things, almost
as though he was trying to work out how she was doing what she was.
It was amusing to see his little face scrunch up in concentration, and how
he would pout when she put her wand away.
"Harry, Lord Parkinson will be arriving shortly," she announced.
Harry only nodded in response as he set a dragon upon a score of
knights, cheering as the figures ran from the beast.
Cassiopeia snorted as she shook her head.
He loved his toy dragon.
It had been a gift from Gellert for his previous birthday.
Not that Harry knew that, of course.
Cassiopeia had not mentioned the man to him but had kept Gellert
abreast of all that had happened with the boy since his arrival.
She was pulled from her thoughts by the arrival of Elgar who offered her
a low bow, his gaze shifting briefly towards Harry before he spoke.
The elf had grown very fond and protective of his charge.
"Miss Black, Lord Parkinson has arrived at the front gate."
"Show him in, please, Elgar."
The elf offered her another bow before disappearing with a gentle crack.
The death of the previous Lord Parkinson had come unexpectedly, and
Cassiopeia had been wary about the man's son taking over Harry's
interests.
She had never met the man in any capacity, and didn't know how much
he could be trusted, but he had written to her and assured her the
arrangement would continue as it had.
Cassie had been reluctant, but without bringing another in on her secret,
there was little else that could be done.
She had given Parkinson the benefit of the doubt and knew she would
have to make his acquaintance in person. For more than a year, she had
put it off, but she could do so no longer.
So long as the Potter and Black family interests were being cared for
suitably, she saw no reason to end the arrangement.
Cassie took a seat in a nearby armchair, and watched as a tall, well-
dressed, and groomed man entered with a girl no older than Harry.
He had chestnut brown hair, and matching, intelligent eyes.
His features were sharp, but not offensively slow, and he gave her a
shallow bow.
The smile Lord Parkinson offered was reserved, but not insincere, a
gesture Cassiopeia appreciated.
Parkinson was not here to attempt to flatter, nor charm her with flowery
words, but he understood his position, the privilege he had inherited.
"Miss Black, it is nice to finally meet you."
"And you, Lord Parkinson," Cassiopeia replied in kind.
Parkinson chuckled.
"I suppose this is quite pivotal moment for both of us. You are unsure if
you can trust me the same way your brother trusted my father, and I am
still unsure if I am able to assist you as well. Though I daresay, I think I
have done a fair job since taking over," he spoke, removing two folders
from within his robes and handing them over.
Cassiopeia accepted them and opened the first.
"I do not wish to be condescending, Miss Black, but I took the liberty of
creating a simple breakdown of what I have done this past year."
Cassie nodded appreciatively as she read the figures of the Black account.
Parkinson had indeed done well.
The businesses the Blacks had invested in over the years were still
profitable, and those that weren't had been sold off before they had lost
any gold of note.
The Potter accounts were doing similarly well, though it was clear there
was a period of time they had not been looked after well.
Still, Cassiopeia had never known how wealthy the family was, and it
proved to be considerably more than she had anticipated.
"You are doing well," she commented.
Parkinson deflated, relieved that she was content.
"Thank you," he replied. "It has been quite a daunting period after losing
my father."
Cassiopeia nodded her understanding.
Thomas Parkinson had not been so old that it wasn't out of the question
that he could have lived for a few more decades at least.
"I see no reason why the arrangement cannot continue," she decided.
"You can continue to claim 5% of profits made from both families as
compensation."
"And our business will remain firmly between our families," Parkinson
assured her. "I, like my father, am a man of my word."
Cassiopeia had heard the man's words, but her gaze had shifted towards
Harry, and Parkinson's daughter who had joined him in front of the
fireplace.
She watched curiously how they interacted.
Harry had not socialised with any other children thus far from fear that
he would be recognised.
Cassiopeia knew that it was unlikely in Greece, but she did not wish to
take any risks.
The two children seemed to be interacting well enough, and the girl was
even laughing at something Harry said.
"He is quite the boy, isn't he?" Parkinson questioned as he too watched
them. "Even now, a week barely passes without the media mentioning
him, wondering where he is."
Cassiopeia frowned at the revelation.
She didn't like anyone taking too much interest in Harry.
"Are those that supported him still looking for Harry?" she asked bluntly.
Parkinson swallowed deeply.
"I don't know, I do not associate with them much outside of the
Wizengamot or functions I am required to attend, but I would assume
they are. The boy inadvertently caused more problems than you can
understand and has enemies."
Cassiopeia nodded.
"If by some chance you hear anything, Parkinson, I would suggest that
you remember what Harry will one day be. He may be a boy now, but he
won't be forever, and if he decides to return to Britain, I will ensure he
does so with every possible resource to bring any that would wish him
harm to their knees. He will be a man to be feared and respected."
Parkinson became pensive for a moment before nodding thoughtfully.
"I do not doubt you," he replied.
"Good. Now, would you and your daughter like to join us for lunch?" she
asked. "I would not send a guest away without refreshments."
Lord Parkinson looked towards his daughter who had joined in playing
with Harry before nodding.
"Pansy and I would be honoured."
It was an opportunity for Cassie to continue watching Harry and how he
interacted with others.
It would be an important skill for the boy, after all.
It also gave her the chance to question Lord Parkinson further, to get to
know the man and perhaps his experiences in parenting.
Even after almost three years of raising Harry, Cassie felt as though she
was out of her depth.
She knew nothing of children except her experiences with the Potter/
Black heir.
"Harry, Lord Parkinson has agreed to join us for lunch. Go and wash your
hands."
"You too, Pansy," Lord Parkinson instructed. "I'm sure Harry can show
you the way."
The two children left the room, both smiling with Pansy chasing after the
energetic boy.
"It makes me feel old just watching them," Parkinson sighed amusedly.
Cassiopeia hummed.
"Harry is a good boy," she declared.
"Even after everything he went through?"
Cassiopeia nodded.
"Despite everything, he is one of the good ones."
Parkinson looked at her questioningly, but thought better than to pry.
The children returned only a moment after the two had taken their seats,
breathless from running through the corridors of the house.
Harry's robes were soaked, and Cassiopeia raised an eyebrow in his
direction.
"I made a mess," he murmured.
Pansy rolled her eyes.
"I splashed him," she declared. "Only because he was going to do it to
me."
"I was not," Harry denied. "Well, maybe a little bit."
Pansy grinned victoriously, and Lord Parkinson shook his head.
"Perhaps you should both sit, and then the urge to throw water at one
another will be quelled," he suggested.
The children smirked sheepishly at each other before doing so, and Cassie
watched them as they put their heads together and began talking
animatedly.
It was as though they had been friends for years, and she felt a pang of
guilt for isolating him from the world, but it was for his own safety.
"How old was Pansy when she had her first bout of accidental magic?"
Cassiopeia asked Lord Parkinson curiously.
"Just before she turned three," the man answered proudly. "Her mother's
hair was orange for a week. What about Harry?"
"Around the same age," Cassiopeia lied before taking a mouthful of soup
Elgar had served them.
Harry had only been with her a month before his magic had begun
manifesting, and, seemed to become more volatile when he was
experienced heightened emotions in the middle of the night.
Cassie had lost count of how many times she'd had to repair things in his
room.
"Was it just the hair?"
Parkinson chuckled as he shook his head.
"We've had plates of vegetables banished across the room, and even a cat
being levitated after it tried to run away," he explained.
If only Cassiopeia had to deal with such simple incidents.
Along with his tendency to destroy things, Harry had somehow managed
to summon things from across the room several times, and even heat it
up considerably when Cassiopeia had forgotten to add more wood to his
fire.
The most impressive feat of magic, however, had been when he'd set fire
to a nest of hornets in the garden after one of them had stung him.
Not that she would mention such things to the man she was sharing
lunch with.
It was not something he needed to know, though it did make Cassiopeia
question just how normal these bouts of accidental magic were.
Perhaps she would discuss them with Gellert?
She was due to visit him and hadn't done so since he had presented her
with Harry's birthday gift.
They had not parted on the best of terms when Gellert had refused to
share his ever-developing plans for Harry with her, but it wasn't the first
time they had fallen out, and nor would it be the last.
"He looks very much like his father," Lord Parkinson commented, pulling
Cassiopeia from her thoughts. "The eyes are definitely his mother's."
"The redhead mudblood?"
"Lily Evans," Parkinson confirmed. "She was a very gifted witch. I suppose
that is why Charlus Potter agreed to allow his son to marry her."
Cassiopeia frowned.
She had pondered why Charlus would break tradition, and her sister even
more so.
Dorea may have been more tolerant than the rest of the family, but she
was still a Black, a traditionalist at heart.
"You knew her?"
"Not as such," Parkinson denied, "but my generation knew of her, even
more so now. There are rumours that she found a protection against the
killing curse."
It was something else that Cassiopeia had spent time thinking about.
Just how had Harry survived the killing curse?
She knew that Dumbledore undoubtedly had a theory, but she had heard
nothing from the man since the night they had retrieved Harry.
"What do you think?" she asked.
Parkinson shook his head.
"I wouldn't even wish to speculate," he sighed. "It is fantastical enough to
believe without the added headache of questioning how."
Cassiopeia agreed wholeheartedly with the man, but she was still
determined to uncover the truth.
If Lily Potter had managed to discover such a protection, she must have
been certain of it to have enough faith that it would protect her son.
'No, not Harry…'
The final plea of a desperate mother sent a shiver down her spine as it
always did whenever Cassie thought of it.
There was no denying that Lily Potter loved her son, and it saddened
Cassiopeia to think that Harry would never know his parents.
The boy had never even asked about them, the dreams that haunted him
evidently enough of an explanation.
It was something Cassie was grateful for, but sometimes, she wished he
would ask for the sake of closure.
"Can we play in the garden, Aunt Cass?" Harry asked, breaking into her
thoughts.
Cassiopeia offered the boy a smile and nodded.
"Stay away from the cliffs," she warned, "and out of the broom shed. I do
not think Lord Parkinson will be pleased to find Pansy in the air."
"Yes, Aunt Cassie," Harry sighed before leading the girl from the room.
"He flies already?" Parkinson asked.
"I wish he wouldn't," Cassie huffed, "but it makes him happy, and he's a
natural."
Parkinson chuckled.
"I suppose he gets that from his father," he mused aloud. "There were
rumours that James Potter had been approached to play Quidditch
professionally. If it wasn't for the war, he probably would have played for
England. I remember him at Hogwarts. He was an excellent flier."
"Did you know him?"
Parkinson shook his head.
"No, he was a Gryffindor and a few years younger than me," he
explained. "I remember Lucius complaining about playing against him.
McGonagall used to gush at how gifted he was at transfiguration."
Cassiopeia hummed thoughtfully.
"What about Harry's mother?"
"Well, she spent a lot of time with Slughorn, so I suppose she was quite
brilliant at potions if he took so much interest in her, but if I'm
remembering correctly, she was more interested in charms."
Cassiopeia appreciated the information.
Although James Potter was her nephew, she knew nothing about him.
Her existence had been an isolated one, so her knowledge on those back
home was sorely lacking, something she would need to rectify in the
years to come.
"I think we should perhaps check on them," Cassiopeia sighed. "Harry has
quite the mischievous side to him when he's in the mood."
"All boys do," Parkinson pointed out as he stood to follow.
"Oh, no, Harry is exceptionally cheeky when he feels the need to be. Just
ask Elgar what the boy did to his apron when he refused him extra
dessert."
"Master is a naughty boy," Elgar muttered, though a smile tugged at his
lips as he cleared away the plate and bowls.
Parkinson had an expression of curiosity, but he didn't press the matter,
and followed Cassie as she headed towards the back door.
"They seem to be quite taken with each other," he commented when he
spotted Harry and Pansy hunched by one of the bushes.
Cassiopeia raised an eyebrow at the man.
"I do hope that you're not cementing an early intention for a marriage
contract, Lord Parkinson."
The man held up his hands placatingly as he chuckled.
"I know my place in our society, Miss Black," he assured her. "For my
daughter to marry into either the Potter or Black family would be more
than I could ever expect for her, let alone the Lord of both. No, I was
merely pointing out that they seem to be getting on."
Cassie deflated as she nodded.
"They are," she conceded. "Harry doesn't get to mix with others, for his
safety."
Parkinson nodded his understanding.
"I would be equally cautious if I were in your position," he explained,
"though your reputation is still rather formidable back home. Even if it
was known he was here with you, very few would be foolish enough to
try anything."
"My reputation would only ever go so far to protect him," Cassie pointed
out. "It will have to be Harry they respect, and they will, Lord Parkinson.
By the time I am done with him, he will be more than capable of putting
anyone in their place."
"I do not doubt it," Parkinson replied with a bow.
Cassiopeia nodded, pleased that the man had gotten the message before
turning her attention to her charge.
"What are you doing, Harry?" she questioned as she approached the
children.
"Harry is talking to the snake!" Pansy explained excitedly.
"Talking to the snake?" Cassiopeia asked confusedly, her mouth falling
agape and her heart sinking as she came upon them.
Harry indeed had a brown snake with black markings down its spine
wrapped around his arm and the flat head resting on his bicep.
Even more shocking, however, was that the boy was hissing gently, and
the creature was seemingly listening to him.
"Harry, put the snake down," Cassiopeia gasped as she drew her wand.
"No, Aunt Cass, he's friendly," Harry protested. "He just wants something
to eat."
Cassiopeia swallowed deeply.
"Can you understand it?"
Harry nodded as he smiled brightly.
"He says that he's been living in our garden since he hatched."
Much to Cassie's surprise, the snake actually nodded at her, her gaze
shifted to Lord Parkinson who was in a similar state of disbelief as her.
"Okay, Harry, put the snake back," she instructed calmly. "You can visit
him again later."
"Fine," Harry conceded grumpily, placing the hissing snake back in the
bush.
"Now, go and wash your hands. Merlin knows what germs he has on
him."
"You too, Pansy," Lord Parkinson added.
The children left, both seemingly unaware of the magnitude of what had
happened.
"He's a parselmouth," Parkinson murmured. "How is that possible?"
"I don't know," Cassie replied, her mind drifting to the only other known
parselmouth who had been in Harry's life.
She had been learning what she could about Voldemort over the past
couple of years, and though there was little information readily available,
the man had publicly claimed to be the heir of Slytherin and a known,
prolific parselmouth.
"Is it possible Lily Evans was related to Slytherin?" Parkinson questioned.
"She was a mudblood," Cassie pointed out, "but there is always a chance."
She didn't believe for one moment that Lily Potter was a relative of the
Slytherin family and was more inclined to believe that Harry came about
his ability via what transpired the night Voldemort had come for the
Potters.
"I would urge you to keep this information quiet," Parkinson spoke
urgently. "You-Know-Who was one, and the reputation has only suffered
more over the years he was around. I will, of course, say nothing of what
I saw, and neither will Pansy."
Cassiopeia nodded gratefully.
"Your discretion on the matter is appreciated, Lord Parkinson."
"Julius," the man corrected. "If I am to oversee the affairs of both
families, you may call me Julius. For now, I will continue with my work,
and I must say, I look forward to seeing the boy grow and what he will
become. Pansy, it is time for us to leave," he declared as the children
returned. "Say your goodbyes. I'm sure Miss Black will allow you to visit
again."
Both children looked hopefully at her, and with a nod, they wore
matching smiles as Lord Parkinson took his daughter by the arm and
activated a portkey that would take them home.
Suddenly, the urge to see Gellert had become pressing, the latest
development with Harry having unsettled the woman, and yet, the
innocence of the smile he wore brought her a semblance of comfort,
despite the trepidation she felt.
(Break)
Gellert was tending to his birds when he heard the familiar footfalls of
one of his visitors, though the pace of them was much more frantic than
usual. Placing the little thrush in its cage, he turned to be greeted by the
sight of a pale Cassiopeia, her worried expression causing him to frown.
"He's a parselmouth, Gellert," the woman whispered.
"Who is?"
"Harry!"
"I see," Gellert murmured. "The Potters have never married into the
Slytherin line?"
Cassiopeia shook her head.
"His mother, perhaps?"
"No, she was a mudblood."
Gellert tutted.
"I do not believe Harry will appreciate you referring to his mother as
such," he chided. "Just because you believe she was a muggleborn, it
doesn't make it so. It is possible that a member of the Slytherin family
had a child that no scholar knows of. Albus investigated them thoroughly
enough, what was her name?"
"Evans."
"Evans," Gellert murmured. "I feel that I should know the name, but its
meaning escapes me."
"He didn't get it from his parents!" Cassiopeia snapped. "It came from
him, didn't it? He somehow infected Harry with his magic."
Gellert shook his head.
"No, magic does not work that way," he mused aloud. "Any of
Voldemort's magic should have been purged from Harry's system by his
own. If Harry did indeed inherit the ability from him, then something
else must have occurred that night."
"What?" Cassiopeia asked desperately.
"I do not know," Gellert admitted, "but I will ponder it. I expect I will
have an explanation in due course."
"And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
"Nothing," Gellert answered. "So long as Harry is happy and healthy, then
I do not believe you need to be alarmed. If it were something so serious
to him, I believe it would have manifested itself by now."
Cassiopeia seemed to be comforted by his words and deflated.
"How is the boy, other than the latest development?"
The question brought a rare smile to Cassiopeia's lips, and Gellert
smirked too.
She had come to care for the boy, though she would likely deny it if he
mentioned such.
"He's quite brilliant," Cassiopeia praised. "He's inquisitive and interested
in magic."
"Excellent," Gellert declared.
"And he really loves the dragon you made for him," she continued. "He
uses it to attack his other toys and they have to try to fend off the
marauding beast."
Gellert chuckled amusedly.
"I did not expect him to get so much joy from such a simple thing."
Cassiopeia rolled her eyes at him.
"Only you would call that magic simple."
"Magic?" Gellert questioned confusedly.
Cassiopeia nodded.
"It's so life-like the way it flies around," she explained. "It even flies above
him when he is sleeping at night. Harry says it helps keep the bad dreams
away."
"Cass, the dragon I gave you was nothing more than a piece of wood I
carved. I do not have the means to animate or enchant anything."
"But it flies," Cassiopeia said dumbly. "It even roars and sits on his
shoulder. Could Harry have done it by accident?"
Gellert shook his head.
"Accidental magic is a sudden occurrence, a short burst of unrestrained
power that has an unpredictable effect. What you're describing is quite an
intricate animation at the very least. Maybe the elf?"
"No," Cassiopeia denied quietly. "Elgar didn't touch it. It came to life the
moment Harry did."
Gellert sunk into his chair.
No, it couldn't be possible that the boy had done it at such a young age,
but there was no other explanation. If the elf didn't do it, it must have
been Harry.
Gellert chuckled to himself out of the excitement and curiosity he felt.
"I think it is something you should discuss with the boy," he declared.
"Ask him just how he managed it."
"You truly believe it was Harry?"
Gellert nodded.
"I think it is a distinct possibility," Gellert replied. "Now, leave me to my
thoughts. You have given me much to consider."
Cassiopeia said nothing else as she did as she was bid and Gellert simply
shook his head.
The parseltongue ability had raised many questions, and what Harry had
seemingly done with the dragon only added more.
Gellert faced quite the conundrum indeed, but he had meant what he'd
said to his former protégé.
He had no doubt that he would figure it out, but what he'd learned was
unheard of.
Such a magical feat at such an early age certainly meant that the boy was
possibly exceedingly talented, but Gellert could not ignore the thought
that the inherited ability he shared with his parent's murderer was quite
troubling indeed.
3. The Hard Way
The Hard Way
A/N
Here is the next chapter for you guys.
Thank you for the feedback thus far.
TBR
August 1990
Cassie watched as Harry picked half-heartedly at his breakfast. He'd had
that dream again, and though he never cried or whimpered in the night
anymore, he did a poor job at trying to hide the fact he was still haunted
by it.
Still, they didn't come as often as they once had. The occlumency lessons
she had been giving him over the past few years undoubtedly helping
him.
She had begun doing so at the urging of Gellert who believed it would be
an invaluable skill for Harry, and the man had taken no small amount of
smug satisfaction when she'd informed him of Harry's progress.
He was still learning to master the art, but none managed it on such a
short period of time. It took years to do so, and some practitioners never
truly managed it.
Harry would. Of that, Cassie had no doubt, but until then, he would
continue to live with the dreams and bouts of anger he exhibited.
She shook her head as she looked upon him.
It was hard to believe that eight years had passed already, and in only
one more, he would be heading to school.
Cassie wasn't sure if she was ready for that day to come, but it was
approaching quickly, and it was something that needed to be discussed
with the boy.
She had avoided doing so long enough, after all.
"Harry," she called.
The boy looked up at her questioningly.
"We need to begin thinking about school," Cassie pointed out. "You'll be
going next year."
Harry nodded.
"Where will I be going?" he asked.
"Well, that is your choice. Just because I went to Hogwarts and…"
"My parents?"
Cassiopeia nodded.
They had discussed James and Lily Potter, and what had happened to
them.
It was not a conversation that Cassiopeia relished, and she had seen just
how vulnerable and furious Harry could be when he was at his worst.
The pain and unnecessary guilt he carried coupled with the anger had
been a sight to behold.
It had taken Cassie the best part of an entire day to repair the damage his
unrestrained magic had done to the house, and though she felt sorry for
him, she would feel it more for any who crossed his path.
Harry had the potential to be a powerful wizard in his own right and
were it not for his usually kind and thoughtful nature, Cassie would
perhaps be concerned.
"That doesn't mean you have to go there."
Harry fell silent for a moment as he pondered her words.
"I have enemies there," he murmured, "but I'm not ready to face them,
not yet."
Cassie nodded her agreement.
"You have nothing to fear from them, Harry," she said firmly. "Your
enemies are mine, and I will do whatever is needed to keep you safe."
He smiled appreciatively at her.
"I know, but I want to fight my own battles one day," he explained. "I
would like to go to Hogwarts, but it is not what is best for me. What
other options do I have?"
"Well, there is Beauxbatons, that's a school in France, a very prestigious
one," Cassie explained. "It is an excellent choice and has some of the very
best people in their fields as instructors."
"France could be nice. I liked the Eiffel Tower when we went."
Cassie smiled at the memory.
As much as she wished to keep Harry safe, she realised she could not
simply lock him up for his entire life.
Under the guise of concealment charms and a plethora of disguises, she
had begun taking him places.
France had been one of the first, and Harry had truly enjoyed his time
there.
"Where else?" he asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
"The other well-known school is Durmstrang," Cassiopeia explained. "It
has a reputation for being more liberal on their views of magic, but some
of the greatest witches and wizards in history attended. We could always
visit both if you wish to see what one feels right for you?"
"Thanks, Aunt Cass," Harry replied gratefully.
"I will make the arrangements, but for now, don't you have some work to
do?"
Harry huffed as he pushed his plate away before heading towards his
room where he would continue his work on magical theory and other
studies, he had taken an interest in.
If Harry had his way, he would spend his life on a broom, and though
Cassie encouraged him to be active, she would not have him slacking
when he could be getting quite the head start.
He would one day be the Lord of two prominent families, and there were
expectations he must meet.
Cassiopeia's for the most part, but her high standards would see to his
success.
With Harry set to work, she fetched what she would need to send the two
required letters, addressing them for the attention of the headmaster of
each school.
When they were written, she sealed them with the crest of the Black
family affixed, and sent them off with her own owl, pleased that Harry
had decided for himself to avoid going to Hogwarts.
As much as Cassiopeia had enjoyed her time there, she did not want
Dumbledore to have any influence over Harry, nor for Harry to be
targeted before he was ready to face down his enemies.
Going to school elsewhere would prevent that, but such avoidance, she
knew, would only ever be temporary.
One day, Harry would return to Britain.
It was not in his nature to cower or hide from anything, and though the
thought filled Cassiopeia with trepidation, she equally looked forward to
it.
(Break)
Olympe Maxime was no stranger to receiving missives from prominent
families from across the globe. Her position as headmistress of one of the
premier academies meant that she often rubbed shoulders with upper
echelons of magical society, but nothing could have prepared her for the
sight of the coat of arms for one of Britain's most notorious families.
France, like the rest of the magical world, had not involved themselves in
the domestic vying for power during the Voldemort years, but news of
what was happening trickled steadily across the continent, and from
what Olympe had heard, the Blacks had sided with the Dark Lord,
resulting in the death or incarceration of most of them.
So, to receive a letter bearing the family crest was not something she had
expected.
Even before today, as far as she was aware, Beauxbatons had never
educated any member of the family.
It was with a curious frown that she removed the parchment from within
the envelope, her eyebrows almost vanishing into her hairline when she
glimpsed the name of the sender.
Cassiopeia Black.
The woman had perhaps been Grindelwald's most ardent supporter
during his rise some five decades prior and had seemingly faded into
obscurity when the man had eventually been defeated.
Olympe couldn't fathom what the woman could possibly want with her,
and her frown fell into place once more.
To whom it may concern,
I am writing to you to request a tour of your academy for myself and my
nephew who will be of attending age for your next intake of cohorts.
Currently, he has not decided what school he wishes to attend but has
shortlisted Beauxbatons for his consideration.
Please send a response of a date and time that this will be convenient for you
to accommodate.
I eagerly await your reply and ask for discretion on this delicate matter.
Regards,
Cassiopeia Black
Olympe released a deep breath as she laid the parchment down and
rubbed her temples.
In truth, she did not even wish to accommodate the request, the
reputation of the sender not something she wished her or the school to be
associated with.
However, despite her feelings on the matter, the Black name, even now,
still carried considerable weight and Olympe could not be seen to spurn
them.
What harm could a tour of the school cause?
She was also curious as to the identity of the mystery nephew the woman
had mentioned.
As far as Olympe knew, the only male alive in the Black family was the
rather infamous Sirius who was currently being held in Azkaban and
would be much too old to be considered for a place in any school.
The headmistress hummed thoughtfully as she drummed her fingers atop
her desk.
No, something was certainly afoot, and though Olympe couldn't possibly
determine what that was, she was no fool.
Cassiopeia Black would not send such a request without good reason, not
having lived in isolation for half a century.
Still, Olympe's curiosity had been piqued, and with a sigh, she sent off
her response, inviting Cassiopeia and her nephew to the school the
following week.
There would be no students here, so they would be safe, and the entirety
of the staff would be back in the palace and would be on hand to ensure
nothing nefarious happened.
With her letter sent, the headmistress remained pensive at who this
nephew could be, but without any information to hand, she would
remain stumped until the boy arrived and she could look upon him for
herself.
(Break)
Igor Karkaroff scowled at the letter he had received, the name of the
sender pulling his lips into a sneer. Black had been a known supporter of
Grindelwald, the very same man that had been expelled from the very
institution he was now headmaster of.
Although he could not comprehend the audacity with which the woman
had written to Durmstrang. Reading the name sent a spike of worry down
his spine.
It was the first time in almost a decade that he had received a letter from
someone British, his last excursion there having seen him almost
sentenced to an exceedingly long stint in Azkaban.
Much to his relief, however, his naming of Crouch's own son had bought
his freedom but also left Igor vulnerable to the Death Eaters that had
escaped justice.
He had needed to hide and having learned a position to teach the Dark
Arts at Durmstrang had become available, he had taken the job gladly
where he would be safe from any reprisals from his former comrades.
In only a matter of a few years, he had ascended to his current position,
and had become accustomed to a somewhat comfortable life.
The school didn't care about his past associations, only that he was a
capable instructor, something that could not be denied by any.
Igor had learned the Dark Arts at this very institution and had excelled in
them.
His nostrils flared at the letter he had balled up and thrown across his
office.
"Nephew?" he grumbled.
There were no Blacks of school age, other than Lucius's boy, but the fool
would not risk sending his spawn here from fear of provoking Igor.
The headmaster had more than enough dirt on the man to see him spend
his remaining years with the Dementors, but if not his son, then who?
He needed to know, to ensure his own safety if nothing else.
Igor knew there were those still out there that would see him dead, but
within the walls of his fortress, he was protected.
Even the Dark Lord himself could not get to him here.
The thought made him relax considerably, but he was still curious as to
whom Cassiopeia Black was referring to as her nephew.
With an irritable huff, he sent his own missive, inviting the woman and
the boy to visit the school as requested before pouring himself a large
mug of ale.
Why could he not just be left alone to live his life?
He had left the past where it was, and though the mark of his former
master still marred his arm, the man was dead, yet he still somehow
managed to haunt him from beyond the grave.
Igor winced at the phantom pain he received from the mark.
They didn't come often, but when they did, they still felt as real as they
had when the Dark Lord would summon him.
(Break)
Gellert had grown used to the tedium of his existence over the years. He
had his birds and his books for company, and the past years had seen him
invest much of his time pondering the enigmatic boy that Cassiopeia had
taken in as her charge.
Harry Potter.
He remembered the boys' grandfather well enough.
Gellert's finger trailed across the thin scar on his cheek, a gift from
Charlus Potter during one of their confrontations.
He had been a gifted wizard, one that Gellert had come to grudgingly
respect, so much so that he felt compelled to assist his grandson.
He would have done it for Cassiopeia's sake regardless, but there was
something undeniably pleasing about paying homage to one of his
greatest foes.
In a way, it was almost as though Gellert was getting the last laugh,
though there was very little humour to be found in the circumstances.
His findings over the years had been as curious as they were surprising,
but equally daunting.
Although he couldn't be certain of his theory, he was as close to certainty
as can be.
He had not mentioned his thoughts on the matter to Cassiopeia.
The woman would just panic unnecessarily when what the boy had been
inflicted with could prove to be quite the boon.
Gellert nodded as he made another note in his book.
From his feat of magic in animating the wooden dragon he had gifted
him, to the many other traits Cassiopeia had mentioned throughout her
visits, Harry Potter was shaping up to be a very interesting boy indeed
and Gellert was eagerly anticipating his growth.
The former Dark Lord rolled his eyes as he heard the unmistakeable
footsteps of the only person other than Cassiopeia to visit him
approached his cell.
Placing his notebook under his pillow, Gellert turned towards the door
and folded his arms.
"Do you never grow tired of mocking me, Albus?" he snarked.
"I do not mock you, Gellert," the man replied. "I thought my visits were a
reprieve from the drudgery of your prison."
Gellert snorted.
"What do you want this time?" he sighed. "You only ever come here if
something is bothering you."
Albus released a deep breath.
"Alas, old friend, there is much on my mind."
Gellert shook his head.
"Then speak, and the perhaps we can assuage your worries," he
murmured. "It's not as though I have anywhere better to be."
Albus raised an eyebrow at Gellert's flippant behaviour.
"My concern is something that has been with me for some time now," he
spoke, undeterred by Geller's demeanour. "I know that Cassiopeia still
visits you. Has she perhaps mentioned the boy she is housing?"
"Naturally," Gellert replied guardedly.
Albus gestured for him to continue.
"The boy is safe and thriving," Gellert assured him.
Albus nodded appreciatively and Gellert smirked, unable to resist the
urge to goad the man.
It was not as though he could do anything in his position, after all.
"The boys' mother, is she somehow related to the Slytherin line?"
It was the final piece of the puzzle that Gellert needed to confirm his
thoughts on Harry's seemingly inherited ability, and a part of him was
hoping Albus would answer in the positive.
"No, there is no connection," Albus denied firmly. "Why do you ask?"
"The boy is a parselmouth," Gellert huffed, Albus's reply all but
corroborating what he'd already believed.
"Truly?" Albus asked. "That is concerning."
"No, it isn't," Gellert returned irritably. "It is quite clear how he inherited
the ability. Now is not the time for denial, Albus. Think! How could
someone seemingly take a magical ability from another that is exclusive
to one line?"
Albus frowned at the question.
"I would assume that a transference of magic must have taken place when
Tom attempted to kill Harry, but I have never heard of such a thing.
Magic cannot be simply gifted or stolen in such a way."
"It cannot," Gellert agreed, pleased that Albus's mind appeared to be as
keen as ever.
"I find myself at a loss," Albus admitted, though Gellert was not surprised.
"I don't suppose you ever looked into that magic much," he sighed. "Magic
cannot be gifted or taken, but it is a part of every bit of us. It is in our
minds, in our bodies, and in our souls."
He emphasised the final word and Albus frowned thoughtfully.
"You believe that a part of Tom's soul somehow attached itself to Harry,"
he mused aloud, his eyes widening at the realisation.
"Correct," Gellert confirmed. "It is the only explanation that would
account for the boys' ability. Although the Slytherin's did marry into the
Peverell, Harry's own family did not descend from that branch."
Albus looked at him in shock, and Gellert smirked.
"I researched the family thoroughly, and lo-and-behold, I found the
connection the Potters and the Peverells share."
"I should have known," Albus sighed, "but I believe the pressing matter is
that Tom's soul is somehow inhabiting Harry's body."
"Not his entire soul," Gellert pointed out. "It can only be a fragment,
fractured from the Dark Lord when he cast the killing curse at the boy."
"Even a fragment is too much," Albus balked. "How do we remove it?"
Gellert shook his head.
"It cannot be removed without the boy dying," he said gravely, "and nor
should it be attempted. The soul fragment represents a boon for the boy.
If it has manifested parseltongue within him, there is no telling what else
he could possibly acquire from it."
"But such a thing must be dangerous!"
"No," Gellert denied. "I believe the soul will merely become a part of his
own. Two souls cannot occupy one body, and a fragment, regardless of
how powerful it is, will never be able to overcome a complete soul."
"You are certain of this?"
"No, but magically speaking, it is an impossibility."
Albus seemed to relax somewhat, comforted by Gellert's deduction.
"I still believe he should be watched closely, just in case something was
to go amiss."
"He is being watched and cared for as best as possible," Gellert assured
him. "Think what you will of Cassiopeia, but she is doing a fine job
raising the boy. Your influence would only be a hindrance."
"A hindrance?" Albus retorted, seemingly offended.
Gellert nodded.
"The boy has enemies, Albus, those that will not hesitate to kill him for
what he inadvertently did."
"He will be safe at Hogwarts."
"No, he would become weak under your tutelage," Gellert countered.
"Your morals and influence would only get him killed. He must be
ruthless, Albus, willing to defend himself by any means necessary. He
will need to if he wishes to survive."
Albus visibly winced but schooled his features quickly.
"You would have him become a monster," he accused.
"I would have the boy live, Albus!" Gellert corrected hotly.
Albus deflated.
"You always were weak, Albus," Gellert continued. "You could not even
bring yourself to kill me when you knew it would be best for all. Instead,
you have locked me in a cell and show your face occasionally just so you
can claim to have the moral high ground. The boy would die because you
would wish for him to be like you. You have never truly had enemies, so
you do not understand the tenacity he will need to have."
Albus was taken aback by the passion with which Gellert spoke, though
he did not deny his thoughts.
"So, I should simply allow him to be raised by Cassiopeia?"
Gellert nodded.
"When the time is right, he will return to Britain, Albus, and he will do so
having been tutored by me."
"By you?" Albus asked worriedly.
"You may not agree with my worldly ambitions, but you cannot deny that
I am the best chance he has to survive whatever it is he will one day
face," Gellert returned. "If this Voldemort is still out there, Harry will
need to be ready to face him."
Albus eyed him for several moments before conceding with a nod.
"Perhaps you are right, old friend," he muttered. "You have given me
much to consider."
Albus turned to leave and Gellert felt a stab of pity for the man.
"I will not turn him into a monster, Albus, but I will give him the tools he
needs to live a long and fruitful life."
"Why?" Albus asked.
"Because despite what you and the rest of the world thinks of me, an
innocent child deserves a chance. Without the right guidance, he will not
have that."
Albus nodded his agreement.
"It is unlikely, though there are powerful magics at play here, Gellert,
more than you can comprehend. Harry will always have a chance, with
or without you."
"But an undeniably better one with me," Gellert pointed out.
"Undeniably," Albus agreed before turning away.
"Are you willing to give him the tools he will need?" Gellert questioned.
"He is a Peverell, after all. Their blood flows through his veins. The wand
should be his. Even with my help, the odds are not in his favour."
Albus nodded.
"They are not," he acknowledged, leaving without another word.
Gellert simply sunk into his chair.
Albus was perhaps the most frustrating person he had ever met, but
despite his often-aloof countenance, he was far from foolish, and Gellert
hoped he would not become so in the years to come.
(Break)
Cassie watched as Harry took in the Beauxbatons palace. The boy was
impressed to say the least, and in a state of awe, though no more shocked
than the enormous woman that had greeted them upon their arrival.
Madame Maxime had barely said a word since she had been introduced
to Harry, choosing to simply gawp at the boy in disbelief.
Harry had not noticed, his attention focused on the intricacy of the large
hall they had been shown into.
Cassie cleared her throat, pulling the headmistress from her thoughts.
"I'm sure my nephew would like to know what classes you offer, Madame
Maxime."
"Of course," the woman replied apologetically. "At Beauxbatons, we offer
an excellent, varying curriculum that will prepare you for any career you
may wish to pursue. We are specialists in enchanting and charms, but
you will find that all our instructors are highly regarded in their fields.
We have had many students go on to be successful politicians, duellists,
cursebreakers, and even professional Quidditch players. Whatever you
wish to do, we are equipped to assist you in achieving it," she finished
proudly.
Cassiopeia had never visited the school before, but she was impressed by
what she was seeing.
The palace was a magical marvel, not as large as Hogwarts, but certainly
more homely within the walls.
She was beginning to understand how the Beauxbatons academy had
cultivated its renowned reputation.
It had much to offer.
"What do you think, Harry?" Cassiopeia asked.
Harry nodded appreciatively.
"It's nice," he replied.
Madame Maxime smiled.
"It truly is a wonderful school," she said affectionately. "I attended myself
and being made headmistress is my proudest moment. The professors are
passionate, and our students are excellent learners. We strive to push
them to be the best they can, and they rise to the challenge most
admirably. We have standards and expectations here, Mr Potter, and
expect them to be met."
Harry offered the woman a respectful bow.
"I can see that," he returned.
Madame Maxime offered him a penetrating stare before nodding.
"You have ambition," she declared. "You have goals in mind, and you are
willing to work for them. You could very well fit in here, Mr Potter."
"Thank you," Harry murmured.
Cassie watched the back and forth between the two.
Maxime was sharp, and Harry's gaze was unwavering as he looked up at
the woman.
"What magic interests you most?" the woman asked curiously.
"I need to be strong," Harry answered simply, "stronger than my
enemies."
Cassie smiled sadly at the boy, and Maxime offered him a look of
sympathy.
What had happened on that fateful Halloween night had not remained a
secret, and it didn't take much pondering to deduce that Harry had
inadvertently made many powerful enemies.
"Those with enemies need friends," Madame Maxime murmured. "You
will make many loyal friends here."
Harry nodded but said little else as they were shown around the rest of
the palace.
The library was certainly impressive, as were the stables and other
habitats that had been created to house the school's various, magical
creatures, but Harry had become introverted, something he did when he
was thinking deeply.
"That completes the tour," Maxime announced as they returned to the
front of the palace. "Do you have any questions?"
"Harry?" Cassie prompted.
The boy shook his head and offered the larger woman a polite smile.
"I have seen everything I need to," he explained. "Thank you, Madame
Maxime."
The headmistress offered him a bow, and Cassie led Harry towards the
gates in the distance.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"It seems like it would be a good school," Harry answered thoughtfully.
"But?"
"But nothing," Harry returned with a shrug. "I won't make any decisions
until I have seen Durmstrang."
Cassie nodded approvingly.
"It will be quite different," she pointed out.
"Different might be just what I need," Harry replied quietly, a frown
marring his features.
(Break)
Igor watched through narrowed eyes as the woman and boy approached
the front gates, their heads bowed against the southerly, icy wind. Even
in August, it was cold here.
It was always cold here.
For the headmaster, it was a part of the charm of the school and made
him feel safer whilst behind his walls.
His enemies were plenty, but even the hardiest of them could not hope to
reach him at Durmstrang, even if they could find it.
Igor's gaze swept over the boy, reading his body language.
There was none of the arrogance he would have perhaps expected from
someone who had defeated a Dark Lord before he could wipe his own
nose, if anything, the Potter was reserved, and rather difficult to decipher
from sight alone.
"Welcome to Durmstrang," Igor greeted the duo as he they reached him.
"My name is Igor Karkaroff, I am the headmaster of this institute."
Evidently, Cassiopeia Black knew who he was.
For a moment, Igor thought the woman was going to draw her wand on
him, but he held up is hands to prevent her from doing so.
"I make no secret of what I once was," he said unashamedly, "but I left
that behind. I paid my penance, as you did, Miss Black."
Cassiopeia's nostrils flared.
"If I get even a whiff of treachery from you, Karkaroff, I will ensure you
die the most unpleasant of deaths."
Igor smiled.
"You have nothing to fear from me," he assured the woman.
He met her stony glare, and she nodded after a moment, seemingly
satisfied.
Throughout the conversation, the boy had looked at them both curiously,
and Igor released a deep breath as he rolled up his sleeve, exposing the
faded mark he had been branded with.
"I was once a follower of the man that you are credited with defeating,"
he admitted.
The Potter boys' eyes widened in surprise, and there was a part of Igor
that hoped he would decide to leave.
The other part of him was curious to see what had been so special about
Harry Potter that the Dark Lord had perished at his infant hands.
"Does that make you my enemy?" Potter asked.
Igor chuckled as he shook his head.
"I believe that if anything, your enemies and mine are one and the same,"
he replied.
"He means that when he was captured, he turned others in to ensure he
received a lighter sentence," Cassiopeia explained.
"I did," Igor answered the questioning look the boy gave him. "I was a
fool and did not want to pay for a foolish mistake for the rest of my life."
Potter nodded his understanding.
"You chose life," he murmured. "Others were not given that choice."
"I did," Igor acknowledged as he gestured for them to follow him inside.
Over the years, the headmaster had cursed the boy for what had
happened, but he had come to realise that the Dark Lord's downfall had
been a blessing for him.
In the beginning, the war had been going well for the Death Eaters.
They had struck fast, destroyed key enemies, and established themselves
as a true threat.
However, wizarding Britain had shown their grit, had brought the fight
to the Dark Lord's forces.
The war had been the result, neither side willing to concede defeat, and
once more, the Death Eaters had seized an advantage, and victory was all
but within their grasp.
Suddenly, it had come to an end, all because of the boy he had greeted
only moments ago.
Igor and many others had been quickly apprehended, and he had done
what was necessary to mitigate his circumstances.
In truth, he had no ill feelings towards the boy, not anymore at least.
Igor had moved on, had worked tirelessly at Durmstrang, and he now
found himself in a prestigious position.
Much more valuable than he would have ever been to his former master.
Even so, Igor was not certain he wished to have the boy at Durmstrang.
If any were to get wind of it, unwanted attention would shift towards the
school.
Not that the likes of Lucius or any other that avoided Azkaban would be
able to do anything with the information.
Within these walls, Igor held every advantage.
The dreary grey stone walls were around twenty feet thick, and imbued
with an enviable assortment of protective measures, many that would
make those who attempted to breach them wish they hadn't.
There were no weaknesses here.
Durmstrang was a fortress of ice and stone, an unyielding and
unforgiving structure.
"Well, at least it is warmer inside," Cassiopeia commented, rubbing her
hands together.
Igor nodded, a grin tugging at his lips.
"It is a hard climate that produces hard people," he replied. "Part of the
experience of our school is surviving the terrain here."
"What about the rest?" Potter asked curiously.
Igor smiled appreciatively at the question.
"We run a strict establishment based on respect which must be earned
throughout your years here. You will be expected to perform magically,
physically, and mentally to prove yourself. There is no such thing as an
easy day at Durmstrang, but you will only get out of your time here what
you are willing to put into it."
Potter hummed thoughtfully.
"What lessons do you offer?"
"A mix of studies," Igor answered cryptically. "We take a strong,
militaristic approach to our teaching. Here, we embrace all magics, and
those that show an aptitude can pursue them. However, not all magics
are available to all. We welcome any that possess magical ability,
regardless of their origins. We accommodate magic in all forms here, Mr
Potter, and Durmstrang is not for the faint-hearted. As you can
understand, we are protective of our secrets. To learn them, you must
choose to study here. Now, allow me to show you around."
Igor did so, showing them the various study rooms used by the
professors, the main hall where the students ate, and even the
dormitories where they slept.
The school grounds were mostly barren, and no amount of magic could
change that.
The quidditch pitch was thickly coated with ice, as were the stand hewn
from stone.
To most, much of what was on show at the school would be lacklustre,
but those who lived here cared little of aesthetics.
Durmstrang was functional, minimal in many ways, but it produced
durable, well-educated students.
So long as they were willing to work hard for their achievements.
As the tour came to an end, the boy took a final long look around the
entrance hall and nodded to himself.
"Thank you, Headmaster Karkaroff," he offered sincerely. "You have given
me much to think about."
Igor nodded and watched as the boy and Cassiopeia Black left to brave
the wilderness once more.
Harry Potter had not been what he had envisioned.
He was quiet, observant, and rather measured for someone his age.
Still, Igor did not believe he would see him again.
Boys of such a privilege as Harry Potter did not thrive in such adverse
conditions.
The landscape and weather notwithstanding, Durmstrang required a
toughness, and though the boy had somehow been the downfall of the
Dark Lord, luck was not a factor here.
It took toughness, perseverance and durability to survive this part of the
wizarding world, and Igor and had not seen enough grit from Harry
Potter to give him much faith he could make it.
(Break)
Harry did not have much of an appetite after returning home and had
picked at his lunch as he pondered the two very different schools he had
visited whilst Cassie watched him, waiting for him to speak.
Beauxbatons had been wonderful; the climate, the palace, the grounds,
and even all the creatures the school kept on hand for the students to
enjoy.
Harry would have liked to experience his formative years there, but he
had been right in his observation that he needed something different.
Durmstrang was almost the opposite of the prestigious, French
institution.
It was unbearably cold, and Karkaroff had made it abundantly clear that
his time there would be difficult, and that despite the man seemingly
holding no grudge against him, that he would not be welcomed with
open arms.
"How did Karkaroff serve Voldemort?" he asked.
Cassiopeia shook her head.
"I don't know," she answered. "No one truly knows the role that each
Death Eater played, but he was one of them, Harry. A dangerous, violent
man who likely did unspeakable things to many."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"Durmstrang," he said firmly. "That's where I need to go."
Cassie seemed concerned by his choice. Her jaw noticeably tightening.
"You're sure?"
"I am. I need to be as strong as I can be, and Durmstrang is the best place
for that," he explained. "France would be nice, Aunt Cass, and I'd love to
go there, but it isn't right for me, not with what I have to do."
"With what you have to do?" Cassie questioned curiously.
Harry nodded.
"I need to be ready for them, and for him."
"He's dead, Harry," the woman assured him, and Harry deflated at her
words.
"No, he isn't," he denied. "He's out there somewhere, I can feel him up
here," he explained pointing to his scar.
For as long as he could remember, Harry could feel something within
him, someone else within him.
Occasionally, he would see would things that he shouldn't know about,
see the world through the eyes of another before he would be transported
back to himself with a pounding headache to remember it by.
Those had become less frequent since he had learned occlumency, but he
still saw things, knew things that no mere boy should.
Cassiopeia was looking at him worriedly now, and Harry offered her a
reassuring smile.
"It doesn't matter," he comforted. "If anything, I'm glad he's still out there
because it means I get to destroy him properly for what he did to my
parents, make him really suffer for it. That's what we do to our enemies,
isn't it?"
Cassiopeia nodded, her gaze shifting to his own.
"It is," she agreed quietly.
Harry nodded gratefully as he stood and rounded the table where his
aunt was seated.
"Thank you," he said sincerely, offering her a rare show of affection by
wrapping his arms around her, "for teaching me."
"We have a year together yet and your lessons with me are only just
beginning," the woman replied. "Every summer and every Christmas, you
will be here with me, and I will be sending additional things for you to
work on whilst you are at school. When the time comes for you to return
home, it will not matter who your enemies are, Harry."
"No, it will not," Harry vowed.
4. Half-bloods and Half-breeds
Half-bloods and Half-breeds
A/N
Another Chapter for you guys.
Enjoy,
TBR
August 1991
It was difficult to believe that a year had passed since Harry had made
his decision to attend Durmstrang, and from that moment, it seemed that
a fire had been ignited within the boy.
He had always been a little too courageous for Cassiopeia's liking,
attempting ridiculous stunts on his broom, and unafraid at attempting
whatever trials and tribulations were placed in front of him.
It was an admirable quality to possess, but the woman wished he would
allow himself to simply be a child.
It wasn't to be, however.
Only the day after they had returned from meeting with Madame Maxime
and Igor Karkaroff, Harry had requested that he be taken to Godric's
Hollow, his reasoning being so that he could confront what had
happened and ready himself for the path that lay in front of him.
Reluctantly, Cassiopeia had done so, and though she knew that he hadn't
gotten the closure he was hoping for, he had at least begun to grieve
properly for the parents that had been taken from him.
It was the first time she had seen him truly cry over their loss, but his
tears had dried quickly, replaced with the fire of determination she saw
whenever she now looked upon him.
Harry had come away from the house a changed boy, and nothing other
than a torn photo of himself and his parents within a broken frame.
He had not even allowed Cassie to repair it, choosing to leave it in its
state as a reminder of what had happened.
Ever since, Harry had spent his time reading, flying, and preparing
himself for when he would be able to leave for school to begin what he
had aptly named 'his pursuit of justice'.
He had not disclosed what he meant by the term, but Harry was making
plans, and Cassiopeia could only wonder just what they would entail.
"Did you receive a reply from Pansy yet?" she asked.
The girl had been a frequent visitor with her father over the years, and
she and Harry had struck up quite the close friendship in the process.
They wrote to each other often, and Pansy sometimes came to stay with
them for a few days.
It was a reprieve for Harry, who seemed to relax from his workload when
she was here, and Cassie didn't mind.
She was pleased that Harry simply had a friend that helped him escape
his often-maudlin thoughts.
"I did," Harry sighed. "She's disappointed that I chose to go to
Durmstrang, but she understands."
Cassiopeia nodded.
"And has Julius forgiven you for what you did to him last time he was
here?"
Harry shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips.
"I didn't ask, but I expect they only lasted a few days."
Cassiopeia pursed her lips.
Much to the Harry and Pansy's amusement, Harry had managed to slip
the Lord Parkinson a rather odd tonic in his body that had caused him to
grow quite the impressive pair of breasts.
Unfortunately, Harry had not thought to either purchase or brew the
antidote, and Julius had left in quite the huff.
Still, there was no harm truly done, and it was quite the amusing sight.
Not that she hadn't punished Harry for the transgression.
The boy had spent a week with his library privileges revoked but had
merely spent the time on his broom and completing Quidditch exercises
he had read in a magazine.
If anything, the punishment had only given him something else to focus
on, and he had maintained his new routine and incorporated into his
schedule.
'A healthy mind and body make for strong and healthy magic.'
Cassiopeia couldn't be certain of the veracity of that statement, but it
seemed that Harry had indeed taken on board everything Igor Karkaroff
had said he would need to endure at Durmstrang.
Still, a part of her wished he would reconsider his decision.
The school would indeed prepare him for what he would face when he
chose to return to Britain but having him so close to a former Death Eater
was not something Cassie would ever be comfortable with.
"Have you packed your trunk?"
Harry nodded.
"I have everything in there I will need," he assured her. "You're more
worried about this than me. Will you miss me that much?" he asked
cheekily.
"I'll miss cuffing the back of your head for your cheek," Cassie huffed.
The boy grinned at her impetuously and she narrowed her eyes at him.
"I'll be glad for the peace."
"No, you won't," Harry returned evenly. "You'll be writing to me all the
time."
"Is that so?"
"Yes," Harry sighed as he drew his wand and muttered an incantation.
From the tip, he produced a single, black rose and handed it to her before
kissing her on the cheek.
"Thank you for everything, Aunt Cass," he murmured. "For taking me in
when you didn't have to."
Cassiopeia smiled.
Despite his rather serious attitude towards his studies, and the bouts of
mischief, there were moments like this when she was reminded that
Harry was, deep down, a very sweet and caring boy, and it gave her hope
that he would maintain some of that.
In many ways, he reminded the woman of her younger sister.
Dorea was the quietest of the siblings but had the most beautiful of souls
to match her appearance.
No wonder Charlus Potter had fallen in love with her so easily.
"You do realise you shouldn't be attempting magic," Cassie pointed out.
"Not even to do something nice for you?"
Cassiopeia shook her head amusedly as she eyed the wand the boy had
acquired.
'Petrified elm with the fang of a horned serpent, the key to the underworld,
and the bringer of the rain and storms.'
That was the description that Gregorovitch had given as he looked upon
Harry with the most curious of expressions.
'I believe we can expect quite extraordinary things from you, Mr Potter.'
Those had been his parting words, and he had not even accepted
payment for crafting the wand for Harry.
It had been a rather odd experience, and though Ollivander himself was
an eccentric character, he never forgot to collect his fee.
What Gregorovitch had meant by his statement, Cassiopeia knew not, but
once more, she found herself equally anticipating and fearing what the
future would hold for her great-nephew.
(Break)
Although he had been expecting it, Albus could not prevent the pang of
disappointment he felt as he looked upon the missive he had received
from Harry Potter stating that he would not be accepting his offered
place at Hogwarts.
A part of the headmaster knew that Gellert was right, that if Harry was to
survive his impending collision with Voldemort, the boy would need to
be ready.
'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those
who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark
Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows
not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the
other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born
as the seventh month dies...'
The words spoken to him so long ago now had sealed the fate of James
and Lily Potter, and Harry even more so.
Now, the shaping of the boy was out of Albus's hands, and though Gellert
was right that Harry needed to be suitably prepared, it did not sit well
with the headmaster that he would have no part in that.
"What is it, Albus?" Minerva asked, noticing his rather downtrodden
demeanour.
Albus said nothing as he slid the letter to the woman.
"Harry Potter will not be attending Hogwarts?" she gasped. "This is the
work of the muggles. I told you the boy should not have been left with
them!"
Albus held up a hand to placate the woman whilst the other members of
staff looked on concernedly.
"It has nothing to do with Vernon and Petunia Dursley," he sighed. "Harry
was not left in their care for more than a few weeks."
"Then who has the boy?" Severus asked, a displeased frown marring his
features.
Albus offered the man an apologetic smile.
He had done all he could to keep Lily Potter safe, but he had failed.
"Harry was taken into the care of his legal guardian not long after he was
placed with the Dursleys and done so with reluctance on mine and
Millicent's part," he explained. "Her reasons were ironclad, and had we
not surrendered Harry to her willingly, it would have created quite the
public debacle that would have seen him in even more danger."
"Who?" Severus asked confusedly. "The boy had no living relatives other
than Petunia."
Albus released a deep sigh as he met the curious gazes of the professors.
"Cassiopeia Black."
Severus's eyes widened comically, and Minerva was simply aghast at the
very thought.
"Cassiopeia Black?" she whispered furiously. "You allowed him to be
raised by that woman?"
"Reluctantly," Albus reiterated. "Legally speaking, after Sirius was
imprisoned, she is his recognised guardian."
"Good grief, what an upbringing he must have had," Filius squeaked
worriedly. "We have all heard of her, know what she did during
Grindelwald's uprising."
The other members of staff nodded their agreement, but none
commented.
"Then why has he declined his place here?" Severus asked.
It was almost as though the man was disappointed Harry would not be
coming, though Albus suspected he would not be pleased if he had.
Where Severus concerned, there was no scenario here that he would have
been truly happy with.
"Harry has opted to attend Durmstrang," Minerva announced, reading
that art of the letter aloud. "He thanks Professor Dumbledore for
honouring the wish of his parents for him to have a place here, but he
will not be accepting it."
"Durmstrang?" Severus scoffed. "Isn't Karkaroff the headmaster there?"
Albus nodded.
"He is," he confirmed.
"The man was a Death Eater!" Severus snapped angrily. "The boy will be
murdered within a year!"
Albus shook his head.
"No, Igor is not so foolish to do something like that, not when his safety
is all but assured whilst he remains within the school," he said
thoughtfully. "He may not take kindly to Harry's presence, but if there
was ever a resurgence of the Dark Lord's followers, he, like most others,
will look to the boy who brought about his downfall."
Severus's nostrils flared in disbelief.
"Are we to just simply allow this?" Minerva asked quietly.
"We have no say on the matter," Albus pointed out. "Harry has chosen to
seek his education elsewhere and has seemingly done so willingly. I
respect his decision, even if it brings me no pleasure."
Severus and Minerva seemed to be the most displeased by the news, and
Filius even a little upset.
He had been very close to Lily during her years here and Albus suspected
he had been looking forward to teaching Harry.
It was only mere moments later that Albus dismissed his staff before
taking a seat behind his desk, stroking Fawkes' plumage as he pondered
the situation.
'Are you willing to give him the tools he will need?...He is a Peverell, after all.
Their blood flows through his veins. The wand should be his. Even with my
help, the odds are not in his favour.'
Albus removed the elder wand from his sleeve and looked upon it.
He had been carrying it since he had defeated Gellert so many decades
prior and had held onto it for reasons he himself could not be certain of.
He no longer craved the power of the Hallows, not the tow he currently
had in his possession at least.
He sighed as he removed the cloak he had borrowed from James Potter
from one of the drawers in his desk.
Albus had suspected the Potters were the keepers of the cloak, but it
seemed that Charlus had not explained to James just how spectacular or
unique the one he'd inherited was.
James had been only to pleased to hand it to Albus when asked, and any
man who knew what it was he possessed would have guarded it with his
life.
Still, this wasn't Albus's to keep, and with a wave of the wand, the cloak
was wrapped neatly before the headmaster penned a missive.
"Would you take this to Harry when you can, Fawkes?" he requested.
With a trill, the phoenix took the package in his beak and vanished in a
column of fire.
When he was alone, Albus turned his attention back to the wand.
If Gellert had his way, the wand would have been sent also, but Albus
was not ready to part with it yet, not until he knew the kind of man
Harry was growing into.
Hi former friend may have convinced himself that the soul fragment
within the boy would not have a detrimental effect on Harry, but Albus
was taking no chances.
The last thing he needed in his advanced years was another Tom Riddle
at large and armed with such a powerful artefact.
No, he would hold onto it for now, and reserve his judgement of Harry's
character when he met him himself. Something he hoped would be
sooner rather than later.
(Break)
Students are to arrive on the north-eastern coast of Teriberka by 8am on
September 1st, in full formal attire where you will be transported to the
institute...
The welcoming letter had been rather vague in nature, and Harry
deduced that it had to do with how secretive Durmstrang as a school was
in general. He'd received only a list of books and equipment he would
need for his first year of education, along with another explaining what
animal companions were and were not acceptable.
Harry had opted to not bring one. He simply didn't want the
responsibility of a pet.
For the time being, Cassiopeia had urged him to keep his parseltongue
ability to himself, unless absolutely necessary.
It wasn't that he would be scorned for it in this part of the world, but it
could prove to be a useful skill for him to implement that others would
not be aware of.
"Do I really have to wear this?" Harry groaned as he took in his
appearance in the mirror.
"Yes," Cassie answered simply.
The woman was too amused for Harry's liking.
It wasn't that the formal attire was awful in any way, but the stark
redness of the military-style jacket clashed horribly with his bright green
eyes.
"Is it time to leave?"
Cassiopeia checked the clock on the wall of Harry's bedroom and nodded.
"I do wish you would have gotten an owl," she sighed. "I would like you
to write to me."
"The school will have owls that I can use," Harry pointed out. "I will write
to you, every day if it makes you feel better."
"Not every day," Cassiopeia snorted. "I'm only just getting rid of you."
"Have I been so bad?" Harry asked, clutching his chest dramatically.
"You've made my life interesting, to say the least."
"I love you too, Cassie," Harry replied.
Despite her best effort not to, the woman smiled warmly before pulling
him into a tight embrace.
"Remember who you are, Harry," she whispered, "and remember what
you will one day be. In the coming years, you will be the head of two of
the most prominent families in Britain, and that means something, even
in the cold wastelands of where you're going."
"I know," Harry murmured. "I won't let you down, Aunt Cassie."
"I know you won't," the woman sighed. "Come on, we'd best leave. I don't
think it would do you any good to be late."
Harry nodded as he fetched his trunk and looked around the room he'd
spent the best part of almost ten years in.
He would miss home, and the woman that had taken him in, but he
needed to do this; needed to be somewhere that would challenge him
every day he was there.
"Let's go then."
Without another word, Cassiopeia offered the other end of the letter she
held, and when Harry took it in his grasp, she activated the portkey.
The first thing that Harry noticed when he arrived was the sudden drop
in temperature.
It was freezing here, unbearably so. And were it not for the thick uniform
he had been instructed to wear imbued with warming charms, he was
certain he would have turned to ice the second he appeared.
Cassie immediately drew her wand and cast several charms on herself,
her teeth still chattering, nonetheless.
"You must be insane for wanting to go to Durmstrang," she commented as
she shivered. "France was so nice."
"It was too nice," Harry commented, looking around at the other gathered
students that had arrived.
All were around his age, the boys dressed identically to himself, and the
girls sporting thick, woollen dresses in the same colour, with many
adding their own layers to stave off the chill.
Already, some seemed to be familiar with each other, and had gathered
in groups where they chatted away, whereas others were keeping their
distance, their expressions guarded.
Harry was among the latter.
The only friend he'd ever had was Pansy, and if truth be told, he never
felt that he'd missed out on companionship, but as he looked upon those
smiling and mixing with others, he thought that perhaps he might like a
friend or two whilst he was at school.
However, he then saw how some of the groups were undeniably talking
about those that were standing alone, some without their parents with
them.
It angered him to see the others being mocked so openly, and he decided
he didn't want to be a part of that.
No, perhaps he would be better served avoiding those peers.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the sudden sound of splashing water
and turned to see a ship breaking the surface of the sea only a short
distance away.
The ship was emerging from the water, and he could only stare at the
feat in awe.
When it was fully in the open, Harry was very much reminded of a pirate
ship he had seen in a book, and he turned to Cassiopeia who was
smirking at him.
"It's impressive, isn't it?" she asked.
Harry could only nod in response.
He had expected that they would be met by one of the professors with a
portkey but had not even considered something like this.
"You'd best get on," Cassie said sadly, "or it will leave without you."
Harry pulled the woman into a final hug before kissing her on the cheek
and taking hold of his trunk.
"I will wite as soon as I can," he promised.
Cassie nodded and shooed him away, and Harry was unsure if the tears
that stained her cheeks was from the icy chill of the wind, or she was
genuinely upset to see him leaving.
He liked to think it was the latter, and as he boarded the ship, he gave
the woman a final wave, doing his best to ignore the overwhelming
sadness that washed over him.
He knew he would miss the woman dearly, but it wasn't until he was
leaving her that he truly realised how much.
"I will take your trunk," a gruff voice broke into his thoughts.
"Thank you," Harry replied to the burly, older teen.
The boy nodded stiffly.
"Make your way into the hold, there are compartments down there. It
will take around eight hours to reach Durmstrang."
Harry did as he was bid, and as one of the first people to descend into the
depths of the ship, he quickly found an empty compartment, and settled
in for the journey, enjoying the gentle swaying of the waves on the
outside.
"Sorry, would you mind if I joined you?" a voice sounded from the door
around fifteen minutes after he had arrived. "The others have more
people in, and some of them won't welcome me."
Harry frowned as he took in the girl's appearance.
She seemed to be normal enough at first glance, but there was
undoubtedly something different about her. He couldn't quite work out
what it was, and before he could ponder it further, the girl began to
retreat from the room with an irritable huff.
"You don't have to leave," Harry called. "Please, take a seat."
The girl remained cautious as she did so, her posture stiff, and she didn't
meet his gaze.
It was then that he realised just how different she was seeing her up
close.
Her features were sharper than any other person he had met, and though
that had been few, it was clear that this girl was not entirely human.
Her skin was pale, and her eyes a golden colour, wider and longer than
what most would consider the norm, but proportionately so.
Her mahogany hair was well-kept, but it had a texture to it that
suggested she spent much of her time outdoors, and by the sea.
"It's not very polite to stare," she muttered, her eyes still not meeting his
own.
"Sorry," Harry replied sheepishly. "Why wouldn't some of the others
welcome you?"
The girl looked at him in confusion, as though she was trying to ascertain
if the question was genuine.
"You really don't know, do you?"
Harry shook his head, and the girl rolled her eyes at him in a mixture of
frustration and amusement.
"I'm what some of them would call a half-breed," she revealed. "My father
is a wizard, and my mother is a forest elf. It turns out that I can use both
types of magic," she finished with a shrug.
She briefly moved her hair to show her prominently pointed ears before
covering it once more.
"Why are you sitting alone?" she asked curiously. "Are you a half-breed?"
"I'm a half-blood," Harry replied.
"So, a wizard then," the girl snorted.
Harry nodded.
"It matters where I'm from," he explained. "There are some purebloods
that will hate me because my mother came from a muggle family, even if
she was a witch."
"It's like that everywhere," the girl sighed. "That's why we have the black
band on our left arm instead of our right. It's so the purebloods can
identify us as different to them."
Harry frowned as he looked at the black strip of fabric around his arms.
"So, they can discriminate against us?"
The girl nodded.
"My father told me that we will be separated when we eat, in the dorm
rooms, and even in the classroom," she explained. "He said it is best to
avoid the purebloods and not to speak to them unless they speak to us
first."
"That's stupid," Harry muttered.
"It is, but they won't take kindly if you approach them," the girl pointed
out. "They see themselves as above the rest because they have a pure,
human, magical lineage dating back for hundreds of years."
Harry snorted at the thought.
The purebloods here sounded like those Cassie had described to him.
It mattered not to Harry.
He already knew he would have to prove himself when he returned
home, so doing so here was nothing he hadn't expected to deal within the
future.
"You said your mother was a muggleborn. Does that mean your father is
a pureblood?"
"He was, but I don't know him, or my mother."
"Why not?"
"She's dead. Both of my parents are."
The girl balked and began stuttering a hurried apology that Harry waved
off.
"It's okay," he assured her. "I was just a baby."
The girl offered him a sympathetic smile.
"My name is Ana by the way, short for Inanna, but only my father calls
me that."
"I'm Harry, just Harry as far as I know."
"Well, just Harry, thank you for not being like the others," Ana said
gratefully.
"Are most of them like that?"
The girl shrugged.
"You get used to it," she sighed. "Humans fear what they don't
understand, even magical ones."
Harry nodded his agreement.
"Why do they fear you?"
Ana raised an eyebrow at him.
"They don't, not really," she replied thoughtfully. "Elves stay away from
others and can be fiercely protective of their lands. I think our reputation
comes from the old tales of the elf/wizarding wars, and that my ancestors
killed a lot of goblin tribes. I suppose we're not very welcoming, but with
good reason. Wizards have tried to take our lands for thousands of years."
"So, you consider yourself an elf?"
Ana nodded.
"I was raised with them, and they accept me for what I am. The same
can't be said for any witch or wizard I have ever met. My father's family
disowned him when they found out about me."
"That's just stupid," Harry muttered. "They're your family."
Ana shrugged.
"They don't see me that way, so the other elves are my family and my
people."
"But they can't teach you human magic?"
"My father could, but he thinks going to school will be good for me, and
believe it or not, Durmstrang is the most tolerant of them. I didn't want
to come, but my father thinks I will thank him for it."
"Maybe you will," Harry pointed out. "You wouldn't have met me if you
hadn't come."
The girl giggled as she shook her head.
"That is true," she conceded. "Is there anything else interesting about you
other than being a half-blood?" Ana questioned as she leaned back in her
chair, her posture much more relaxed than it had been when she entered
the compartment.
'If only you knew,' Harry thought to himself.
Before he could answer, however, the two were intruded upon by a
sudden burst of flames.
Instinctively, Harry drew his wand and pointed it towards the
magnificent bird that had appeared, and Ana simply stared at the
creature in awe.
"You have a phoenix?" she whispered.
Harry shook his head.
"It's not mine," he replied, neither his eyes nor his wand leaving the bird.
It trilled, and Harry felt a sense of calmness wash over him.
"He doesn't mean us harm," he assured the girl as he lowered his wand
and allowed the phoenix to deposit the package it carried on the floor in
front of him.
It then turned its attention to the wand he carried and nudged it with its
beak, trilling again, though this time, the tune was mournful.
After meeting Harry's gaze with its own, it took to the air and
disappeared in another burst of flame.
It was Ana that pulled Harry from his thoughts a moment later.
"It's addressed to you," she explained, pointing to the parcel.
Retrieving it, Harry took his seat once more and removed the
accompanying note.
Your father left this in my possession when he died. It is time that it was
returned to you. Use it well.
With a frown, Harry unwrapped the paper, and caught the silvery cloak
within before it spilled to the ground.
"What is it?" he asked.
"An invisibility cloak!" Ana gasped. "Who would send you that?"
Harry shrugged.
"I don't know, but the note says it was my father's."
"That doesn't make sense," Ana mused aloud. "If your father died when
you were a baby, the magic should have faded."
"It might not work anymore then," Harry sighed as he stood and wrapped
the cloak around his shoulders.
"It works," Ana declared. "That's some cloak if it works after all this time."
Harry nodded.
His body was tingling within the artefact, and though he couldn't discern
exactly what was causing it, he knew it was whatever magic had been
used to create it.
It felt heavy, but not uncomfortably so, and almost as if the cloak itself
was welcoming him.
"I'd keep that to yourself if I were you," Ana advised. "Someone might try
to take it."
"You already know about it," Harry pointed out.
"True, but friends keep each other's secrets, don't they?"
Her tone was almost hopeful, and though Harry had decided that he may
be best suited to staying away from the others, he found that he was
enjoying Ana's company.
Besides, if the purebloods were going to potentially be a problem whilst
he was at Durmstrang, it was best if those that wore the black band on
their left arm stuck together.
They would undoubtedly be outnumbered, after all.
Cassie had explained that many of the students here would be
purebloods, and it would be good practice for him to learn how to deal
with them now rather than inexperiencedly in the future.
He offered Ana a smile and nodded, realising that he was yet to answer
her.
"They do," he agreed warmly, his thoughts drifting to what kind of
mischief he could get up to with the unexpected gift he had received.
(Break)
She had watched until the ship had returned to the depths, and even
remained for several minutes after until the cold chill of the wind bit into
her cheeks. Already, she missed the boy, something she would not have
thought possible a little less than a decade ago when she had first
brought him home.
Cassie felt lost without Harry, and there was only one place she could
even think of going.
Not that it would make her feel any better, but it would at least serve as
a distraction.
With a sigh, she activated her portkey and arrived outside of the prison
that Gellert had constructed himself, the very same place he now
ironically found himself exiled to.
With her thoughts still on the departed Harry, she made her way inside,
her feet carrying to Gellert's cell where he eyed her curiously and waited
for Cassie to speak.
"He's gone," she whispered, feeling much more emotional than she had let
on.
"His journey has truly begun," Gellert corrected. "You knew this day
would come, and you know the man he must be. His enemies are plenty,
and he will have to be able to destroy them."
"But he's just a boy, Gellert."
"For now," the man agreed, "but not for much longer. They will come for
him, Cass, and he must be prepared for that."
"Will they?"
Gellert nodded darkly.
"Harry represents the single blemish on Voldemort, and when he returns,
Harry is the loose end he will wish to tie up first."
"When he returns?"
"Neither Albus nor I believe he is truly dead," Gellert sighed. "He is in no
state to exact his revenge for the time being, but that will undoubtedly
change one day. It may not be until long after Harry himself has died
from old age, but we cannot place faith in wishful thinking. We must
ensure Harry is ready for when that time comes."
Cassie swallowed deeply as she nodded.
"Where shall we start?"
Gellert smiled as he handed her a roll of parchment.
"These are all the secrets of Durmstrang that I discovered whilst I was
there, and they will be most useful for the boy. See that he gets them,
and I believe with the character he has demonstrated, he will begin the
necessary work himself."
"Will this get him into trouble?"
Gellert chuckled as he shook his head.
"Not unless someone else discovers those secrets, something that is
frankly unlikely. I believe I hid them well enough."
Cassiopeia accepted the roll of parchment and eyed her former mentor
questioningly.
No, Gellert would not wish for Harry to be expelled from Durmstrang.
Not when he had been so pleased the boy had chosen to attend.
"I will send it tomorrow," she assured him.
"Good," Gellert declared happily. "Now, how are you really feeling, my
dear? I know you too well for you to hide from me, Cassiopeia Black."
Cassie offered the man a sad smile.
He did indeed know her too well, and she wouldn't insult his intelligence
by lying.
Right now, she felt terrible, and wanted nothing more than to drag Harry
home and keep him there away from all the monsters he would have to
confront.
(Break)
Ana had fallen asleep a few hours into the journey, and Harry had busied
himself by practicing some of the magic Cassiopeia had been teaching
him over the past year.
Although he had only gotten his wand recently, the woman had been
drilling him on the basics of the Black family magic, and from what Ana
had told him, some of the spells may come in handy sooner rather than
later.
The curses seemed to be working well for him and coupled with the other
things he had been teaching himself since he'd been able to read, he felt
that he would be able to assert himself when it became necessary to do
so.
Not that he was relishing the thought of doing so, but he had grown up
expecting he would need to.
He was pulled from his thoughts by a knock at the door, and the same
older student who had greeted him on the gangway peered around the
door.
"We will be arriving shortly," he announced, disappearing before Harry
could even respond.
With a sigh, he gently nudged the sleeping girl awake.
"We will be there soon," he explained.
Ana yawned and nodded before straightening her dress.
"How long was I out?" she asked.
"About four hours."
"I didn't sleep much last night," she defended, narrowing her eyes at
Harry's amused expression.
"You were nervous?"
"I still am," Ana admitted.
Harry offered her a comforting smile.
"I won't let anything happen to you."
The girl raised an eyebrow at him.
"And what makes you think that I can't defend myself?"
"I never said you couldn't," Harry pointed out, "but I've got your back, if
you need me."
Ana looked at him oddly for a moment before nodding.
"You know, if you don't associate with me and the others, you'd probably
be left alone. You're human at least."
Harry shook his head.
"What kind of friend would I be if I did that?" he returned. "Besides, if
they want to separate us, why would I try to be around people that
wouldn't accept me?"
Ana smiled at him.
"Then that already makes you a better person than them."
Harry said nothing.
On the surface, he may appear to be the better person to Ana, but she
didn't know him.
More often than not, he found himself lost in thoughts of vengeance, of
what he would do to those that were responsible for the death of his
parents.
That was what motivated him to work as hard as he did, to persevere
when things became difficult.
Of course, he wanted to make his parents proud, so he would always give
everything he did his all, but it was his need to avenge them that made
Harry push his limits.
There was a darkness within him that he kept at bay, like an itch that
would eventually need to be scratched before it consumed him fully.
They spoke only a little more before they were called to disembark the
ship, and when they did so, Harry was greeted once more to the sight of
the stone fortress that was Durmstrang, though this time, it was in the
dark.
It was indeed a foreboding structure; cold, and seemingly unwelcoming.
However, when he crossed the threshold, it was to find that the fires had
been lit, and the school itself was not as cold as it had been during his
previous visit.
Now, it was almost as though the school was alive, the flurry of activity
of the students returning having breathed it into consciousness.
"This way, this way!" a gruff voice commanded.
The main hall where they would seemingly be having meals was filling
up when they were ushered inside.
"Your seat will be marked with your name," the same man explained. "If
your band is on your left, you'll be on the left side of the hall. Find your
seat and take it. Headmaster Karkaroff will wish to speak before we eat."
Harry nodded and followed the rest of those with the band attached to
the left arm of the uniform, and he managed to find his seat around
halfway down the one table that was reserved for them.
There were five others, all occupied or being filled by those wearing the
band on their right arms.
Harry found himself seated between a boy and a girl, the former unable
to hide the nervousness that was overwhelming him.
The girl was almost stoic, her eerily pale skin and contrasting black hair
the least curious thing about her.
No, it was her eyes that Harry was drawn to.
They were red, and when she noticed him staring, she smirked, and he
got a glimpse of two elongated teeth protruding from her lower lip.
The girl was a vampire of sorts.
Ana had been seated further up the table and she shot Harry a knowing
look.
Harry did not have time to ponder it for long, however as Igor Karkaroff
stood and held his arms wide to call for silence.
The students complied immediately, and his gaze swept across the
breadth of the room.
"Welcome," he loudly enough for his voice to carry to all. "Tonight, we
will feast to celebrate a new year here at Durmstrang, and tomorrow, our
work begins. For our first years, you will have a day of orientation, so I
urge you to eat and drink your fill, and to get as much sleep as you can."
The man clapped his hands together, and the empty plates and goblets on
the tables filled with an array of food and drink.
There were many dishes that Harry didn't recognise, and he sampled
several, enjoying the experience of the various cuisines on offer.
"I don't think you should eat that," the nervous boy next to him spoke as
Harry helped himself to a red soup he didn't recognise.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because that is for me," the vampire broke in, grinning as she nodded
towards the bowl of red substance Harry held. "It is blood. Not very fresh,
but still blood."
She proceeded to take the bowl from him and slurp from it loudly, baring
her stained teeth in a satisfied manner.
"It's all yours," Harry replied, vowing to choose his next dish more
carefully. "Are any of these yours?" he asked the boy who shook his head.
"I eat normal food," he answered.
"Until you get the hunger for flesh when you change," the vampire
interrupted once more. "You're a werewolf. I can smell it on you."
"What if I am?" the boy retorted hotly.
"Bloody hell, you're sitting at the same table, that should be enough
reason for you to not fall out," Harry huffed.
The werewolf boy deflated, nodding his agreement.
The girl merely licked the blood from her teeth before dipping her finger
in the bowl and helping herself to more.
Looking up and down the length of the table, Harry estimated there was
around four hundred students that had been placed here, most likely only
half-bloods like himself, but there were certainly some interesting-
looking others on display.
He would get to know them throughout his time here, but if the glares
being sent their way by the other occupied tables was anything to go by,
his schooling would not go as smoothly as he liked it.
Still, Harry was here to learn what he would need, and he would not
allow any to stand in his way, regardless of what blood flowed through
their veins.
5. My Journey Begins
My Journey Begins
A/N
And so we continue…
Enjoy,
TBR
My Journey Begins
Harry had always been an early riser, the dreams or visions, he couldn't
be certain what they were, not allowing him to slumber peacefully for
the most part. This morning, however, he had been woken by the sound
of snoring from one of his dorm-mates, the werewolf he had met the
night before.
Cain Jankowski had come to Durmstrang from Poland, and along with
three others, had been placed in a room with Harry.
He was a cautious boy, his eyes constantly shifting back and forth, as
though he expected to be attacked at any moment.
His hair had already begun to grey, and several deep scars littered his
hands, face, and neck, the remnants of the many transformations he had
already endured.
From what Harry could gather, the boy had been turned as a baby,
though when one of the other boys had asked, it had been clear he did
not wish to discuss it.
They were still strangers, after all, so Harry could understand his
reluctance.
Two of the three other boys in the room were half-bloods, one hailing
from Russia; a bastard son of a nobleman he refused to name through
fear of being murdered by the family.
Alex claimed that his father acknowledged him in secret, and that he and
his mother was well-cared for, just not openly to avoid scandal and the
inevitable fallout.
Not that any of that mattered to Harry.
Alex seemed friendly enough, and his personal life was the business of no
one else.
Bruno Werner, the other half-blood, had joined them from Germany.
Harry hadn't spoken to him much, but he was rather quiet, and seemed to
observe more than join in conversations, choosing to do so only when he
had something pertinent to say.
He was rather guarded, particularly towards the last person in their
group.
Jonas Schneider was from Austria, was rather brash, and claimed that his
mother was a hag.
Harry was unsure of the veracity of the claim, but it didn't seem that it
was something to be boastful of, especially with how prejudiced
Durmstrang seemed to be.
Outwardly, the school claimed to be accepting of all, but there were no
muggleborns here, and those that were not purebloods were certainly
treated differently.
Harry suspected he and the others were only allowed to attend because
the school needed the funding from tuition fees.
Not that Karkaroff was likely to admit it.
Still, he was here now, and he was determined to make the most of his
time by working towards his own goals. Something the headmaster had
assured him he would be able to do.
With Cain still snoring, the prospect of getting any more sleep was lost,
so Harry decided that he would use the time before breakfast to do
something productive.
Taking his leave of the dorm, he entered the common room to find that it
wasn't as empty as he had hoped.
The vampire he had met briefly the night before was in there, her pale
skin illuminated by the roaring fire she was seated in front of.
There were several others in the room also, but they were sleeping,
dotted around on the many sofas, and some even on the floor.
"I won't bite you, you know," the girl commented dryly.
Harry hadn't realised he'd been staring and offered an apology that the
girl waved off.
"I don't suppose you've been around my kind?"
"No," Harry answered.
The girl nodded.
"What do you know about us?"
"Nothing really," Harry answered honestly. "Immortal, vulnerable to
garlic."
The girl snorted.
"Among other things," she replied. "The clan I am a part of don't hunt. It's
illegal now, and we would have been slaughtered centuries ago. That's
why I have the blood I do. It's provided by people who are paid for it."
"But you're here?"
"I am," the girl acknowledged. "I was not born a vampire. My parents
decided they wished to join the clan when I was three, and I was turned a
couple of years later. I still have my witch magic, along with the vampire
things."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"Did you want to be turned?"
"I wasn't asked," the girl answered with a shrug. "My parents made that
decision for me. Our leader was furious with them."
Harry felt sick at the thought of the girl being turned by her own parents,
but it seemed to be something she took in her stride.
"I'm Harry, by the way," he introduced himself.
The girl raised an eyebrow at him.
"Lucinda," she replied.
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Lucinda," Harry offered as he took a seat next
to her.
The girl seemed taken aback as she eyed him questioningly.
"Is it?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"Well, most humans hate us," Lucinda pointed out. "It's funny really, the
purebloods are more tolerant of us than others, but they put us in here
with you."
"Because they're better than the rest of us," Harry snorted.
Lucinda grinned, exposing her elongated fangs.
"Exactly," she agreed. "We can't forget that. Why are you here, anyway?"
she asked curiously. "You're British. Shouldn't you be at Hogwarts?"
Harry shook his head.
"It's a long story," he sighed, "but Durmstrang is where I need to be."
Lucinda simply nodded in response, not pressing him to elaborate.
"I suppose we all have our stories," she murmured. "We have seven years
to tell them."
"We do," Harry sighed as he stood, pausing as he reached for the nearby
drawn curtains. "The sunlight…"
"It's fine," Lucinda assured him. "We have spells and other things that
protect us from it. Our clan leader gave me this," she explained, showing
Harry an amulet that was tucked within her dress.
It appeared to be made from amber, but before he could get a closer look,
the girl placed it back where it had been.
"So, are you a werewolf or any other mix?"
Harry shook his head.
"No, just a half-blood wizard," he informed her. "My father was a
pureblood and my mother a muggleborn."
Lucinda nodded, but they were interrupted by the arrival of another
group before the conversation could continue.
It was a retinue of other first-years that entered the common room, Ana
amongst them.
She gave Harry an enthusiastic wave as she made her towards them with
another girl in tow.
"How did you sleep?" she asked.
"I don't sleep much," Harry snorted. "I never have."
"Oh," Ana said quietly. "Well, this is…"
"Eleanor Summerbee," the girl that had followed broke in.
Her blue eyes were alight with mischief, her smile matching, and her
long blonde was tied in an elaborate braid.
"Summerbee?" Lucinda questioned. "Aren't your family all purebloods?"
"Disgraced purebloods," Summerbee corrected with a grin. "My
grandmother is a rather famous thief. She stole several-hundred-
thousands of galleons from different branches of Gringotts in the thirties."
The girl seemed to be rather proud of the feat, and Harry nodded
appreciatively.
Gringotts was supposed to be amongst the most secure banks across the
world, after all.
"How did she manage that?" Harry asked.
Eleanor taped the end of her nose.
"Family secret."
Harry snorted amusedly as he checked his watch.
"Shouldn't we be heading down for breakfast now?"
Lucinda nodded as the other boys Harry shared a room with arrived.
"Where did you get to, Harry?" Cain questioned.
"Well, with you snoring like a beast, I didn't feel like sticking around,"
Harry replied dryly, "So I imposed my company on Lucinda for a while.
She even offered to turn me if I get bored of being a human."
"I did not!" Lucinda retorted hotly.
"Ah, maybe you'll make the offer another day," Harry sighed airily,
smirking at the glaring vampire. "Come on, we don't want to be late."
Without waiting for the others, he made his way towards the exit, an
enormous, stone sliding door that led to one of the first-floor corridors.
This meant that the walk to the main hall wasn't a long one, and he
arrived only a few minutes later with the others trailing behind.
It was difficult to miss the looks of mistrust from the purebloods that
were already here, and though none of them passed comment, Harry
suspected things would not remain so when they interacted with each
other more.
Still, he cared little for their opinion of him, or even the others he had
been banded with.
Harry was here for his own reasons, and so long as he was left to pursue
his goals in peace, he would not be the one to instigate any
unpleasantness.
"Not a bad selection of food," Jonas declared as he helped himself to a
few sausages.
The group said little as they ate, and Harry watched with interest as they
selected their chosen meals.
"So, you don't eat any normal food?" he asked Lucinda.
The girl licked a trail of blood from her forefinger and shook her head.
"Your food all tastes like ash to me," she explained. "I only need this."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"What about you, Ana?"
"My people eat mostly fish, vegetables, and some types of insects," she
informed him. "Forest food."
"Ergh," Jonas grimaced.
"Unless you have tried it for yourself, you shouldn't judge," Ana replied
politely. "We have a very healthy diet, unlike some," she added, nodding
towards the platter of sausages the boy had taken a second helping from.
Jonas merely shrugged and continued eating.
"Bruno," Harry pressed.
"We eat a lot of liver, well, my mother does," the Austrian explained. "I
can't stand it personally, but I get sick if I go too long without it.
Something about the stuff helps keep us healthy."
"Is that a hag thing then?"
"I think so," Bruno replied. "Even though only a female can be considered
a hag, I still have some of the magic and physical traits."
"I didn't even know hags could have boys," Eleanor broke in thoughtfully.
"It's quite rare," Bruno explained, "but it does happen occasionally. My
mother was surprised when I came along. I'm surprised she didn't have
me gelded and raise me as a girl."
The others laughed, though it died abruptly as Professor Karkaroff
approached, his gaze shifting to each of them before coming to a rest on
Harry.
"First years will remain within the hall when breakfast is concluded," he
announced, turning away before any could pester him with questions.
"He's happy," Eleanor giggled. "I wonder why he's so miserable."
"Because he has to run a school full of your kind," a sneering voice
answered as a group of boys passed.
"Our kind?" Harry asked.
"Filthy half-breeds," the boy sneered.
"Rather a half-breed than an inbred," Harry returned with a shrug.
The others around him gasped as some laughed, but the boy he had
spoken to reddened considerably.
"You'd best watch that cheek," he advised through clenched teeth. "There
are some of us here that don't take kindly to be spoken to in such a way
by those that should not be breathing the same air."
"I'll remember that," Harry replied. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to
finish my half-breed breakfast. Lucinda, would you mind passing me
some of the blood?"
The boy paled as Harry took a sip and fought the urge to vomit.
He didn't know how Lucinda could stomach the viscous fluid, but he
managed to play it off as though he was enjoying it.
Without another word, the boy and his group left the hall and Harry
immediately reached for a goblet of water, draining it in only a few sips.
"Remind me to not do that again," he pleaded.
"Idiot," Lucinda muttered as she took the blood from him.
"It was worth it," Harry replied, nodding as Karkaroff returned with
several other professors joining him this time.
The older students took this as their cue to leave, and those that
remained fell silent and waited for the man to speak.
"Again, I welcome you all to Durmstrang," Karkaroff began, though his
tone lacked any sincerity. "The people you see before you will be
responsible for your education for the first two years here, and you will
meet all of them over the course of the next week as they introduce you
to the studies they teach."
Some of the professors waved, some offered nods, and others remained
unmoving as Karkaroff gestured towards them.
"Now, I will explain a few things that apply to all of you," the headmaster
continued. "Firstly, there are extensive charms and other wonderful
magics used at this institute solely to ensure that languages are not a
barrier. The magic translates over six hundred known tongues from each
corner of the earth so that we can communicate with one another. If you
are a speaker of Russian, any words spoken are translated into your
language. No other school has this magic in place, so I would still advise
you to learn some languages you are not familiar with."
Harry was impressed.
It was not something he'd even considered, but with almost all the people
he had conversed with being from different countries, he perhaps should
have.
"Also, the duelling room is off limits to all first years," Karkaroff said
firmly. "You will be able to attend from the beginning of your second
year, if you so choose to. There are no exceptions to this rule. Do I make
myself clear?"
The students nodded their understanding.
"Now, for how the next two years will unfold for you. Here at
Durmstrang, we do not have a set curriculum. We believe in finding your
strengths and developing them beyond the norm. Why waste time
working on transfiguration if it is something you lack the gift in? No, the
first two years will be spent identifying your strengths through rigorous
examinations and assessing your aptitude for each of the subjects on
offer. Of course, we encourage you to broaden your studies in your own
time, but we will find where you thrive, and when your second terms is
coming to an end, you will meet with your head of year to discuss your
future education."
Harry liked how the system worked here, and was eagerly anticipating
what subjects he might do well in.
"Before I leave you, I would like to introduce Professor Sidorov who will
be your head of year for the duration of your time here."
The woman that stepped forward was tall and lithely built, silver-haired
and with the most brilliant blue eyes that Harry had ever seen.
Although he was not really interested in females in any other way than
friendship, he knew that she was beautiful, and judging by the way the
other boys were staring, they thought so too.
He shook his head of the thought and frowned at the odd tingling that
had overcome him.
"Impressive," Sidorov acknowledged, eying him with curiosity. "It will
become easier to ignore the effect the more time we spend together."
Harry had no idea what the woman meant, and she offered him a smile.
"For those of you that haven't figured it out yet, I am a veela," she
explained. "You will learn about my species in one of your magical
creature lessons, but for now, please do not be alarmed by the magic you
can feel. It will not harm you, and your body will eventually build an
immunity to it. Some quicker than others," she added, looking at Harry
once more. "I am the Charms Professor here, and as Headmaster
Karkaroff explained, I will be your Head of Year."
"Thank you, Professor Sidorov," Karkaroff interjected. "For the first two
weeks here, you will be given an introduction to each of the subjects
taught. The list is quite extensive, and you are expected to perform at
your very best in every session. Firstly, you will follow Professor Sidorov
for a charms lesson, and then she will take you on to the next. Any
questions?"
No one raised their hands, something Karkaroff was seemingly pleased
with as he nodded and took his leave of the hall.
"If you would all please follow me," Sidorov requested.
The boys all but jumped to their feet and did so whilst some of the girls
looked on confusedly at their behaviour.
"What's going on?" Harry asked.
Lucinda rolled her eyes.
"Veela have natural magic that is designed to draw the attention of the
opposite sex," she explained. "It can be quite a problem for those that
have not been around it for long enough, but you seem to be getting used
to it quickly."
Harry frowned as he nodded.
"I can feel it," he admitted, "but it's not overwhelming."
"It is for most," Lucinda snorted. "Look at the idiots. I'm surprised most of
them aren't actually drooling."
"I think Jonas might be," Ana broke in amusedly.
Harry snorted and shook his head as he walked with the girls who were
lagging behind the gawping boys.
"You should watch yourself with the purebloods, Harry," Lucinda warned.
"That stunt with the blood won't endear you to them, and some of them
are from very powerful families."
Harry merely shrugged.
"I'm not here to make friends," he replied simply. "I'm here so that I can
deal with my enemies. If I make more on the way, then so be it, but I will
never end up worse off than any of them, not again."
The girl's looked at each other questioningly, taken aback by Harry's
change of demeanour, though the opportunity to press him further never
came as they arrived at the classroom for their first taste of a Durmstrang
education.
(Break)
Pansy had been prepared to be sorted into Slytherin, having been
groomed by her father for the house her family had been a part of for
more generations than she could count.
She had even been prepared to deal with her housemates. She had met
most of them, after all.
What she hadn't been prepared for, however, was the fixation they would
have on Harry and the fact that he had not arrived as many had been
expecting.
Draco was the most vocal of the students, his theories as to why Harry
wasn't here only becoming more ridiculous.
"I bet he's a squib!" the blonde declared gleefully. "The Dark Lord must
have damaged him. That's why no one has seen him."
Some of her other housemates seemed to consider the notion. It was
more plausible than him being taken in as an Unspeakable and trained to
be a secret weapon for the Ministry, but he was still wrong, and Pansy
snorted internally.
Why Draco was so fixated, she didn't know, but it was becoming tiresome
very quickly.
"You're acting as though you wouldn't have tried to befriend him," Theo
muttered amusedly. "I'm sure your father would have insisted on it."
Draco nodded unashamedly.
"He did suggest it, but Potter isn't here," Draco pointed out. "He's
probably crying over his mudblood mother's grave."
He laughed as if he had made the most comical of jokes, and most of the
others joined in.
If Harry was here, Draco would not make that kind of quip a second
time, but as he had rightly said, he wasn't, something that Pansy was still
upset about.
She had been convinced Harry would come to Hogwarts, though she
understood his reasoning for not.
Still, she couldn't rid herself of the disappointment and hoped that
whatever he was doing at Durmstrang, it would make him happy, and
that she would still be welcomed to visit him during the summer.
He had been her first friend, and despite enjoying the company of most
of her housemates, none of them were Harry.
(Break)
The first Charms lesson had been little more than a brief overview of how
their time during the first two years under the tutelage of Professor
Sidirov would be spent, with a rather impressive demonstration from the
woman as a finale.
Harry knew he would enjoy those lessons, but he was not as certain with
the Dark Arts under Professor Novak.
The man was almost as pale as Lucinda, and even had a similar shade of
red eyes, though he was no vampire.
Harry had felt a sense of unease wash over him as he entered the room,
his skin tingling as he did so.
He couldn't be sure if it was Novak, or something else, but it was
something he couldn't ignore.
"The Dark Arts," the man begun reverently, speaking just loud enough for
his voice to carry across the room. "To truly master them, you must
understand the nature of the magic, let it become a part of you. They are
forever changing, never the same from one moment to the next. If they
are not respected, they will either consume you or they will destroy you.
If you can allow them to permeate within, they can be the greatest of
allies."
The students remained silent as Novak began pacing slowly back and
forth, staring intently at a few before continuing.
"Not all of you will have an affinity for them, the willpower to keep the
undesirable effects at bay, but those few of you that possess the potential
to unlock the power of the magics will benefit greatly."
The reverence had not left his tone, but it had also taken on an edge of
warning.
"Nevertheless, for the next two years, you will undergo a journey to see if
you have what it takes, and if you do not, you will at least gain enough
understanding to combat them in a defensive manner. No, your time here
will not be wasted," he assured them. "Who can feel it?" he asked
curiously.
The students looked at one another confusedly, but Harry raised his hand
and Novak nodded.
"Find it," he instructed.
Harry stood and followed the magic to the corner of the classroom where
a cabinet rested, aware that all eyes were on him.
He paused as he reached the cabinet and held out his hand hesitatingly.
"What is it?"
The voice sounded in his ear.
Harry had not felt Novak following him, and he swallowed deeply as the
magic of the cabinet pulsed against his consciousness.
"It wants me to touch it," he whispered, "but it will harm me if I do."
Novak smiled, but it was not a pleasant expression.
"What is it?" he repeated excitedly.
Harry frowned thoughtfully.
The magic felt familiar, though he was certain he had never felt anything
like it, not even from his studies of the Black magic.
"It will burn the flesh away," he answered, "but it can be stopped."
Without considering what he was doing, he drew his wand and placed
the tip against the cabinet.
In truth, he didn't know what he was doing, but it felt almost instinctual,
his own magic knowing how to combat what he faced.
After a moment, the cabinet crumbled to dust, and an unpleasant scream
rent the air.
Harry didn't realise that he had been sweating, but the voice of Novak
pulled him from the haze that had overcome him, and he was distinctly
aware of the chattering of the students.
"I did not expect that from any," Novak whispered, "let alone you, Mr
Potter. Who would have thought that such a beacon of light could possess
such talent? Yes, your time here will be very interesting, indeed."
Harry met the man's surprised gaze before taking his seat.
Novak watched him with interest as he made his way back to the front of
the classroom.
Harry felt nothing but confusion.
He didn't know how he had done what he had, but he was pleased that
the curse had been broken, nonetheless.
"Of course, we will cover the basics of the Dark Arts first," Novak
declared. "What are the most well-known curses widely considered to be
of the branch?"
None raised their hands to answer.
"There are three spells in particular that the ICW deem to be unforgivable
if used," Novak hinted, emphasising the word 'unforgivable.'
"The Imperius curse," one of the purebloods answered.
"Correct," Novak confirmed. "A dangerous curse in the wrong hands.
Seizing control of someone's mind is a deadly weapon, not just against
the victim, but to any they come across. They can be used as a tool to
murder or carry out any other act the caster wishes if the victim is unable
to defend themselves from the effects. It is something we will look into
further into your studies. Another one," he requested.
"The torture curse," Lucinda called.
Novak nodded.
"The Cruciatus curse," he corrected. "Another unpleasant spell, one that
will cause the victim so much pain that they will plead for death. Those
held under it for a prolonged period can also have their minds
irreparably broken and become nothing but a shell of themselves. A
deeply unpleasant fate where you merely wait for your body to die so
that your mind can be freed from its prison. The last?"
"The killing curse," another pureblood called.
Novak nodded.
"Instant death," he murmured. "Many a man, woman, and child have met
their ends in such a way. A clean, and painless end for any that finds
themselves the victim, their life snuffed in a mere second. Only one
person is known to have survived it, something widely considered by any
expert in the Dark Arts to be an impossibility."
As he spoke, his gaze had shifted to Harry, flicking towards the scar on
his forehead.
"Even this far north, your story is a famous one, Mr Potter," he
murmured. "The vanquisher of a Dark Lord before you could even hold a
wand. Yours is already quite the story. Let us see how many more
chapters we can add to it, shall we?"
Harry met the man's stare as the others around him began to whisper
amongst themselves.
He had hoped that what had happened between him and Voldemort had
not become known so far from home, but that hope had evidently been in
vain.
Novak knew of it, and even if Karkaroff hadn't told him, Harry suspected
the man would have heard of it.
It was Novak that broke his stare first, his eyes drifting towards the clock
before offering Harry what he believed was a nod of acknowledgement.
"Until next time," he called before disappearing through a door at the
back of the classroom.
Harry immediately took hold of his bag and left the room, taking a deep
breath to calm himself.
The entire lesson had been quite the experience, and though he didn't
appreciate Novak revealing his past, he didn't believe the man had done
so maliciously.
If anything, it was likely to have been an act of kindness.
It would make the purebloods more cautious of attempting to bully or
belittle him, or it may just have the opposite effect.
It mattered not to Harry.
"Wait!" a voice called as he made his way towards the main hall.
Harry paused to wait for the others to catch up.
"Did you really survive it?" Eleanor asked.
Harry nodded and each of them eyed him curiously.
"Voldemort," Cain clarified. "It was him, wasn't it?"
"It was."
Cain released a deep breath.
"I heard Greyback speaking about it," he explained. "We are a part of his
pack, me and my parents," he explained. "Not by choice, but for safety."
"Why would he try to kill you?" Lucinda asked.
Harry shrugged.
"I don't know," he answered, "but he murdered my parents."
The others offered him a look of sympathy and Harry shook his head.
He didn't want sympathy, for anyone to feel sorrow for what he had
endured.
"That's what you meant about enemies, isn't it?" Ana questioned. "He had
followers."
Harry nodded.
"I will return home to face them one day," he explained. "They will not be
pleased to see me, not when I was the cause for so many problems for
them."
"What will you do?" Jonas asked.
"I will live my life," Harry answered. "I will serve as the head of my two
families, and if any take exception to it, they will be more than welcome
to raise their grievances with me."
The others said nothing for a moment, taken aback once more by his shift
in demeanour.
"You know, you're quite scary, Harry," Bruno chuckled. "Remind me not
to get on the wrong side of you, especially now that you're Novak's
favourite. I thought he was going to wet himself with excitement when
you broke the cabinet. How did you do that, anyway?"
"I don't know," Harry answered honestly. "I just did it."
The others didn't seem to believe him entirely, but they didn't question
him further.
"Come on, let's get some lunch," Ana urged. "We've got Transfiguration
next."
Harry followed the others as they made their way to the main hall,
undecided if it was best his past had become known early on rather than
later.
He remained unsure as he took a seat to eat his lunch but joined in the
conversation with his classmates who did not mention anything that had
happened in the Dark Arts classroom, but he could not ignore the curious
looks they sent his way.
(Break)
Holding regular meetings was an integral part of the schooling at
Durmstrang. The second years needed to be closely monitored and
reported on so that decisions could be made as to what subjects they
would be eligible to study from their third year onwards, and it was an
opportunity for staff to raise any concerns they had observed.
The culture in the school was very much divided between the pureblood
students and the others, and although Igor couldn't care less if they
occasionally collided, there were children here of some very influential
figures across the wizarding world, and it would not do for the school to
receive negative attention.
Life at Durmstrang was all about balance, about ensuring those students
who would one day succeed their fathers felt that they were above the
others, but not allowing excess unpleasantness to become rife.
"Our first years," Igor began. "What do you think of them thus far?"
"They seem to be a bright group," Sidirov replied. "The purebloods have
of course been told what to expect, but the others did not seem perturbed
by my expectations of them. I think when they have settled, we will have
a much better grasp of where each of them are heading individually."
Igor nodded his agreement.
"Dunbar?" he questioned the Transfiguration professor.
"Some already have a reasonable grasp of the fundamentals," he
explained. "I have seen nothing to suggest that there are any who will
need to be excluded from the subject moving forward."
Igor hummed as he turned his attention to the Dark Arts professor.
Novak was an odd man who openly admitted that he had made many
mistakes during his pursuits throughout his life, but he was perhaps one
of the best and most experienced practitioners of the Dark Arts in the
world.
"I had a very interesting lesson with them," the man answered quietly,
though his eyes were alight with a spark of excitement. "The Potter boy is
certainly a surprise."
"Potter?" Igor asked suspiciously. "What has he done?"
"Nothing nefarious," Novak assured him. "On the contrary, the boy is
quite remarkable."
Igor frowned and gestured for the pale professor to continue.
"He not only identified my curse, but he found and countered it," Novak
explained, "and he did so with skill, Igor. I believe the boy could be a
natural in the arts, if only he has the mental capacity to succeed."
Igor nodded thoughtfully.
"He is a curious boy," he murmured. "The only person to survive the
killing curse…"
"And seems to have the ability to wield much more dangerous and
evocative magic," Novak interjected. "He is quite the enigma, no?"
Igor hummed.
"What are everyone else's thoughts on the boy?"
"He managed to resist my allure almost immediately," Sidirov answered.
"I seemed to have little effect on him at first, and then he shook it off as
though it was nothing. It is quite impressive."
"Impressive indeed," Igor acknowledged. "I would like him watched
closely during his lessons," he instructed. "There seems to be much
potential there, and I would see how far he can be pushed."
"Why?" Sidirov asked, a frown marring her features.
"Because even before he could speak a full sentence, he became the
downfall of the most powerful wizard I have ever met, and all of these
little things you have mentioned do not strike me as coincidences. Potter
could be an exceedingly powerful wizard and would be quite the man to
boast of if his talents are nurtured."
"It will draw some unwanted attention to him from some of the
purebloods that will not take kindly to him succeeding."
Igor snorted as he shook his head.
"Some of the purebloods will one day ascend to lofty heights," he
conceded, "but Harry Potter is already there, and will ascend only
further. I have it on good authority that he is to inherit the titles of Lord
Potter, his birth right of course, and Lord Black, two exceedingly
prominent positions in wizarding Britain."
"Whose authority?" Sidirov asked curiously.
"Mine," Igor answered simply. "I do not believe the infamous Cassiopeia
Black is choosing to raise the boy out of the goodness of her heart, is
she?"
"Black?" Sidirov gasped.
"It is her who wrote to me to give the boy a tour a little over a year ago,"
he explained. "It is not common knowledge that he is living with her."
"There will be many that do not like that," Novak pointed out. "Many still
remember what she did during the Grindelwald years."
"Then we keep the knowledge to ourselves unless it proves to be to our
advantage to make it known," Igor decided, "but for now, I wish to see
just what Potter is truly capable of. Push him, but do not break him.
Olaffson, I'd like you to do the same. I want him durable and resilient."
The enormous Icelandic man grunted and nodded his understanding.
Olaffson was in charge of the physical activities that the students could
choose to take part in; Quidditch, self-defence, and fitness for magic were
his forte.
Igor was truly interested to see what Potter would become throughout his
time here. If Novak was taking a keen interest in the boy, he undoubtedly
had potential, that coupled with everything else that seemed to be
happening around the boy suggested that he would indeed become quite
the formidable wizard.
If he could endure and overcome the adversity he would undoubtedly
face in the coming years.
(Break)
It had been an interesting first day for Harry, but he was pleased that it
had finally come to an end, and he could simply enjoy some time to relax
in the common room with the other first years he had been housed with.
Durmstrang was already proving to be more than he had anticipated, but
what had become clear immediately was that his journey here would
very much depend on how he performed in each of his lessons for the
first two years.
How much help he would get from the professors seemed to depend on
that.
Still, he was focused, determined to succeed, and ensure that he was in a
position to see an end to his goals in the future.
"Did you really survive the killing curse?" Cain asked, pulling Harry from
his thoughts.
His peers had been shooting his questioning glances for much of the day,
and Harry knew that it was inevitable that they would soon be unable to
hold their tongues.
He nodded as he released a deep breath.
"Voldemort murdered my parents and tried to do the same to me. He
failed," he finished with a shrug.
"Damn," Cain whispered. "I'm sorry about your parents."
The others nodded.
"How did you survive?" Lucinda pressed.
"I don't know," Harry replied honestly. "I don't know if I will ever
understand it, but I'm here, and he isn't."
'For now,' he added internally.
His classmates seemed disappointed with his explanation, almost as
though they were expecting an incredible story in which an infant Harry
had somehow managed to overpower the Dark Lord.
It had been nothing of the sort, and more likely nothing more than a
fortuitous encounter in his favour.
Not that Harry could rely on such things in the future.
He could not hope that his enemies would somehow destroy themselves.
No, Harry would need to do that off his own merit and ability.
"What about what happened in Dark Arts?" Ana questioned.
Once more, Harry did not have an explanation to give.
He had felt the magic upon entering the room and had even been able to
identify what it was despite never having encountered it, not that he
knew of at least.
However, it definitely felt familiar, and it was almost as though his own
magic was guiding him in how to eradicate the curse.
It was a confusing experience, and frustrating that he didn't quite
understand how he had done what he had.
"I don't know," he answered again.
Before his housemates could voice their disappointment in his
explanation, a tap on the window interrupted the conversation.
"Callidora!" Harry said enthusiastically, greeting Cassie's bird as he
opened the window to admit her. "What have you got for me girl?"
He relieved the owl of her burden, a note penned in Cassiopeia's familiar
scroll, and a roll of parchment that had been sealed.
Harry,
I hope your first day has been everything you wanted it to be.
The scroll is from a friend of mine who attended Durmstrang some years ago.
I would urge you to keep the contents to yourself.
The house is quiet without.
Cassie
Harry smiled.
Although she wouldn't openly admit it, the woman missed him, and he
felt a sudden wave of homesickness wash over him.
He missed Cassie too, but he turned his attention to scroll before tapping
it with his wand.
His smile widened as he read the unfamiliar handwriting.
Durmstrang had already been interesting, but with the knowledge he had
just been handed, it had only become more so, and he was already
looking forward to investigating the school with the help of someone
who had already done so.
6. School Life
School life
A/N
Another chapter for you guys.
Enjoy,
TBR
Halloween 1991
Harry had been at Durmstrang now for a little under two months and had
begun to feel like he was finally settling into life here, something not
made so easy by the ever-changing tide of the school.
Nonetheless, he had more than sampled the studies available to him,
other than those the first years were excluded from for various reasons,
and he truly believed he had found those that he would thrive in.
The Dark Arts were indeed something he had a natural affinity for, as
were Charms, Transfiguration, and Runic Studies, among others.
He found he cared little for Herbology, nor was he drawn to the
Clairvoyancy classes that also required a natural affinity for them.
Harry was fascinated by the Study of Magical Mathematics. However, it
was not something he thrived in despite giving his best effort during the
lessons, and as many others had experienced during lessons he seemed to
do well in, he was mostly ignored.
Still, it wouldn't deter him from trying to learn.
"Keep going, Potter," Olaffson instructed as he passed him for another lap
of the Quidditch pitch.
Harry cursed under his breath.
Why the man had taken such an interest in him, he knew not, but
Olaffson was either determined to make him the fittest, strongest person
at Durmstrang, or kill him.
Harry couldn't be certain which but didn't like the enormous Icelandic
very much.
The man was of few words, something that mattered little when all he
was required to do was bark a simple instruction, and students were
expected to comply.
Few enjoyed Fitness for Magic, and though Harry would like nothing
more than to turn his wand on Olaffson from time to time, he was feeling
the benefit of being under the man's tutelage for an extra forty-five
minutes a day.
"That will do," Olaffson called. "Go shower."
Harry hunched over and took a few deep breaths of the frozen air,
wincing as it burned his lungs, and by the time he straightened up,
Olaffson was gone.
"Maniac," Harry muttered as he made his way back inside the school to
take the man's advice.
A hot shower was needed to help thaw him out.
His journey into the fitness regime had begun before the end of the first
week when Olaffson had fetched him from the common room after
dinner one evening and merely instructed him to follow.
From then on, it had been a nightly occurrence that Harry had been put
through his paces, and with no satisfactory explanation as to why.
He'd asked but had received only a grunt in reply from the man, but
Harry knew there was a reason behind what he was doing, even if it
would not be revealed to him.
Shaking is head of thoughts that only served to frustrate him, he entered
the common room and immediately moved to stand by the fire.
He frowned as Eleanor giggled at him.
"It's not funny," he muttered.
"Aww, poor Harry," the girl cooed, shuffling to the other side of the sofa
she was sitting on. "Come on, come take a seat."
With a huff, Harry did so, only because his legs were aching.
He groaned as he sat, not from relief, but irritation as Summerbee
whooped joyfully.
"I finally got him!"
She was dancing victoriously as Harry removed the inflatable piece of
rubber from beneath his cushion.
Since the beginning of term, the girl had been trying to prank him, and
had been unsuccessful until now.
"A whoopee cushion?" he asked disappointedly.
Summerbee grinned that mischievous grin that Harry had come to
associate with her.
The girl was trouble personified, but she was kind also.
Not a day went by that she didn't check on the rest of the group to make
sure they were okay, and it wasn't as though mischief was her only
talent.
Eleanor Summerbee was already proving to be excellent in Charms and
with Transfiguration, a proclivity she claimed to have inherited from her
grandmother.
"Alright, you got me," Harry conceded, an amused smile tugging at his
lips. "Does that mean it is someone else's turn now?"
Summerbee nodded.
"I suppose it does," she sighed. "I'll miss trying to get you."
"I won't," Harry snorted.
Eleanor pouted as her eyes roamed over the rest of the group before
falling upon Cain.
"Thanks a lot, Potter," the werewolf grumbled.
Harry had really come to like the boy.
Despite struggling with his condition the week leading up to the full
moon, he was pleasant to be around, would often offer quips, and wasn't
without talent himself.
Unfortunately, the full moon was drawing closer, and though Harry felt
useless to help his friend, Cain wasn't left alone to cope.
The other werewolf students would look out for him during the difficult
days, and ensure he was with them during their transformations in the
dungeon reserved for them.
It helped Cain considerably having some of his own kind with him, and
the camaraderie amongst the werewolves was strong.
Those that experienced Durmstrang on this side tended to look out for
one another.
'The others' were what most purebloods referred to them as, and the less
so flattering called them the 'half-breeds.' The older non-pureblood
students adopted the moniker 'The Misfits', a name they affectionately
gave to all that joined them each year.
Harry found the name to be apt.
He had always been something of a misfit, and here, he felt as though he
was amongst people who were just as unique as him.
"He only does it because he likes you," Steiner, an older werewolf student
grunted.
Harry looked at the boy questioningly.
"Olaffson. He only makes those he takes a liking to do the extra exercises.
He does it with some of the older students, usually the Quidditch players.
You should think yourself lucky that you're not Krum. He takes him twice
a day."
"Krum?" Harry asked.
"Viktor," Steiner clarified. "He's a fourth year and has just been signed to
play for a professional team in Bulgaria. The rumour is that he will be the
best seeker in the world in only a few years."
Harry nodded appreciatively.
The first years had not been allowed near the Quidditch practices, or to
even hold a broom yet, not until after Christmas when their flying lessons
would commence.
"Twice a day?"
Steiner nodded.
"Viktor is always cursing the man but swears it has helped him
considerably."
Harry hummed thoughtfully.
Perhaps Steiner was right, or perhaps Olaffson truly wanted to break him.
That remained to be seen.
"Where's Lucinda?" he asked.
"Gone for her evening lesson," Jonas informed him.
The vampires of the school had additional lessons at night, something
they did not divulge the contents of to the other students.
It wasn't that they weren't permitted to, but it was something of a
personal study for them, so none pressed them for information.
"Ana?"
"Sleeping," Eleanor sighed as she rested her head on Harry's shoulder.
The girl was outwardly rather affectionate with everyone in the group,
something Harry was still getting used to.
Ana did sleep more than the rest, particularly as the weather was
becoming steadily worse as the winter months drew in.
"I think I will shower and do the same," Harry decided as he stood.
Olaffson had tired him out.
"I'll try not to wake you," Cain called as Harry headed towards their
room.
Harry waved the boy off.
For the most part, he didn't snore so badly, but the nights before and
after the full moon, it was quite unbearable.
Still, Harry did not wish for the boy to feel guilty for something he had
no control over.
Evidently, it was a part of the disease he carried along with the horrific
transformations and fatigue he often felt.
Harry wouldn't wish the illness on any, especially a boy as kind as Cain.
Rubbing his temples in an attempt to stave off the headache that was
setting in, he turned on the water in the shower before undressing,
breathing a sigh of relief as the hot water began to cascade over him,
though it only made his headache worse.
They had become more frequent since he'd arrived at Durmstrang, and if
he did not keep up with his occlumency practice regularly, the dreams
would return too, however, these were not always the same ones that had
always plagued him.
Occasionally, there would be new ones; broken visions of a man he did
not recognise seemingly talking to himself.
Harry could make no sense of them, but a throbbing headache always
followed.
With a gasp, he pressed his palm into his scar as a wave of agony washed
over him, but before he could reach for the tap to turn off the shower, he
collapsed to his knees, his vision fading as a voice that was not is own
filled his mind.
"The troll was a foolish idea."
"I'm sorry, Master, I will be more considerate in the future."
It was the man garbed in a purple turban again, though this time, he was
without it, staring at his reflection in a hand mirror that Harry seemed to
be peering the other side from.
"See that you do, Quirrell. Severus is suspicious of you."
"Shall we not just reveal you to him, master? He could prove to be a useful
ally."
"NO!"
Harry swallowed deeply at the reply.
He knew that voice, and though this was not the most prominent
nightmare that had haunted him, he would never forget it.
'Stand aside, girl…'
The voice was laboured, lacking the same power and smugness behind
the words, but Harry knew who it was that was speaking.
Voldemort.
"We must be in a position of strength when we bring Severus into the fold,"
Voldemort explained.
"Yes, Master," the other replied, bowing his head compliantly, and Harry
found himself looking up at the ceiling of the room they were in.
"Good, now we must venture into the forest once more. I need sustenance."
His view of the room began to fade, and the sound of rushing water filled
his ears.
Opening his eyes, Harry found himself breathing heavily on the
bathroom floor, the hot water of the shower hammering down on him.
With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet, his legs trembling as he
pondered what it was he had witnessed, the vision already becoming
disjointed and incoherent.
There had been a familiar voice, and one that he had only begun hearing
recently.
Had there been mention of a troll?
Harry pushed his hair out of his eyes, frustrated that there was no clarity
left of what he had seen, but he was pleased that his headache had eased
off somewhat to something more bearable.
Until the next one, at least.
Releasing another deep breath, he finished cleaning himself up before
switching off the shower and barely managing to prepare himself before
he fell into bed, spent and no longer remembering even the vaguest detail
of the dream he'd had only moments ago.
(Break)
Albus peered over his steepled fingers towards the dying fire in the
hearth. The evening had been a disaster, and he was fortunate that no
one had been severely injured.
Miss Granger and Mr Longbottom were no worse for wear other than a
few cuts and bruises but had he and the other members of staff not
arrived when they had, the consequences could have been dire.
"How is your leg, Severus?" he asked the wincing potions master.
The man grimaced as he poured a sizzling concoction over the wound.
"Sore," he answered simply.
Albus offered the man a look of sympathy.
"Have we discovered why Miss Granger was not at the feast this
evening?"
Minerva pursed her lips.
"She was upset by comments made to her by Mr Malfoy," she explained.
"The boy is a vile bully, Albus, and something must be done. I hear the
Weasley twins are most displeased with him and his cohorts. If we do not
nip this in the bud, it will develop into a very unpleasant situation. Why
are the older Slytherins not keeping him in line?"
"Because they do not wish to provoke the ire of Lucius," Severus
answered. "Many of the parents are either indebted to the man, or in no
position to stand up to him."
Minerva shook her head.
"So, Draco will continue getting away with his behaviour?" she
murmured unhappily. "I've had him in detention several times already,
but it does nothing to deter him."
"I will speak with him, for all the good it will do," Severus assured her.
"The boy believes he is untouchable, and in many ways, he is. There are
few willing to stand up to him, and those that are will only make life
difficult for themselves and their parents."
Albus frowned unhappily.
He could see the already mounting tension devolving into something
deeply unpleasant if Draco did not curb his behaviour.
Much like the years during Gellert's rise had been before Arcturus Black
and Charlus Potter had brokered a peace, of sorts.
Would Harry be able to do the same if he were here?
Albus shook his head of the thoughts.
Harry was not here, and the headmaster knew next to nothing about the
boy other than what Gellert chose to share with him.
His frown deepened as he pondered the boy.
Quirinus was displaying some very concerning behaviour from merely
sharing his body with whatever essence of Tom had found him.
Albus knew he was playing a dangerous game, but any approach where
his former student was concerned was dangerous.
This way, he could at least monitor what remained of the Dark Lord,
though he was beginning to question his approach in dealing with the
threat.
Quirinus himself was not an ungifted wizard and playing host to perhaps
the most dangerous wizard Britain had produced in centuries would only
bolster his already impressive ability.
No, Albus knew he must tread carefully from here on out and add to the
already significant protections around the stone.
He nodded to himself as an idea began to form.
It would be a difficult feat of magic to achieve indeed, but if he managed
it, the stone would be safe from the Dark Lord, though Albus knew it was
inevitable that Tom would one day return.
For now, he merely needed to delay it until Harry was ready to face his
destiny.
"I would suggest that we keep Miss Granger away from Mr Malfoy as best
we can," he sighed. "Severus, I am relying on you to speak with the boy.
Remind him that bullying is not tolerated here at Hogwarts, and any
further incidents will incur severe punishments."
Severus offered him a bow as he stood.
"As you wish, headmaster," he replied.
"Minerva, do keep an eye on Miss Granger, assure her that you are at her
disposal if she needs any support. I will speak with her and Mr
Longbottom in the morning."
Minerva nodded before taking her leave of the office.
"What of Quirrell?" Severus asked. "I did not expect something like this
from him."
"I did not anticipate something so brazen," Albus sighed, "and I can
assume that his attempts will only become more desperate in the coming
months. I will secure the stone, Severus, and find a way that I can
confront the man in a way that would not see the students harmed."
"Is he not enough of a danger to them now?"
Albus shook his head.
"So long as he believes the stone is still available to him, he will continue
to bide his time, and I will use that to my advantage."
Severus did not appear to be pleased by Albus's intentions.
"Very well," he murmured before following in Minerva's wake, leaving
the headmaster to his thoughts which inevitably drifted to the boy who
already carried a seemingly insurmountable burden on his shoulders.
If Quirinus was beginning to display such reckless behaviour and traits of
the Dark Lord, how much was the horcrux within Harry truly affecting
him?
It was a pertinent question, and one that would only become more
burning as the years went by.
Albus needed to meet Harry, to see the character of the boy for himself,
but until then, he would be relying on Gellert to share what information
about him he chose to.
(Break)
"And sixth brick from the left," Harry whispered, tapping the wall with
his wand from beneath his cloak, taking a step back as an opening just
small enough for a person to pass through appeared.
Entering the hidden room, he smiled to himself.
Within was a large enough space for him to practice just about any type
of magic he wished in privacy, or he could simply use the room as a
getaway if he needed to.
Whoever it was that had provided Cassiopeia with the list that she had
passed on had undoubtedly spent many years uncovering the secrets
Durmstrang had.
From shortcuts that would reduce his journey time around the school
significantly, to hidden rooms like this one, and even another that
contained personal notes in the same writing scribbled on the scroll,
Harry had been introduced to a veritable treasure trove he could take
advantage of whilst he was here.
Retreating from the room, he sealed it behind him before making his way
back towards the common room.
It wasn't as he easy as he wished to sneak off to explore, not even in the
dead of night with Lucinda and the other vampires awake, but he usually
managed a little time to himself after Olaffson had released him for the
night.
Stowing his cloak back within his robe, he entered the common room to
find that most had gone to bed by now, and when he checked his watch,
he realised how long he had been away for tonight.
Only the vampires remained, and Lucinda quirked an eyebrow at him as
he approached.
"Been somewhere nice?" she asked.
"Just walking after my work with Olaffson."
Lucinda hummed.
The girl was quite standoffish in nature, but Harry suspected that was
due to not spending any significant time around others for much of her
life; not of her own kind, at least.
Still, he liked to think she was warming up to him.
She had a dry sense of humour that he appreciated and was rather
protective of him and the others they shared classes with.
Even if she could be rather cold at times, Harry found that he liked the
girl.
"Do you ever sleep?" he asked curiously.
Lucinda shrugged.
"Not often," she answered. "I don't need to, but it is nice sometimes."
"Another weakness of being human," Harry snorted.
Lucinda grinned.
"I could always turn you," she quipped.
Harry released a dramatic sigh in response.
"I don't think my aunt would like that very much."
"Shame," Lucinda replied with a smirk. "You'd make a good vampire, and
then we could live together forever."
Harry smiled at the girl.
"That sounds like the beginning of a story where we try to take over the
world, and both end up dead."
"It does," Lucinda agreed, eliciting a chuckle from Harry.
"Is that why you don't let anyone close to you?" he asked gently, "because
we will all die one day and you will still be here."
Lucinda narrowed her eyes at him.
"Don't ask questions you won't like the answer to, Harry."
"That's it though, isn't it?"
The girl swallowed deeply before nodding.
"If you tell any of the others, I will bite you," she warned, "and it won't be
to turn you."
Harry winced at the thought as her gaze burned into his before he stood
and wrapped an arm around her.
Her skin was cold to the touch, but that didn't deter him from kissing her
on the cheek, causing the girl to shudder.
"I won't say anything," he promised, "but that doesn't mean I will let you
push me away. Just because you'll outlive me, it doesn't mean that we
shouldn't be friends, does it?"
Lucinda shook her head uncertainly.
"Good," Harry declared as he stood, "but as a human, I do need to get
some kind of sleep."
Lucinda grinned, exposing her fangs.
"Pathetic. Give in to your weakness if you must," she said dismissively.
"Thank you, oh merciful dark princess," Harry returned with a bow.
"Never call me princess again!" Lucinda growled.
Harry merely smiled at her once more before walking towards the room
he shared with the other boys.
"I mean it, Potter!" Lucinda called after him.
Harry only waved in response, laughing as he heard the girl cursing him.
(Break)
Pansy knew that her father was coveting the idea of an eventual marriage
contract with Draco. It wasn't something she had been against entirely,
but her mind had quickly been changed since starting Hogwarts.
She had known Draco had an ego, that his opinion of himself would
never be matched by anyone else, but she hadn't known just how cruel,
malicious, and deeply unpleasant he could be towards others.
Not that she had observed him much during the years before school.
She had met the boy on a number of occasions; at functions or when her
father and Lord Malfoy conducted business but seeing him for what he
truly was away from the forced politeness and bows of respect he offered
other lords, Pansy dreaded a contract being brokered between them.
It wasn't just how he treated those that he deemed to be inferior like the
Granger girl, but it was those who he seemingly considered friends that
were often the butt of his cruel whims.
Crabbe and Goyle both came from considerably lesser families than most,
but they were purebloods nonetheless, and Draco treated them no better
than house elves.
Of course, they were rather dim and slow-witted, which to Pansy only
made their treatment worse.
Even Theo wouldn't stand up to the blonde, and Draco was wary enough
of Blaise and his family reputation to not push his luck, not yet at least.
Millicent did her best to blend into the background whenever Draco was
around, and the only other in their year was Daphne Greengrass who
Draco had not yet gotten around to attempting to torment.
Pansy did not believe that would end well for the boy.
The girl had often vocalised her wish for him to try so that she could put
him in his place.
Perhaps that was what he needed?
Draco had no one to stand up to him for the things he done.
The Weasley twins had tried, only for Snape to have them both in
detention for weeks at a time.
Admittedly, they may have crossed a line by trying to flush Draco down
Moaning Myrtle's toilet, but Pansy could not think of any reason the boy
didn't deserve it.
She shook her head as she looked over her transfiguration homework.
Once more, Draco was holding court, throwing his weight around even
with the older Slytherins that did not wish to invoke the boys' ire.
"Have you seen how useless he is?" Draco guffawed. "How is Longbottom
even here? He's no better than the squib caretaker."
The others laughed forcefully at the unfunny observation.
"And Granger, if her teeth were any bigger, I'm sure the Ministry would
be taking her away to make sure she is actually human."
Pansy met Daphne's eyes, and the other girl snorted.
"What about Weasley?" Crabbe asked.
"Blood-traitors, all of them," Draco declared smugly. "They're an
embarrassment to purebloods. Honestly, Hogwarts really has scraped the
bottom of the cauldron for the dregs that are here this year."
Pansy tried to ignore the blonde as she began penning a letter to Harry,
using her transfiguration text to hide what she was doing.
More than ever, she wished her friend had decided to come to Hogwarts.
Draco certainly wouldn't be acting as he was with someone like Harry
around.
(Break)
Breakfast was always a lively at Durmstrang, partly because it was the
best meal of the day here, and because the mail was delivered, something
that all students, irrespective of their status within the school looked
forward to.
It was delivered by a post office in Austria, the climate much too cold for
most owls or any other creatures to endure.
Callidora had needed to rest for a few days after she had arrived with
Harry's scroll, and he had sent a return note to Cassie advising not to
send her again.
"Potter," the postmaster called, dropping a single envelope in front of
him.
Harry recognised the scrawl immediately as Pansy's.
She wrote often, telling him of how much she was enjoying Hogwarts,
and lamenting on the fact that he had chosen to come to Durmstrang.
The girl was hoping that he would change his mind, something that
wouldn't be happening.
Despite how difficult it could be at times, Harry liked it here.
"Who's the letter from, Harry?" Cain asked.
Harry did not answer immediately, choosing to read the missive before
doing so.
Dear Harry,
I hope this finds you well.
Hogwarts was attacked by a troll a few days ago!
No one knows how it got into the castle, but Professor Dumbledore dealt with
it.
No one was seriously hurt, but I wonder how it got here. Trolls do not live in
the Forbidden Forest.
Anyway, Draco is worse than ever.
If someone doesn't do something soon, he will really hurt someone.
A girl almost got killed by the troll because she was hiding in the toilet after he
was mean to her.
Write back soon,
Pansy x
Harry's frown had deepened the more he read the letter, the mention of a
troll triggering a very vague memory he had when he'd been plagued
with a headache on Halloween.
Pansy had already mentioned the Malfoy boy, a family that Cassiopeia
had already warned him about.
Lucius had been a Death Eater, and Harry had no doubt that he and the
man would come to blows in the future, especially when the fool
discovered his precious son wasn't the Black heir as he believed.
"Harry, are you okay?" Ana asked. "You look as though you're going to
kill someone."
Harry waved the girl off as he smiled.
"I'm fine," he assured her. "It's just a note from my personal healer
informing that I've not caught any diseases from hanging around the likes
of you."
Ana raised an eyebrow in his direction and Lucinda aimed a kick at him
under the table as he chuckled.
"Is that possible?" Cain asked worriedly.
"Well, unless you bite me when you're transformed, I don't think so,"
Harry replied thoughtfully, "but then again, I suppose you could give me
a nasty case of fleas."
"I don't have fleas!" Cain retorted heatedly.
"He's just winding you up," Lucinda huffed.
Harry smiled innocently, though it fell as he spotted one of the third-year
purebloods approaching one of the tables he did not belong at.
"What's he doing?" he asked.
"He's going after Steiner," Cain murmured, his gaze shifting to his plate to
avoid drawing attention to himself.
"Why?"
"Because Barkus hates us, and he's decided it's Steiner's turn."
Harry's nostrils flared as he watched the pureblood attempting to goad
Steiner by pushing his plate of food to the floor, his eyes trailing towards
the staff who were choosing to ignore the incident.
"Harry, don't!" Lucinda warned as he stood.
He pushed the hand that had gripped his jacket away and made his way
towards the werewolf who was offering no resistance.
"Steiner!" Harry greeted him enthusiastically. "How are you today?"
He pointedly ignored Barkus, and Steiner looked at him questioningly,
almost pleading him to move along.
"Can't you see that Steiner is busy?" Barkus growled. "He has a mess to
clean up."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Harry replied politely. "I don't think we've met."
"Jean Barkus," the boy clarified, standing at his full height.
"What kind of name is Arse-kiss?" Harry asked confusedly, eliciting a bout
of laughter from the students nearby.
The boy flushed in a mix of embarrassment and anger.
"It's Barkus!" he correct hotly.
"I got it right the first time," Harry said dismissively. "Now, why don't you
go back to your own table, there's a lot of dangerous beasts over here."
"Filthy half-breeds," Barkus sneered.
Harry hummed as he nodded.
"Maybe," he returned, "but we really don't want this situation to become
more unpleasant than it already is, do we?"
Barkus narrowed his eyes at Harry.
"Are you threatening me?" he questioned.
"I think I might be, Arse-kiss," Harry confirmed as he turned to face the
boy. "I asked you nicely, now you're starting to annoy me. Piss off before
I really lose my temper with you."
His tone had become cold and Barkus hesitated before his hand twitched
towards his wand.
Harry did not, and he reached his first, sending the older boy sprawling
across the stone floor where he began gasping for breath.
"POTTER!" Karkaroff shouted warningly.
Harry's eyes remained on Barkus as he returned his wand up his sleeve.
"Self-defence, Headmaster," he replied. "Barkus just didn't manage to
draw his wand in time."
The slightest of grins tugged at Karkaroff's lips as he nodded.
"Return to your seat," he instructed. "You too, Barkus. Anymore incidents
like this, and I will have you both running laps with Professor Olafsson
until you pass out, understood?"
The large Icelandic man positively beamed at the thought, and Harry
nodded.
"Understood, Headmaster," Harry responded, offering the man a bow
before returning to his seat.
"There'll be trouble," Lucinda chastised. "Barkus won't let it slide."
Harry shrugged carelessly as he helped himself to some eggs.
"There will be trouble for him if he doesn't," he murmured.
Lucinda merely shook her head, and the rest of the group stared at him
questioningly.
"You know, Potter, I do wonder if you're all there at times," Jonas
chuckled.
Harry said nothing as he pondered just why he had gotten so angry.
He despised bullies, but it was an everyday occurrence at Durmstrang.
Maybe he was just tired, or he had grown tired of how some of those he
considered his friends were being treated.
People like Barkus made him sick.
His thoughts drifted to the letter that Pansy had sent, and he nodded to
himself before sending a reply.
She had her own Barkus to deal with, and though Draco had not
attempted to pick on her, there was no telling what the boy would do if
he was left unchecked.
He may not be a Hogwarts student, but that didn't mean he was helpless
in the matter, and as he finished up writing his note, he took his leave of
the breakfast table to fetch something to include with it when he sent it
back, a mischievous grin cresting his lips.
(Break)
It had taken a little less than a week for Harry's reply to arrive, though it
wasn't the letter itself that had occupied Pansy's mind since. The boy had
sent a small pouch of white powder, his only reference to it being;
'If Draco wants to act like an ass, maybe he should become one for a while.'
Pansy had almost thrown the stuff away, but had held onto it, and had
considered sending it anonymously to the Weasley twins but had decided
against doing so.
No, if it was going to be used, she would have to do it herself.
The thought of doing so left her feeling uneasy, but the longer she
possessed the powder, and the more unbearable Draco became, the
harder it was to resist.
The blonde's bullying was only becoming worse with each day that
passed.
Only the previous day, he, along with Crabbe, Goyle, and Theo, had
attempted to push Longbottom down the third-floor stairs.
McGonagall had been furious, but with Longbottom refusing to tell her
who had done it, there was nothing the woman could do, even if she
knew who had been behind the incident.
For Pansy, that had been the final straw.
She didn't like Longbottom, nor the Granger girl he spent time with, but
their lives shouldn't be made miserable by Draco and his ilk.
What would Harry do?
That was the question she had asked herself, and immediately, her
thoughts had drifted to the powder he had sent.
Pansy's mind had been made up, and though she was not relishing her
decision, something had to be done to humble Draco.
It was for the good of everyone, after all.
She had arrived at breakfast with the other girls in her house and was
relieved that they were engaged in a conversation about their potions
homework.
Tracey and Daphne were helping Millicent, who was not the most
confident in the subject, and whilst they were not paying attention to
her, Pansy added the powder to the goblet Draco always drank from.
Crabbe and Goyle would flank him either side, and Theo would sit on the
left of the latter.
Slipping him the powder had been too easy.
The boys arrived only a few minutes later, and Pany felt both relieved
and filled with trepidation when Draco took the expected seat,
complaining about the fare on offer at the castle.
"We have fresh fruit available for breakfast at home," he informed the
others.
"There's fruit," Theo pointed out, holding up an apple and banana.
Draco scoffed.
"We have better ones."
Theo rolled his eyes at the boy and Pansy busied herself by buttering
some toast, her gaze shifting to the blonde from time to time.
After what seemed like an eternity filled with nervousness, he eventually
took hold of his goblet and drained it, grimacing slightly at the taste.
"The pumpkin juice tastes worse than usual," he muttered.
Pansy did her best not to stare at Draco and took a bite of her own food.
She had slathered it with butter, but the bread felt dry in her mouth.
"Tastes fine to me," Goyle shrugged before he drained his own drink.
It was then that Pansy knew her efforts had been successful and that
Harry had once more proven his proclivity towards causing trouble.
Draco attempted to reply to the boy, only for a loud braying sound to
escape him.
His eyes widened in horror as a large pair of ears grew from the top of
his head, and the lower part of his face began to elongate.
He brayed once more as he shot to his feet, only to trip and find himself
sprawled on the floor.
The reason for him losing his footing quickly became clear.
Draco no longer had feet.
Hooves had formed, and Pansy began to feel guilty as fur began to sprout
all over the boy.
Crabbe and Goyle, the ever-devoted fools, attempted to help the boy from
the floor as the shock of the students wore off, and the hall filled with
laughter.
Even those at the Slytherin table joined in, only serving to annoy Draco
whose braying became louder and more frantic.
"SILENCE!" Dumbledore called loudly as he stepped off the dais and
approached Draco with his wand drawn.
The headmaster attempted to undo the transfiguration, to no avail.
"Oh dear," he murmured. "Filius, could you assist Mr Draco in reaching
the Hospital Wing?"
The diminutive professor nodded, though it was clear he was trying to
hide his own amusement at the situation, and Professor Dumbledore's
attention immediately shifted towards the Weasley twins.
"I will deal with them!" McGonagall declared as she stalked towards the
redheads.
"Wait, this didn't have anything to do with us," one of them protested.
"We swear," the other added.
"We will see about that. My office, now," McGonagall growled.
"Professor, I think you might have gotten this wrong," the older Weasley
brother interjected. "Fred and George have not been near the Slytherin
table, and they didn't leave the common room last night after they
returned from their detention with Mr Filch."
"You're certain of this?"
The Weasley boy nodded and McGonagall hummed.
"Very well, I will give you the benefit of the doubt this time," she
conceded before returning to the staff table, and Pansy breathed a sigh of
relief.
She didn't want to get anyone else in trouble.
"But whoever did it," one of the twins called, "we would really appreciate
you telling us how."
"Send us a note, we won't say anything."
"We promise" they finished together, each sporting an innocent smile that
none would be convinced by.
With Draco having been helped from the hall, Pansy returned to her
breakfast feeling rather pleased for herself, though she hoped her father
would forget any notion he had of seeing her married to him.
Draco may grow to be handsome, but the tendencies he displayed were
already concerning, and Pansy could only imagine the kind of monster he
could become if he was allowed to continue doing what he was.
7. Friends
Friends
A/N
Another chapter for you guys.
Apologies for the delay in posting. FF has been acting up the past
few days.
Enjoy,
TBR
Friends
December 1991
The final day before the Christmas holidays had finally arrived, and
Harry, just like the rest of the students, was eagerly anticipating a respite
from the daily grind of Durmstrang.
Although he was looking forward to the festivities, his own excitement
could not compare to Eleanor's.
For the past fortnight, the girl had been almost unbearably invested in
the holiday, resulting in some growing rather irritated with her.
The final straw for Lucinda had been when Eleanor had let off a glitter
bomb in the common room and the vampire had been covered from head
to toe in the sparkly substance.
Harry and the others had been amused, but Lucinda had not seen the
funny side and had banned Eleanor from anything Christmas related for
the rest of the day.
The thought still brought a grin to Harry's lips.
"Something funny, Potter?" the vampire asked, raising an eyebrow in his
direction.
"Nothing at all, Princess," he replied causing the girl's nostrils to flare.
She had given up chastising him for his chosen moniker for her, but Cain
had only dared used it once when he learned of it.
Harry didn't know what Lucinda had done, but the werewolf had kept his
distance from the irate girl for a while.
Lucinda hummed, shooting Eleanor a warning glare as she removed the
box of tricks she kept her festive items in.
"I wasn't going to set any off," Eleanor huffed.
"Good," Lucinda replied, doing her utmost not to smile.
Harry believed she had secretly enjoyed Eleanor's exploits since the
beginning of the month. Not that she would admit it, of course.
"Are you packed?" Harry asked her.
Lucinda nodded as she patted the pocket of her robes.
"I can't wait to be away from you all."
"You're a terrible liar," Harry sighed. "You'll miss us when you're at home,
sleeping upside down in a shed, or wherever you live."
"I do not sleep upside down!"
Harry waved her off dismissively as he finished packing his own trunk.
"One of these days, Potter, you're going to push your luck to much,"
Lucinda warned, though there was no hint of malice in her tone.
"And then what?" Harry asked curiously.
Lucinda narrowed her eyes at him.
"Maybe you'll find out," she said airily, giving him a smile that made him
shudder. "Are you almost done?"
"I will be in a moment. Bloody hell, what's the rush?"
Lucinda smiled once more.
"I've decided that I'm going to introduce you to my mother," she informed
Harry. "We will see how cheeky you are then."
"Your mother?"
Lucinda nodded as she licked her lips.
"She will make a meal out of you, Potter."
Harry looked towards Eleanor who merely shrugged.
"It was nice knowing you, Harry."
He had looked in the wrong direction for assistance, and he cursed under
his breath.
"Before you meet your maker, I'm sure my mother would appreciate
meeting you first," Eleanor continued.
"Why yours?"
Eleanor shrugged once more.
"Why not?" she asked.
"What is this, try to intimidate Harry day?" Harry asked no one in
particular.
"My mother is a very sweet woman," Eleanor defended.
"Mine isn't," Lucinda added.
Harry could only shake his head, relieved that Ana, Cain, and the others
had already left.
He didn't know how many more sets of parents he could face in one day.
"I'm done," he declared after he had finished packing his trunk.
With a tap of his wand, he shrunk it and placed it in his pocket; finally
allowing himself to feel excited for his time at home.
"Come on then, let's get to the courtyard," Lucinda urged, threading her
arm through his and leading him out of the corridor.
"I can walk by myself," Harry protested.
"You can run too," Lucinda pointed out. "We can't have that, can we?"
Eleanor took him by the other arm before he could reply, and Harry
resigned himself to being escorted, hanging his head and eliciting a bout
of laughter from the two girls.
"One for the gallows," he called sombrely.
"Stop being so dramatic," Lucinda snorted. "You will be fine."
Harry said nothing else but looked up as he felt the icy wind blowing
through the front doors, carrying the voice of the dozens of people
gathered in the courtyard.
He smiled as he caught sight of Cassiopeia standing off to the side, and
the woman shot him a questioning look.
Before he could respond, however, he was pulled in another direction
entirely by Eleanor who was waving enthusiastically at a woman who she
shared little resemblance to.
Harry never would have guessed the short brunette was her mother, but
Eleanor was pulled into a tight embrace, leaving Harry half-free from his
escorts.
"Mother, this is Harry," Eleanor introduced him before he could plan his
escape.
"It's very nice to meet you, Harry," Eleanor's mother greeted him,
shooting her daughter a questioning look.
"He's one of my friends," the girl explained.
The woman nodded, her gaze shifting towards the vampire who was still
holding his arm.
"This is Lucinda," Harry explained. "She is my bloodthirsty, vampire
mistress."
Eleanor giggled, and Lucinda swatted his shoulder.
The girl was much stronger than she looked, and Harry rubbed the
afflicted area as he scowled at the girl.
"Vampire mistress?" Eleanor's mother asked confusedly.
"Harry is just being silly," Eleanor sighed. "He does that a lot."
"I see," Eleanor's mother acknowledged, seemingly breathing a sigh of
relief. "I thought…"
"You should never take him too seriously," Lucinda urged. "He has a habit
of saying things just to shock people."
"I will remember that," Eleanor's mother said amusedly as she eyed
Harry. "Well, it was nice meeting you both. Come on, Ellie, your
grandmother is waiting."
Eleanor's eyes lit up, and she threw herself into Harry's arms briefly.
"I'll see you soon," she gushed, taking her mother's hand before the
woman activated the portkey.
"That girl is mad," Lucinda murmured. "Come on, it's my mother's turn
now."
The grin she sent his way left Harry feeling unsettled, but he allowed her
to lead him towards where a tall, pale woman was waiting a short
distance away.
There was no mistaking the relationship between Lucinda and her
mother.
They were almost identical in every way from the pale skin, black hair,
and eerily read eyes.
"Mother," the girl greeted the woman as they reached her.
There was no affection in her tone, nor was there any warmth coming
from the older vampire.
"Lucinda," the woman greeted her daughter before her eyes came to rest
on Harry. "And who is this?"
"This is Harry, I mentioned him in a few of my letters."
Harry's gaze shot towards the girl, though she ignored him.
"Ah, of course, Harry Potter," the woman murmured. "Yes, what a curious
tale you have to tell."
Harry swallowed deeply as he frowned, noticing a similar habit Lucinda
shared with her mother.
"Do you all do that?" he blurted. "Lick your lips all the time?"
Lucinda looked horrified by the question, but her mother grinned almost
amusedly.
"We do," she confirmed as she leaned forward until she was only an inch
or so from his ear, "but only when we get the sudden urge to feed."
Harry shuddered, and the woman laughed heartily.
"How many times do you get the urge to bite me?" he asked Lucinda.
"Only a few times a day," she answered casually. "Don't worry, I won't,"
she assured him. "I couldn't imagine living forever with you hanging
around."
"I don't know whether to be relieved or offended," Harry murmured.
"It is a compliment," Lucinda's mother explained. "We only get those
urges when we are fond of someone."
Harry smirked at Lucinda who would undoubtedly be blushing if such a
thing was possible.
Instead, she shot him a warning glare, almost daring him to pass
comment.
"I'm not so fond of him," she denied.
Her mother hummed sceptically.
"Well, say your goodbyes," she instructed.
"Bye," Lucinda said shortly.
Harry offered the girl a nod.
"I look forward to our next meeting, Mr Potter," Lucinda's mother offered
cordially. "Until next time."
The two vanished in a puff of smoke, and Harry simply stared at the
space they had been standing wondering if he could learn to do that
without becoming a vampire.
"You've made an interesting friend," the voice of Cassiopeia broke into his
thoughts.
Harry nodded.
"I have," he agreed. "It looks like I have a few presents to buy."
"Do vampires celebrate Christmas?" Cassiopeia questioned.
"I don't know," Harry answered thoughtfully.
Cassiopeia shook her head.
"Nevertheless, you should be careful of the girl and her mother," she
urged. "Vampires are dangerous creatures, Harry. They are not like us."
"They're not," Harry acknowledged, "but different can be a good thing. If I
didn't think that, I wouldn't have come here," he reminded her.
(Break)
"You are playing a very dangerous game, Albus," Gellert warned. "What
were you even thinking allowing him into the school?"
Albus deflated.
"I didn't know until it was too late," he explained sadly. "Now, I must find
a way to be rid of him."
Gellert hummed unhappily.
"The stone is safe?"
Albus nodded.
"He cannot get to it," he assured him. "Only someone who wishes to take
the stone but not use it can retrieve it."
Gellert nodded appreciatively.
"That is quite the piece of magic," he mused aloud. "However, there is
still the problem of the Dark Lord possessing your foolish professor. What
ae you going to do?"
"I don't know, I am unsure of how to confront the situation."
Gellert nodded his understanding.
"This Quirrell must be killed," he decided. "It is the only way to end the
possession."
"I feared as much," Albus sighed.
Gellert snorted.
"It has always been your weakness," he pointed out. "Even if it is to save
the lives of many, you refuse to take a single one. The world should be
grateful that it will not be down to you to kill Voldemort."
Albus hung his head ashamedly and Gellert felt a stab of guilt for the jab.
"How is Harry?" Albus asked hopefully.
The question brought a sly grin to Gellert's lips.
"He is doing remarkably well," he informed his old friend. "Would you
believe that he has quite the inclination towards the Dark Arts?" he
added as he leaned back in his chair.
"The Dark Arts?"
Gellert nodded.
"Cassie received a letter from his professor asking how much coaching
he'd had in the subject before attending," he explained. "She had only just
begun tutoring him in the Black family magic, which as I'm sure you're
aware, is unique in nature."
"The Black family magic?" Albus asked worriedly.
Gellert chuckled amusedly.
"He will be the Lord Black," he pointed out, "and it will prove to be useful
when he eventually meets Voldemort, as will everything else he is
studying at Durmstrang. The boy is shaping up to be quite the wizard,
even if he does have a tendency to get himself into trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"Nothing nefarious," Gellert assured him. "Cassie received another letter
explaining that Harry had intervened when one of his peers was being
bullied by an older student. He dealt with the situation rather amicably."
Albus seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
"So, he stands up for others?"
Gellert huffed irritably.
"He is a fine young man, very different to yourself, but strong and will
have the tools he will need to survive what he will one day face. I would
urge you to not judge him if you are ever to meet. He will not thank you
for it."
"I will bear that in mind," Albus murmured. "I am pleased to hear he is
doing well. Is he happy?"
Gellert nodded.
"He is," he replied. "Cassie has surprised me with how fond of him she has
become. The woman would protect him with her life if needed. And from
what I have heard, she means the world to the boy. When the time
comes, he will bring any to their knees who may wish her harm, and
those he considers friends."
"Has he made many?"
"I believe so," Gellert said thoughtfully. "He has of course been placed
with the students that are not purebloods, but from what I do know, he
prefers it. He has made the acquaintance of a werewolf, a vampire, a
half-elf, and even a boy whose mother is a hag."
Albus seemed to be alarmed by the revelation, and Gellert laughed at his
expression.
"I thought that you would be happy that he is not prejudiced towards
those that many would see as lesser."
"I am," Albus replied quickly. "I just find myself unsurprised. His parents
were close friends with a werewolf."
"Then perhaps he is more like them than I had led you to believe."
"Perhaps," Albus acknowledged. "James was a brilliant wizard, and quite
the character. He often found himself in trouble for his mischievous
ways."
"Harry is very much the same," Gellert sighed. "What of his mother?"
"Lily was a very bright witch, excellent with charms and potions, but
always stood up for what she believed in. She could be a stubborn
woman but was one of the kindest I have met."
"That sounds like Harry too. Maybe he got the best of them both."
"I like to think so," Albus whispered, offering Gellert a questioning look
as he frowned.
"I see you did not take my advice and send him the wand."
"I did not," Albus confirmed, "but he does have the cloak."
"The cloak?" Gellert gasped as he stood.
Albus nodded.
"It has been in the possession of the Potters since Iolanthe Peverell
married into the family, and it is where it belongs."
"And what of the wand?"
Albus released a deep sigh.
"I will pass it to Harry when the time is right," he assured Gellert. "I do
not believe it would be best for it to be in the possession of one so young
when it could be taken so easily."
Reluctantly, Gellert agreed with the man.
"See that you do, Albus," he warned. "It truly could be the difference
between life and death for the boy, and I will not have that on my
conscience."
"Nor would I," Albus replied sincerely.
(Break)
Cassiopeia watched as Harry finished wrapping the last of the presents he
had bought for Pansy. The girl would be spending Christmas Eve with
them, and she knew that Harry had missed her dearly.
The presents he had purchased for his other friends had already been
sent. Something he had done from the post office in Bulgaria where they
had done their shopping.
It was rather endearing to see this side of the boy who was, more often
than not, quite serious in his ways. But as he finished the final touches to
his work, the smile that graced his lips was unguarded, free of all the
things Cassie knew plagued him.
"Is that the last of it?" she asked.
Harry nodded as he piled the gifts next to the Christmas tree.
"I even got Lord Parkinson something for looking after the family
accounts."
Cassiopeia nodded approvingly.
Julius had continued to do an excellent job over the years, something
that she and Harry both appreciated.
"What did you get him?" she asked curiously.
"A weekend away for him and Lady Parkinson on the French Riviera. I
think they will enjoy that."
"They will," Cassiopeia agreed. "What about the others?"
Harry had been rather tight-lipped about what he had bought for his
school friends, and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"Well, I had to look into what would be suitable gifts," he explained. "I
didn't want to unintentionally offend anyone. Vampires can be quite
prickly, and I wouldn't want a clan after my blood."
"That could be problematic," Cassiopeia acknowledged. "Or a werewolf
pack."
Harry nodded.
"Are elves dangerous?"
Cassiopeia frowned thoughtfully as she pondered what she knew about
the rather elusive race.
"If they are attacked, they can be very dangerous," she replied, "but they
rarely leave their lands unless it is of the utmost importance. Have you
ever seen one anywhere we have been?"
Harry shook his head.
"No, I can't say that I have. Ana is the only one I've met."
"And will likely be the only one you ever will," Cassiopeia pointed out.
Harry nodded his understanding.
"What did you get the girl?"
Harry smiled as he began to explain, and Cassiopeia found herself
impressed with the thought he had put into the gift.
(Break)
Ana was grateful for her time away from the rather dreary fortress of a
school and had been enjoying her time back in her natural home within
the trees, rivers and enormous lake only a short distance away.
It was serene here with mostly the pleasant sounds of birds and flowing
water to wake up to.
Still, she missed her friends, but there truly was no place like home.
"Inanna, this was just delivered for you to the Elder Tree," her mother
announced confusedly as she entered the room.
"For me?" Ana replied.
Her mother nodded as she handed over the wrapped package with a note
attached.
"It's from Harry," she explained.
Dear Ana,
I know that you don't really celebrate Christmas, but I wanted to get you a gift
anyway.
Merry Christmas,
Harry x
"Harry?" her mother questioned, pulling Ana from her thoughts.
"He's a friend of mine from school," she replied as she opened the box and
looked curiously at the tube of metal within.
Inside, was another note and she removed it before reading.
The man I purchased this from assured me this was made by a race of elves
that no longer exists and is thousands of years old. I do not know how true
this is, but the magic feels like nothing else I have ever come across, and much
older than what I experienced during my visit in the Ancient Greek tombs with
my aunt.
I thought it should be returned to your kind, at least.
Once more, Ana was pulled from her thoughts by her mother who gasped
as she removed to tube that began to glow eerily at her touch.
"Is that Ithilmar?" the woman whispered. "It is," she added as she pointed
at the prominent, unfamiliar runes that had formed.
"What is Ithilmar?" Ana asked confusedly.
"It is a metal that was once used to forge weapons and many other
things," her mother explained, her eyes not leaving the tube. "The secret
on how to forge it has been lost for centuries, and none has been mined
since the tribe of Dwarves that did so were wiped out."
"So, it is rare?"
Her mother nodded slowly.
"It is perhaps the most valuable thing an elf can possess," she informed
her. "What you hold there, many would give everything they own for,
and more. How did your friend find this?"
Ana could only shrug.
"Harry has a tendency of doing things you wouldn't believe," she snorted.
"He probably has no idea how big a gesture this is."
"Big enough for Illarion to wish to meet him."
"Really?" Ana asked.
Illarion was the leader of their people and had only ever left the forest
twice in his many centuries of life. He was mistrustful of people, even her
father who had chosen to live amongst them with her mother.
"Yes," her mother confirmed. "What a curious little friend you have made.
I too would like to meet him."
With that, her mother shot a final look of reverence towards the metal
tube before taking her leave of the room, and Ana's own gaze shifted
towards it too.
It was light but felt strong in her hand.
What she would do with it, she knew not, but evidently the gesture that
Harry had made was more worthy than the boy could understand.
Ana allowed a smile to grace her lips.
It wasn't the monetary value of what she held that had elicited the
response, but that Harry had taken the time to find such a thoughtful gift
for her, even if he didn't truly know how thoughtful it was.
(Break)
His transformations at school were somewhat easier than being at home,
but they were still deeply unpleasant experiences, nonetheless. With the
pack, there was always a tension in the air the week leading up to the full
moon, something that created many fights amongst the werewolves.
Many here had been turned involuntarily, Cain and his parents included,
but being snubbed by wizarding society meant they had little choice but
to find a pack to live with for their own safety.
Others here, however, relished being what they were, and enjoyed
nothing more than purposely placing themselves in populated areas days
before they transformed.
During that time, they would identify potential victims, and target them
in their wolf forms.
Cain did not enjoy that aspect of his culture, and though his parents did
not join in with this practice, they did not speak out against it.
Fenrir Greyback, however, was their best bet for safety, so Cain did
understand their reluctance, and he couldn't say that he was not cared for
by the other members of the pack.
Even Fenrir would check in on him from time to time and had
encouraged his parents to send him for schooling.
Still, he knew how the world viewed his kind, even those that did not
wish to be what they were.
Having seen how others lived, Cain realised that he did not want to be a
werewolf. He didn't want to become a monster, but he also knew there
was nothing he could do about it.
He frowned as an owl landed outside his window and began gently
tapping on the glass.
Curiously, he opened it, and the bird offered his leg where a scroll had
been tied.
Unravelling it, he read the familiar scrawl of his friend, one of very few
who was not a werewolf.
Wolfie,
Sorry I missed you before you left.
Have a good holiday.
Harry x
Cain rolled his eyes at the given nickname from the boy. Harry had the
habit of giving them to his friends, and no matter how many times he
was warned not to, he never relented in using them.
If anything, he did it even more.
Even Lucinda had given up chastising him for it.
Attached to the letter was another piece of parchment, one that made the
breath hitch in Cain's chest, as did the second note written at the bottom.
Wolfie,
One day, I will find a way that I can be with you at your worst, but for now,
this will have to do.
I hope it helps as much as I believe it will.
Harry x
The gift was a monthly supply of the Wolfsbane potion that would be
delivered to him and the others whilst they were at school.
Cain had heard of it, and many werewolves whispered of it when
Greyback wasn't around, but it was too expensive to brew or purchase.
He could only stare at the declaration as his eyes welled with tears.
This gift wasn't just for him, but all of the two dozen or so werewolves at
Durmstrang.
It must have cost Harry a fortune, but more than that, it truly was the
thought that went into the gift that counted.
Harry cared enough to think of them all and had ensured that their
transformations would be that much more tolerable.
Cain had never experienced the emotions that he was in this moment.
It was overwhelming, and he could only laugh through his tears as he
held on to the piece of parchment for dear life, shaking his head at
gesture.
(Break)
Lucinda had returned to the coven with her mother, had finished all of
her homework within the first few days of doing so, and had even begun
reading ahead in the subjects that she had really taken an interest in.
Although she had human magic, and she thrived in many of the
branches, she felt herself drawn more to the obscure magics she had been
able to sample during her evening classes with her fellow vampires.
She knew that she would be naturally drawn to blood magic, a subject
that was on offer to all students but studied very differently by her kind.
The humans would explore their own blood and unlock the capabilities it
possessed, but Vampires were focused more on the life force of magical
creatures that roamed the earth.
It was a fascinating topic, but it was Runic Studies and the Dark Arts that
had piqued her curiosity.
As a creature of darkness, she had quite the talent for the branch, even if
Harry seemed to have an even more natural affinity for them.
Harry seemed to be talented at almost everything he tried and would
likely become an exceedingly gifted wizard in the years to come.
Lucinda wasn't jealous.
Harry would one day perish whilst she would live on century after
century.
If anything, she admired the boy for his work ethic and talent, even if he
did have a tendency to push his luck with her.
Still, the thought of him brought a smile to her lips.
She wouldn't admit it, but she had grown rather fond of him.
He judged no one for what they were and took a genuine interest in her
culture.
Harry was just one of the rare, good people her mother sometimes spoke
of, but there was no ignoring the other side to him.
He carried a lot of anger and hatred towards those that had wronged
him, and when he thought that no one was watching or he allowed
himself to become lost in his thoughts, it was possible to get a glimpse of
his inner-most turmoil and emotions through his blazing eyes.
Nonetheless, Lucinda did not hold that against him.
Anyone whose parents were murdered in front of them as a babe would
carry it with them wherever they went.
A knock on her bedroom door sounded, and Lucinda adjusted her hair
before answering it.
"Is this handwriting familiar to you?" her mother asked the moment she
did so.
"Harry," Lucinda whispered, reaching for the missive the boy had sent.
Her mother grinned as she held it out of reach for a moment before
handing it to her when Lucinda glared in response.
"No, not fond of him at all," her mother commented amusedly. "What
does Mr Potter have to say?"
Lucinda said nothing as she opened the note, a frown marring her
features as a necklace spilled to the ground.
Before she could grab it, however, her mother retrieved it, holding it
between her long, pale fingers as she inspected the jewellery.
Lucinda's eyes widened as she noticed the shape, and she vowed to
herself that she would bite the boy the next time she laid eyes on him.
"A crown?" her mother enquired.
Lucinda swallowed deeply as she turned her attention to the note.
Princess,
I didn't know what kind of gift you'd like, but I thought you'd appreciate it
this.
You're probably promising to hurt me in some way when we are back at
school, but just look into the pendant before you do.
It reminded me of you when I saw it, and I just added my own little touch to
make it more personal.
Harry x
Lucinda frowned, her anger already fading at his words.
Harry had a way of infuriating her as easily as he did in calming her.
It was frustrating, but something Lucinda had grown used to since
knowing him.
"He says to look into the pendant," she murmured.
Her mother was already doing so, wearing an expression of surprise.
"What is it?" Lucinda asked.
"Look into the red stones," her mother whispered as she handed her the
silver chain, licking her lips hungrily.
Lucinda held it up to her eye, her gaze sweeping across the stones, her
skin tingling as a familiar smell filled her nose.
"It's a constellation," she declared when she saw the formation of stars
within.
Her mother nodded.
"That's not the important thing," she pointed out. "The stones, they are
formed from his blood. He has given you a promise of protection. It is
quite the vow. The constellation denotes the family that is protecting
you…"
"The Potters," Lucinda acknowledged, only to be taken aback by the
sudden serious look her mother gave her.
"No," she denied. "The constellation only brings one family to mind, one
even more prominent than the Potters in Britain."
"Who?" Lucinda asked curiously.
"The Blacks," her mother said thoughtfully. "Harry must somehow be the
future Lord Black."
The woman fell silent as she pondered her observation, and though
Lucinda did not fully understand the significance of it, she had heard of
the Black family.
There wasn't a person in the magic world that hadn't.
They were among a few families so prolific that their names were
whispered and held with respect, even amongst the vampires.
The Flamels were perhaps the most recent edition to that exclusive list,
the Blacks and Slytherins predating them considerably, but even more so
was the name Peverell, the three brothers that had bested death and been
rewarded by the deity that couldn't harvest Lucinda's kind.
"He will be Lord Potter and Lord Black?" she asked.
Her mother nodded.
"And with it, he will become an exceptionally influential man," she
mused aloud. "With what he achieved as a babe and the prominence of
his blood, he could well become more than most can begin to anticipate.
It will be interesting to watch him."
Her mother left after making the rather ominous comment, and Lucinda
looked upon the necklace once more, still deciding whether or not she
was going to bite the boy when she saw him next despite what he might
one day become.
(Break)
"He truly is quite the thoughtful boy, isn't he?" Gellert asked.
The former Dark Lord felt a sense of pride in the boy he was coaching,
albeit unknowingly to all other than himself and Cassiopeia.
It gave him hope that Albus was indeed wrong to be concerned about the
Horcrux that dwelled within Harry.
None suffering the ill-effects of the vile influence of such magic could
show such compassion.
"He is," Cassie agreed. "I believe he will make a fine lord."
Gellert nodded his agreement.
"I am inclined to agree, however, it is Christmas Day," he pointed out.
"Go and spend it with him before he is away until the summer."
"His little friend is there," Cassie snorted.
"And so should you be," Gellert returned. "In case you haven't noticed, my
dear, you are all the family he has. He thinks more highly of you than
any other. If what he has done for those he knows for such a short time is
astounding, imagine what he would do for you."
Cassie shook her head.
"There is nothing I want from him," she murmured, "just to see him live."
Gellert smiled at the woman.
When she had first broached the subject of fostering the boy, her focus
had primarily been on ensuring the continuation of her family so that it
would not be absorbed into the Malfoy line.
Now, she didn't make such comments, only wishing Harry well and to
live s happy, fulfilling life.
"I suppose I had better go home," she decided, eliciting a nod of
agreement from Gellert.
"Enjoy your time with him," he urged. "You will miss the boy when he's
gone."
Cassie narrowed her eyes at the man as she left, though there was no hint
of malice or irritation in the glare.
She truly had grown fond of the boy, more than she would ever likely
say, but Gellert could see it.
He always could seemingly read the woman's thoughts.
(Break)
It had been only a little less than six months since Pansy had last seen
Harry, and in that time, he seemed to have changed considerably. He
looked older, more focused than ever, and even carried himself
differently.
Whatever he was doing at Durmstrang was having a positive impact on
the boy.
It wasn't as though he had ever been lacking in any way, but he was
more self-assured now, confident, and Pansy was truly pleased for him.
Despite her wish for him to have joined her at Hogwarts, she couldn't
deny that he was in the right place.
"So, Draco spent most of the day as an ass?" Harry asked amusedly.
Pansy nodded, laughing at the memory.
"I wish I could say that he learned something from it, but he hasn't," she
sighed. "He's still unbearable."
Harry hummed disapprovingly.
"He will get what he deserves one day, as will his father."
Harry had never made any secret of his disdain towards the Malfoys, nor
any other that had followed Voldemort.
As far as he was concerned, they were just as responsible for the death of
his parents as the Dark Lord had been.
"How is Hogwarts anyway?" he asked curiously.
"I like it," Pansy declared. "It's clear to see why it is considered one of the
best schools in the wizarding world. The Professors are al amazing at
what they do. Even if Binns is boring, he knows his subject."
"And you study all your subjects until sixth year?"
Pansy nodded.
"We pick additional ones at the end of second year, and if we do not
perform well enough in our OWLS, then we are unable to continue with
them for NEWTs."
"That makes sense," Harry murmured. "We study everything until the end
of second year, and then the professors decide if we are talented enough
to continue with them moving forward."
"That makes sense too," Pansy replied thoughtfully. "Our schools are so
different."
"They are," Harry agreed, "but Hogwarts sounds good, apart from prats
like Malfoy."
"You must have some too."
Harry frowned as he nodded.
"More than a few," he acknowledged, "but they leave us alone for the
most part, and if they don't, they will learn to."
Pansy did not doubt his words, but Harry didn't comment further as he
handed her a wrapped package from a pile below the Christmas tree.
"Enough about school and open your gifts," he urged.
Pansy smiled as she accepted the present and nodded for him to do the
same.
"Harry, you shouldn't spend so much gold on me," she chastised as she
held up the potions kit he had brought her.
The silver cauldrons alone would have cost a fortune, and everything else
in the set likely matching them in value.
"I have more gold than I will ever be able to spend," Harry said
dismissively. "Why wouldn't I spend it on my friends too."
Pansy smiled at the boy.
"Have you made a lot of friends?"
"A few," Harry confirmed. "Cain is a werewolf, Lucinda is a vampire, and
Ana is a half-elf. There are others, but they're the ones I'm closest to."
"Girls?" Pansy questioned.
Harry nodded as he handed her another gift.
She didn't know why she felt a pang of jealousy at the revelation, but it
was a feeling Pansy could not ignore so easily.
"What about you?"
"Well, all of the first-year Slytherins stick together," she explained. "It's
the easiest way to survive the scorn from the other houses. Daphne,
Tracey, and Millie are okay, and you know all about Draco. Theo and
Blaise keep to themselves mostly, but Crabbe and Goyle are stuck to
Draco's side."
"Like simple bodyguards?"
Pansy giggled as she nodded.
"They are quite simple."
Harry snorted amusedly and held up the leather bracelet adorned with
the silver wolf head Pansy had bought for him.
It had reminded her of Harry when she saw it in Knockturn Alley, so she
had gotten it for him.
"A wolf?" he asked. "Not a snake?"
Pansy shook her head.
"You're more like a wolf," she replied. "You're a leader, kind to those you
see as your family, and quite terrible to your enemies."
Harry smirked as he nodded.
"I suppose that's true," he conceded.
Pansy offered him a smile as they continued opening their presents, and
when the last had been divested of its paper, she pulled him into a tight
hug.
"I've missed you," she whispered.
His grip around her tightened.
"I've missed you too," he replied as he released a deep breath. "We will
have the summer, and we can do this every year," he promised.
Pansy smiled once more as she nodded.
"I'll hold you to that, Harry."
She would, and she had no doubt that Harry would keep to his word.
He was her first and best friend, and there was no amount of distance or
any other that could change that.
She hoped he felt the same, and though he had never given her a reason
to doubt him, it worried her that when he realised his worth in the
world, that he would perhaps move on.
No, that wasn't Harry.
Pansy knew him better than any other, and he would not simply abandon
her.
No matter what happened, Harry would be her friend for life, and for
that she would always be grateful.
8. Visions and Vulnerabilities
Visions and Vulnerabilities
A/N
Well, FF seems to have fixed whatever it was struggling with.
Anyway, do enjoy,
TBR
"Feed me…"
Harry was drifting through a thick copse of trees, the scent of oak, elm, and
birch filling his nose, the sound of running water trickling somewhere in the
distance.
He shouldn't be here.
Every instinct was on alert, and he felt dozens of pairs of eyes on him, though
nothing confronted him as he sniffed the air, hunting for his prey.
Unwittingly, he swooped down on a glowering creature that had been cowering
behind a bush, and it shrieked as he buried a crude blade into his throat.
With only a few kicks of resistance, it fell still, and he licked the thick, almost
glittery blood from the blade.
Smacking his lips in satisfaction, he lowered his hood, and sucked greedily at
the leaking wound, feeling his strength return with every swallow.
"Master, we must be quick," a voice said urgently. "The oaf is coming."
Harry looked up to see the glow of a lantern ambling towards them and he
cursed under his breath.
He should have killed the fool long ago, and yet, even with the blood he had
consumed, he was not strong enough to do so.
Taking a few more desperate mouthfuls, he growled irritably as he shot into a
thicket of trees, just in time to avoid being seen.
"Another one," the lumbering fool whispered sadly as he attempted to heal the
unicorn, but it was too late.
The creature was dead.
Harry smiled at the sight, licking the last of the blood from his lips before he
felt the instinct to leave overwhelm him once more.
"Potter…"
He felt his blood run cold at the whispering of his name.
"Potter?"
Harry's eyes shot open as he was shaken awake, his breathing laboured as
he looked into the concerned gaze of Lucinda.
"Are you okay?"
Harry nodded as he sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his
sleeve.
He could still taste the blood, but he was no longer in the forest.
The Durmstrang ship had collected the students several hours ago and he
was on his way back to school.
"I'm fine," he said dismissively. "I just dozed off."
Lucinda looked at him questioningly for a moment but didn't comment
further.
"You're wearing the necklace," Harry pointed out, spotting the chain and
pendant around her neck.
"My mother said it would be rude not to," Lucinda replied, the ghost of a
smile tugging at her lips as she held the pendant in her fist. "Thank you,"
she added before wrapping her arms around briefly and fleeing from the
room.
Harry chuckled to himself.
That was about as affectionate as the vampire would ever likely be, but
he would take it.
The same couldn't be said for Ana however, who had seemingly fallen
asleep also at some point during the journey.
She had greeted him a little too enthusiastically, proclaiming her love of
the gift and that even the elven elders were impressed that he had not
only acquired something so rare, that he had simply given it to her.
Evidently, the metal inscribed with runes was much more precious than
Harry or the vendor who had sold it to him had known.
"Who is it?" he called as someone knocked at the door.
Eleanor peered around it.
"Can I come in?" she asked.
Harry nodded and gestured for her to sit.
"I just wanted to say thank you for the gift," she began. "My grandmother
was very amused that you managed to find all of the articles pertaining
to her and her capture. My father was not so impressed which makes it
all the funnier."
Harry chuckled.
It had merely been a matter of writing to the publications for a copy of
their articles to obtain them.
He'd placed them in a leather binder for Eleanor, though he had been
irritated he'd not been able to send it until the day after Boxing Day
because of how long it had taken for all the responses to be received.
He'd sent a note and some of the girl's favourite sweets too, so she hadn't
been upset his present had been late.
"It's fine," he returned. "It was amusing to read about her antics. She is
quite a woman."
Eleanor nodded excitedly.
"She really is," she insisted. "If you think I'm trouble, you should meet
her."
"You are trouble," Harry pointed out. "I bet you'll give her a run for her
money when you're older."
Eleanor hummed thoughtfully.
"Maybe," she conceded, "but I don't plan on spending any time in prison. I
don't think it would suit me."
"The world would be safer," Harry quipped, avoiding the swat the girl
aimed at his shoulder.
Eleanor narrowed her eyes at him before shaking her head.
"Thank you, Harry," she offered sincerely. "As much as most of my family
are ashamed of what she did, I'm not. It was nice to be able to learn of
it."
"Well, if you have any other family members that are felons, let me
know. I'm sure I can dig anything up you need."
Eleanor giggled amusedly.
"No, it was just my nan," she assured him. "My mother says I'm just like
her."
"From what little I know, I can't help but agree," Harry sighed. "At least
you keep things interesting."
"Oh, I promise to always keep things interesting for you," she declared as
she stood. "Anyway, there is someone I need to speak with about
something you shouldn't know about."
"What shouldn't I know?" Harry asked curiously.
Eleanor said nothing but gave him a wink as she left the room, and Harry
couldn't help but think she was already looking for trouble.
He could only release a deep breath as he leaned back in his chair.
Summerbee would bite off more than she could chew one day, but until
then, Harry planned to enjoy the entertainment she provided.
"Who is it now?" he grumbled as another knock at the door sounded.
He was trying to remember the dream he had, but all that came to him
was the sweet taste of the blood in his mouth when he had been woken
up by Lucinda.
The door opened once more, but it was not someone Harry considered to
be a close acquaintance that entered.
Sergei Gulak was a seventh-year werewolf, a stern and rather large boy
that even the most ardent of purebloods were cautious around.
He spoke little to any outside his own kind.
Seven years of segregation would do that.
"I was hoping to have a word, Potter," Gulak spoke as he eyed Harry
curiously. "Will you come with me?"
Harry eyed the sleeping Ana before nodding and followed the boy from
the room.
Gulak said nothing else as he led him towards the stern of the ship and
gestured for him to enter the furthermost room.
Harry did so and found himself facing the entire population of
werewolves at Durmstrang, each of them evidently having expected him.
Cain was there too, his expression one of nervousness, though he offered
Harry an encouraging smile.
"What's this all about?" Harry asked.
Again, Gulak said nothing as he removed a familiar slip of parchment
that bore Harry's signature.
"Why?" the older boy questioned simply.
Harry's gaze swept around the room at the mistrustful stares of the
creatures and he nodded his understanding.
What he had done for them was not something many others would, and
they were suspicious of his motivation for doing so.
"Because I can," he answered with a shrug. "Because I see what all of you
endure every month, and I am in a position to help you. You are not my
enemies, and I do not like to see people suffer who don't deserve it."
The werewolves murmured amongst themselves, most seemingly
surprised by his explanation.
"That's it?" Gulak asked suspiciously.
"That's it," Harry confirmed, meeting the gaze of the boy unwaveringly.
The slightest of smiles tugged at Gulak's lips as he offered his hand.
Harry accepted the proffered limb.
"We are not mindless beasts that will do your bidding," Gulak warned.
Harry chuckled as he shook his head.
"There is not a thing that I want from you," he assured the boy. "You all
have your packs away from here, and you're a pack together when you
are. School is difficult enough without being what you are, and even
though the potion won't cure you, it will make your lives easier. That is
all I wanted from this, nothing more."
Gulak nodded.
"You are a strange boy, Harry Potter," he sighed. "There are few wizards
that care for us. Truly, I do not know what to say."
"You don't need to say anything," Harry replied. "I did what I thought was
right."
Gulak chuckled.
"Well, for what it is worth, you have earned my respect, as I'm sure you
have everyone else in this room. We will not forget what you have done
for us."
"I know," Harry murmured, "and I hope you remember that if I ever come
across one of you when you're transformed. I'd rather not be eaten, thank
you."
Gulak laughed heartily as he clapped Harry on the shoulder.
"That sounds fair," he agreed as he turned his attention towards Cain.
"You were right. Potter is one of the good ones."
Both Cain and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
"What if I wasn't?" the latter asked.
"Then I would have made sure I was where you would be during the next
full moon," Gulak replied. "I would not have let you live to become one of
us."
The other werewolves shuddered, and Harry did not disbelieve Gulak's
words.
His eyes shifted briefly to an amber hue, his inner wolf undoubtedly a
malicious creature.
"You can leave now," Gulak permitted, "and you do so with our gratitude
and utmost respect. Thank you, Potter. What you have done for us will
make our transformations much more bearable."
Harry nodded and headed towards the door, pausing as he reached it.
"I meant what I said, Wolfie. I will find a way to help you more."
With his parting words given, he took his leave from the room and
returned to his own where Ana had finally woken up.
"Where did you go?"
"Just for a meeting with the werewolves," he explained dismissively.
"They're not a bad bunch."
Ana shuddered.
Although she got along well enough with Cain, the rest of them tended to
keep to their own kind, the large group making for quite the intimidating
presence.
"Rather you than me," she replied with a shake of her head. "Come on, we
will be docking soon."
Harry nodded as he helped the girl to her feet, licking his lips a final time
and still tasting the faint sweetness of the blood he had woken to.
However, for the life of him, he couldn't remember anything of the dream
other than a glimpse of trees and a raspy voice whispering his name
before he had been pulled from the vision.
"Bloody hell, look at that," he groaned as they left the hull of the ship.
The snow was falling thick and fast, and made seeing any further than a
few feet in front impossible.
"Will they really make us do our flying lessons in this?" Ana questioned.
"How long will it last?"
"Until about May, if you're lucky," Schneider commented amusedly. "I'd
forget any idea of flying lessons until then."
Harry frowned.
He had been looking forward to flying, but if Schneider was right, then it
would be weeks or even months before he would get to sit atop his
broom again.
(Break)
"There was something there, Professor. I got a glimpse of it," Hagrid
insisted. "Even the centaurs and Aragog have spoken of it. They say
there's something in the forest that don't belong there."
Albus nodded his understanding.
"I believe you," he murmured. "I strongly suggest that you do not enter
the forest for the time being, Hagrid. I will personally investigate the
matter."
The man looked as though he wished to protest, but as ever, he took the
headmaster's advice.
"What about the rest of the herd?" he asked. "It was only a foal that was
killed, but the others aren't safe."
"I will have them moved for the time being," Albus assured Hagrid. "I will
create somewhere safe for them."
Hagrid smiled sadly.
"Thank you, Professor," he said gratefully. "I'll get the little one buried
just behind my vegetable patch. It's peaceful there."
With a final nod, Hagrid left the office and Albus's expression darkened.
"He must be very desperate to consume unicorn blood," the voice of
Severus broke into his rather grim thoughts.
"Indeed," Albus agreed, "but who is it that will live the cursed life."
"Quirrell," Severus answered immediately. "It is his body."
"Which makes the situation only more dangerous," Albus murmured as he
stood. "His desperation will only grow, and he will make his move soon."
"How will you stop him?"
"I do not know," Albus admitted with a frown.
"I will do it," Severus volunteered. "I will kill Quirrell."
Albus shook his head as he smiled sadly.
"I have no doubt that you would, my boy, but your cover must be
maintained. Regardless of what happens in the coming weeks or months,
the Dark Lord will one day rise again. I will need you Severus."
The potions master nodded darkly.
"Will Potter be ready to do what needs to be done?"
Albus nodded.
"I believe he will be," he replied quietly. "The reports I am receiving are
that he is quite the talented boy."
Severus snorted derisively.
"Talent will not be enough. The Dark Lord is perhaps the most talented
wizard in half a dozen centuries. The boy will need to be as ruthless as
him."
Albus released a deep breath, unable to disagree with Severus's
assessment.
"Then I think we can agree that he has been in the best place to learn
that," he returned, the admission still leaving the headmaster feeling
rather unsettled.
Severus fell silent for a moment.
"Do you believe he can win?"
Albus nodded firmly.
"You heard the first words Sybil spoke the night you overheard our
conversation," he reminded the man who grimaced in remembrance.
"Their fates are written in the stars, and the prophecy speaks of Harry. Of
that, I have no doubt."
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord," Severus said sadly.
The words haunted him so, and Albus felt a stab of sympathy for him.
Severus could not have known what would have followed that night, but
Albus could not deny that his actions had sealed the fate of the Potter
family.
He was trying to atone for it, but Albus knew that no matter what
occurred in the future, Severus would never absolve himself of the guilt
he carried.
"She would hate that he is there," the man whispered. "She would hate
what the future has in store for him."
"Lily died for her son, Severus," Albus pointed out, "and you know as well
as I do that she would see him live, no matter what he had to do. As
would James."
Severus's lips curled at the mention of Harry's father.
"He would," he replied simply before taking his leave of the office.
Harry was a bitter reminder of what Severus believed he had lost to
James Potter, and Albus did not believe the man had the capacity to treat
the boy with any semblance of kindness.
He was much too bitter about the past for that.
Still, as much as Albus knew that Gellert was right and that Harry would
receive the education he would need from Durmstrang and Cassiopeia
Black to give him the best chance to live, he could not help but wish the
boy was here where he could be under Albus's guidance.
(Break)
Schneider's prediction that the flying lessons for the first years wouldn't
begin until later in the year proved to be correct. The weather had been
abysmal until the end of May when the final exams for the year had
begun.
Nonetheless, Harry along with his classmate found themselves on what
was deemed to be a Quidditch pitch on a brisk morning, those who
hadn't had the privilege of being able to fly, excited to do so despite their
shivering bodies.
"Gather round," Olaffson instructed sharply.
Harry followed the others to the enormous man and the older student he
had brought along to seemingly assist him.
"You all know who I am," Olaffson barked. "This is Viktor Krum," he
added, gesturing towards the surly teen accompanying him. "He's the best
damned flyer the school has seen in decades, so he will be helping you
today."
Some of the students began whispering excitedly.
Viktor Krum was something of a celebrity in his home country of
Bulgaria having already been signed to play professional Quidditch for
one of the prominent teams there.
Harry thought the boy could at least be cheerful about his lot in life.
Instead, Krum continued to scowl unhappily.
"If you have any flying experience, you will go with Krum and he will
assess you," Olaffson instructed. "If you have never flown before, you will
come with me."
Without another word, the man headed towards the far side of the
Quidditch pitch followed by the majority of the students.
Harry remained with Krum and eight others, all of them purebloods
including Summerbee.
Krum eyed them critically before gesturing for them to retrieve a broom.
They had certainly seen better days, but Harry took possession of one of
the newer Comets. It wasn't anything of the calibre of the Nimbus 2000
Cassie had bought him for Christmas, but it would do.
"Let me see what you have," Krum instructed, jamming his hands into the
pocket of his greatcoat.
Without preamble, Harry mounted his broom and kicked off from the
ground, revelling in the freedom of being in the air.
He had missed this, and though it took him a few moments to adjust to
the slightly less responsive Comet, he was soon flying laps of the pitch,
weaving in and out of the others.
Although it was clear that they had indeed flown before, they were all
rather slow, so he climbed higher to avoid a possible collision.
The air was colder up here, but it wasn't until he looked down that he
realised just how high he had climbed.
The other students were mere specks below and not wanting to incur the
wrath of Olaffson who would undoubtedly make him pay for any deemed
slight, he descended in a deep dive, the cold wind stinging his eyes as it
whistled in his ears.
(Break)
Viktor had not liked the idea of assisting the first years in their flying
lessons, but Karkaroff had insisted he be present to offer his expertise.
Reluctantly, he had joined the sadist that was Olaffson, fully prepared to
be scooping up those that tried to show off from the dirt where they had
overextended themselves.
Instead, he found himself watching an eleven-year-old boy zooming
around the pitch as though he had been born sitting atop a broom.
Nonetheless, a nervous lump formed in his throat as the boy took to the
sky, and though Viktor called for him to come back, his words were
evidently unheard.
All he could do was watch helplessly as the boy dropped into a dive that
most professional Quidditch players would balk at.
A dozen thoughts ran through Viktor's mind as he hurried to where the
unavoidable impact would occur.
The boy would be killed from such a height, or every bone in his body
broken at least.
All eyes were on him as he descended, and even the usually stoic
Olaffson looked on in concern.
Viktor paused as the boy pulled out of the dive, a beaming smile cresting
his lips as the tips of his toes skimmed the frozen ground below.
The Bulgarian could only look on in shock at such a daring and foolish
feat, his mouth agape.
The boy must have been trained from birth to even consider doing such a
thing.
Even so, it had been foolish, and Viktor felt his ire rise as he stalked
towards the smiling boy.
"What was that?" he demanded.
The boys' smile fell and was replaced with a look of confusion.
"Flying," he answered dumbly as he stepped off the broom.
"Flying?" Viktor scoffed. "You could have been killed."
The boy shook his head.
"I always do that," he defended.
Viktor frowned.
"How much training have you had?"
"None," the boy answered with a shrug. "I taught myself."
"You taught yourself?" Viktor snorted, sobering when he realised the boy
was telling the truth. "You never had professional coaching?"
"No. I just got on a broom and realised I could fly."
Viktor could only shake his head.
"Do you play Quidditch?"
"No, I never really got the chance," was the response he received.
Viktor hummed as he removed a Snitch from his pocket and released it.
He always kept one with him ever since he had been a small boy.
"Find it and bring it back," he instructed.
"Krum!" Olaffson snapped. "The boy is not going back in the air."
"Professor, you saw for yourself what he can do," Viktor replied. "Let him
humour me."
Olaffson huffed irritably.
"If anything happens to him, it will be on your head," he warned.
The boy looked at Olaffson and then Krum.
"Don't kill yourself," Viktor sighed, gesturing for the boy to proceed.
With a nod, he did so, and without the fear the boy was in danger, Viktor
was able to watch and appreciate his form and the ease with which he
flew.
Even if he'd had years of coaching, there was no denying his natural
ability.
Flying was mostly an instinctual art, something that could only be
learned to a person's limitations in ability.
This boy was simply superb, and Viktor nodded appreciatively as he
continued to watch.
He was almost unsurprised when they boy returned only ten minutes
later clutching the Snitch in his hand, and though it was a beginner's
model, the feat was still rather impressive for someone who had never
played before.
"I got it," the boy declared as he handed it to Viktor.
"You did," the Bulgarian observed, wondering what could be done with
the boy.
He was a natural and allowing his talent to go unnurtured would be a
waste.
From his own selfish thoughts, Viktor realised that in only a few short
years when the boy had grown a little more, he could be an excellent
training partner whilst he was at school.
With his mind made up, he nodded thoughtfully to himself.
"I would like you to train with me and the other Quidditch players."
"Why?" the boy asked confusedly.
Viktor beckoned for the boy to follow, and when they were out of earshot
of the others, he spoke once more.
"For your own benefit, your status within the school will grow. Even half-
bloods and creatures are respected if they prove themselves to be good
flyers."
The boy shrugged indifferently.
"I don't care about that."
Viktor chuckled amusedly.
"Okay, well for my benefit, I think you have the potential to be a very
good training partner in the future," he said honestly. "I need people to
work with me whilst I am here, and the ones I have are not good enough.
I bet you could beat most of them in a Seeker's duel already."
"That still doesn't explain how it helps me," the boy pointed out.
Viktor smiled.
Already the youngster was growing on him.
He was bright, and already looked out for himself, something that was
needed at Durmstrang.
"I will help you become an even better flyer, and even how to become a
Seeker if you like," he offered. "I'll even help you with anything else you
need if I can. You can think of me as a mentor."
The boy seemed to mull it over for a moment before finally nodding.
"I suppose having a contact like you could be useful in the future," he
mused aloud. "I might want tickets to a cup final or something. Fine, you
have a deal," he finished, offering his hand and a winning smile.
Viktor accepted it with a chuckle.
"Good," he declared. "Well, if we are going to be working together, I think
I should know your name."
"Harry," the boy answered. "Harry Potter."
Viktor's eyebrows rose in surprise.
Just like everyone else, he had heard the name synonymous with not
only surviving the killing curse, but for defeating a Dark Lord as a babe.
"It is nice to meet you, Harry," Viktor said sincerely, pleased he had made
the acquaintance of a boy just as, if not more famous than he was.
They had common ground already, and though Harry believed he had
made a useful contact, Viktor believed he had gotten the better end of the
deal.
(Break)
"I didn't know you could fly like that," Cain snorted as Harry approached
his housemates after finishing his rather bewildering talk with Viktor
Krum.
Harry shrugged.
"It's just flying," he said dismissively. "It's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal," Bruno laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.
"What did Krum want?" Lucinda asked.
"He wants me to fly with him and the other Quidditch players."
"He wants you to train with him?" Cain gasped.
Harry frowned as he nodded.
"We made a deal," Harry explained.
Cain looked at the others as he shook his head.
"Lucky bastard," he murmured.
Harry didn't quite see it the same way as his friend.
Of course, he knew he had considerable experience to gain by flying with
Viktor, but that also meant he would have to take time out from his
studies to do so.
Still, he would make it work.
He had meant what he said when he had pointed out that having Krum
as a contact could be useful for the future.
"Come on, we have Transfiguration next," Lucinda reminded them.
The group headed back into the school and up to the fourth floor where
their lessons in the subject took place.
It was a quiet part of the building where few went unless they were
attending a lesson.
Harry guessed that was why Barkus and his friends decided to confront
him here, knowing they were unlikely to be interrupted.
He had been waiting for the inevitable confrontation.
Since he had returned to school after Christmas, Barkus had not
attempted to conceal his intentions, offering threatening gestures and the
like at Harry.
"There's no Karkaroff to protect you now, Potter," the boy chortled, his
lackeys joining in.
Harry frowned as Cain pulled on his arm in attempt to move him along,
but Harry was not going to run from Barkus.
The boy was a fool if he believed that Cassie had allowed him to come
here unprepared for such an eventuality.
No, Harry was not as helpless as Barkus likely thought, and he would
discover that for himself in the coming moments, if he chose to proceed
with his goading.
"Just piss off, Arse-Kiss," Lucinda growled irritably.
"Don't you dare talk to me, you filthy creature!" Barkus snapped before
turning his attention back to Harry. "What's wrong, Potter, do you need
your girlfriend to fight your battles?"
"No," Harry denied calmly as he freed himself from Cain's grasp. "I can
deal with you well enough without my girlfriend's help."
He felt the glare Lucinda sent towards him, and it brought a smirk to his
lips, or it may have been caused by the impending confrontation.
"Well, let's get it over with, Barkus," Harry sighed.
His wand had been poised and ready the moment he had spotted the
other boy, though Barkus wasn't to know that.
Without further provocation, the boy launched his attack, and Harry
shouldered Lucinda aside as he avoided the sickly blue curse, returning
fire immediately with one of his own, courtesy of the Blacks.
Barkus managed to duck the offering, but one of his cohorts was not so
fortunate and the boy collapsed to the ground with his hands pressed
over his ears.
Still, the blood leaked out onto the stone floor, and Harry continued is
attack, his temper giving way in the face of being set upon.
Cassie had taught him to be ruthless, to strike first and deal with the
consequences after.
Not that Harry had needed encouragement.
It had always been in his nature to do so, a killer instinct he seemed to
have been born with.
After only a moment, Barkus seemed to realise his error, but it was too
late to backtrack now.
With a snarl and final flourish of his wand, Harry's spell broke through
the boys' pitiful defence, and Barkus crumbled, falling to the ground
bereft of his wand, his fingers snapped backwards.
He screamed, and it was only Summerbee stepping in front of Harry that
prevented him attacking further.
"He's had enough," she pleaded.
Harry's nostrils flared, but he nodded, nonetheless.
"What is going on here?"
Professor Karkaroff had arrived, and he looked displeased by the scene he
had come upon.
"Barkus attacked Harry," Cain defended.
Karkaroff looked at the cowering older boy, his jaw clenching in
displeasure.
"Get up," he barked, "and get yourself to the medical bay. We will be
having words."
Barkus wiped the tears from his eyes as he stood and all but ran from the
corridor with two of his companions in tow.
The third was still on the ground, whimpering as he continued to clutch
his ears.
"Potter, undo whatever you did to him," Karkaroff sighed.
Reluctantly, Harry complied, and the boy left without being told to.
"The rest of you, off to your lesson," Karkaroff instructed.
"What about me?" Harry asked.
"You too, Potter," Karkaroff replied. "You are not punished for defending
yourself here. Barkus should have known better. On your way."
Harry frowned at the retreating headmaster's form before turning back
towards his friends who were eying him cautiously.
"Are you okay?" Cain asked.
Harry nodded.
"I didn't get cursed," he pointed out.
"We can see that," Lucinda huffed. "Where did you learn to duel?"
"My Aunt," Harry shrugged, shuddering at the dozens of memories he had
of being under the tutelage of Cassiopeia Black.
From when he could walk, the woman had drilled him in being able to
dodge unfriendly spells and made him practice his wand movements in
preparation for receiving his wand.
It had been a daily thing, and something that Harry was now grateful for.
Everything he had done had been on instinct, though he did question
why he had the urge to continue attacking Barkus when he had already
been disarmed.
Did he want to hurt the boy?
Yes.
He could not deny that he had wanted Barkus to suffer for what he had
done.
"I've said it once and I'll say it again," Cain snorted. "You're quite scary,
Potter. I'm just glad I'm on your side."
Harry chuckled as he shook his head, falling quiet as Lucinda gripped his
arm.
"We only have two weeks left of the year," she sighed. "Do you think you
can make it without getting into more trouble?"
"Anything for my girlfriend," Harry replied, ducking as Lucinda growled,
baring her fangs as she swung at him.
Knowing he had perhaps pushed her too far, he took off running towards
the Transfiguration classroom, once more anticipating some time away
from the school in a matter of days.
He liked it here, but he missed Cassie, and though he knew he would
crave the company of his friends, he was looking forward to some time to
himself.
(Break)
Albus had made quite the production about leaving the castle, publicly
informing Minerva of his intended absence during dinner. Of course, the
note he had received from Cornelius requesting his presence to assist on
an urgent matter had been a forgery but having had it presented to him
by an official Ministry owl, the headmaster knew tonight would be the
night.
Having left the castle, he had made his exit as obvious as possible,
pausing to speak with two of the prefects on patrol, and also the Fat Friar
who had been hanging around the second floor.
He'd even paused in Hogsmeade to greet a few locals before apparating
away to London where he was currently waiting, a sense of trepidation
becoming more prominent with each passing minute.
Albus could not return to the castle too soon or Tom would simply
abandon his attempt, and he couldn't arrive too late, just in case the Dark
Lord managed to break the magic protecting the stone.
His former student could not be allowed to obtain it.
"One more minute," Albus murmured to himself, preparing to return to
the castle, though this time he would be doing so quietly in order to
catch Quirrell in the act.
The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor did not concern him.
Quirinus was not without talent, but Albus would be being modest if
believed for a moment the man alone posed a threat to him.
With Tom possessing the man, however, Albus knew he must be prepared
for anything.
He was no expert in the art of possession, and he could not be certain if
Tom's presence within Quirinus could give the man an unknown edge.
Releasing a deep breath, he whistled lowly and took hold of Fawkes' tail
as the phoenix appeared in a burst of fire and immediately transported
them to the door on the third floor of the castle.
"He is in there," Severus informed him urgently, "and has been for some
time."
Albus nodded his understanding as he drew his wand.
"I would have you guard the corridor, Severus," he requested. "I do not
wish for any to come upon us."
Severus appeared as though he would protest, but merely nodded his
compliance, drawing his own wand as Albus stepped passed him and
entered the room containing a slumbering Cerberus.
With little difficulty, he dealt with the Devil's Snare below, and managed
to summon the correct key to admit him into the next room where he
came upon a troll that had been rendered unconscious.
The next room was a matter of formality for the experienced headmaster
as he simply broke the animation charms Minerva had cast on the chess
set.
The black flames parted with nothing more than a waved of his wand,
and when he stepped into the antechamber on the other side, he was
greeted by the sight of Quirinus staring at his own reflection in the very
mirror Albus had placed here.
"How did you fall so far?" he questioned the turban-clad man.
Quirrell grinned in response.
"The Dark Lord has power that you never will, Albus," he answered.
"Now, retrieve the stone for me."
Albus shook his head disappointedly.
"We both know that will not happen," he sighed. "Has your ego truly
grown so much to believe it would?"
Quirrell frowned as he continued investigating the mirror.
"It is here, I can feel it," he snapped irritably. "Maybe I should break it.
Yes, that is it."
"No," another, raspy voice spoke. "If you break it, the stone will be lost to
us. We must take the mirror."
"But Dumbledore…"
"Silence!" the raspy voice commanded. "I would speak with him."
"No, you do not have the strength, master."
"I do for this," the other voice said firmly.
Reluctantly, Quirinus began unravelling the turban he wore, and when
the fabric pooled towards the floor, Albus found himself looking at the
reflection of a face he would never forget.
"Is this what you have become, Tom?" he pressed.
"For now," Riddle acknowledged unhappily, "but we both know that it is
only a matter of time before I return. I cannot be killed, not even by your
saviour."
Albus shook his head.
It seemed that even experiencing such a humbling setback, Tom's ego
knew no bounds.
"I must admit, I was disappointed to learn the boy had not attended this
year," Riddle continued. "I had expected we would meet. Have you kept
him hidden, Dumbledore?"
Albus shook his head.
"Harry chose to not come to Hogwarts this year," he answered vaguely,
"but as ever, you overestimate yourself, Tom. You will not be leaving
with the stone this evening."
The Dark Lord chuckled.
"Who will stop me when you're dead?" he replied. "KILL HIM!"
(Break)
It was odd watching spells being fired towards him via a reflection in the
mirror, and Harry felt a sense of vulnerability that he was not fond of set in as
the man with the white beard continued to attack.
Try as he might, he had no control over the body he found himself within and
competing with the conflicting emotions of excitement and fear was enough to
induce quite the headache.
Harry could only look on whilst he tried to pull himself away from the
situation.
The fighting between what seemed to be himself facing away from his
opponent and the bearded man only increased in ferocity until a piercing
scream rent the air.
Harry found himself face down on a stone floor.
"Your victory is hollow, Dumbledore," a gravelly voice spat, one that Harry
had heard too many times for his liking.
"Perhaps, another agreed, but the stone will remain safe."
A manic laughter filled the air.
"The stone was only one way I could achieve my return. There are yet many
other avenues to explore. You cannot prevent it, Dumbledore."
"No," the second voice agreed, "but I will delay it as long as I can."
"Master, help me!" a third voice pleaded.
"Pathetic," Voldemort muttered. "You have failed me, Quirrell."
A bloodcurdling scream escaped the third man, and Harry felt himself being
torn painfully until he was free of the body.
Quirrell, whoever he was, fell silent and unmoving as Harry found himself
suspended several feet in the air, glaring at the bearded man with his wand
pointing towards him.
With roar of fury, Harry felt himself being propelled towards him, only to be
sent off course and through the ceiling above.
Harry woke with a start, his head feeling as though it had been split in
two, and he was gasping for breath, his shirt soaked through with sweat.
"Harry, are you okay?"
"Of course, he isn't. Send for the matron."
"No," Harry mumbled as he rubbed his aching scar. "I'll be fine in a
minute."
"Are you sure?" Cain asked.
Harry nodded as he opened his eyes and took a deep breath.
"It was just a bad dream."
Cain's eyes were full of concern.
"You were screaming," he explained. "I know you have nightmares, we all
do, but nothing like that."
"It's fine," Harry said dismissively as he stood.
"Only if you're sure."
Harry offered his friend a smile.
"I am," he replied, though he could not help but think that what he had
experienced had not merely been a dream.
It felt too real to be so, and the same vulnerability he had felt whilst
within the chamber with the bearded man returned.
"Where are you going?" Cain asked as Harry began retrieving some of his
belongings.
"Just for a walk," he replied as he took his leave of the dorm.
He hadn't lied, but he would only be walking to one of the secret rooms
he had uncovered.
He would sleep no more tonight, and with some time on his hands, he
needed to work, needed to do all he could so that he never experienced
that vulnerability outside of the visions that haunted him.
9. Connections
Connections
A/N
Another chapter for you guys.
Happy Reading,
TBR
Late August 1992
Harry took a large swallow of the cold water, the heat of the Greek sun
baring down on his back. Although flying and the other exercises Viktor
Krum and Olaffson had insisted he did were more pleasant to complete in
this climate, they were certainly more taxing.
He had spent considerable time over the summer atop his broom, and
when he wasn't, he could be found in the basement, his other training
having taken precedence since returning from Durmstrang.
The vision he'd had of the fight still haunted him so, though the dreams
of his mother's final moments still came sporadically amongst them.
The commanding voice of Voldemort, the laughter, and the mocking
often making it difficult for Harry to maintain his usually cool
composure.
There was something about the man that made him furious, vengeful,
and even murderous.
In truth, anything pertaining to the loss of his parents made him feel this
way, but Harry would ensure they had not perished in vain.
Those who had a hand in Voldemort's successes would pay dearly, of
that, he had no doubt.
"Harry, a letter has arrived for you," Cassie called from the back door.
With a nod, Harry retrieved the t-shirt he had removed and made his way
back to the house.
He had exchanged letters with all of his friends during the break, each of
them writing to him weekly at the very least, and Lucinda, much to his
surprise, more so than the others.
Eleanor usually sent two as did Ana and Cain, something that Harry
appreciated.
He did miss his friends, and though he had not seen any of them other
than Pansy over the holidays, he was looking forward to the impending
reunion.
"Who's it from this time?" Harry asked as he entered the kitchen.
"From the school," Cassie explained as she slid the missive across the
table.
Harry frowned as he opened it and removed several sheets of parchment
from within the envelope.
Dear Mr Potter,
Please find enclosed your academic report from the school year 1991-1992.
We look forward to welcoming you back to Durmstrang shortly.
Professor Igor Karkaroff
Headmaster
Professor Misha Sidorova
Head of First Year
"It's a school report," he explained to the waiting woman.
Cassiopeia nodded and waited for Harry to finish reading the enclosed
documents.
Grades
Your grades are awarded based on the system outlined below. If you wish to
discuss them in further detail, please arrange an appointment with Professor
Sidorova who will be happy to do so.
Grading System
Grades are given based on expected levels achieved for the academic year you
have completed.
Each year, the grading boundaries and expectations change as you progress
through a subject.
Grading Classes
First Class* - The highest attainable grade at Durmstrang. You are working
considerably beyond what is expected at the level of study.
First Class – You have accomplished beyond what is expected at your level of
study.
Second Class – You have achieved all that is expected of you at your level of
study.
Third Class – You have not achieved all that is expected of you at your level
of study. Your performance will be closely monitored throughout the next
year.
Unattained – You have not reached an acceptable level of progress/completion
of the subject matter. You are no longer eligible to continue studying the
subject.
Results for Harry James Potter
Academic Year: 1991 – 1992
Charms – 1st Class*
Dark Arts – 1st Class*
Defensive Studies – 1st Class*
Enchanting – 1st Class
Herbology – 1st Class
History of Magic – 2nd Class
Magical Languages – 1st Class
Magical Mathematics – 1st Class
Potions – 2nd Class
Runic Studies – 1st Class
Study of Magical Creatures – 1st Class
Study of Wandlore – 2nd Class
Transfiguration – 1st Class*
Congratulations Harry, I am very pleased with your results this year and look
forward to seeing what you can achieve moving forward.
Professor Sidorova
Please note:
During the next academic year, you will be introduced to further subjects to
supplement your education. These are listed below.
- Arcane and Esoteric Magicks
- Blood Magic
- Elemental Magic
Also, please find enclosed the list of items you will require for your next
academic year at Durmstrang.
Harry nodded satisfactorily at his grades before handing them to
Cassiopeia.
The woman took her time to read them, but when she was done, she
offered him a bright smile.
"Well done," she said sincerely. "Not that I expected anything less from
you."
"Does this mean we have to go shopping?" Harry asked, holding up the
accompanying wad of parchment.
"It does," Cassiopeia snorted amusedly as Harry grimaced.
The woman would insist on buying him new robes, and anything else she
could think of whilst they were there.
'Your robes should always be pristine. My father insisted on that with
Arcturus.'
Harry understood the positions he would hold one day were prominent
and there were expectations for both lordships he would need to adhere
to.
Cassiopeia insisted that get into some of those habits now, and though it
could be frustrating at times, he accepted her advice knowing she had
much better knowledge than him on the subject.
"I'll get ready then," Harry sighed.
Cassiopeia merely smirked in response and Harry muttered under his
breath before taking his leave of the kitchen to get himself cleaned up.
(Break)
"If that man has achieved even a tenth of the feats he claim, I will eat my
hat," Minerva declared after Gilderoy had sauntered from the room.
"Honestly Albus, could you not find a better candidate?"
The headmaster deflated.
"No," he admitted. "Mr Lockhart was the only one willing to take the job."
Minerva pursed her lips in irritation but didn't comment further.
"The man is a braggart and a liar," Filius squeaked.
Albus could not disagree with the assessment of the new Defence Against
the Dark Arts professor, but he had spoken truthfully.
He had been unable to find any other candidate on short notice to fill the
role. However, his search would continue throughout the year.
"Well, let us hope that he experiences the same misfortune that all others
have during the short tenures here," Severus broke in, his lip curling in
distaste as he glared at the door Lockhart had just exited through.
Albus silently agreed with the man, though he did not wish for any harm
to befall Gilderoy.
He had undoubtedly fabricated much of his collective tales, but he had to
be good at something to be able to fool so many.
"I will monitor him closely," Albus assured the other staff members. "For
now, I wish to bring something else to your attention pertaining to Lucius
and Arthur Weasley. It is my understanding that there was quite the
unpleasant incident between them both in Diagon Alley. I do not wish for
that to continue between Draco and the Weasleys that are here."
"I will ensure it does not," Minerva declared.
"Unpleasant incident?" Pomona questioned curiously.
"The two of them were brawling," Professor Sinistra explained. "They
caused quite the scene."
Pomona rolled her eyes as she shook her head.
"The Weasley/Malfoy unpleasantness has lasted for generations. You
would think they would have put their differences aside by now."
"Both families are too stubborn," Minerva sighed. "I had hoped with
Arthur's more kindly nature, he would have moved past it."
"That will never happen," Severus snorted as he stood. "If you don't mind,
I have potions brewing for the Hospital Wing. I expect we will need them
this year."
Without another word, Severus left and was followed by the other
professors when Albus made no protest.
When he was alone, he stroked Fawkes' feathers as he pondered the
upcoming year.
Gilderoy would likely prove to be a disappointment, but the school had
been unable to retain any instructor in the subject for more than a year
for some time.
Perhaps the position truly was cursed.
Not wanting to expend too much energy pondering that possibility, Albus
began busying himself with some of the considerable paperwork that
came with being the headmaster of one of the most prestigious
institutions available.
The schooling of his students would be resuming the following day, and
though he was always eager to greet them when they arrived, he had
sneaking suspicion that this year would be more eventful than he wished.
Between the disaster that Gilderoy could prove to be and the brewing
unpleasantness between Slytherin and the other houses, things could
become rather unsavoury indeed.
(Break)
"I'm pleased to see that you have been practicing," Viktor praised as
Harry touched down on the ground.
It was only the morning after they had returned to school and the
Bulgarian had dragged him from the common room before the sun had
risen.
Not that Harry minded.
He had already been awake.
"I have," he replied with a frown as Krum circled him.
"You have grown a couple of inches too," the older boy mused aloud.
"Good work, Potter."
"Well, you know, it would have been rude if I didn't choose to grow a
little for you," Harry remarked, eliciting a smirk from the Bulgarian.
"The others will like you," Krum declared.
"What others?"
"The rest of the students that help me with my training," Krum explained.
"They'll even keep Barkus off your back."
Harry snorted as he shook his head.
"Arse-Kiss can do as he pleases," he returned evenly. "If he's too stupid to
not have learned from the last time, then he deserves whatever he has
coming."
Krum chuckled, nodding his agreement.
"He is an idiot and will not let it go," he sighed. "His father is high-up in
the German Ministry so he thinks he's untouchable."
"That really worked out for him, didn't it?" Harry replied pointedly.
Viktor eyed Harry speculatively for a moment and patted him on the
shoulder.
"You're already making a name for yourself here," he murmured
thoughtfully. "What you did for the werewolves last year and sticking up
for your housemates, people are taking notice. Other than Barkus and his
friends, even the purebloods are beginning to respect you, even if they
don't agree with you."
"Don't agree with me?" Harry asked.
"The wolfsbane," Viktor explained. "Many purebloods in Europe will be
displeased that you are supplying even a small number of werewolves
with it. We are more tolerant of them in all than in most places, but they
are still below us. Your being so generous with your gold towards them
will not be well received."
Harry shrugged carelessly.
"If anyone does have a problem with what I do, they are welcome to take
it up with me."
Viktor smirked once more and ruffled Harry's hair.
"I like you, Potter," he declared, "just, be careful. It is not so difficult to
make enemies."
"Look who you're talking to, Krum," Harry returned. "I already have many
of them. A few more won't make any difference."
Viktor nodded as he eyed Harry.
"Well, I'm already glad that I have no intention of becoming one of them,"
he said sincerely. "In only a few years, you would not be an enemy I
want. Now, come on, we'd best get to lessons or Olaffson will have us
both out here at the crack of dawn if we're late."
Harry nodded and followed the older boy back towards the school.
He wouldn't put it past the Icelandic monster to do just that.
"Same time tomorrow?" Harry asked as he and Viktor reached the
courtyard.
"No, today was just a test to see if you would be ready if I needed you
early," he replied with a grin. "You passed."
With that, Viktor left a scowling Harry where he was standing and
headed in the opposite direction of where he needed to be.
This morning, he would be experiencing his first lesson in Elemental
Magic, something he had been eagerly anticipating.
"Where have you been?" Cain asked as Harry joined him and the others in
the main hall.
"With Krum," Harry explained as he helped himself to some bread and
bacon to eat on the way to the classroom.
"He meant it then?" Cain pressed excitedly. "That he wanted you to train
with him."
Harry nodded as he took a mouthful of food.
"He meant it," he confirmed when he had swallowed it. "He meant it so
much that he would have been dragging me out of bed by my feet if I
hadn't been awake at five."
"Five?" Cain groaned in displeasure.
The werewolf was not an early riser and chose to remain in bed until the
last possible moment each morning.
"Not all of us are lazy wolves," Harry quipped.
Cain narrowed his eyes at him, but Harry finished his breakfast before
they arrived at the classroom.
"Come in, come in," the professor urged excitedly.
They entered, and Harry took a seat next to Ana who had been looking
forward to this lesson even more than him.
"We will give the others a few more minutes to arrive, and then we will
begin," the professor declared.
She was a younger woman, with curly red hair, bright blue eyes, and
porcelain skin.
The rest of the students arrived only a moment later and the professor
greeted them all with a beaming smile.
"Welcome to your first lesson in Elemental Magic," she began
enthusiastically. "Whilst you are here, we will explore the elements
themselves and discover what, if any, elements you may have an affinity
for. However, I must warn you that this particular branch of magic can
be exceedingly dangerous if it is not given the respect it deserves."
Although her tone carried the hint of warning, the smile never left her
lips as she spoke.
"My name is Professor Ida Larsen. I am from Denmark, and I have an
elemental affinity with fire."
To accentuate her point, she summoned the flame from one of the torches
on the wall and began manipulating it in her hands, shifting it into
shapes of different creatures.
When she was done, she threw it back towards the torch where it
continued to flicker merrily.
The students clapped, and the woman offered them a bow.
"Now," she continued when the applause died down, "I must explain to
you that not everyone has such an affinity with any element. With that
being said, there is much you will learn during these lessons that will
aide you in your magical journey. Shall we begin?"
Harry's curiosity had been piqued, as had the rest of the class who were
paying rapt attention to the woman.
Noticing this, she offered them another smile.
"What do I mean by elements?" she asked.
"Fire?" one of the purebloods replied.
Larsen nodded.
"Fire is indeed an element, but I am looking for something else, an
answer that is more encapsulating."
"Natural energy," Ana broke in. "The elements are natural phenomena
that create their own magical energy."
Larsen positively beamed at the girl.
"Exactly," she confirmed. "Fire, wind, water, and air are the most
common of elemental affinities, but there are others, some that work in
conjunction with the four primary practices. Does anyone have any ideas
what they may be?"
"Earth," Ana answered. "There is a never-ending supply of energy that
runs beneath our feet."
Larsen nodded.
"Indeed, there is," she confirmed. "Practitioners of Earthen Magic are
quite rare amongst humans, but not amongst other races. Hags and Elves
are rather proficient in it."
Ana nodded this time.
"Any others?"
"What about volcanoes?" Cain questioned.
"Lava is a natural energy," Larsen acknowledged, "and it can be used to a
degree, but is difficult to harness. If I attempted to manipulate lava as I
do fire, it would burn me horribly. As with all magics, elemental
practices are limited, and extremely dangerous if these limits are
pushed."
Cain nodded his understanding.
"There are dozens of natural energies," Larsen explained, "some more
difficult to tap into than others. Now, what we will be doing today is
studying some of these elements and seeing if we can recognise the magic
in them. I am not expecting much during our first attempt, but it is
something we will revisit throughout the year. You will work in pairs for
this."
Larsen proceeded to hand out glass jars full of fire, water, and some
seemingly empty that represented air.
She handed an additional one to Ana that contained dirt, and the girl
nodded appreciatively.
"Do not be disappointed if you feel nothing," Larsen urged. "Having an
affinity with an element is not common."
Harry nodded before turning his attention to Ana.
"Do you think you will have it with Earth?" he asked.
"I already have," the girl murmured as she placed the jar on the table.
She stared at it for a moment before the glass shattered and the dirt was
flung in Harry's direction.
"I'm sorry," Ana said hurriedly as she brushed it from his robes.
Harry waved her off, chuckling amusedly.
"Don't apologise, that was great," he praised.
Ana offered him a sheepish grin as Larsen approached, clapping gleefully.
"Excellent," she declared, "but if you could refrain from throwing it at
your fellow classmates, that would be most appreciated."
Ana's cheeks reddened as Larsen attention turned to Harry.
"Let us see what you can feel, Mr Potter," she said interestedly. "Pick up
one of the jars and allow any magic you become aware of to wash over
you."
Harry frowned as he picked up the jar of fire.
He could feel the heat and even something beyond that, but it did not
feel welcoming.
"It doesn't want me," he whispered.
"Excuse me?" Larsen asked.
"The fire doesn't want me," Harry replied. "It's warm and I can feel
something, but it is pushing me away."
Larsen's eyebrows rose considerably.
"You can feel it pushing you away?"
Harry nodded.
"When it touches my magic, it retreats."
Larsen's lips quirked in a grin.
"Try the water," she urged.
Harry did so after replacing the jar of flames, and when he allowed the
water to reach him the same way he had with the former, he shuddered.
"It's cold," he murmured. "It's pushing me away too."
Larsen shook her head.
"The fact that you can feel them so well is rather astounding," she
commented. "Most would not even be able to feel acceptance let alone
rejection. You have quite a keen sense for magic, Mr Potter. Try the Air
and the Earth."
Harry did so and received similar results, much to the confusion of the
professor who hummed thoughtfully to herself.
"You're certain you can feel the magic within them?"
Harry nodded and the woman reached into her bag and removed another
from the bag slung over her shoulder.
"Try this," she urged as she handed it to him.
The jar was empty, but as Harry took hold of it, he felt a wave of
powerful magic wash over him and the glass began to tremble in his
hand.
A deep rumble sounded from within and Harry found he couldn't release
his hold.
The rumble grew louder and the force within shook his arm almost
uncomfortably until a flash of light blinded him.
When Harry managed to catch his bearings, he was sitting with his back
to the wall, a dozen feet away from where he had been, his entire body
tingling.
"Bloody hell," he gasped. "What was that?"
Larsen was looking at him with a raised eyebrow of amusement and
mixture of curiosity.
"Are you alright, Mr Potter?" she asked as she approached.
Harry nodded as he pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the stares of the
rest of the class.
"What happened?"
"You over-exerted your hold on the element," Larsen explained. "Are you
injured?"
Harry shook his head.
He felt fine other than the throbbing tingle in his right arm.
"I think I'm okay," he replied as he pulled his sleeve up to his elbow. "Or
not," he added.
From his finger and all around his arm was a dark, sporadic pattern that
split in several directions.
"You've been burned," Larsen sighed. "Not to worry, the healer will be
able to put that right."
"Burned?" Harry asked. "It doesn't hurt."
"Well, you're very fortunate," the woman returned. "It is my fault for
allowing it to go on as long as I did. I got overexcited and forgot that you
have no idea how to control it."
"Control what?" Harry questioned.
"The lightning," Larsen informed him. "You have quite the affinity for it."
"Lightning?"
Larsen nodded.
"It is not an unheard-of ability, but not as common as the other elements.
You took the stored energy in the jar and created quite the storm. I did
not expect such a volatile response, though I should have."
"Lightning?" Harry asked again.
Larsen laughed as she inspected his arm.
"It is more common among Native Americans," she explained, "but just as
a wand chooses a wizard, the elements do too. Have you ever been struck
by lightning?"
Harry frowned as he shook his head.
"No, I think I'd remember that."
"You would," Larsen agreed. "Has there been a significant moment in
your life when there was a storm."
Harry swallowed deeply as his mind drifted back to the only storm he
had a vague memory of.
That had occurred during the most significant and defining moment of
his life.
"The night I got this," he whispered, the tips of his fingers trailing over
his scar.
Larsen's eyes widened at the revelation before she cleared her throat.
"That will be all for today," she announced. "We will continue next lesson.
You may leave when you have gathered your things. Not you, Mr Potter,"
she added.
Harry sighed as he made his way back to his table and took a seat.
"Are you okay?" Ana asked as she collected her bag.
Harry nodded and the girl offered him an encouraging smile.
"Don't worry, I'll tell Gerhart you're here," she assured him, referring to
the Transfiguration professor.
When the other students had left, Larsen joined Harry, taking the seat
next to him.
"I apologise if I made you relive a painful memory," she began sincerely.
"It was not my intention to cause you upset, but to identify when your
connection to the element was made."
"Do you think it happened then?" Harry asked.
Larsen nodded.
"It was a deeply traumatic experience coupled with unprecedented magic
taking place," she explained. "If there was indeed a storm, it is likely then
the magic recognised your strength and chose you."
"You speak as though it is alive," Harry snorted.
"Isn't all magic alive in some way?" Larsen returned.
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
"I suppose it is."
"So, it would make sense that magic itself can use its sentience to forge
an equally beneficial bond."
"Equally beneficial?"
Larsen grinned.
"You created the storm in the jar, Mr Potter," she informed him. "The
energy was there, but it was you that put it to use. If you become attuned
to it, and you find common ground with that energy, you could
potentially create storms on a much larger scale. Your ability with
lightning spells will at least be exceptional if you explore and deepen
your relationship."
"How do I do that?"
"You practice," Larsen said simply. "You must embrace it, respect it, and
welcome it. If you do, then it will reciprocate."
"I just practice?"
Larsen nodded.
"There is only so much guidance I can give you," she explained.
"Journeying into elemental magic is a personal endeavour, an exploration
between you and the element that chose you to see how deeply you can
forge the bond."
"That makes sense," Harry murmured.
Larsen rubbed his shoulder.
"What happened to you is truly awful, Harry, and I will not pretend to
understand what magic was at play that night, but you managed to gain
an ever-present ally. Your element chose you for a reason, and I would
urge you to explore your bond with it."
"I will," Harry assured her.
He was curious about it, and though he was nervous about attempting to
wield such an unpredictable and chaotic thing, he was excited by the
challenge it presented to him.
"Good, we will discuss it throughout the year," Larsen declared as she
stood. "There is much I need to ponder also."
"Like what?" Harry asked.
"You didn't just summon or create lightning, Mr Potter, you created a
storm," she reminded him. "That is quite the feat, and something I need
to look into to see if there is any further help you need or guidance I can
offer. Now, off you go to your next lesson."
It was a thoughtful Harry that gathered his bag and left the room, but he
did not head towards the transfiguration classroom.
It had been some time since he had discussed anything pertaining to
what had happened to his parents, but he vividly remembered the
striking of lightning as Voldemort forced himself through the door to
Harry's room where he had murdered Lily Potter.
Harry had never really been frightened of lightning, but it never failed to
remind him of that night and speaking of it with Larsen had left him
feeling rather maudlin.
Still, if lightning had indeed chosen to form a bond with him, he would
be foolish to not explore it, despite the emotions the memory it brought
forth invoked within him.
Fear, sadness, and helplessness; three things Harry never wished to
experience again.
(Break)
Halloween 1992
"You'll be next mudbloods!"
The boy fell silent when he realised that not even his housemates were
willing to echo the sentiment, each of them fixated on the red writing
staining the wall or the cat that hung from the torch bracket.
Few would feel much for Mrs Norris, but the threat of the words of
whomever had written them could not be ignored.
Albus's mind wandered to some fifty years prior when the Chamber of
Secrets had been opened, the culprit none other than the boy who had
grown to become one of the most feared Dark Lords in history.
The headmaster had no doubt that Tom was somehow behind the
opening of the chamber once more, but how?
Albus knew not, but it was his priority to uncover the truth of the matter
before anyone else was harmed.
"Prefects, escort your students back to their common rooms," he
instructed firmly. "Who was the first to come upon the scene?"
"That would be me, Professor," Percy Weasley replied.
"Did you see anything amiss when you arrived?"
"No," the redhead answered immediately. "There was no other here nor
did I hear anything."
"Thank you, Mr Weasley," Albus sighed. "Please continue with your
duties."
When the students had reluctantly left the area, Albus turned to the rest
of the staff.
"I would have the castle and the grounds searched thoroughly," he
instructed. "If anything is amiss, even if it seems mundane, I wish to be
informed of it."
"It is like before," Minerva murmured when the other professors had left.
"Surely it cannot be him."
"I'm afraid that it is," Albus replied sombrely. "How he is doing it, I do not
know, but I will find out."
Minerva nodded as she too left, and Albus approached the red lettering.
"Blood," he deduced. "Non-magical, and not human."
However, no other clues had been left behind by the perpetrator.
They knew what they were doing as not to leave a trace of their
presence.
Either they had been instructed carefully by Tom, or somehow, Tom
himself had managed to find his way back into the castle.
Albus shook his head of the latter thought.
No, the soul piece he had chased away was not here.
He would be able to feel it if it was, but the question remained, how was
orchestrating this latest ploy?
(Break)
Although Harry had only managed to strike himself with lightning during
the lessons on elemental magic, he found that he was enjoying the
challenge, despite the bruises and minor burns he often left with.
Larsen seemed to believe he was making good progress, something that
Harry could not agree with.
No matter what he tried, he found himself propelled across the room
with his body tingling for hours after.
"You know, if it was anyone else, they'd probably be dead," Lucinda
pointed out. "I think that's progress."
Harry snorted amusedly.
"Well, if me not dying from an element I am supposed to have an affinity
for is progress, then call me the Lightning King."
"Is she the Lightning Queen then?" Cain asked, gesturing towards the
vampire.
Lucinda bared her fangs at the werewolf who flinched, but the smile did
not leave his lips.
Since he and the other werewolves had been given the wolfsbane potion,
they were in much better spirits, all of them suffering less as each full
moon approached.
The same could not be said for Harry, however.
Although he was occasionally subjected to the dream of his mother's
demise, and even the violent struggle between the bearded man and the
one who seemingly had another attached to the back of his head, other
dreams he failed to understand had become prevalent.
The first he'd experienced had been during the summer, little more than a
glimpse of a young redhead looking down on him, but it was disturbing,
nonetheless.
At first, he had believed that it had been his mother as a girl, but this one
did not have the same brilliant green eyes Harry had inherited from Lily
Potter.
No, this girl had brown eyes, and she appeared to be trying to tell him
her innermost thoughts.
Harry had been unable to understand any of the words she had spoken,
but he did not see himself as a confidant for her.
On the contrary, he saw her as a tool to achieve something that he
wanted.
What that could be, he knew not, but this naïve girl was not his friend.
The dreams continued to appear sporadically since, often showing the
girl simply looking down at him, and sometimes, Harry would be shown
what the girl herself was seeing.
A book she was writing in…stone corridors she roamed, and even the
inside of a bathroom where her focus was on a particular sink.
It made no sense to him, and with nothing malicious or threatening
taking place, he did his best to push them to the back of his mind.
He had other things that required his attention, after all.
Still, they were odd occurrences, and were it not for his increased
practice in Occlumency, perhaps he would see more than he had been
shown.
(Break)
Gellert seemed to be pondering her words carefully as he paced back and
forth in his cell.
Cassiopeia had explained her more recent concerns about Harry, how he
had become even more focused on his work despite having scored so
highly in most of his topics.
In truth, it wasn't this that worried her as much as his silence on the
matter.
She had always instilled a strong work ethic within the boy, and he
wasn't doing anything that wasn't expected of him, but it was his
motivation that had prompted her to speak with Gellert.
The man hummed as he paused.
"He has said nothing?"
Cassiopeia nodded.
"Have you observed anything different about his behaviour?"
Cassiopeia frowned.
"There is one thing that happened, but I haven't thought much about it,"
she informed him. "I checked on him when he was sleeping as I always
do, and he was talking."
"What did he say?"
Cassiopeia shrugged.
"It was incoherent mostly," she sighed. "Something about a purple turban
and a quill."
"Quirrell?" a severe voice broke in.
Cassiopeia glared at Dumbledore, but the man remained almost
indifferent to it.
She knew that he visited occasionally, though this was the first time she
had seen him since the night they had taken Harry from the muggles.
"What if it was?" she asked defensively.
Dumbledore looked worriedly towards Gellert and the two seemed to
have a silent conversation before he met her gaze once more.
"I believe that there is a connection of sorts between Harry and
Voldemort," he said darkly. "It seems that Harry is getting glimpses of
what he is up to."
The thought concerned Cassie deeply, and she turned towards Gellert for
guidance.
"He is not in danger from what he sees," the man assured her, "and as
much as I wish it weren't true, I agree with Albus that it is what is
happening."
"Can we not stop them?"
Gellert shook his head.
"No, I do not think so."
Dumbledore offered her a sad smile.
"What significance does this Quirrell have?"
"He was our former Defence professor," Dumbledore explained. "He fell
under Voldemort's spell, and I believe Harry was being shown glimpses of
their time together. I would urge you to broach the subject with him as
soon as you can and would ask a favour of you."
"A favour?" Cassiopeia asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at the
headmaster.
Dumbledore nodded.
"There has a rather unpleasant incident at the school that I believe the
Dark Lord is behind. If there is any truth to the claim, then the Chamber
of Secrets has been opened. I believe that somehow, Voldemort is behind
it. I would have you ask Harry about any other more recent visions he
may have had. Your cooperation could save lives."
Cassiopeia frowned.
She had heard of the Chamber of Secrets.
As far as she knew, the hidden room of Salazar Slytherin within
Hogwarts was little more than a myth, a children's tale, but Dumbledore's
unusually maudlin demeanour gave her pause in dismissing his concerns.
Still, she looked towards Gellert who nodded encouragingly.
"You may not like him, but you know as well as I that Albus is not prone
to flights of fancy," he murmured. "At the very least, it will cause no
harm to ask the boy."
Cassiopeia deflated as she nodded.
"Fine," she agreed, "but I want you both to find a way to stop Harry
having these dreams or whatever they are. The boy has suffered enough."
With that, she took her leave of the prison, her worries having only been
increased instead of assuaged as she had hoped.
10. The Truth Beyond Dreams
The Truth Beyond Dreams
A/N
Another chapter for you guys!
Enjoy,
TBR
December 1992
"Are you sure about this, Harry?" Cain asked nervously whilst they laid in
wait in the common room. "They will be furious with you."
"Don't worry, Wolfie," Harry said dismissively. "I'll take the blame for this
one."
"It was your idea," Cain huffed.
"Yeah, but if he said it was yours, they'd probably believe him," Bruno
snorted amusedly.
Cain looked affronted by the very notion but didn't comment further,
choosing instead to pout petulantly.
Harry knew he would get the blame, but he didn't mind.
With the additional subjects they were studying and the extra homework
to complete, everyone had been given something of a pass from his
mischief since they'd returned to Durmstrang, but that would change
shortly.
"I think they're coming," Cain whispered.
Harry merely nodded as he pretended to read through his Transfiguration
homework that he had already completed.
His attention, however, was on the sound of the approaching voices, and
despite his best efforts, he could not prevent a grin from forming.
As planned, a loud bang echoed throughout the common room followed
by a trio of surprised yelps.
When the resulting smoke cleared, Harry finally looked towards the
disturbance and laughed along with the rest of his housemates.
Standing next to one another were three girls dressed in matching green
outfits with red and white stripy socks. The ensemble was complete with
a pointed hat, decorated with a jingling bell.
"You have no idea how offensive this is to my people," Ana sighed,
though a smile tugged at her lips as she flicked the bell.
Summerbee squealed with excitement as she began throwing handfuls of
glitter over the other two, but Lucinda was motionless, her red eyes
boring into Harry's own amused ones.
"I'll kill you, Potter," she declared in a deadly whisper. "I will drain you of
every drop of blood you have and then I will hang your desiccated corpse
in my room."
"Don't you mean shed?" Harry quipped.
Lucinda bared her fangs and licked her lips as she stepped forward.
"You'd better run, Harry," Cain urged.
Harry didn't need telling twice and leapt over the back of the chair he
was seated on and sprinted towards the door to make his escape.
Before he managed to clear half the room, he felt something impact
against him and he found himself face down on the ground.
A pair of powerful hands spun him and he was quickly looking into the
eyes of his pursuer.
Lucinda's face was only an inch from his own, and though she was
glaring at him, it was her fangs that Harry was focused on.
"How did you get me so quickly?" he groaned.
"I'm a vampire," Lucinda reminded him. "No mortal will ever outrun me."
"I've done it several times," Harry pointed out.
Lucinda giggled as she shook her head.
"Only because I let you," she murmured. "Now, undo what you have done
to me, and I might not kill you."
"I can't," Harry replied with a laugh. "It will wear off after two hours."
"Two hours?" Lucinda growled.
Harry swallowed deeply as he nodded.
"Then you will be explaining to my mother why I am dressed this way,"
she decided. "Up you get."
Harry felt himself pulled to his feet, another reminder of just how strong
the girl was.
"Not your mother," he protested weakly.
"Is there something wrong with my mother?" Lucinda asked, raising an
eyebrow in his direction.
To prevent himself from finding further amusement at her appearances,
Harry peered over her shoulder towards the others, something he wished
he hadn't done.
Cain and Bruno were blowing kisses and waving at him whilst Ana and
Eleanor were doing nothing to hide their own humour.
"She's scarier than you," Harry finally answered.
Lucinda nodded.
"Maybe next time you will reconsider your own stupidity. I doubt it, but I
may be surprised," she mused aloud. "Come along, Potter, Mummy
Vampire won't want to be kept waiting."
Without further preamble, she pulled him towards the door he had
attempted to flee through only moments prior, followed by the rest of the
group that would be returning home for the Christmas holidays.
"Tough break, Potter," Cain commented. "I told you it was a bad idea."
"It was your idea!" Harry returned.
"Is that so?" Ana questioned.
"He's lying!" Cain defended. "He only told us about it this morning," he
explained, gesturing between himself and Bruno. "Tell her."
Bruno held up his hands.
"I'm not getting involved," he declared with a shake of his head.
"Ow!" Cain whimpered as Ana flicked his earlobe.
"That's just in case you did have any hand in it," she muttered. "You at
least knew about what he was planning."
"Fair enough," Cain conceded as he rubbed his ear as Harry shot him a
smirk.
"It's nice to see that you have gotten over the trauma of speaking to my
mother," Lucinda commented.
Harry's grin fell as he was dragged into the courtyard for the second year
in a row, and Cassiopeia rolled her eyes at him seemingly not needing to
question what it was he had done to be given such treatment this time
around.
"You look…festive," Lucinda's mother commented with a quirked brow.
Lucinda scowled at Harry.
"Potter here is going to explain why that is," she informed her mother.
"Go ahead, Harry, tell my mother what you did," she added, pushing him
forward.
Harry met the gaze of the older vampire.
She was a strikingly beautiful woman, terrifying to behold, but beautiful
nonetheless, from her pale skin, dark, luscious hair, and curious
expression.
"I might have pranked her and the other girls," Harry admitted
sheepishly.
The woman hummed thoughtfully.
"And what did my daughter do in return?"
"She threatened to drain me of every drop of blood and hang my
desiccated corpse in her room."
The woman giggled and looked towards Lucinda proudly before stooping
over until her lips were almost pressed against Harry's ear.
"Then you should feel fortunate that it was merely a threat, Mr Potter,"
she whispered. "It is never a good idea to provoke the ire of one of our
kind."
"She likes it really," Harry replied. "The threat of violence is all part of
the fun."
The woman offered him a smile as she stood straight once more.
"You do not fear her?"
Harry shook his head.
"Do you fear me?"
"You're frightening," Harry acknowledged, "but if you were to follow
through with any of the threats that Lucinda made, I'd have no
complaints about dying in such a way."
"Harry!" Lucinda gasped.
The others that had followed looked on in a mix of shock and amusement
as the woman stared at him questioningly before joining in the
merriment with a tinkling laughter of her own.
"You have a certain charm about you, Mr Potter," she sighed, "but
perhaps my husband would not be so accommodating to your wit. He is
deathly possessive over me."
"Then I'm grateful he's not here," Harry replied with a bow. "I will
remember to watch my tongue, if I ever have the pleasure of meeting
him."
"Oh, he would be most interested in making your acquaintance," the
woman assured him. "Particularly with how Lucinda has taken to you.
Come along, child. Let us not keep Mr Potter away from his aunt any
longer."
"I'm really going to kill you one day," Lucinda whispered as she passed
Harry.
Harry only responded with a wave before the duo vanished before
turning towards the rest of his friends.
"My mother is waiting for me," Eleanor declared, pointing towards the
familiar woman Harry had met the previous year. "Bye Harry."
She wrapped her arms around him briefly and kissed him on the cheek
before running towards her mother and Cain shook his head.
"I see a lot of trouble in your future where girls are concerned," he
predicted.
"I didn't know you were a seer," Harry replied dryly. "Where's your
mother? Maybe I can charm her next."
"I doubt that," Cain snorted. "The full moon is in a few days. She won't be
in the mood to play nice with you."
"I'll give it a miss then," Harry chuckled as he clapped the werewolf on
the back. "Have a good break."
Cain nodded and both he and Bruno left, leaving Harry alone with Ana.
"You can meet my mother and father if you like?" she offered.
"They won't threaten me with violence, will they?" Harry asked. "I've had
enough of that for one day."
Ana laughed as she shook her head as she took him by the hand.
"My people are peaceful unless we are given a reason not to be."
"Thank Merlin for that," Harry muttered. "I didn't want to have to shop
for a tombstone for myself this year."
Ana rolled her eyes at him.
"You're so dramatic, Harry," she snorted. "Here they are."
Harry would never have put the two people in front of him together in
any sense, let alone as a married couple.
The man was average looking, middle-aged, and with a slight paunch.
His hair was a darker shade of brown than his daughter's, but that was
seemingly the only physical trait that was similar.
The woman was almost as pale as Lucinda and her mother, but where the
vampires had an air of aloofness about them, the elf radiated a warmth.
She was almost ethereal, and the air around her seemed to glow.
Ana looked just like her, the only difference being that her mother's hair
was a bright silver instead of the mahogany of her daughter.
"Mum, this is Harry," Ana introduced him.
The elf stared at him speculatively for a moment before offering him a
bow.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Harry."
Her voice was songlike and seemed to carry a slight echo to it.
"The pleasure is mine," Harry replied cordially, returning a respectful
bow of his own.
"Ana has told us much about you, and you have already honoured my
people with the gift you gave her last year."
Harry nodded.
"Honestly, I didn't fully understand what it was I had given," he admitted.
"Not that I wouldn't have done so if I did."
Ana's mother laughed.
"Nonetheless, our leader is most impressed with you," she explained. "As
am I and my husband."
Harry turned his attention towards the wizard and offered his hand.
"It is nice to meet you, sir," he said sincerely. "Maybe you can teach me
one day how to get out of trouble with an irritated elf."
The man chuckled as he shook his head.
"I would be useless to you, Mr Potter," he snorted. "I have not figured that
out for myself yet."
"Then I will have to get used to being in trouble then," Harry murmured.
"Or you could stop doing things to get yourself in trouble," Ana
suggested.
"That would be the sensible thing to do."
"But you're not sensible," Ana huffed. "Have a good holiday, Harry," she
added with a grin before she and her parents took their leave.
Finally left alone, Harry made his way over to a waiting Cassiopeia who
greeted him with a tight embrace.
"A good start to the year?" she asked.
Harry nodded.
"Not bad," he mused aloud, "but I'm looking forward to some time away."
"Then let's go home," Cassie urged. "I will never get used to the cold."
Harry laughed heartily.
He never thought that he would either but having been at Durmstrang for
more than a year now, the cold no longer bothered him as it once had.
(Break)
Pansy breathed a sigh of relief as she boarded the train to leave Hogwarts
for the next two weeks. After the incident on Halloween, the atmosphere
around the school had been tense, and with two more attacks following
in the intervening months, the mood had grown sombre.
A first year Gryffindor and second year Hufflepuff were now in the
Hospital Wing, petrified according to what little Dumbledore had told the
students.
Of course, speculation as to who was behind the attacks was rife, but no
one knew what was happening or how the incidents were being
perpetrated.
Ron Weasley was adamant that Draco was the apparent heir of Slytherin,
something that only added to her housemate's already inflated ego.
Pansy and the others knew for certain he wasn't, but Draco had done
nothing to dispel the accusation, and even basked in the fantasy that he
was somehow connected to such a prominent family.
"It's a shame to be leaving when the school year is so exciting," Draco
drawled whimsically.
"I thought you were staying," Pany replied.
"I was, but I changed my mind," Draco shrugged. "As soon as I learned
that Weasel would be there, I wrote to my father to change my plans."
Pansy nodded whilst Crabbe and Goyle chuckled dimly to themselves.
"Never mind, I'm sure the fun will continue when we return," Draco
continued as he leaned back in his chair. "I wonder what mudblood will
be next. I personally hope it is Granger."
Pansy said nothing, not wanting to encourage a rant on just how inferior
the girl was despite her being leagues above Draco in every subject.
No, remaining silent was always best around the blonde unless she
wished to be treated to a declaration of just how great Draco was.
Daphne, however, was not of a similar disposition, and any chance she
got to irritate the boy, she took gleefully.
"Didn't Granger get the best grades last year?" she asked airily.
Draco, as expected, bristled and rose to the bait as Daphne smirked to
herself.
"Granger is a filthy mudblood that shouldn't even be at Hogwarts," he
spat. "The sooner the heir of Slytherin deals with her, the better."
His ranting continued, and Pansy busied herself by reading her charms
text.
Anything to drown out Draco's irritating voice.
Still, she only needed to endure his company until they arrived in
London, and then she would be at home with her mother and father
before visiting Harry, something that never failed to lift her mood.
Even so, she still wished he would have opted to come to Hogwarts.
Things would be different with him there, of that, she had no doubt.
(Break)
Cassie watched as Harry ate the beef stew that Elgar had prepared for his
return home, smiling approvingly when the boy praised the waiting elf.
The two were deeply fond of one another, and Cassie knew that although
Elgar would never forget Arcturus, he would serve Harry just as loyally.
She took a mouthful of her own food, lamenting at the changes she saw
in the boy.
Harry seemed to be growing every time she saw him now.
One day, he would come home and would no longer be a boy.
A part of her dreaded that, but she also knew that when that time came,
he would no longer be so vulnerable to those that wished him harm.
"Do you have any news to share?" she asked.
Harry shook his head.
"Not really," he answered, "not anything I haven't already told you about
in the three letters a week I send."
Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes at the boy.
"You can always stop writing," she huffed.
A flash of sadness crossed his features before he realised that she was
jesting and the look was replaced with a teasing one of his own.
"Oh, Cass, if I did that, you'd be knocking the front door of the school
down."
"Is that so?"
Harry nodded as he helped himself to some extra bread.
"Yes," he said simply. "As much as you complain about me, you'd be lost
without me."
His words could not hold any more truth, and the mere thought of not
having him filled the woman with dread.
As challenging as it had been at times, Harry had changed her life for the
better, and Cassiopeia did not know what she would do without him.
"See, you don't even have an argument to counter with," the boy pointed
out, grinning in his infuriatingly charming way.
"Be quiet and eat your dinner," Cassie huffed.
Harry beamed victoriously and continued eating.
"There is something I have been meaning to ask you," Cassie spoke once
more after a moment.
"What's that?"
"The dreams you had over the summer," Cassie replied, seeing no reason
to delay the inevitable.
"My dreams?" Harry asked cautiously.
"The man with the purple turban."
Harry's expression darkened at the mention.
"How do you know about that?"
Cassie offered him a sympathetic smile.
"I've been checking on you every night since you came here, Harry," she
explained. "You talk when you have nightmares."
"How do you know it was a nightmare?"
"Because you do not rest peacefully when you have unpleasant dreams."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"What do you want to know about him?"
"I'm just curious," Cassiopeia replied. "Why were you dreaming about it?"
Harry shrugged, his cheeky, lively demeanour all but having evaporated.
Cassie hated seeing him like this, but it was necessary.
"I don't know," he sighed. "I was dreaming about him, and he had another
person hiding inside him. I haven't had those dreams for a while now."
"But you have different dreams?"
Reluctantly, Harry nodded.
"Now, I see a redheaded girl," he murmured confusedly. "At first, I
thought…"
He broke off almost ashamedly.
"You thought she was your mother?"
"Yes," Harry confirmed sadly, "but it's not her. It's a different girl, and she
writes in a black book, a diary, I think. It's either that, or she is standing
in a bathroom next to a column of sinks. Why are you asking?"
"Because you should always talk to me about them, Harry," Cassiopeia
replied, feeling guilty for tricking the boy. "It helps to talk about these
things. You know that."
Harry deflated as he pushed his plate.
"I know," he muttered as he left the room, and Cassie's guilt only
increased knowing she had spoiled the rest of his evening.
"I'm sorry," she whispered as she headed towards her study.
For what good it would do, she needed to write to Dumbledore to inform
him of what Harry had revealed.
If it helped with whatever was occurring at Hogwarts, she knew that
Harry would understand, and if not, no harm had truly been done.
Nonetheless, Cassie felt as though she was betraying his confidence, and
she would not be doing so again, not for Dumbledore, nor for any other.
(Break)
December 23, 1992
The letter he'd received from Cassiopeia Black itself had been
unexpected, and the contents contained within even more so. Albus was
left with no doubt to whom the mentioned redheaded girl referred to as
there was only one student that matched the description that Harry had
provided.
With the seemingly unwitting perpetrator identified, he knew he needed
to act quickly.
The girl was in the castle for the holidays with the rest of her school-age
siblings, but Albus needed to handle the matter as delicately as possible.
As such, he had requested the presence of the girl's parents who would be
arriving imminently.
Arthur and Molly would be distraught when they learned the truth of
what Ginevra had been exposed, if Albus's suspicions proved to be
correct.
Just as concerning as the diary itself, was just how the girl had come to
possess it.
Such an object was not something that was handled negligently.
No, someone had purposely ensured Ginny Weasley had been given the
diary, and though there were numerous suspects at large who would
have no hesitation in doing so, Tom would trust few with something of
such value to him.
Bellatrix Lestrange would be at the top of that exclusive list, but she had
been imprisoned since shortly after the fall of her master.
The only other Albus would consider to be held in similar esteem was a
man who had avoided the fate of the woman, and who bore a grudge
against the Weasley family.
Not that Albus could prove Lucius's involvement.
He was far too slippery to allow himself to be caught up in such
controversy.
Albus was pulled from his thoughts as the fireplace in his office burst into
life, and one after the other, Molly and Arthur Weasley arrived with their
eldest son Bill in tow, whom they had been visiting for the holidays.
"Albus," Arthur greeted him as warmly as ever, though there was more
than a hint of concern in his tone.
"Thank you for coming," the headmaster replied. "I wish what brings you
here was not of such severity, but alas, it is quite a terrible business."
"What is happening?" Molly asked worriedly.
Albus released a deep sigh and gestured for the trio to take a seat.
"There is no easy way to tell you this, but I believe that Ginevra has
found herself the victim of a rather sinister ploy. Did she seem not herself
shortly before coming to Hogwarts, or in her letters? I believe she will be
fine, as soon as the issue is remedied, which is why I asked you here," he
added placatingly.
Molly and Arthur looked towards one another.
"She did seem rather upset," Arthur acknowledged. "We thought that it
was because she realised that Harry Potter wouldn't be here. She has
something of a crush on the boy. Molly has been reading her stories
about him since she was a toddler."
"She was upset," Molly broke in. "She had her heart set on meeting him.
What happened, Albus?"
"Many things that I cannot disclose," Albus replied, "but Harry is safe and
well. He opted to attend a different school."
The Weasleys were intrigued but did not press for further information.
"What has happened to Ginny?"
"I cannot be completely certain, but I have it on reliable authority that
she has come to possess an item that may be influencing her behaviour,"
Albus explained. "It is my intention to retrieve it, and I would have you
with me whilst I do so. She will likely not part with it willingly."
"Of course," Arthur agreed as he stood, followed by his wife and eldest
son who had already drawn his wand.
"I do not wish for her to be harmed, but it is possible she will attempt to
do so to us," Albus said gravely as he led them from the office.
They made their way towards Gryffindor Tower in silence, none of the
accompanying trio truly knowing what it was they may face.
Albus did not wish to keep the state of the girl from them, but he would
do all he could to keep the nature of the item concealed.
Tom could never become aware that his secret was known.
"Headmaster," the Fat Lady greeted him with a bow. "How may I help
you this evening?"
"You merely need to let us pass, my dear," Albus replied with a smile.
With her cheeks blushing, the portrait swung forward, and Albus drew
his wand, deactivating the protections on the girl's staircase as he did so.
"I would ask that you remain silent," he whispered as he ascended. "If we
can catch her unaware, it would be best for us all."
The Weasleys were truly worried now, the seriousness of the situation
having finally set in, but they said nothing as Albus held a finger to his
lips.
They had reached the dorm belonging to the first-year girls, and the
headmaster felt fortunate that the others had returned home for the
Christmas break.
Carefully, he silenced to door before pushing it open, holding his breath
as he approached the only occupied bed within.
The girl, much to his relief, was sleeping soundly, but with Tom Riddle's
influence apparent, Albus was taking no chances.
With a wave of his wand, the sheets she slumbered beneath tightened as
Ginevra was hoisted into the air.
She awoke immediately with a murderous scream, her red eyes brimmed
with fury as she glared at Albus, her parents, and her brother.
"LET ME GO!" she screeched.
Albus silenced her with another wave of his wand, but Ginevra continued
to thrash desperately whilst Molly sobbed.
The headmaster, however, shifted his attention to the bedside table
where the girl's wand was resting atop a black book that had been
described in Cassiopeia's letter.
He summoned the former and handed it to a catatonic Arthur who was
attempting to console his wife whilst his fearful gaze was transfixed on
his daughter.
Bill too was in a similar state of horror, as Albus would be if the urgency
to act quickly wasn't so prevalent in the moment.
Approaching the trembling diary, he murmured a series of incantations
under his breath whilst twirling his wand.
After a moment, the diary was encased in a white glow of magic, and
with the connection between it and the girl broken, Ginevra slumped
forward.
"NO!" Albus said firmly as Molly rushed forward. "We cannot be certain if
the hold on her has been released."
Molly nodded as tears continued to spill down her cheeks and Albus
shifted his attention back to Ginny Weasley, tapping her with his wand as
he reached her.
Her eyes fluttered open and Albus was relieved to see they no longer
contained the red hue they had only a moment prior.
Instead, they were filled with confusion and a trauma that only such an
experience she had endured could leave behind.
"Mum," Ginny choked.
Molly immediately rushed forward and scooped the girl into her arms.
"What the bloody hell is that thing?" Arthur demanded, his usually kindly
nature all but absent in the face of his distressed family.
"An evil object," Albus answered simply. "A piece of magic she should
never have been exposed to. She needs her family, Arthur. I would
suggest she is checked over by Poppy before you take her home. From
there, she will need specialist care to come to terms with what has
happened."
The redhead nodded.
"A mind healer?"
"Indeed," Albus confirmed. "Fear not, the school will make the funds
available for it, and we will do what we can to ensure her education will
not be impacted. Her recovery will take time, Arthur. I am only sorry this
was not discovered sooner."
Arthur swallowed deeply.
"Had you known, you would have fixed it," he returned with a weak
smile.
Albus nodded.
"Nonetheless, you have my apologies still."
"Who did this?" Bill demanded to know.
Albus released a deep sigh.
"I cannot say for certain, and I'm afraid proving anything will be
impossible. We must be content with the fact that we managed to prevent
any further damage happening to Ginny."
"What would have happened to her?" Bill asked.
"I believe the magic of the object would have taken over her completely."
"So few things could do that," Bill mused aloud. "I've never come across
anything like it."
Albus nodded as he pocketed the diary.
"I can assure you that it will be destroyed as soon as is possible. It will no
longer cause Ginny or any other harm again."
Bill remained thoughtful but pulled Ginny into his arms as she ploughed
into him.
"I think we should perhaps take her to the Hospital Wing," Albus urged.
"The sooner we get her the help she needs, the better."
Arthur nodded his agreement and began shepherding his family from the
dormitory, only for the group to be halted by the Weasleys that were also
remaining in the castle for the Christmas break, along with a frightened
Miss Granger.
"Mother, what is going on?" Percy asked. "Hermione heard screaming."
"Everything will be explained to you," Albus placated, "but for now, we
must get your sister to the Hospital Wing. She will be fine," he added,
though he couldn't truly assure them of that.
With what the girl had endured, nothing was certain.
The other children were not satisfied, but they knew better than to argue
with Molly when she was so emotional.
Reluctantly, they allowed the group to take their leave of the common
room, and Albus deflated as he patted the burden he carried in his
pocket.
He would need to speak with Gellert to understand the nature of the
Horcrux and what could be done to destroy it.
Albus was not ashamed to admit he was out of his depth here.
No, the only shame he felt was that such a thing could be within the
castle walls and he had remained so clueless to its presence.
(Break)
Christmas Eve
Harry allowed the little snake to slither around his arm and between his
fingers, an activity the two had been sharing for just shy of a decade
since he had discovered the creature living in the garden.
Despite his somewhat sombre mood, a smile crested his lips as he heard a
familiar footfall approaching.
"You don't seem so happy to see me," Pansy commented sadly.
"Hector is dying," Harry explained, holding the snake aloft so she could
see him.
"Oh no," Pansy gasped, her expression matching his own immediately.
She had grown fond of the little friend they had found so many years
prior now, and stroked his head, much to the delight of the reptile.
"He says that we shouldn't be sad," Harry informed her as Hector hissed
gently. "He says that he has had a good life and it is just time for him to
move on."
The girl was not really placated by his words and she shook her head.
"You tell him that will be as sad as we like," she said firmly.
Harry chuckled and repeated her stubborn words, eliciting what he could
only deem to be an eye roll from Hector.
"Let me rest, speaker. I am tired now."
Harry nodded and placed Hector back in his nest.
"I will check on you later and bring you a nice mouse."
The serpent was already sleeping and offered no response, so Harry left
him and returned to the house with Pansy, his thoughts still with his
little companion.
"How's school been?" she asked as they took a seat in front of the fire.
Both went to school in colder climates than what Greece was, but Harry
was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, despite it being winter here.
"Not bad," Harry replied thoughtfully. "The purebloods are still tossers to
everyone, but they leave me alone. I think that's mostly because they
don't want to upset Viktor."
"He's the Quidditch player, isn't he?"
Harry nodded.
"He's already been picked to play for Bulgaria in the next World Cup."
"Then he must be good."
Harry snorted amusedly.
He knew that he was a great flyer, better than most could ever hope to
be, but Viktor was something else entirely.
The Bulgarian was all but unstoppable on a broom, and though Harry
could keep up with him a minute or so longer than the others that helped
Viktor, the boy was so far out of anyone else's league that their best
efforts were little more than a token gesture.
"If the rest of the Bulgarian team are half as good as him, I can't see
anyone standing a chance against them. Anyway, we both know you have
no interest in Quidditch," Harry chuckled. "How have things been for
you?"
He frowned as Pansy deflated.
"Not good," she admitted. "Draco is worse than ever, and someone has
apparently opened the Chamber of Secrets. There are two students
petrified in the Hospital Wing."
"The Chamber of Secrets?" Harry murmured.
It sounded familiar to him, but he was certain he'd never heard it
mentioned before.
"A secret room that Salazar Slytherin created inside Hogwarts," Pansy
explained. "It is said to contain a monster, but can only be opened by
Slytherin's heir, according to the tales."
Harry hummed thoughtfully, trying not to get caried away by what was
crossing his mind.
"What is being done about it?"
"Dumbledore says he is doing everything he can to put a stop to it," Pansy
shrugged. "We're not being told much."
Harry nodded his understanding.
Although he understood why Dumbledore would wish to keep tight-
lipped about the occurrences, the students were in more danger than they
could know, especially if these attacks were being orchestrated by who
Harry believed was behind them.
Over everything that Pansy had told him, one thing seemed to be most
important.
Slytherin's heir.
Perhaps it needn't be his heir, but merely someone related to him?
Harry didn't know the current state of the Gaunt family, but they were
the last living relatives of the infamous founder, and there was one other
whose origins were not established.
Voldemort, at the very least, was a parselmouth, and if there was
something Salazar had wanted to keep to himself and his family, using
parseltongue to protect it would have been perhaps his greatest asset.
Still, that didn't explain how people were being petrified.
What monster was capable of such a thing?
Harry frowned as Pansy looked on, the girl knowing him well enough not
to interrupt his thought process.
Thinking logically, Harry could only assume that the monster would be a
serpent of sorts, but there wasn't any that would petrify a victim, and so
few that could live for what must have been close to a thousand years by
now.
No, he was missing vital information, but he had almost all the pieces to
put the picture together.
Regardless, every conclusion he could fathom was not good for anyone.
The three snakes he could think of off the top of his head with such
longevity were extremely dangerous, one having only ever been spoken
of in mythical tales, and Harry doubted that even Salazar Slytherin
managed to find a hydra.
That left only two culprits, and one much more likely than the other,
though being almost certain of what the beast was did not assuage his
concerns at all.
"Shit," he muttered.
"What is it?" Pansy asked worriedly.
Before Harry could respond, however, Cassiopeia entered the living room
and paused as she looked at the concerned children.
"What do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?" Harry asked her.
The woman's face fell.
"Why do you ask?" she returned cautiously, her gaze shifting towards
Pansy.
"Because someone has opened it."
"I know," Cassie sighed, "but it has been dealt with now."
"How do you know that?" Harry pressed suspiciously.
It wasn't often he saw Cassiopeia so worried, nor had he ever seen her
acting so guiltily.
At first, he thought she would make an excuse, or tell him that he was
too young to know, but she did no such thing.
Instead, she took a seat by the fire, and held his hand in her own.
"Because it was you that gave me all the information I needed to pass on
to Dumbledore to ensure it was handled."
Both Harry and Pansy looked at the woman in confusion.
"Me?"
Cassiopeia nodded.
"What I am going to tell you goes no further. Is that understood?"
Both of the children acquiesced, and though it was done with no small
amount of reluctance, Cassie began an explanation she'd hoped to avoid
until he was much older.
However, she would not lie to Harry.
There were already too many secrets being kept from the boy.
"The dreams you have, Harry, are not always just dreams."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked worriedly.
Cassiopeia released a deep breath.
"I don't understand it entirely, no one does, but the night he came for
your parents, there was a magical connection forged between the two of
you. Sometimes, when you are asleep, I believe you get glimpses of the
things that he is doing."
Harry swallowed at the explanation.
"So, the fight with Quirrell that I saw…"
"That really happened," Cassiopeia confirmed.
"And the dream I had last night with the girl…"
"That too. Dumbledore has dealt with the issues with the Chamber, and
the girl will be okay, thanks to you."
Harry didn't know what to say.
He had so many questions, many of which he knew Cassiopeia wouldn't
be able to answer, but there was one he needed to ask.
"Does that mean he can see what I am doing?"
Cassie could only shrug, though her own expression morphed into one of
concern.
"I don't know, but I would guess that in whatever state he is in, he
cannot. For now, he is weak, Harry, and needs others to do his bidding."
"For now," Harry pointed out. "He will come back one day, and then
what? What if he can just enter my mind whenever he wishes?"
Cassiopeia shook her head.
"Even the most powerful wizard cannot enter the mind of the weakest in
such a way so easily," she explained, "and you are not a weak wizard,
Harry. Just because there is a connection, that doesn't mean either of you
will be able to exploit it. If anything, if he becomes aware of it, he will do
all he can to keep you out. He has much more to lose than he could hope
to gain from you. He will not want his secrets accessed by his biggest
threat."
Harry nodded uncertainly, not mentioning that he had already gained
much knowledge already from the connection, knowledge he hadn't
understood how he knew, something that now made sense.
Unwittingly, Lord Voldemort had given Harry more gifts than just the
ability to converse with snakes, and though the boy still didn't
understand everything, he knew that all of it would one day become very
useful for him.
Still, those were things for him to explore, things he would begin doing
so when he returned to Durmstrang.
Voldemort would return one day, and when he did, Harry knew that he
needed to be ready for him.
Unbeknownst to the Dark Lord and to everyone else, Cassiopeia was
right.
Harry was his biggest threat, and when the time came for the two of
them to meet, Harry would not be a defenceless babe in a cot.
No, he would put an end to Voldemort once and for all, and any other
that chose to garb themselves in the Death Eater attire.
Oddly, the thought excited the boy, and though he was not foolish
enough to not fear Voldemort, the opportunity to tear him limb from
limb was something that, deep down, he was greatly anticipating.
11. A Grim Horizon
A Grim Horizon
A/N
Another chapter for you guys.
Happy reading,
TBR
June 1993
Harry was breathing heavily as he wiped the sweat from his brow, the
smell of burning and fading magic permeating the smoke-filled room. It
had become a daily occurrence, so it was nothing new to the boy, and as
he observed the devastation he had wrought, he nodded to himself.
Having learned that what he believed to have been dreams had been
glimpses of what Voldemort was doing, Harry had become obsessed with
his training, so much so that he had even requested additional sessions
with Olaffson.
The man had happily obliged and spent their time together trying to
break Harry mentally and physically.
He would often achieve the latter, and Harry's body would give out long
before he would admit defeat.
Even if he had to crawl to carry out an instruction, he did so until he
could move no longer.
The Icelander had not questioned Harry's motivation, but the boy knew
he had finally gotten the respect of the man.
Not that was what he was seeking.
No, Harry merely wanted every advantage he could possess.
One day, Voldemort would be successful in his endeavours, and Harry
needed to be ready for that eventuality.
Steadying his breathing, he took a seat, shivering from the coldness of
the sweat on his back.
Even in June Durmstrang remained chilly, just less so than in the winter
months.
Feeling his wand vibrate in his hand, it reminded Harry that he had only
twenty minutes before he was due in the main hall for his exam in Blood
Magic, and not wanting to arrive in his current state, he went about the
task of cleaning himself and his clothes.
He'd had his exam in Dark Magic earlier in the day, and without wanting
to sound like a braggart even to himself, he knew he had done well.
Whether it was his own ability or something he had inherited from
Voldemort, it was something he excelled at and something he had
dedicated himself to learning.
The Dark Lord was an expert in the branch having studied it extensively
throughout his life, and regardless of if Harry's own proclivity for it came
from the man who had murdered his parents, the boy had much of if not
the same knowledge in the art, just not the practical experience.
He had indeed taken more than just the parseltongue from his foe.
Not that he had disclosed that to anyone.
It could prove to be his greatest weapon in the years to come, and the
less any knew what Harry was capable of, the better for him.
Having washed himself and his robes, he dressed before taking his leave
of the room and heading towards the main hall, only to groan as he felt a
muscular arm wrap around his neck.
"Bloody hell, Krum, I've got an exam to get to," Harry huffed.
Viktor chuckled as he rubbed his knuckles across his scalp.
"I know," the Bulgarian replied. "I just wanted to wish you good luck."
"In your own barbaric Bulgarian way?"
Viktor released him and laughed once more, eliciting a smile from Harry.
"Da, you'll get no pat on the back or hug from me," the older boy said
gruffly. "I expect you to do your best."
Harry rolled his eyes in frustration.
Viktor had taken it upon himself to watch over Harry, almost like an
irritating, overbearing brother.
"I will," Harry assured him.
"Good, now, I have something else for you."
"If you're going to hit me, I'll thump you back, you git," Harry warned.
Viktor raised one of his thick eyebrows at him.
"I'm not scared of you, Potter," he mocked, "but our fight will have to
wait until later. I have something nice for you, but I might just give it to
someone who will appreciate it."
"What is it?" Harry sighed.
Viktor grinned as he removed an envelope from within his robes.
"Tickets for you and your friends to the World Cup Qualifiers over the
summer," he announced. "I expect you to be wearing a Krum jersey."
"I'll support the other team out of spite," Harry replied as he took the
envelope.
"Then it will make me want to win more," Viktor declared.
Harry snorted as he shook his head.
"You didn't have to do this."
"I did," Viktor countered. "You've helped me a lot, and I appreciate it.
Besides, it will give you something to do instead of brooding about with a
face like a smacked backside."
"I don't brood."
Viktor merely hummed as he turned Harry around and pushed him
towards the hall.
"Remember, I expect the best grades from you," he reiterated.
"Bloody hell, you're worse than my aunt," Harry muttered.
He arrived at the main hall where the rest of the second years were
waiting to be admitted to sit the exam, and quickly found Cain and
others.
They had long-given-up asking where he spent most of his time now,
though that didn't stop most looking upon him with an expression of
concern.
The only one that didn't was Lucinda who had been the one to tell the
others to leave Harry be when they'd inundated him with questions
pertaining to his whereabouts.
It wasn't that Harry didn't trust them, he just couldn't expect any of them
to understand what he was doing and why.
How could he expect them to?
His life below the surface of what he allowed others to see was a mess,
and it would only become messier when Voldemort inevitably returned.
He shook his head of those thoughts.
"Productive morning?" Lucinda asked.
Harry nodded in response.
"You?"
Lucinda shrugged.
"I've had worse," she mused aloud. "I don't even need to ask if you're
ready for this."
Harry offered the girl a reserved smirk.
He was enjoying learning about blood magic, something he and Lucinda
often discussed as it was something she was becoming rather adept with
herself.
"Well, I won't be carrying on with it next year," Cain declared. "The wolf
likes the taste of blood, and I can't even use the magic."
"Me either," Ana echoed. "The magic doesn't like me."
"Nor me," Eleanor added with a shrug. "I don't think many of us will. It'd
the same with Dark Magic. Harry, Cain, and Lucinda will pass that. I
don't know how many others will."
Any further conversation between the group was halted as the doors to
the main hall were opened and Professor Sidorova beckoned the students
to enter, placing a finger to her lips to remind them to remain silent.
Harry filed in with the others and took his seat, shooting Lucinda a final
nod.
The girl didn't need any luck, but they had spent many hours together
studying for the final exam of the year, and when it was over, there was
nothing more they could do.
The rest of their time at Durmstrang would be determined from these
results, and though Harry wasn't nervous, he knew his remaining years
here would become only more challenging as they delved into more
advanced magic.
(Break)
"I am pleased to hear that she seems to be doing better," Albus offered
sincerely, gesturing for Arthur to take a seat, "and you have my
congratulations for the win on the sweepstake. I believe you will be all
the better for a family holiday. Have you decided where you wish to go?"
The redhead nodded eagerly.
Despite being a Head of Department at the Ministry, Arthur's wages did
not afford his large family a life of luxury. It was no secret that the
Weasleys were poor, but for the most part, they were a happy bunch.
"We are going to visit Bill in Egypt," Arthur answered. "We've even
managed to convince Charlie to come too."
Albus smiled at the man.
"So, you will be away for the entire summer?"
"We will," Arthur confirmed. "As much as she will never admit it, Ginny
has missed her brothers."
"But she will not be returning next year?"
Arthur shook his head.
"No, Molly is going to home school her. The healer doesn't think she is
ready yet, but perhaps she will return for her third year."
Albus nodded his understanding.
The girl had endured a deeply troubling experience, and the trauma
would stay with her for many years to come.
It may never even leave her entirely.
"Well, you of course have the full support of the school," Albus ensured
Arthur. "You or Molly need only say the word, and we will help in any
way we can."
"We really appreciate it, Albus," Arthur replied as he stood and offered
his hand.
The headmaster accepted the proffered limb.
"Do enjoy your time away," he urged.
"We will," Arthur chuckled before heading towards the fireplace he had
arrived through only a few moments prior.
Having thrown in a handful of floo powder, he disappeared and Albus
nodded to himself.
The attacks had indeed ceased after he had seized the diary, though he
was still unsure what to do with the item.
Gellert had urged him not to destroy it yet under the advice that it could
perhaps be used in the future against Tom.
Albus did not know what idea his former friend was toying with, but he
was yet to dispose of the Horcrux.
Instead, he kept it hidden away in his office, under every protection spell
he could possibly have placed over it to ensure it never fell into the
wrong hands.
Still, it was disconcerting to have such a dangerous thing so close, and
the mere thought made the headmaster feel very uneasy.
Now, however, was not the time to focus on it.
He needed to reply to the letters he had received from Igor and Olympe.
The three of them had been discussing the possibility of reintroducing the
Tri-Wizard tournament and had been entertaining the idea for the past
few years.
They seemed to be close to reaching an accord to do so sooner rather
than later but would undoubtedly have to meet in person to finalise any
arrangements.
Both Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman had been easy to convince of the
benefits of doing so, though the former had only agreed if extra
protections were put in place, something Albus concurred with
wholeheartedly.
The thought of a cockatrice rampaging through Hogwarts worried him
almost as much as the diary that could have quite easily been the death
of several of his students.
(Break)
It felt odd having packed to return home for the summer already. It felt
as though it was only yesterday that they had returned to Durmstrang,
and that something had changed within Harry.
He still retained his sarcastic wit, his sense of humour, and even looked
out for the rest of the second years they were boarded with, but there
was no denying that he was different.
For hours at a time, he would vanish, and when asked where he had
been, he would close himself off.
Eleanor had thought at first that he had met a girl, but that wasn't
something he would keep from them.
No, something had happened over the Christmas break that had caused
these changes.
Harry had already been a focused and dedicated student despite his
proclivity for causing trouble. Now, he was even more so.
They were all worried about him in their own ways, and though Harry
assured them that he was okay, Eleanor did not believe him entirely.
"Are you ready, Summerbee?" Lucinda huffed, pulling her from her
thoughts.
"I just need to finishing packing my underwear drawer," Eleanor replied.
"You could always help me if you like," she added, wagging her eyebrows
at the vampire.
Lucinda narrowed her eyes at her.
"I will not be touching your underwear!"
"Then shut up complaining about how long I am taking."
Eleanor had finished packing several minutes ago, but she knew Lucinda
was waiting for her, so she decided to take a little longer.
There were few things more entertaining at Durmstrang than winding up
the vampire.
She rose to the bait without fail, every time.
Harry always ended up receiving the brunt of her ire, however.
He had quite the gift for getting under Lucinda's skin.
"Alright, I'm done," Eleanor declared as the other girl growled at her. "I
thought Cain was supposed to be the wolf."
Eleanor skipped past her friend, followed by a string of rather rude
insults.
Not that the words bothered her. It was merely Lucinda's way of showing
her affection, something the girl would never admit.
"What took the two of you so long?" Harry asked as they entered the
common room.
"Lucinda was folding her underwear," Eleanor answered. "Honestly, she's
obsessed with the things."
The vampire flared her nostrils at Eleanor who offered her an innocent
smile.
"I am not," Lucinda denied. "You took forever packing yours!"
"Let's not argue about who has or hasn't got the underwear fetish," Harry
interjected amusedly. "Remind me to add extra security to my trunk," he
murmured to Cain who nodded.
"Noted," he murmured, laughing as Lucinda lunged at Harry.
"Aww, I didn't know you cared so much," he wheezed as the girl sat atop
him.
This had become a common sight over the past months.
Usually, Harry would put his foot in it in some way, and Lucinda would
attack before letting him up.
"One of these days, Potter, I will not be able to stop myself," Lucinda
warned.
"Do you promise?" Harry replied cheekily, eliciting a reluctant yet
amused grin from the vampire who ran her tongue up the length of his
neck, pausing as she reached his ear.
"It would be so easy," she whispered. "I can almost taste your blood from
here."
Harry shivered involuntarily.
"Your tongue is cold," he groaned. "How would you like it if I licked your
neck and threatened you?"
Lucinda grinned.
"Oh, she'd love it," Eleanor snorted.
The others nodded their agreement and Lucinda huffed as she stood.
"Why do you have to make it weird?" she asked.
"I didn't lick his neck," Cain defended. "Bruno, did you lick his neck?"
"Nope, I didn't see Summerbee or Ana do it either, just Lucinda. Is that a
vampire thing?"
Lucinda shot the boy a glare, and he fell silent immediately.
It was one thing for Harry to push the boundaries with her, but the
others had learned not to go too far.
"Can we leave now?" Harry asked. "The sooner I get away from you lot,
the sooner I'll be safe."
"Until the Quidditch matches," Cain reminded him.
"I might give them a miss if you lot are there," Harry muttered.
Cain chuckled as he wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
"You'll miss us in less than a week, Potter," he predicted. "You'll be
writing letters to us all within a few hours of getting home."
"Someone has to look out for you all," Harry replied dryly. "Merlin knows
what you would have done if I decided to go to another school."
"Did that almost happen?" Eleanor asked curiously.
Harry nodded.
"I had a look around Beauxbatons, and I was registered at Hogwarts since
before I was born. I chose to come here."
"Why?" Bruno questioned.
"Because I knew there would be a group of misfits who would need me,"
Harry answered with a smirk, though the amusement did not quite reach
his eyes.
No, Harry had reasons for coming here beyond what he would be willing
to tell them.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Eleanor asked him when the others had said
their goodbyes and headed off to where their parents were waiting for
him.
"I'm fine," Harry said dismissively.
"Harry!" Eleanor pressed, her glance shifting towards his aunt who was
wearing an expression of concern.
Harry deflated as he nodded, taking her by the hand and giving it a
gentle squeeze.
"I promise I will be fine," he said sincerely.
There was a steely glint in his eye, an unfamiliar seriousness that did
little to put Eleanor's mind at ease.
"Okay," she relented as she wrapped her arms around him. "Write to me,"
she all but demanded. "Don't make me come looking for you."
Harry chuckled before offering her a sincere smile.
"You'll be the first I write to," he promised, kissing her on the cheek
before walking towards his aunt.
Eleanor waited until they had portkeyed away before she found her own
mother.
"You and Harry were having quite the moment there," the woman teased.
Eleanor rolled her eyes.
"Harry is my friend."
Her mother hummed disbelievingly before taking her by the arm and
returning them home.
Despite his assurances and the prospect of spending the summer with her
family, Eleanor was worried about Harry.
On the surface, he was still the same carefree boy she had met her first
night at Durmstrang, but beneath that veneer, there was something else,
something she had gotten a glimpse of a little over a year ago when
Barkus had attempted to confront him.
Harry may seem to be quite a jovial boy for the most part, but Eleanor
and the others knew there was much more to him.
For what he was evidently preparing for, she knew not, but Harry was far
from being a normal boy readying himself for his life beyond school.
No, there was much more to him than that.
(Break)
"You must eat something, Viktor," his mother urged as he stared at the
bowl of oats and honey she had prepared for him.
Viktor had no appetite today.
Playing for Bulgaria wasn't like playing in the standard Quidditch league.
There was much more riding on today than a few lost points and some
disappointed locals.
The entire country would be watching him closely, scrutinising his every
move, and if he failed to catch the Snitch in his first appearance, he may
not ever be given another chance.
Although his mouth was dry and it was the last thing he wished to do, he
spooned some of the sweetened grains into his mouth, eliciting a smile
from his mother.
"You'll be fine, Son," his father comforted. "You've spent your whole life
training for this."
Viktor nodded.
He had, but the opposing seeker would be suitably prepared.
For the most part, Viktor had been relying on Harry and the rest of his
schoolmates to help him prepare, and though the former was shaping up
to be quite the challenge, none were close to a professional standard.
The thought of the younger boy brought a fond grin to his lips.
He really liked Harry, his dry wit and the fact that he didn't care that
Viktor was becoming rather famous in their world.
The boy gave him as much a hard time as he did any other, something
the Bulgarian appreciated.
"That's more like it," his mother encouraged. "You should be looking
forward to this."
Viktor nodded as the kitchen door to their humble home opened and
stood as his older sister entered.
"Hana!" he greeted her enthusiastically. "What are you doing here?"
"I wasn't going to miss your first match for Bulgaria," the woman
murmured in his ear as he pulled her into a tight embrace.
Viktor was filled with warmth at her words.
Hana had graduated from Durmstrang a few years prior and was living in
Germany where she was training to be a wizarding architect.
It was a difficult career path to establish yourself in, and Viktor had
barely seen her since she had left.
"Thank you for coming," he said gratefully.
"Well, you'd better win to make it worth my while," Hana teased.
Viktor nodded but frowned as he realised something.
"I didn't get you a ticket."
"She will have mine," his mother insisted.
Viktor shook his head.
"No, I know where she can sit," he declared. "You won't be with Mum and
Dad, but Harry won't mind you being there with them."
"Harry?" Hana asked.
"He's a friend from school," Viktor explained. "I got him and some others
a box they could watch the match from. Just don't take anything he says
seriously," he suggested. "If he can push your buttons, he will."
Hana raised an eyebrow in her brother's direction as she hummed.
"Well, he hasn't met me yet."
Viktor shook his head.
"Hana, you will not get the better of him," he sighed. "Harry is, well, he's
just Harry. Maybe this isn't such a good idea."
"Oh, no, I want to meet him now," Hana countered. "I don't get to meet
many interesting people at work."
Viktor regretted hatching the idea to have Hana sitting with Harry and
the others now, but since her curiosity had been piqued, he knew he
wouldn't be able to change her mind.
He shot his father a final look and the man held his hands up, indicating
that he would not be getting involved in the dispute.
"Come along, Viktor," his mother broke in. "You'd best finish your
breakfast. It won't be long before we have to leave."
Sullenly, Viktor did as he was bid, a part of him dreading the meeting of
his sister and the boy he had grown fond of, and the other part knowing
that Hana will have met her match by the time the game ended.
(Break)
August 1993
He had been home for almost two months, and though he had been
writing to his friends, Harry had not seen any of them thus far, not even
Pansy who was spending her summer travelling with her father, visiting
all the businesses he held a stake in.
With no sons, Lord Parkinson would be leaving the family wealth to
Pansy and whomever she was to marry, undoubtedly with the condition
that any first child they produced would bear the family name.
Still, Harry's time away from Durmstrang had been productive, and he
had kept himself busy with the subjects he planned on continuing,
approval pending, and keeping up with his Fitness for Magic.
He would not give Olaffson the satisfaction of breaking him all over
again.
Aside from his pursuits, he had been spending time with Cassie, and even
held a funeral for Hector whom he had discovered upon his return,
curled up in his nest with some of the last meal that Harry had given him
remaining.
It had been a particularly sombre day when he'd said goodbye to his little
companion, but Hector had lived a happy and full life, the only things
Harry could have wished for him.
Along with being put through his paces by Cassie, he'd even managed to
continue with the Quidditch practices as part of his leisure time.
He'd even purchased a professional level Snitch to chase.
Not that he'd had much luck capturing it the first few times he'd tried.
Viktor made it look so easy, but the little golden ball was elusive, and
when Harry had managed to outmanoeuvre it, the feat had taken him
almost three hours.
In truth, he'd been merely relieved that he'd managed to catch it at all.
Today would be a Quidditch day, but not one where he would be
competing against his new-found foe.
He would be attending his first professional match in which Bulgaria
would be playing against Belgium.
Harry had been looking forward to it, but more so taking what he felt
was a well-deserved break and spending some time with his friends.
"Will you be taking your cloak?" Cassiopeia asked as he entered the
kitchen.
Harry shook his head.
"I wouldn't want to risk losing it," he replied. "I'll be fine," he assured the
woman who pursed her lips unhappily.
"Fine," she agreed reluctantly, "but I want you to come straight home
when you are finished. You have your portkey, don't you?"
Harry rolled his eyes at the woman.
"Yes, I have it," he confirmed. "Why not just place a tracking charm on
me and be done with it?"
"Stop being so dramatic," Cassiopeia huffed.
She was worried.
It was the first time that Harry would be venturing out in public without
her, and she was hesitant to allow him to do so.
Harry understood her concerns, but she couldn't simply keep him locked
away forever, as much as she likely wished to.
"I will be careful," he assured her, placing a kiss on the woman's cheek.
Cassiopeia hummed disbelievingly.
"The words 'Harry' and 'careful' are not things that go well together," she
replied. "I don't know where you get your recklessness from. Aactually,
it's not so difficult to work out. Your grandfather was like it, and I suspect
your father was too."
Harry smiled proudly despite the fact that Cassiopeia was urging him to
curb those tendencies.
"What was my grandfather like?" he asked curiously.
Cassiopeia pondered the question for a moment before answering
carefully.
"We didn't see eye to eye on much, but Charlus Potter was a very highly
respected man," she began somewhat reservedly. "He was a powerful
wizard in his own right, and no one could question his bravery. He did
end up marrying my sister, after all, and didn't care what anyone thought
of his choice. He and Arcturus were close friends who both spoke their
minds. I suppose you're like them both in that way."
Harry nodded appreciatively.
"Thank you," he offered. "Anyway, I have to go now. I will be careful and
I won't do anything to get myself in trouble."
"Good," Cassiopeia replied. "Have fun."
"But not too much?" Harry snorted.
"Not your kind," Cassiopeia sighed as she ushered him out of the door
where Harry activated his portkey.
It was outside Sofia that he arrived a moment later, only a short distance
away from the Quidditch stadium and where he would be meeting the
others.
(Break)
Lucinda had never been interested in Quidditch in any way. She could
think of dozens of things she'd rather be doing than watching fourteen
people flying around a stadium chasing balls and doing their best to
mutilate one another.
However, she knew that it would be impolite to decline the invitation to
attend, and it was a day away from what could sometimes be the dreary
existence of being in a vampire coven.
"How do I look?" she asked her mother as she entered the living room of
their home.
Her mother looked at her questioningly, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her
lips before she began rearranging Lucinda's hair.
"You're making a lot of effort for a Quidditch match," she commented.
"I've never seen you make so much effort in your appearance for
anything. Is there someone you wish to impress?"
Lucinda huffed irritably as she pulled away from her mother.
"No," she denied hotly.
"Not even Harry?"
Lucinda narrowed her eyes at the woman, her amusement immediately
provoking her ire.
"Of course not," she replied evenly.
Her mother tutted before fussing over her once more.
"There," she declared when she was done. "You look beautiful."
Lucinda had worn a corset for the first time in as long as she could
remember.
It was black with red detailing, and she completed her outfit with some
matching leather trousers and knee-high boots.
She had tied her long hair back in an elaborate braid, her look differing
from her usual wear away from school of loose trousers and vest tops.
"It's not too much, is it?"
Her mother shook her head, gesturing to her own similar outfit.
"Does it look too much?"
"No," Lucinda replied.
"There you go then," her mother replied. "If that is what you wish to
wear, then it is your choice. I'm sure Harry will love it."
"I'm not doing it for him!"
Her mother didn't believe her, but Lucinda wasn't going to waste her time
trying to convince her otherwise.
She was already running late, and if she didn't leave now, the others
would likely think she had decided not to go.
"I'm leaving now," she declared.
"Have fun," her mother said sweetly.
Lucinda scowled at the woman before activating the portkey Harry had
sent a few days ago and found herself a short distance away from her
friends a moment later.
As she had expected, she was the last to arrive, and her attire garnered
more attention than she'd hoped it would.
"Well, don't you look hot," Summerbee commented as she approached.
"Why don't you dress like that at school?"
"To stop idiots like this one drooling over her," Ana snorted, elbowing the
staring Cain in the ribs. "Down boy. Your kind and hers don't mix well at
the best of times."
Cain closed his gaping mouth and shook his head, offering Lucinda an
apologetic look.
"Sorry," he murmured. "You just took me by surprise."
Lucinda merely nodded, doing her best to pointedly ignore Harry whose
gaze she could feel on her.
"You look nice," he said simply.
As had become a common feeling, were it possible for her to do so,
Lucinda was certain she would be blushing from the compliment.
Harry had a way of having that effect on her, something she hadn't
decided if she liked or not.
"Come on, we'd best head in before the match starts," he suggested,
leading them towards one of the many entrances into the stadium.
When they reached the wizard checking the tickets, Harry handed the
man an envelope and he pointed them in the direction of boxes.
"Are you sure this is for us?" Cain asked uncertainly when they entered
one of the private sections.
"That's what it says here," Harry answered with a shrug, throwing a grape
into the air and catching it in his mouth from the large fruit platter that
had been left for them. "Maybe Krum is famous."
"He's almost as famous as you, Harry," Cain huffed. "Everyone in Bulgaria
knows who he is, and almost every Quidditch fan on the planet would
have heard of him by now."
"He's still a surly git," Harry snorted, taking a seat and looking over the
pitch. "He could be worse though, I suppose," he added.
"I could be," a voice from the door sounded.
An amused Viktor Krum entered the box with whom Lucinda assumed
was his parents, and another woman who was younger than them, but
older than Krum.
"Here he is," Harry greeted him with a bow. "The next great seeker. You'd
better win, Krum. I've bet good gold on you."
"You bet on me?" Viktor asked, surprised by the revelation.
Harry nodded as he clapped the boy smartly on the shoulder.
"It's easy money, why wouldn't I?"
Krum shook his head.
"You shouldn't do that, Harry," he murmured.
"You should believe in yourself more," Harry returned. "I'm not wasting
my time training with someone that won't win."
Viktor chuckled heartily.
"What brings you here anyway?" Harry asked. "I didn't think you giving
me the tickets meant I'd have to spend more time around you."
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to be," Viktor rebutted. "I need a
favour."
"A favour?"
Viktor nodded as he beckoned the younger of the women forward.
"I didn't know my sister would be here, and she doesn't have a seat," he
explained. "Would you mind if she stayed in here with you and the
others?"
"Your sister?" Harry asked too pleasantly.
"Don't," Viktor warned.
Harry held his hands up innocently.
"I was only going to say that she is much too pretty to be your sister,"
Harry replied with a smirk. "Come off it, Viktor, you look like a caveman
whose knuckles skim the pavement when you walk, and you mumble too
much when you talk."
"I do not," Viktor growled.
Harry waved him off.
"I will look after her," he assured the Bulgarian. "She is in very safe hands
with me."
Viktor rubbed his temples whilst his sister watched the back and forth
between them in amusement.
"Fine," Viktor agreed eventually. "Harry, this is Hana."
"Hana," Harry echoed. "Are you sure he's your brother?"
The woman's eyes twinkled as she nodded.
"He is," she confirmed. "Viktor has already told me so much about you,
Harry."
"Has he? And what had Viktor told you?"
Lucinda and the others laughed.
There were so many things that Krum could have told his sister about
Harry.
"Mostly that I should watch myself around you," Hana answered. "I think
he might be right about that."
Harry nodded, agreeing with the assessment.
"You have nothing to fear from me, Hana," he assured her. "Viktor is just
overly dramatic with everything. She will be safe with us," he added to
the nervous Quidditch player.
Viktor shook his head in frustration.
"Behave yourself, Potter," he warned.
Harry offered him an innocent smile, waving the boy goodbye as he left
with his parents before turning back to the young woman who was
staring at him wide-eyed.
"Was it something I said?"
"Y-you're Harry Potter?" Hana sputtered.
"He is," Summerbee interjected brightly, looping her arm through Hana's.
"Don't worry, you get used to his ways."
"My ways?" Harry questioned.
"I think she means your tendency to get yourself into trouble," Ana
pointed out.
Harry frowned as he looked at the others who offered no words in his
defence.
"Well, she isn't wrong, is she?" Lucinda snorted, taking pity on the boy
and patting his shoulder comfortingly. "Come on, you can try feeding me
some of this horrible-looking food to see if it actually tastes of anything,"
she offered.
Harry's demeanour shifted immediately.
For some reason, he always got quite the kick at watching Lucinda
grimace as she ate human food, even though he knew it all tasted the
same to her.
Still, she humoured him by eating some popcorn, and even some sweets
that he insisted were good.
Despite his ways of getting under her skin, there was little else Lucinda
found she enjoyed more than Harry's smile.
Somehow, it brightened the very room, and lifted everyone's mood
around him.
Even hers, and it was one of the things she found she missed during the
long months away from Durmstrang at the end of the school year.
(Break)
It was not often Cassie saw the side to Harry where he simply acted as a
thirteen-year-old boy should, but he had returned from the Quidditch
match, animated and was eagerly giving her a running commentary of
how his day had unfolded.
The woman couldn't prevent the smile from cresting her lips as he spoke
of spending time with his friends and them watching the game together.
He was so happy, and Cassie felt no regrets for allowing him to go.
"Well, dinner will be ready soon," she informed him. "Would you mind
fetching the paper?" she asked as she heard the owl tapping on the glass
to be admitted.
Harry nodded as he bounced from the room, and Cassiopeia shook her
head as she set the table.
It was nice to see Harry enjoying something so simple and getting so
much joy from a normal, teenage pursuit.
"Would you mind getting some water?" she asked as she heard him return
to the dining room, only to receive no response. "Harry," she sighed as
she turned, frowning as she took in his sudden shift in mood.
His hands were trembling as his eyes bored into the front page of the
newspaper, his eyes alight with unbridled fury.
"Harry, what is it?" Cassie pressed.
Harry said nothing as he slammed the paper onto the table and stormed
from the room, but the reason for such sudden anger became clear as
Cassie shifted her attention to the article that had offended him so.
She felt it too, a level of anger that had not surfaced within her for many
years, and if such news affected her so strongly, then there was truly no
telling what emotions Harry was experiencing.
With a tightened jaw, she threw the newspaper into the fire, watching as
the dark words and accompanying image were feasted upon by the
flames.
Sirius Black Escapes Azkaban!
The face of the man in the image was familiar, but it was not a welcome
familiarity, and Cassie knew that she needed to solve this problem.
As much as she was loathe to admit it, there was only one man who may
be able to help her in this, and thinking only of Harry, she began penning
a letter to Dumbledore.
Sirius needed to be found quickly, before he either attempted to find
Harry, or did something equally foolish to further sully the Black name.
12. Liberation
Liberation
A/N
Onwards we go…
Happy Reading,
TBR
Dumbledore had been all but useless when Cassiopeia had discussed her
wayward great-nephew with the man. He had no idea where Sirius may
be hiding, or even how he may have escaped the confines of Azkaban.
It was disconcerting to say the least, but Cassiopeia was not one to give
up so easily.
Her former Transfiguration professor may be willing to leave Sirius at
large. Cassiopeia, however, was not.
If he had indeed given up the Potters to the Dark Lord, he was a threat to
Harry, and so long as such a thing existed, Cassiopeia would not rest
until it was mitigated.
That was why she had come to the house she had grown up with, a place
she had no desire to ever see again.
Too many memories dwelled here, both good and bad, but none that
would bring her any amount of joy.
Her childhood with Arcturus and Dorea had been spotty at best, and she
had left Grimmauld Place shortly before the former had begun his
education at Hogwarts.
Cassiopeia had been an idealist back then; had found a cause and leader
she had believed in so wholeheartedly that she had abandoned her
already fracturing family in favour of greener pastures.
Not that her pursuit on the continent had led to anything more than
further heartache and several subsequent decades living in isolation, until
Harry came along.
The thought of the boy filled her with worry.
Since he had learned of Sirius's bid for freedom only a few days prior, he
had been silent. The rage he felt towards the man threatening to boil
over.
Cassie didn't know what more she could do than what she was now, and
though she wished to be anywhere but here, for Harry, she would face
her demons.
"What a mess," she muttered, wrinkling her nose as she entered the main
hallway of the home.
It had been left to decay, and the smell of rotting wood and dust filled
the air.
Despite her feelings on her childhood home, it saddened her to see it in
such a state.
"Who's there?" an unwelcoming voice croaked from the darkness.
Cassiopeia lit the tip of her wand and turned towards it, scowling as she
found herself looking upon the most unpleasant elf she had ever seen.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"Kreacher be the Black family elf," the elf replied, shielding its eyes from
the light of her wand. "Kreacher served Mistress Black and Master
Regulus proudly."
"Walburga?"
The elf nodded; its eyes full of reverence.
"Mistress was good to Kreacher."
Cassiopeia grimaced.
She had met Walburga on a few occasions and found the woman lacking
in every conceivable way with regards to the name she carried.
A Black she was not.
She was brash and lacked any subtlety or political acumen.
"What about Sirius?" Cassiopeia pressed.
"Master Sirius was a blood-traitor," Kreacher spat. "He broke Mistress's
heart."
That wouldn't have taken much.
Walburga often complained about how disappointed she was in her eldest
son, not that she would be now, of course.
If the woman knew what Sirius had done, she would be most proud.
"What happened to Walburga?"
"Mistress died of the shame," Kreacher despaired. "Master Regulus died,
and there was none left to serve."
Cassiopeia could only shake her head.
Only Walburga would actually have died of the shame she had felt.
"What about Sirius?"
Kreacher's expression darkened once more at the mention of the man.
"He is a filthy blood-traitor!" the elf spat, reiterating his earlier thoughts.
"Have you seen him?"
Kreacher frowned at the question.
"Kreacher has not."
Cassiopeia believed him, but that didn't mean Sirius would not come here
to hide from the aurors.
Grimmauld Place was unplottable, after all, and he would never be found
so long as he remained within these walls, as derelict as they were.
"Why have you allowed the house to fall in such a state?" Cassiopeia
demanded to know.
"Mistress told Kreacher to leave it."
"Walburga is dead," Cassiopeia pointed out. "You serve the house of
Black, and you have neglected your duties."
"Kreacher serves Mistress still," the elf replied defiantly.
Cassiopeia raised an eyebrow at him.
"You cannot serve someone who is dead."
Kreacher grinned as he beckoned Cassiopeia to follow him down the
length of the hall and paused as he reached a set of what had once been
rather luxurious curtains.
As the elf pulled them open, Cassiopeia felt a sense of uneasy wash over
at the sight of Walburga Black.
Kreacher had been serving a portrait and judging by the rather unhinged
look the woman sported, one that had taken leave of her senses.
Walburga had always been erratic at best, had an overinflated sense of
self-import that often landed her in trouble when she spoke out of turn,
but the woman Cassiopeia found herself gazing at was maniacal, a wild,
feral expression that spoke of the madness that plagued her.
"You are following the orders of a portrait?" she asked the elf, who
nodded proudly.
"Mistress has never left Kreacher."
Cassiopeia turned her attention towards the painting once more, the grin
that Walburga sent her way being rather disconcerting.
"Why does it not surprise me that you found a way to cling on to an
existence of sorts," Cassiopeia snorted. "Portraits are reserved for heads of
the of the family."
"I was the last of us!" Walburga spat.
Cassiopeia shook her head.
"I yet live," she pointed out. "As does Bella, Andromeda, and Narcissa.
Even Sirius."
"Do not mention that boys' name in my house!" Walburga hissed.
An amused grin tugged at Cassiopeia's lips.
She never could resist getting a rise out of Walburga.
"Well, it seems as though you got your wish in the end," she sighed.
"Sirius will never be the head of the family."
Walburga positively beamed at the revelation.
"So, it will fall to one of the other's children."
Cassiopeia shook her head.
"Bella is in Azkaban, childless, and will never see the light of day," she
explained, much to the chagrin of Walburga. "Andromeda…"
"Is a filthy whore who married a mudblood!"
Cassiopeia nodded.
"Narcissa has a son with Lucius Malfoy."
"He comes from fine stock," Walburga mused aloud. "He will make for an
excellent lord."
Once more, Cassiopeia shook her head.
"He is not the heir of the family," she said with no small amount of glee.
"It seems that Sirius did something right."
"What did the boy do?" Walburga growled.
"He chose a suitable heir," Cassiopeia replied with shrug. "Before he chose
to do what he did, he left everything to his godson, including the title he
should have inherited."
"He can't have done," Walburga denied. "You cannot leave the Black
lordship to any who does not satisfy the needs of the position."
"My Harry does," Cassiopeia returned proudly.
"Your Harry?"
"Well, Dorea's Harry," Cassie corrected. "He is her grandson."
Walburga frowned thoughtfully for a moment whilst she attempted to
piece the puzzle together, a frown that morphed into a scowl.
"He is a Potter!"
"And a Black," Cassiopeia pointed out. "He is a fine boy that I have raised,
and one that will see the family right, though I do not believe he will be
pleased by the state of his ancestral home. Kreacher, you will fix it on
behalf of the Lord Black, or I will have you replaced with an elf that will.
Do you understand?"
"Kreacher, you will do nothing!" Walburga commanded. "There will be no
filthy mudblood lord of our family."
Cassiopeia chuckled to herself.
"What do you intend on doing about it, Walburga?" she questioned. "You
are nothing but an essence of what you once were, and even if you were
alive, there would be nothing you could do to prevent it. Now, if you
wish to remain intact, I suggest you shut up or I will reduce you to
nothing but a pile of ashes to be blown away in the wind."
Walburga glared balefully at Cassiopeia, but the woman no longer had
any power or influence here.
She could rant and rave all she wished, but it would change nothing.
"Well, what are you waiting for, Kreacher?" Cassie snapped.
The elf looked towards the portrait of the woman he revered so much
before disappearing with a pop.
"As for you," Cassie continued, addressing the portrait, "I think it is best
that you remain silent for the time being. I will not have you interfering
with the elf's work."
With a wave of her wand, and before Walburga could protest, Cassie cast
a series of charms over the portrait to ensure the woman could no longer
speak or interact with anyone that may enter the house in her absence.
It would not do for Sirius to be made aware of her visit.
When she had replaced the curtains, Cassie shook her head in frustration.
She had been convinced that Sirius would be here, and not knowing the
man intimately in any way, she was at a loss as to where he could be.
Still, she would not give up her search.
He would surface eventually, and when he did, she would be ready to
ensure that he posed no threat to Harry. Though having spent more than
a decade in Azkaban, she doubted he was much of a threat to anyone.
If anything, she was more concerned that Harry would take it upon
himself to look for Sirius, and though the man would deserve everything
he had coming to him, Harry was only thirteen years old.
The burden to find Sirius should not be on him, not when he had
Cassiopeia to carry out whatever fate he wished for his godfather.
(Break)
Harry watched interestedly as the small bolts of lightning danced across
the tips of his fingers. Whilst he had been trying to come to terms with
the latest of his inner turmoil, he had discovered that his affinity for the
element responded more readily to him during periods of heightened
emotion.
It was quite the breakthrough for the boy, but he could only compare it
to his studies in the Dark Arts, though he was pleased to learn that the
lightning did not leave him experiencing any ill-effects.
The Dark Arts, as incredibly complicated as they were proving to be,
thrived on the emotion of the caster, and would allow themselves to be
wielded so seemingly freely, but using them was far from being so.
Acting emotionally denoted a weakness that the magics would eventually
exploit, addling the mind and even leaving their marks on the body.
Mastering them without experiencing such unwanted repercussions was
no minor feat.
To do so, the practitioner must first master their emotions and act
without their influence.
Wielding them whilst being fuelled by anger, hate, even the notion of
greed, and almost all things that elicited a sense of euphoria would only
end in disaster.
The magic feasted on these things, used them as a focal point to embed
itself within the caster, and would fester, and continue to feed the more it
was called upon in such a way.
Harry had learned that the Dark Arts truly were intoxicating, a power
that should never be abused, nor allowed to corrupt.
He was still learning how to prevent that, something he would continue
to do when he returned to Durmstrang in only a couple weeks.
He dragged his eyes away from the pulses of energy he was creating and
focused them on the unopened envelope that had arrived an hour or so
prior.
The missive inside would determine his future at Durmstrang, what he
would and wouldn't be able to continue to study, and though Harry
wasn't truly nervous, he had found a moment of bliss in being ignorant.
Shaking his head and releasing a deep breath, he picked it up and broke
the Durmstrang seal on the back before removing the thick wad of
parchment from inside.
Dear Mr Potter,
Please find enclosed your academic report from the school year 1992-1993.
We look forward to welcoming you back to Durmstrang shortly.
Professor Igor Karkaroff
Headmaster
Professor Misha Sidorova
Head of Second Year
Grades
Your grades are awarded based on the system outlined below. If you wish to
discuss them in further detail, please arrange an appointment with Professor
Sidorova who will be happy to do so.
Grading System
Grades are given based on expected levels achieved for the academic year you
have completed.
Each year, the grading boundaries and expectations change as you progress
through a subject.
Grading Classes
First Class* - The highest attainable grade at Durmstrang. You are working
considerably beyond what is expected at the level of study.
First Class – You have accomplished beyond what is expected at your level of
study.
Second Class – You have achieved all that is expected of you at your level of
study.
Third Class – You have not achieved all that is expected of you at your level
of study. Your performance will be closely monitored throughout the next
year.
Unattained – You have not reached an acceptable level of progress/completion
of the subject matter. You are no longer eligible to continue studying the
subject.
Results for Harry James Potter
Academic Year: 1991 – 1992
Arcane and Esoteric Magicks – 1st Class*
Blood Magic – 1st Class*
Charms – 1st Class*
Dark Arts – 1st Class*
Defensive Studies – 1st Class*
Elemental Magic – 1st Class*
Enchanting – 1st Class
Herbology – 1st Class
History of Magic – 2nd Class
Magical Languages – 1st Class
Magical Mathematics – 1st Class
Potions – 2nd Class
Runic Studies – 1st Class*
Study of Magical Creatures – 1st Class
Study of Wandlore – 2nd Class
Transfiguration – 1st Class*
You continue to impress me deeply, Harry. You should be very proud of what
you have achieved thus far at Durmstrang.
Although you have more than met the criteria to continue with all of your
subjects, we recommend that you select between 8-12 to pursue for the rest of
your time at Durmstrang.
Please select these by return post at your earliest convenience.
Congratulations, Harry, and I look forward to continuing to watch you
progress.
Professor Sidorova
Harry already knew what subjects he would selecting and put a tick next
to 12/17 he was eligible for, the ones that would be most useful for him,
and the ones he enjoyed most.
He would be dropping History, Wandlore, and Magical Mathematics to
begin with.
The former of the three provided him with nothing of note other than
knowledge of the recent war on the continent and the Goblin rebellions
of old.
Wandlore seemed to be a subject that someone who wished to pursue it
needed to have an affinity for the art, and although Harry had come to
appreciate the complexity of the art, he would never be a wandmaker.
Magical Mathematics was interesting, but mostly useless unless someone
wished to either create spells or analyse established magics, something
that Harry doubted he would ever delve into.
If he did develop an interest for it later in life, he could look into it
further at his leisure rather than spending three hours a week studying it
in a classroom.
Herbology was the next topic he had chosen not to continue with.
As useful as it could be, there was little he couldn't learn from referring
to a text as he had no ambition to grow his own crop of magical plants.
It was simply something that offered him no stimulus.
Much to his own surprise, the final topic he would be forfeiting was his
studies in Elemental Magic.
Having identified what he had an affinity for early on, he needed only to
continue practicing with summoning and controlling it.
There was little more that Larsen could do for him as he had to figure the
rest out for himself.
He had already discussed it with the professor before he had left for the
summer, and she agreed that his time would be better spent studying
something else but had also assured him that she would be available if he
required further assistance.
It was somewhat reluctantly that he had made the decision, but the only
other subject he had been able to consider leaving behind was
Enchanting, and it was far too intricate to abandon when it could prove
to most useful to him in the future.
Harry knew that Voldemort was an expert in the art, and though he may
not need to enchant anything, he may need to know how to break such
creations.
As such, his final decision had been made, and he would be pursuing the
12 he had eventually decided upon.
Releasing a deep sigh, he placed the piece of parchment into the
provided envelope and made his way to where Callidora would be
resting.
With it being milder weather, the journey to Durmstrang would not be
detrimental to the owl who would enjoy the long flight at this time of
year.
"I have something for you, girl," he murmured before fixing the missive to
her leg.
With a loud bark, Callidora took flight and Harry watched her from the
window of Cassie's office, his mind inevitably drifting back to his escaped
godfather.
Every part of Harry wanted the man to suffer for what he had done, for
Sirius to live every last second of what remained of his life in abject
misery, and Harry wanted to be the one to ensure that happened.
He had never felt such anger towards someone until he had read the
article announcing Sirius's escape from Azkaban.
Harry clenched his fist at the audacity of the man that had betrayed his
parents.
Given the chance, he wouldn't even need a wand.
He would throttle his godfather, squeeze the life from him and watch
with no small amount of glee as the light left his eyes.
Harry took a calming breath.
As much as he desired it, he knew that the chance was unlikely to come.
Cassie would see to that, and Harry trusted that she would punish Sirius
suitably before either ending him or handing him back to the Dementors.
Although Harry despised the very thought of the creatures, no fate was
too unkind for Sirius Black.
With a shake of his head, Harry left the study and headed outside.
He had heard the saying that the devil made work for idle hands, and
were his to remain so for any longer, he would be unable to ignore the
impulse to conduct his own search for his godfather.
No, he was much better continuing with his efforts for the wars ahead,
but if he did ever happen across Sirius on his travels, he knew that what
little restraint he was exercising would no longer be enough to hold him
back.
Sirius Black had better be hoping and praying that such a meeting
between them was never to occur.
It would end badly for the man. Of that, Harry had no doubt.
(Break)
Severus watched as Lupin entered the office, his lips curling into a sneer
at the sight of the man who looked completely out of place here. The
werewolf's robes were shabby, his hair liberally marred with strands of
grey, and his skin was heavily scarred from years of torturous
transformations.
It was not the potions master's prerogative to have one of his former
childhood nemesis's here, but Dumbledore's, who was looking to employ
the man due to recent events.
"Thank you for coming, Remus," the headmaster greeted the man. "Do
take a seat."
Lupin did so, his eyes darting around the room in discomfort.
"I expect that you have heard of Sirius's escape?" Dumbledore pressed.
Lupin nodded, his jaw tightening at the mention of his former friend.
"I have."
Albus released a deep sigh as he leaned back in his chair.
"I would like for you to take on the Defence Against the Dark Arts post,"
he said without further preamble.
Lupin shook his head.
"You know I cannot do that. My condition…"
"Can and will be catered for," Albus cut in. "Severus will prepare the
Wolfsbane potion for you and will cover any lessons you require. The
Shrieking Shack will also be available for you to use."
Lupin's gaze drifted towards Severus who merely offered him a single stiff
nod in confirmation.
"Is this about Sirius?"
"Yes, and no," Albus answered. "I will admit that his escape is unsettling,
but it is no secret that you are a most competent practitioner of Defence,
something that is sorely needed after our previous instructor."
Once more, Severus's lip curled in distaste.
Lockhart had indeed been a buffoon, but evidently not as foolish as he
believed him to be.
At the news that Black had escaped Azkaban and Albus's revelation that
he may find himself here, Lockhart had terminated his employment
under the guise of being needed urgently in South America.
He had given no further details but had left the castle within the hour.
"You think that he will come here," Lupin mused aloud.
Albus nodded sombrely.
"According to the Azkaban guards, he had been muttering in his sleep the
days leading to his escape. He repeatedly referred to someone being at
Hogwarts."
An expression of guilt formed on the werewolf as he looked towards
Albus tiredly.
"Harry?"
"I believe so."
Lupin deflated.
"How is he doing?"
Severus's jaw tightened, and he had to bite his tongue lest he lost his
temper with the man.
It had been almost twelve years that Lily was murdered, twelve years
since her son had been made an orphan, and no one had seen hide nor
hair of the werewolf.
"Quite well from what I hear," Albus answered.
"From what you hear?" Lupin questioned confusedly.
Albus could only nod.
"Sirius is evidently under the impression that Harry attends Hogwarts."
"He doesn't?"
"He does not," Albus sighed. "He chose to go to Durmstrang instead."
"Durmstrang!" Lupin gasped as he stood. "Was that your idea?"
Albus shook his head as he held up a placating hand.
"Indeed not," he assured the man. "Harry made the choice himself."
The answer only served to confuse the werewolf more.
"I don't understand," he murmured. "How did this happen?"
"I suspect that his guardian was very reluctant to allow him to attend
Hogwarts," Albus mused aloud, "likely to spare him from his fame, and
from my influence. She is not very fond of me."
"She?" Lupin pressed. "Who has been looking after him?"
Severus felt no small amount of amusement at seeing Albus experiencing
the slight discomfort the question gave him.
"Potter has been raised by none other than Cassiopeia Black," Severus
answered.
Lupin scoffed in disbelief, but when he realised there was no jest from
either Severus or Albus, his confusion was replaced with a look of horror.
"The Cassiopeia Black?" he choked.
Albus nodded.
"She claimed him as her ward," he explained. "There was nothing that
could be done to prevent it. She used the marriage contract signed
between Charlus Potter and Arcturus Black, and Sirius's status as Harry's
godfather. As Sirius's heir, Harry will be the next Lord Black."
Lupin seemed to be experiencing a bout of information overload and
simply collapsed in his chair at the revelation.
"Is he okay?"
"According to what I have been told, and on good authority, Harry is
doing remarkably well."
Lupin shook his head.
"James and Lily would never have wanted him to go there."
"No," Albus agreed, "but it was Harry that made the choice, and despite
my misgivings and concerns of him being raised by such a woman, she
seems to be doing an admirable job."
"Bloody hell," Lupin muttered. "So, Sirius is going to come here, attempt
to break into the castle and murder Harry who will not be here?"
"I believe that to be his intention."
Lupin released a laboured breath.
"He will not struggle to find his way in," he sighed. "There are many
hidden passages in and out of the school he could use."
"That is part of the reason I wish for you to come on board," Albus
replied. "I would like the entrances watched closely. I have little faith
that the Dementors will either be successful in capturing him or deterring
him from whatever plan he has made."
"Dementors?"
"By order of Cornelius, they will be stationed here until Sirius is
captured."
"What a stupid idea!" Lupin snorted humourlessly. "It is far too dangerous
to allow them free roam of the school."
For once, Severus found himself in agreement with the man.
"They will not be allowed onto the grounds," Albus said firmly, "but they
will be in Hogsmeade. Cornelius was very adamant about it."
The two men fell silent for several moments before Lupin spoke once
more.
"I'll do it," he agreed reluctantly. "To make sure no one is harmed by him,
I will take the job."
"Excellent!" Albus declared happily, shaking Lupin by the hand.
Severus offered no such congratulations, but instead took his leave of the
office.
The school year would be interesting to say the least with a werewolf and
Dementors around the place.
What could go possibly wrong?
There were too many things to choose only one, but the potions master
had little doubt that something would go amiss in the coming months.
Still, he truly hoped it was him that found Black.
Severus carried his guilt, had inadvertently betrayed Lily to the Dark
Lord, but Black had done so willingly, had sold out a woman who was
supposed to be his friend, and for what?
It was a question that had plagued Severus for many years now, but until
he found Black, he would not get an answer, and when he did, the man
would die by his hand.
(Break)
He sniffed at the scraps he had been able to gather from the bins in the
village; a veritable feast for a starving man that had barely seen a meal in
over a decade.
Sirius had managed to begin playing the part of a loveable stray, but
even with the lady who ran the pub and the jolly owner of Honeydukes
handing him morsels, it wasn't enough to build the strength he would
need for the task ahead.
Wormtail.
Just thinking of the name made his blood boil in his veins and a low
growl passed his canine lips.
It wasn't that the rat had managed to trick him resulting in Sirius
spending the past years in Azkaban that bothered the escaped prisoner.
No, it was what he had done to Lily and James that angered Sirius.
He had been their friend, one of the four Marauders that had plagued
Hogwarts with their pranks for seven years, and the snivelling coward
had thrown it all away for Voldemort.
Sirius shook his head as he turned away from the food he had scavenged,
his hunger having left him.
He too had been foolish, and were James and Lily alive now, they would
both be unspeakably furious with him.
In his rage, he'd abandoned the one thing they would insist he focused on
instead of the vengeance he so desired.
Harry.
If the thought of Peter angered him, the thought of his godson left the
man feeling distraught.
He had promised them that he would care for Harry if the worst was to
happen, that he would protect the boy with his own life, a promise he
still wished to uphold.
He's at Hogwarts.
However, Wormtail was there too which meant that Harry was in danger.
Learning of this had given Sirius the strength to slip past the Dementors
in his Animagus form and swim from the island prison to the mainland.
He needed to save Harry.
His thoughts shifted to his godson, and Sirius wondered what Harry was
like.
Was he quiet and reserved like his mother, but passionate and brilliant?
Was he gifted in Transfiguration just like James, a brash and mischievous
boy?
Sirius remembered the babe he had held the very night Harry had been
born, the same moment that James and Lily had asked him to be the
boys' godfather.
He remembered crying from joy, vowing to be the best godfather Harry
could ever want.
Sirius had failed on that front.
Harry had grown up without his parents, and without the man that
should have been there for him when James and Lily couldn't.
It begged the question of who had raised him?
Sirius didn't know, but he hoped that it had been Moony in his absence.
The werewolf would have made a fantastic guardian, despite his furry
little problem.
No one else came to mind as a potential parental figure for his godson,
but if not Remus, then who?
Sirius could only speculate, each person who came to mind as unlikely as
the last.
Whomever it was, he hoped they had told Harry all about his parents,
how amazing they were and how much they had loved him.
Although his appetite was all but absent, he forced himself to consume
the food he had gathered.
For Harry.
He hoped the boy would understand why he had done what he had, and
that he didn't truly believe that Sirius was the one to betray James and
Lily.
Sirius would have died before doing so, and still would for their son.
If only he could speak with the boy for a few minutes to explain what
had happened and who the traitor had been.
Such a thing was unlikely, however.
Having finished eating, he sat back on his haunches and whined to
himself pitifully.
Nothing would ever absolve him of the guilt he felt for abandoning Harry
in favour of seeking justice.
It was something he would always carry, even when he was inevitably
returned to Azkaban.
So long as Wormtail was dead and Harry was safe, Sirius would gladly
spend the rest of his days with the Dementors, content in the knowledge
that Harry was safe from the scum that had sold his parents out.
He merely needed to get to the rat first and then it would be done.
(Break)
"Have we done something to offend him?" Lucinda asked as Harry left
their cabin without saying a word.
He had been unusually quiet since they'd arrived to take the ship back to
Durmstrang, only speaking when spoken to, and his answers short and
lacking interest.
"Don't you know?" Eleanor questioned. "Don't any of you?"
Lucinda frowned confusedly as she looked towards the others.
Cain, Bruno, and Ana all seemed to be as clueless as her on the matter.
"Know what?" she asked irritably.
Eleanor shook her head as she removed a Bulgarian newspaper from
within her trunk and handed it to Lucinda.
"Sirius Black?" she murmured. "Is he one of Harry's relatives?"
Eleanor nodded as she released a deep breath.
"A cousin of sorts, but also his godfather," she explained. "He's the one
that betrayed Harry's parents to Voldemort. Black is the reason Harry is
an orphan."
"Bastard!" Cain growled as he snatched the newspaper away from
Lucinda to take in the image of the man. "How did he escape from
Azkaban, isn't that supposed to be impossible?"
Eleanor nodded.
"No one has ever done it before," she confirmed.
"So, he's escaped to kill Harry?"
Eleanor shrugged.
"It would make sense."
Lucinda's nostrils flared in anger, a rare feeling of protectiveness washing
over her.
Ana and Cain had a similar reaction, the latter's eyes flashing a brilliant
amber whilst Ana's hand flexed towards her wand.
"Well, if Black wants to try something, he'll have to get through me and
the others first," Cain declared before storming from the room;
undoubtedly to discuss what he'd learned with the other werewolves.
"And me," Ana muttered, her usually affable demeanour all but absent.
Eleanor simply nodded her agreement with the sentiment, and Lucinda
stood and took her leave of the room also.
She had no need to plot with the other vampires.
She merely wanted to find Harry to make sure he was okay.
Having searched most of the ship before she came upon him, she found
the boy staring almost aimlessly out of one of the viewing windows on
the lowest deck.
Without saying a word, she pulled him into her arms and just held him
for a moment.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, more firmly than she'd intended.
Harry shrugged.
"It wouldn't have made a difference," he answered.
"Yes it would," Lucinda countered. "You don't get to just come back like
this, not when you don't deserve it. Black will be captured, and he will
spend the rest of his days rotting in his cell, or with a bit of luck, they'll
just execute him."
A slight smirk tugged at Harry's lips.
"Careful, princess, people will begin to think you care."
Lucinda narrowed her eyes at the boy before taking hold of his earlobe.
"I do care," she hissed, 'but if you tell anyone that…"
"You'll drain me of every last drop of blood and allow the wolves to have
my corpse?" Harry interjected.
Lucinda nodded.
"Now you're getting it," she snorted amusedly.
"Ah, the joys of being friends with a vampire," Harry chuckled. "Are all of
you so sentimental?"
Lucinda shook her head.
"No, most of us don't care for your kind and often enjoy your suffering."
"That sounds just like you," Harry replied.
Lucinda frowned thoughtfully before nodding.
"Maybe you're an exception, Potter," she conceded. "The difference is, I
only enjoy seeing you suffer when it is me administering it. No one else is
allowed that privilege."
Harry laughed heartily.
"I'm not sure if I should be offended, worried, or flattered."
"Why not all three?" Lucinda suggested. "Don't deprive yourself on my
account."
Harry offered her a genuine smile.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. "I suppose I'm just stuck in my own head
at the moment."
"And there's nothing wrong with that, so long as you don't get lost there."
"I won't," Harry assured her.
"Good. Now, what are you planning on doing about him?"
"What can I do?" Harry returned. "He's somewhere in Britain, and I'm on
my way back to Durmstrang. As much as I want nothing more than to
hunt him down, it won't achieve anything. He did what he did, and I
want him dead for it. Maybe he will evade capture long enough for me to
be the one that kills him, and maybe not."
It was odd to hear Harry speaking about killing someone so casually, but
there was nothing about the tone of his words that made Lucinda
disbelieve him.
"You'd really kill him?"
Harry nodded.
"There are many that I would kill and one day may have to," he answered
with a shrug. "I've always known that, and it is something I've come to
terms with. It's not the life I or my parents would choose for me, but we
can only work with the hand we are dealt."
He spoke truly.
Although Lucinda didn't remember being mortal, she often pondered
what her life would be had her parents not turned her.
She didn't hate them for it, and didn't even dislike her existence, but it
certainly presented problems for her, even more so as she was growing
older.
For a moment, she simply watched Harry and allowed her thoughts to
wander.
"What are you thinking?" he asked curiously.
"Nothing," Lucinda denied with a sad smile. "Not anything that won't
keep. Come on, I think we've moped around enough down here, don't
you?"
Harry looked as though he was going to question her further, but instead
offered her his arm.
Lucinda accepted it, and the two of them made their way back towards
their cabin, each lost in their own rather maudlin thoughts.
13. Twelve Years On
Twelve Years On
A/N
Since it has been a while since I have done it, for those interested,
this story is only a few chapters short of being complete on my
website.
Details to access it can be found on my profile page here.
All links have updated so do come and join the discord where we
are close to reaching 11k members!
Anyway, happy reading,
TBR
31st October 1993
"Keep going you lazy shits!" Olaffson called.
Harry growled as he continued pulling the rope, bringing the large
boulder tied to the other end ever closer.
It was only him and Viktor treated to the pre-dawn attentions of the
Icelander who would drag them both unceremoniously from their beds to
put them through their paces; the Bulgarian by necessity, and Harry by
choice, though he often regretted making the request of the man.
"Good," Olaffson praised. "That's enough for today."
Without another word, he walked back towards the school, leaving a pair
of exhausted teens in his wake.
"Sadist," Viktor grumbled as he joined Harry who snorted amusedly.
Dropping the thick length of rope he had been holding, Harry winced as
he looked upon his blistered and torn skin from his efforts.
"Why do you do it to yourself?" Viktor asked. "You can't enjoy it."
"I don't," Harry confirmed, "but suffering now will reduce the amount I
may suffer later," he added ominously.
Viktor offered him a sad smile.
"Come on," he urged. "Let me show you one of the small joys you can
have here."
Harry followed the other boy towards the mountains in the opposite
direction of the school, the icy wind making his sweat freeze, eliminating
any warmth he had accumulated during their exercises.
"Are you taking me somewhere to murder me?" he quipped.
Viktor chuckled.
"You're no use to me dead, Potter," he replied. "So long as you're helping
me with my Quidditch practices, I'd like to keep you around."
"Thanks, I think," Harry returned dryly.
Viktor merely grunted as he continued walking for another few moments
before he suddenly paused.
"Here we are," he declared, pointing to a pool of steaming water.
"A hot spring?"
Viktor nodded as he disrobed.
"I found it whilst I was flying last year," he explained. "You're the first
person I've told about it, and I'd appreciate it if you kept it to yourself."
"I will," Harry assured him as he removed his own dirtied robes and slid
into the almost uncomfortably hot water, releasing a blissful sigh as he
did so. "Bloody hell that's good."
Viktor laughed as he watched him curiously.
"Why do you punish yourself so much?" he asked. "You take extra
sessions with Olaffson, and you're always practicing some form of magic
or other."
Harry deflated.
"I will be the head of two prominent houses one day," he reminded the
boy. "Both are traditionally very different from the other in almost every
way, and I will likely lose any long-standing alliances from both sides. I
already have enemies, and I will gain more. I need to be able to handle
them either politically, or by other means if it comes to me. I will not
chance failing by not being as prepared as I can be."
Viktor shook his head.
"You're Harry Potter," he snorted. "I bet lots of people will want to be
your ally."
"No," Harry disagreed. "People will only wish to be associated with me if
I am in a position of strength and can prove my worth to them. As much
as I couldn't give a toss about them, I will need some of them to an extent
if I wish to be successful in my roles. Many great families have fallen
from grace and faded into obscurity because their heads have been
incompetent failures. I will not be responsible for the demise of two of
them."
Viktor nodded his understanding.
"I get it," he murmured. "I just find it hard to see you pushing yourself so
hard at times. As much as I appreciate your help, I do care about you,
you little shit."
"Thanks," Harry said dryly, punching the Bulgarian on the arm as he
guffawed.
Viktor scowled and rubbed his shoulder.
"You should think about coming to the duelling hall some time," he
suggested. "It might help blow off some steam."
Harry shrugged.
It was something he had considered.
He would need to be prepared for the fighting to come, and the duelling
hall was as good a place as any to begin.
As a third year, he was allowed to attend now.
"Does Barkus do it?"
Viktor snorted.
"He thinks he would like another go with you, but he's just all talk," he
sighed. "You'd do well with some of the older students. I bet you'd give
them a good fight."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
Maybe it was something he should look into, or watch at least once to see
if it was something worth investing his time in.
(Break)
The impending meeting had been a long time coming. For the best part of
the last two years, Albus had been in communication with Madame
Maxime and Igor Karkaroff in a bid to rekindle the famed Triwizard
Tournament, a venture that both seemed as eager as him to pursue.
The Headmistress of the prestigious French school arrived first via the
floo, ducking low to avoid hitting her head on the stonework surrounding
the fireplace.
"Madame Maxime," Albus greeted her warmly. "It is wonderful to meet
you at last."
The large woman offered Albus a smile and her hand which he brushed
his lips across the back of.
"And you, Professor Dumbledore," she replied, her eyes shifting around
his office interestedly.
"Please, take a seat," Albus urged. "Igor should be along shortly."
Maxime hummed as she did so.
She did not appear to be so keen on their colleague, but if the
tournament was to go ahead, the three of them would need to find some
common ground.
As expected, Karkaroff did arrive only a moment after Madame Maxime
was seated, and Albus welcomed him with a firm, yet hesitant,
handshake.
The last time he had laid eyes on the man had been at his trial for his
activities as a Death Eater during Tom's rise, so many years prior.
He was not a pleasant man to look upon, his thick greying hair and beard
neatly kept, but his eyes were what were difficult to trust.
Although he seemed amiable enough on first impression, he did not cut a
warm or friendly figure.
"Dumbledore," he acknowledged Albus with all the caution one would
expect from someone like Igor Karkaroff. "Madame Maxime," he added
much more warmly.
The woman gave Karkaroff a guarded smile, her own thoughts evidently
similar to Albus's.
"Shall we?" the hosting headmaster suggested.
Both Karkaroff and Maxime nodded, and Albus took his seat behind his
desk to get the highly anticipated meeting underway.
"I believe we should begin by discussing the suggestions that both Barty
and Ludo have put forward," Albus suggested, removing a roll of
parchment he had received from the Ministry representatives and
creating a copy for his guests before handing each of them one.
They read through them thoroughly for several minutes before Maxime
nodded, followed by Karkaroff shortly after.
"It makes sense," the latter mused aloud. "Is the age limit really
necessary?"
"For the first tournament at least," Maxime answered. "It would not do for
someone not recognised as an adult to be severely injured or even killed."
Karkaroff nodded somewhat reluctantly.
"Then I have no disagreements with their suggestions."
"Nor me," Maxime added.
"Excellent," Albus declared. "Now, all that needs to be decided is when
the tournament will be held, and who will be hosting. I believe
Beauxbatons had the honour last time."
"We did," Maxime conceded, "and it was Durmstrang before that, so it is
only fair that Hogwarts hosts the next."
Karkaroff scowled but offered no argument.
"It is fair," he agreed unhappily. "Would it be too soon to hold it during
the next school year?"
Albus frowned thoughtfully whilst he scratched his beard, pondering the
logistics of doing so.
"I think we could manage it," he mused aloud. "It would take some effort
from all of us, but I do not see why it needs to wait any longer."
"Then let us do it," Karkaroff urged enthusiastically. "I see no reason to
stand on ceremony."
"Madame Maxime?" Albus questioned.
"I do not foresee any problems," she replied, "and I do have some
promising students that will be eligible."
Albus nodded.
"I shall write to Barty with our proposal," he informed them as he
removed an exceptionally good bottle of wine from within his desk and
conjured three goblets.
Having poured each of them a generous measure, he handed one to each
of his guests before leaning back in his chair, surprised but pleased that
the discussion had gone so smoothly.
"To the tournament," he toasted.
Maxime and Karkaroff echoed the sentiment, sealing it by drinking
deeply from their cups.
"I must say, I am looking forward to the proceedings," the latter mused
aloud. "If I were you, I would, however, prepare to be disappointed. My
students will not be beaten."
"Nor mine," Maxime returned challengingly.
Albus chuckled.
"Is this not what the competition is about?" he asked. "A healthy rivalry
between our respective schools in honour of reforging the friendship that
once existed between us."
Maxime and Karkaroff nodded their agreement.
"Why now?" the French woman asked curiously. "You have been the
headmaster for decades and haven't broached the subject until recently."
"It seems to be as good a time as any," Albus answered innocently. "I
would like our schools to share in a common interest, nothing more."
Neither Maxime or Karkaroff seemed to be convinced by his explanation,
but they didn't press the matter any further, and Albus decided to take
advantage of the silence that fell between them.
"Ah, Igor, I wanted to enquire about Mr Potter. I was close to both of his
parents and have been wondering how he is doing?"
Karkaroff frowned suspiciously before taking another sip of his wine and
placing it on the desk.
Madame Maxime seemed to be curious too and leaned forward slightly in
her own chair.
After a moment, Karkaroff nodded.
"When I first met the boy to show him around the school, I was
concerned about his motivations for wanting to attend and had my
reservations about allowing him to do so," he began thoughtfully.
"Well, he was registered at Hogwarts by his parents," Albus pointed out.
"I was very surprised when I received his letter declining his place here."
"I had thought he would come to Beauxbatons," Maxime broke in with a
sigh. "He seemed rather taken with the palace when he came for a tour
with his aunt."
Albus was not entirely surprised that Harry had visited the French school
along the way.
Karkaroff snorted.
"If you were disappointed that he did not choose Beauxbatons from the
short meeting you had with him, I expect you will be even more so now."
"Is that so?" Maxime replied with a quirked brow.
Karkaroff nodded smugly.
"Like I said, I had both my concerns and reservations, but the boy has
proven himself worthy," he said proudly. "He is quite brilliant, and I do
not believe he knows just how talented he is. I would go as far to say that
if we were not implementing an age restriction for the tournament, the
Goblet would likely have chosen him above the others."
"Truly?" Albus asked.
"Truly," Igor confirmed. "He is leagues above his peers in most subjects,
and even many of the older students. His work ethic is second to none
and he has a natural grasp of magic. By the end of this year or his fourth
at the latest, he will be beyond our standard education."
"That is remarkable," Maxime commented, a hint of envy evident in her
tone.
"It is, considering that the last student to grace our halls who proved to
be so gifted was the one who found himself expelled."
"Grindelwald?" Maxime questioned with a frown.
Karkaroff chuckled.
"Indeed. I trawled through the records myself and Mr Potter is on par
with him, even beyond in some of his subjects."
The revelation surprised Albus.
Gellert was perhaps the most talented wizard he had ever met.
"Well, despite what feelings the wizarding world has towards the man,
there is no denying that he was an exceptional individual," Maxime
offered reservedly.
Albus and Igor nodded.
"Even though he can be a handful at times, Potter is doing well,"
Karkaroff declared.
"A handful?" Albus pressed.
A smirk tugged at Igor's lips.
"He does not take kindly to any attempting to assert themselves over him
or his friends," he explained. "There was an incident during his first year
when an older pureblood student tried. It did not end well for him. As
polite as Potter can be, there is a ruthlessness to him, and the other
students respect him for it. Don't look like that, Albus," Igor sighed
irritably as his expression fell. "He's proven himself to be a strong leader.
He even personally funds our crop of werewolf students so they have a
monthly supply of wolfsbane."
"He does? That must be quite expensive," Maxime pointed out.
"It is," Igor confirmed, "but he has done it since his first year. Do not let
his ruthlessness distract you from the fact that he is a decent human
being. His closest friends come from all walks of life from werewolves,
vampires, and even a half-elf. I believe one of the boys he spends much of
his time with was born to a hag."
Albus hummed thoughtfully, experiencing a mixture of emotions, though
he should have expected such a report.
Harry was being raised by Cassiopeia and unknowingly guided by Gellert.
The headmaster knew that he should be relieved that Harry was
demonstrating such compassion towards the werewolves.
Both Lily and James would be exceptionally proud of him.
"Thank you," he offered sincerely to Karkaroff who merely nodded in
response having not allowed the opportunity to boast about one of his
students to pass.
"Maybe we should lower the age limit," Maxime chuckled. "I would be
interested to see how truly you have spoken."
Karkaroff shook his head.
"Even if we did, I have my doubts that Potter would be interested," he
explained. "The tournament is not his style. The only person he competes
with is himself. From what I have seen of the boy, he would not relish
the opportunity, and a thousand galleons does not seem to be much gold
for him."
"No, I don't suppose it would be," Maxime replied. "Would he not wish to
participate for the chance of glory?"
Igor snorted as he shook his head.
"I had my preconceived notions about him, but I feel no shame in
admitting I was wrong. A boy of such fame, I expected him to be
arrogant, egotistical, and with an overinflated sense of self-importance.
All of my thoughts were proven false. Potter is not a glory-hunter. He
much prefers his own company for the most part, and he does not show
off unnecessarily. No, I doubt there would be anything that would tempt
him to submit his name, even if the age limit was lowered."
Albus was pleased to hear it, and as he drained his cup of wine, he felt
that his mind had been put at ease of most of the concerns he'd been
harbouring about Harry.
One day, he would need all the talent he possesses, and Albus could relax
more knowing that he finally had a measure of the boy from someone
who had, albeit feeble, a reason to see the worst in Harry.
(Break)
He had waited until the early hours before venturing from the cave he
currently called home. The presence of the Dementors in the village
below keeping him there for days at a time until he was desperate
enough to scavenge for food once more.
Tonight, however, was not about feeding, it was about righting the
wrongs from over a decade ago.
Even in his Animagus form, the chill of the Dementors seeped into every
fibre of his being, but Sirius's determination would not allow him to
falter under the effects of his former guards.
He needed to get to Wormtail to ensure that he brought no more harm to
Harry than he already had.
Having been unable to obtain the password to the tower, the Fat Lady in
the portrait had been easily spooked with the knife he had managed to
steal from the kitchen of the pub.
It wasn't Sirius's preferred approach, but he had little other choice.
Still, with her gone, he'd been able to open the portrait hole and make his
way to the third-year boys' dormitory, the common room having been
mercifully empty at this hour.
With his previous antics, he knew that his time was limited but at first
glance, none of the slumbering boys within could be Harry.
It was confusing to say the least.
With James and Lily having been Gryffindors, Sirius had not even
considered the possibility that Harry would be placed elsewhere.
He himself had bucked family tradition by not being sorted into
Slytherin, so it was not beyond belief that Harry had done the same.
But what house was he in?
Sirius shook his head of those thoughts as he turned his attention to the
bed containing the snoring redhead.
Wormtail had somehow ingratiated himself with the Weasleys, and the
boy he found himself looking upon had become an unwitting caregiver to
the rat.
"I know you're here, Peter," Sirius whispered, his grip tightening on the
knife he held. "You know you cannot escape me."
He took a step forward only to be met by the sound of silence, and a pair
of terrified eyes bulging at him in the moonlight.
Before Sirius could gesture for him to remain silent, a bloodcurdling
scream rent the air, and the other boys began to stir immediately.
Cursing under his breath, Sirius fled the way he had come, swiftly
turning into the dog that had become his familiar form and bounding
through the corridors of the castle before the rest of Gryffindor House
became aware that he was present amongst them.
Much to his relief, he met no other, and disappeared into the passage
below the one-eyed witch, sealing it behind him as he did so.
He had failed in his efforts tonight, but at the very least, he would be
able to help himself to some of the goods in the Honeydukes basement.
Not that any confection would ever taste as sweet as making Peter suffer
for what he had done, but for now, that would merely remain a fantasy
until Sirius could come up with another plan.
(Break)
For the second time in the same night, Albus found himself playing host
to a meeting in his office, though this one was not being held in the spirit
of re-establishing forgotten friendships.
No, this gathering was to discuss the concerning security breach that had
taken place at the hands of Sirius Black.
"I do not understand it," Minerva murmured confusedly. "Even in the
dark, no one could mistake Ronald Weasley for a Potter."
Albus nodded his agreement.
"Black is out of his mind," Severus declared. "He has no clue what Potter
looks like."
"Weasley said that Black was walking towards him, and that it wasn't so
dark in the room," Filius pointed out.
Albus hummed.
"It was a foolish risk to take," he mused aloud, "especially as he is
certainly lacking communication, if he believes that Harry is even here."
"So, what was he doing?" Pomona questioned.
That was indeed the pertinent question.
Sirius could be rather rash and reckless in his ways, but he was no fool.
He would not have taken such a risk if he wasn't certain he would find
what he was looking for.
"Perhaps there is more to this than we know," he sighed.
"What, he sees Weasley as an enemy?" Severus snarked. "Black's mind has
been warped beyond reason by his years with the Dementors. He is
undoubtedly convinced that Potter is here."
"Then maybe we should ensure he learns that he is not," Minerva
suggested. "We cannot risk him entering the castle again."
"We cannot," Albus agreed. "I shall discuss the matter with Cassiopeia and
see if she is amiable enough to allow the knowledge that Harry is
studying at Durmstrang be made public. We could use the anniversary of
James and Lily as a way to release the information in The Daily Prophet. I
have no doubt that Sirius will be keeping abreast of the news."
"That could work," Remus agreed, "but shouldn't we be more concerned
that he is staying nearby and found a way to avoid being detected by the
Dementors?"
Albus nodded.
"I will advise Cornelius that a search of the village and surrounding areas
should be carried out," he assured the gathered professors. "Have you
found a replacement guardian for the tower?"
Minerva's nostrils flared.
"Only one was brave enough to take on the task," she replied unhappily.
"Sir Cadogan will fill in for the time being."
Albus's moustache twitched in amusement at the mention of the rather
rambunctious painting.
He would be problematic, but his bravery could not be questioned.
"A suitable replacement," the headmaster declared, "and I will look to add
further security to the tower. For now, it is safe to say that Sirius has not
hung around. When Hagrid has finished his search of the forest, I will lift
the lockdown measures, and we will cancel all lessons for tomorrow. If
there is nothing else?"
The staff took the hint of dismissal and began to file out, though Albus
gestured for Remus to remain behind.
The man was pale, and the full moon was still a fortnight away.
"Is there anything else you can tell me that I may be missing?" Albus
asked the werewolf.
Remus hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.
"No," he answered. "I will check what passages I know of one last time."
Albus nodded gratefully, and Remus took his leave of the office.
He knew more than he was letting on.
Albus didn't believe he was assisting Sirius in any way, but he was
withholding vital information that would assist in his childhood friend
being captured.
What that was, Albus knew not, but he was disappointed to say the least
that Remus still showed some loyalty to Sirius who had shown none to
his friends.
Albus released a deep sigh as he shook his head.
Was it truly so simple?
Sirius had always been so fiercely loyal to James and Lily, and there was
nothing that Albus could think of that would have changed that.
So, what had happened?
The headmaster couldn't help but think that it wasn't only Remus's
unwillingness to share what he knew that was dirtying what he had for
so long believed to be a clear pool of knowledge and events.
No, there was much more to it than he had first thought, and Albus was
determined to get to the bottom of it, no matter the outcome.
(Break)
"Do you think this is a good idea?" Lucinda asked as the group made their
way towards the duelling hall for the first time since they had arrived at
Durmstrang. "You know there will be people who want to challenge you."
Harry frowned questioningly at the girl who tutted.
"You're Harry Potter," she gushed mockingly. "Most of them will want to
beat you just because of the Voldemort thing, and even more because of
your reputation here. Don't you realise how big of a thing to brag about it
would be?"
"My reputation?" Harry asked.
The vampire shook her head and looked towards the others for support.
"You really don't know what people think about you?" Cain huffed.
"I don't pay attention to that stuff," Harry replied with a shrug.
"Well, you probably should," Summerbee chimed in, "especially since
you're walking into a place where you can be challenged. I might be
tempted to do it myself," she added with a grin.
Harry merely nodded and continued on his way, his fingers twitching
towards his wand in anticipation.
He wanted to believe that his friends were exaggerating, but he could not
dismiss their concerns so easily. Not when they paid much more attention
to the talk and gossip of the school than he did.
If there were people who truly wished to duel him, then the
consequences of that eagerness would be theirs to deal with.
They may believe that a victory over him would boost their status in
some way, but Harry was not here to swell his own ego.
One day, and it could be much sooner than he wished, he would find
himself faced with enemies that would wish him dead, and he had been
preparing accordingly for that eventuality.
As such, he was not particularly concerned with other school children.
He had come a very long way in the couple of years he had been here,
and so much further throughout his entire life than they would be ready
for.
Duelling, as it turned out, was indeed a popular pastime at Durmstrang
with at least a few hundred students packing the hall dedicated to the
art, and almost every member of staff that worked here in attendance
too.
None paid the group any mind as they entered and mingled with the
crowd who were watching an ongoing contest between two of the older
students.
A girl with tanned skin and dark hair pulled into a high braid was
defending herself well from one of the boys of Barkus's group whose
approach seemed to consist of overwhelming his opponent with volume.
To Harry, it became immediately clear who would win this bout. And as
expected, only a moment later, the girl retaliated, and the boy was sent
tumbling from the platform.
"Winner, Zabini!" one of the professors declared. "Who is next to make a
challenge?"
A seventh-year boy stepped onto the platform and took his position, his
eyes scanning the crowd until they fell on to one of his peers.
"Porta," he declared.
A tall, gangly boy emerged from the far end of the room, grinning from
ear to ear as he took his place opposite his opponent and the duel began
shortly after.
Porta was a crafty combatant, nimbly avoiding curses and not wasting
energy by shielding, laughing as he danced between the curses sent his
way.
"Your presence has been noted," Lucinda warned Harry quietly, nodding
towards the group where Barkus and his usual lackeys were standing.
"They're not that stupid, are they?" Cain snorted.
Lucinda rolled her eyes.
"Of course they are," she snorted.
Harry continued to watch then as they seemingly decided who would be
the one to challenge him, and as Porta dispatched of his foe, one of them
stepped up before the professor had even bid any to do so.
"Potter," he said immediately.
Harry merely shrugged his robes off as he flicked his wand into his hand
and stepped onto the platform.
Aliev was large for his age, with eyebrows thicker than Krum's.
The Bulgarian was here too, and had not noticed Harry's arrival, but
offered him an encouraging nod as his Russian opponent sent forth his
opening salvo.
To Harry, the older boys' spell work was slow and sloppy, and he simply
step through a gap in them to avoid the attack.
Aliev growled and fired another plethora of spells, some of which would
leave Harry in a rather bad state if they were to land.
Flaring his nostrils angrily at the attempted slight, Harry offered his
rebuttal, his wand work faster, more precise, and more fluid than his
opponents' who screamed in agony as he thudded to the ground,
clutching a broken arm as the wound where his ear used to be bled
freely.
It wouldn't be a permanent injury but would leave the boy with a scar as
a reminder of what Harry had done to him.
"Winner, Potter," the professor announced, seemingly impressed by his
performance.
Before Harry could step off of the platform, however, another of Barkus's
friends replaced Aliev who was being helped out of the room and likely
to the medical bay.
"Not so fast, Potter!" Gruber called.
He was from Bremen, and from quite a prominent German family
himself. Not as respected as Barkus's, but still from a well-thought-of line.
Harry released a sigh as the boy drew his wand.
He was a sixth year, and rather gifted in Transfiguration, from the little
Harry knew of him.
"Fine," Harry agreed.
It wasn't as though Aliev had been much of a challenge, after all.
As expected, Gruber did indeed employ Transfiguration as his preferred
approach, but his efforts were feeble compared to what Harry had
expected from a sixth year.
Eleanor was better than Gruber.
At least when she had conjured an animal to attack him after one of his
pranks, the chihuahua she'd sent could walk correctly and in a straight
line.
Gruber's wolves were out of proportion, clumsy, and burnt to ash from
the balls of fire Harry defended himself with.
Gruber looked to be surprised by the ease with which his creations were
dispatched, but that did not deter him.
Instead of wolves, a flock of ravens, a simpler conjuration was
implemented, but with only a wave of his wand, Harry turned them on
their caster.
Gruber squealed as the birds began to peck at him, and whilst he was
distracted with trying to fend them off, Harry sent his own beast at the
boy.
A wolf, this one much bigger and more vicious than Gruber's had been.
The large canine bounded across the duelling platform, its paws
pounding against the wood rhythmically before it lunged and pinned the
German to the ground.
Gruber could only whimper pathetically as the wolf bared its teeth,
snarling and drooling only an inch from his face.
"Winner, Potter," the professor declared once more.
If Harry thought his victory would be enough to prevent any other from
challenging him, he was sorely mistaken, and he found himself facing
another of Barkus's cohorts, and then another.
He defeated each of those that stepped onto the platform, racking up win
after win until Barkus had none left to fight for him.
"Are you next?" Harry asked him. "Or are you too cowardly?"
Barkus only glared in response, but did not rise to the bait, storming from
the room when the other students began to goad him.
"I'll have a go," a voice declared.
Harry frowned questioningly as the Zabini girl he had seen duel earlier in
the evening took her place on the opposite side of the platform and
offered him a respectful bow.
He returned the gesture, and without preamble, the contest got
underway.
It was odd that she too seemed to be moving slower than he had
expected, so much so that he could see her wand movements clearly, and
quickly deduce what she was casting at him.
For Harry, whenever Cassiopeia had been teaching him it had been
similar, but he thought she was simply holding back so that he could
learn how to avoid the spells sent his way.
Now, however, he was questioning why he felt so comfortable partaking
in something so dangerous, why he was enjoying it so much, and why he
was so seemingly good at it.
He had of course practiced diligently for years, but he had never actually
duelled anyone else other than Cassiopeia, so how was he so good?
Or was it that those he faced were just terrible?
No, he had seen Zabini duel and her wand work was almost flawless, her
movement graceful, and her choice of spells coming in many varieties.
It was something he would need to ponder, but for the time being, he had
another duel to complete.
He watched closely as the older girl twirled around the platform on her
toes as she unleashed flurry after flurry of spells his way, offerings he
avoided with apparent ease.
Steadily, Zabini began to grow frustrated, and her form began to slip into
something much less refined, and that was when Harry struck back.
He baited her with a bludgeoning curse that she sidestepped, only for her
eyes to widen as she realised her error.
In her effort to avoid the first, she found herself in the path of a throttling
curse that Cassie had took no small amount of pleasure in teaching
Harry.
Zabini attempted to counter it several times before she fell to her knees,
her wand clattering to the floor as her face purpled.
With her disarmed, Harry undid the spell and helped the spluttering girl
to her feet.
Zabini took several breaths as she trembled from the shock but offered
Harry a weak smile.
"Not bad, Potter," she wheezed, patting him on the shoulder. "Now, help
me," she commanded, leaning her weight on his arm.
Harry did so, escorting her off the platform and to her waiting friends
who were eying him curiously, many evidently surprised by the outcome
of the duel.
"I'll get you next time," Zabini choked as Harry retreated.
He turned to face the girl who was now grinning challengingly at him,
her eyes full of determination.
"Maybe," he agreed with a shrug. "Maybe I'll get you again."
Zabini raised a delicate brow in his direction before she laughed.
"Well, then we both have something to look forward to."
Harry shook his head amusedly as he returned to his own group of
friends.
"What?" he asked as they stared at him wordlessly.
"Where did you learn to fight like that?" Cain asked. "I thought what you
did to Barkus before was something, but this…"
He broke off as he looked towards the others.
"You must have had specialist training," Bruno declared.
"And had his wand since before he could walk," Lucinda snorted.
The others nodded their agreement and Harry chuckled to himself.
"I got my wand when I was eleven, just like the rest of you," he assured
them.
"Is this what you do when you disappear for hours at a time?" Ana asked.
"Sometimes," Harry replied with a shrug. "I practice magic, but this was
the first time I've duelled with anyone other than my aunt."
"Really?" Cain questioned disbelievingly. "It looked like you've been
doing it for years. Shit, I don' think I've ever seen anything like it. You
move so quickly. I couldn't even see what you were casting because the
spells came so fast."
"It even looked quick to me," Lucinda added. "I can move fast, but that
was something else."
She could too.
Despite the amount of physical training Harry did, Lucinda could catch
him in a matter of seconds without fail.
"Maybe I'm just a natural at it," Harry offered.
"You can say that again," Cain snorted.
"Come on, we can discuss the marvel that is Harry Potter later," Lucinda
sighed as she led them from the duelling hall. "It's getting late, and
Summerbee here is unbearable if she hasn't slept enough."
"I am not," the blonde protested.
"You're worse than my mother, and she's a hag," Bruno quipped.
The others laughed, and Harry joined in, though his mind was focused on
what had transpired whilst he was duelling.
To him, it was something else that he would need to look into for an
explanation.
He may well merely be a natural duellist, but something told him there
was more to it than simple talent.
His thoughts shifted to his parseltongue gift, and he could not help but
wonder if his duelling ability was something else he had somehow
inherited from Voldemort.
Maybe he would need to discuss it with Cassie, if he could not discover
an answer for himself.
(Break)
The Fall of the Dark Lord: 12 years on
By Rita Skeeter
In the midst of the fear and anxiety of the escape of the notorious Sirius Black,
we as a nation seem to have forgotten that another year has passed since You-
Know-Who was defeated, so what has changed?
"Nothing has changed," a Ministry source who wishes to remain anonymous
believes. "There is still the same bigotry from the purebloods, and less
opportunities and rights for us who were not born to one of those families. It's
just not so openly spoken of now, but it is still the same. The crimes of those
that claimed to be under the Imperius Curse have all been forgiven, and they
still remain on the Wizengamot. Where is the justice for the dead?"
Several others I spoke with who also wished for their identities to be omitted
echoed the same sentiment, and no member of our governing body were willing
to discuss the statement when I approached them with it.
One man, however, none other than the Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore,
did consent to sharing a few words with me when I asked him about the fall of
the Dark Lord.
"They were difficult days, and ones that I'm sure all are relieved to see the
back of. Now is not the time to reopen old wounds, but to allow them to heal."
When asked about the status of Sirius Black, Dumbledore had this to say.
"The Ministry of Magic is doing all that it can to ensure Black is recaptured as
quickly as possible. It is only a matter of time before that happens."
("Does the Ministry believe that he is targeting Harry Potter?")
"I would not hazard a guess at Black's motivation for escape but finding Mr
Potter would be quite the task in itself. The boy has not been seen in public
since before Halloween of 1981."
Potter's absence from the public eye caused quite the stir when he did not
arrive to attend Hogwarts when he was expected to a little over two years ago,
leading me to conclude with a final question for our revered Headmaster.
"Is Harry Potter alive and well?"
"I can assure you that he is healthy and thriving, but that is all I will say on
the matter."
Sirius allowed the newspaper to fall from his grip as he read the final
words from Dumbledore, breathing a sigh of relief, but finding himself
equally confused.
If Harry was not at Hogwarts, where was he?
That was something he could not answer, but what he did know now was
that getting to Peter was no longer so urgent.
Wherever Harry was, he was not in danger from the rat, and that gave
Sirius time to prepare properly before he made another attempt.
Still, knowing that Harry was safe made him feel considerably more
relaxed, and relieved him of the burden of his biggest concern.
For the first time since he had escaped Azkaban, Sirius had the time to
think with clarity, but as things were, he was too tired and his mind still
too muddled to do so.
Yawning, he added a few more logs to the fire to keep him warm whilst
he slept, something that came easier to him this night than any other in
the past twelve years.
Peter may still be at large, but Harry was safe, and that was all that Sirius
was focused on.
14. A Look Towards the Moon
A Look Towards the Moon
A/N
As per the previous chapter, this story is now complete on my
website.
For those who do not wish to wait to finish it, visit my profile page
here for details on how to access it.
Anyway, happy reading,
TBR
January 1994
It was a breathless Harry that pushed himself to his feet, wincing as the
aches and pains he'd accumulated since returning home for the Christmas
holidays made themselves known.
Cassie too was breathless, and she nodded approvingly at his efforts.
Nonetheless, she had beaten Harry soundly during every one of their
dozens of bouts over the festive period. Her skill with her wand not
having waned over the many decades she had lived.
"You're getting better," she praised. "You are far beyond your years in
terms of skill and ability. You should be very proud."
"I still can't beat you," Harry pointed out.
"The day you do, you will no longer need me to protect you, Harry,"
Cassie replied sadly.
The thought of such a thing was a maudlin one.
Harry, no matter how skilled he became would always have need of the
woman in his life.
It had always been just them against the world, and there was nothing
that would change how much he relied on her.
"Well, that day isn't today," he chuckled, "and I don't think it will come
soon."
Cassie offered him a smile as she cupped his cheek.
"It will come sooner than you believe," she replied. "Now, do you have
everything ready for the trip back tomorrow?"
Harry nodded.
He had packed earlier in the day so that he wouldn't have to lose out on
any time with Cassie in the evening.
"Good," the woman declared. "Let's have dinner."
Harry joined her at the table where Elgar served them a hearty beef stew
and freshly baked bread.
Neither hesitated to tuck into the meal, and whilst they did so, Harry
pondered what the rest of the school year would entail.
The lead up towards the winter break had been spent studying deeper
into his chosen subjects, something he was enjoying immensely despite
the increase in homework.
When he was not in class or pursuing his own ventures around the many
hidden rooms throughout the school, he often found himself in the
duelling hall, watching, and inevitably being challenged by the other
students.
Already, he had carved himself quite the reputation, and even
Headmaster Karkaroff had come to see him duel.
The man had been impressed having witnessed Harry defeating older
students, some he had combatted several times now, and new faces who
wished to test themselves against him.
Zabini never failed to challenge him, and though she had yet to beat
Harry, she fared much better against him the more they duelled,
something else Harry was looking forward to resuming.
Although he won, he still learned much from the older girl, and the older
students who were surprised at how adept in the art he was proving to
be.
Other than Cassie, however, it was Viktor that proved to be his toughest
challenge.
Many believed him to be only talented in Quidditch, but he had shown
otherwise that he was no slouch with his wand.
The duels between him and Harry never failed to elicit a wave of
anticipation amongst the others, and though Harry had emerged
victorious during their three bouts thus far, all of them had been closely
contested.
Regardless of his success, Harry still found it strange just how he had
become as good as he was almost immediately.
Of course, he had improved over the months he had actively been taking
part in duels, but he was still convinced there was more to it.
It was as though the entire art was familiar to him, that he had an
ingrained, instinctual grasp on it that he simply could not explain.
Perhaps he was merely a gifted fighter, or he had indeed somehow
inherited some of Voldemort's own ability the night the man had
attempted to murder him.
There was no doubt that he had obtained his ability with parseltongue, so
was it truly beyond the realm of belief that other things could have found
their way to him?
It was something that Harry knew he couldn't answer for himself, and he
had his doubts that any other could come further than establishing a
theory.
What had happened to him was an unprecedented occurrence, so the
fallout of it could not possibly be known with complete certainty.
To avoid inducing a headache from pondering the matter, he instead
released a deep breath.
"Did you write to Pansy?" Cassiopeia asked, offering Harry a much-
needed reprieve from his own thoughts.
"I did," he confirmed. "She enjoyed her time with her grandmother, but
Lord Parkinson doesn't believe she has much time left. If she is still
around for the summer, they will be visiting again."
Cassie offered Harry a sympathetic smile.
"You miss her."
Harry shrugged.
"I do, but we will have time to catch up eventually," he replied. "Things
happen, and they get in the way of other things. We still write regularly,
so that's all that matters for now."
Cassie nodded as she pushed her empty bowl away.
"Have you been keeping up to date with the news?"
Harry's expression darkened, knowing immediately whom the woman
was referring to.
"I'm surprised he hasn't been captured yet," he muttered irritably.
"As am I," Cassie agreed. "I have all the houses being watched, so if he
does turn up, I will know about it."
Harry nodded.
"Is it bad that there's a part of me that don't want him to be captured?" he
asked. "Is it wrong that I want to be the one to find him."
"No, it isn't," Cassie assured him. "It's understandable that you would with
what he did, but I expect I will find him long before you are in a position
to begin your own search. I will ensure he pays for what he has done."
Harry nodded gratefully.
As much as he did wish to be the one to find Sirius, killing him would be
a very poor way for his reputation to be cemented as the future head of
house Black.
There would likely be the Lords and Ladies that understood, but it would
still be a permanent stain on his character that could create problems in
the future.
"Why don't you go for a fly to clear your head," Cassie suggested. "It
won't do you any good dwelling on things you have no control over."
"I think I will" Harry decided as he stood, wrapping his arms briefly
around the woman before placing a kiss on her cheek. "Thanks, Cassie,
for everything."
The woman smiled once more, and as Harry took his leave of the room to
fetch the Firebolt she had bought him for Christmas, he let go of the
darker feelings he was harbouring, something that only the prospect of a
good flight could truly manage.
(Break)
Despite the lingering exhaustion from his latest transformation, Remus
had insisted that he returned to teaching when the school year resumed,
and as such, he found himself stood before his fifth-year class consisting
of Gryffindor and Slytherin students.
Having set them to task, he took a moment to lean against his desk so
that he could catch his breath.
The days leading up to the full moon had always left him feeling rather
unwell, and the few that followed were perhaps worse than those, but
recently they had only become more so.
He suspected that his emotional state was the catalyst for the unwelcome
changes he was experiencing, but he was doing his best to take them in
his stride.
For twelve years, he had done all he could to ignore the sting of betrayal
he had felt, ignore that the man he had considered to be one of his few
and closest friends had done what he had.
Remus had often questioned just why Sirius had turned on them, on
James, Lily, and Harry, but nothing he could begin to comprehend made
any sense to the werewolf.
Sirius had been the most vocal against Voldemort, had been the most
eager to fight against the man and those that had chosen to follow him,
so what had changed?
Remus had no answer.
In the year leading up to Voldemort's downfall, he had not seen James
and Lily who had gone into hiding, nor had he spent much time with
Sirius.
Anything could have happened in those intervening months, and
something evidently had.
With a gentle sigh, he shook his head of the thoughts that had plagued
him for so long and shifted his attention back to his students, frowning
suspiciously as he watched the Weasley twins who had their heads
together, looking down on something they were concealing below their
desk.
Although Fred and George had not often caused mischief in his class, he
had been warned about them by every member of staff in the castle, and
Remus had learned that when they were quiet, as they were now, they
were likely up to no good.
So not to draw attention to himself, he casually made his rounds of the
classroom, offering advice to the other students who were completing
their work.
When the redheads noticed him drawing closer, they hurriedly finished
what they were doing and looked up, offering Remus a pair of equally
unconvincing, but seemingly innocent smiles.
The werewolf raised an eyebrow at the duo as he caught one of them
attempting to conceal something within his robes.
"Hand it over," he sighed.
For the briefest of moments, he thought the boy would refuse, but with
an unconcerned shrug, he relented, placing an old piece of parchment in
Remus's hand.
It took every last part of his self-control to not react when he realised
what it was he held.
"What is this?" he asked the twins.
"Just an old piece of parchment, Professor," one of the boys answered.
"Is that so?" the werewolf asked amusedly. "Well, as it seems to be such a
distraction for you both, I think I will hold onto it for the time being."
"Suit yourself, Professor," the other responded, and without another word
on the matter, they finally settled down to work.
Remus shot them a final questioning look before returning to his desk
and pocketing the piece of confiscated parchment.
The twins knew exactly what it was they had, and though they had
appeared to be casually dismissive of Remus taking it from them, he had
not missed the hint of panic both displayed.
How they had come into possession of the map, Remus knew not, but
what was more concerning was just how they had managed to figure out
how it worked?
The Marauder's Map had taken the best part of three years to complete
and perfect and was nothing short of a magical marvel.
Although Remus had been heavily involved in its creation, he still did not
understand how they had managed to make it work as well as it did.
It was a mixture of purposeful charms, and many unintentional outcomes
from the combined effort of him, James, and Sirius.
Until it had been confiscated during their sixth year by Mr Filch.
It was one of the few times that they had been truly furious with
Wormtail for being so careless, and neither of the group had seen the
map again since.
They had assumed that it had been destroyed, but Remus now held the
proof that it somehow still existed.
The thought brought a melancholic smile to his lips.
"Professor, I think that the lesson is over," Angelina Johnson called.
Remus's gaze shifted towards the clock and he nodded.
"Of course, be on your way," he allowed.
The students packed their things and took their leave of the room leaving
only two of their peers behind.
"Professor, our parchment," one of the twins reminded.
Remus removed the map from his pocket and stared at it for a moment
before shifting his attention to the waiting boys, narrowing his eyes at
them.
"I think I will hold onto it," he declared. "We can't have you distracted by
such a frivolous thing, can we?"
The twins shared a worried look with one another, but quickly realised
the situation was out of their hands.
"Of course, Professor," one of them eventually responded, "but we would
like it back. It has sentimental value to us."
"It was the first piece of parchment we brought before coming to
Hogwarts," the other explained. "It may seem stupid, but things like this
mean something to us."
"Then I will be sure to take care of it," Remus assured them. "Now, off
you go."
Reluctantly, they did so, evidently safe in their assumption that Remus
did not know just what it was he held, and with a free period from
teaching, the werewolf locked the door to his classroom.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he murmured, tapping the
seemingly inane piece of parchment with his wand.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, a genuine smile
graced his lips as the ink welcoming him to the wonder that was The
Marauder's Map danced across the surface, and Remus ran the tips of his
fingers across it reverently.
Despite the bittersweet feeling of having it returned to him, he chuckled
as he watched the many dots of all within the castle going about their
day, though he frowned as he caught the briefest glance of one that
should not be there.
"Wormtail?" he whispered, as the one labelled Peter Pettigrew vanished
beyond the boundary of the school grounds.
Remus continued to stare at the spot in disbelief for several moments
before shaking his head.
No, Peter was dead.
Sirius had seen to that more than a decade ago.
Perhaps the magic of the map was fading, or it simply was not as perfect
as the Marauders had believed?
Still, why that very name and not one of the hundreds of others that had
passed through the castle since it had been created?
Remus felt a weight of dread settle into his stomach, and although he
hoped the map was merely malfunctioning, he could not shake the
feeling that something was horribly amiss.
(Break)
The hot spring that Viktor had introduced him to had quickly become
Harry's favourite place at Durmstrang. No matter what Olaffson put them
through during their rigorous training sessions, the water always washed
away any signs of soreness from his aching muscles and bones.
"Do you think there is magic here?" Harry asked the Bulgarian curiously.
Viktor merely shrugged in response and Harry frowned.
"What's up with you?" he pressed. "You've not been yourself since we
came back."
Viktor deflated.
"How do you cope with it?" he asked. "The fame."
"I don't," Harry snorted. "Outside of Britain, no one would be able to pick
my face out of crowd. At home, it will be different because I look just like
my Dad. I'll have to deal with it one day."
Viktor nodded his understanding.
"I tried to go Christmas shopping for my family and didn't have a moment
of peace," he explained. "There were journalists everywhere, watching
everything I did."
"That's the price for being the best Seeker in the world," Harry pointed
out. "You might not like it, you miserable git, but there's not a person in
the world that doesn't know who you are. Your mug has been plastered
across the world media for months now."
"Not the best in the world," Viktor denied, a slight grin of amusement
tugging at his lips. "One day I will be."
Harry shook his head.
"There is not a single Seeker I have seen that would stand a chance
against you," he said honestly. "If Bulgaria doesn't win the World Cup, it
won't be because of you."
His words seemed to touch the other boy who nodded appreciatively.
"Thanks, Harry," he replied, patting him on the shoulder.
"Don't get all sentimental on me," Harry grumbled, "and don't even think
about letting your head swell. You're the best because you worked hard
for it. You'd better not get any ideas about slacking. I'll slap you silly if
you miss even a day out here."
Viktor chuckled as he held up a hand.
"I wouldn't leave you alone with him," he promised, jerking a thumb in
the direction that Olafsson had left in only moments prior.
"Good, because I'm not beyond making your life a misery if you give me a
reason to," Harry warned. "Quidditch superstar or not, you're still the
same prat who roped me into helping him with his training."
Viktor grinned triumphantly as he ruffled Harry's hair.
"It worked, didn't it?"
Harry hummed as he pushed Viktor's hand away.
"Piss off," he muttered.
Viktor laughed heartily.
"If only the world could see us now," he sighed. "Harry Potter and Viktor
Krum sharing a hot bath together. Could you imagine the scandal?"
Harry snorted amusedly.
"Don't talk it up, there could be one of your journalist friends watching
us."
Viktor scowled at the thought.
"They are not my friends," he denied. "I don't have many of those left."
"You're the most popular student here," Harry pointed out incredulously.
"Yes, but most of them only wanted to spend time with me when they
saw how good at Quidditch I was," Viktor explained. "My family is
pureblood, but not rich. That means everything here unless you have
something else to offer. I have Quidditch, and they came flocking to me. I
would be at the bottom of the pile if it wasn't for that."
"Well, that's for you to figure out," Harry replied. "For what it's worth, I
still think you're a prat and still would without Quidditch."
"Thanks," Viktor returned dryly, but once more, Harry could see the
words meant something to him. "Come on, if we don't get back, they'll
send a search party for us, and then the media will find out about this."
Viktor grimaced at the thought as he pushed himself out of the pool
before drying himself off with a wave of his wand.
Harry followed suit, and the two of them made their way back into the
school, parting ways in the entrance hall to prepare for the day ahead.
It was still early yet but Lucinda was already in the common room when
he entered, her hair still wet from the shower she had evidently taken.
"Do vampires need to wash?" Harry asked curiously.
The girl raised an eyebrow in his direction.
"What a stupid question," she mumbled to herself. "I could forego
showering if you like. I'm sure my natural scent will be most appealing."
"Well, I don't expect you would smell like garlic at least," Harry quipped.
Lucinda's nostrils flared.
"So, it's going to be one of those days, is it?"
"I have no idea what you mean," Harry replied innocently as he took a
seat next to her.
Lucinda simply glared at him and Harry busied himself by retrieving the
books he would need from his trunk, doing his best not to wilt under her
gaze.
The girl was rather intimidating when she wanted to be, though she was
distracted by Cain as he entered the common room, the werewolf too
offering Harry a look of displeasure.
"It's still there!" he growled, pointing to the ginger fuzz resting above his
top lip.
"I can see that," Harry replied. "I could always have another go at
removing it."
"No!" Cain snapped. "You and your wand can stay away from me, Harry."
"Fair enough," Harry chuckled.
"It's not funny!" Cain huffed. "What if it never goes?"
"It's not permanent," Harry insisted. "It will go soon, I think."
Cain cursed under his breath and folded his arms petulantly.
The moustache he was sporting was an experiment of Harry's that had
gone awry.
He had been working on some rather complex transfigurations that
would change someone's appearance.
Unwilling to try it on himself, a sleeping Cain had become his unwitting
volunteer, and the red facial hair had been the result.
It had been a week now, and it remained as prominent as ever.
Even the healer in the medical bay was reluctant to try reversing the
magic when her first efforts had only resulted in the colour becoming
brighter.
Her advice had been to wait for it to fade by itself.
Harry suspected that he could remove the hair if given the chance, but
Cain was reluctant to allow him to do so.
As a result, he was left to play the waiting game, and was growing more
irritable with the addition the more days that passed.
"Breakfast time!" Eleanor declared brightly as she entered the room with
the rest of the group in tow.
She was always in an overly enthusiastic mood, something that Harry
found he appreciated with the constant presence of temperamental
creatures around them.
Even Ana who was quite happy for the most part had her off days and
could be quite short with them, especially when she was completing
homework or studying for exams.
It was understandable.
Harry too had not been the best company recently. But regardless of their
shifting moods, they all understood one another.
Still, despite often having to navigate his friends base tendencies, it didn't
stop Harry from having fun with them.
"Blood-Pop," he offered to Lucinda as they made their way towards the
main hall.
"Since when do you eat them?" she asked suspiciously.
"I don't," Harry replied. "I got them for you. I thought they might help if I
find myself on your bad side."
The vampire frowned at him but accepted the treat nonetheless and
placed it in her mouth, her pupils dilating joyfully as she did so.
"Ah, so it will work," Harry murmured.
"Don't push your luck, Potter," Lucinda warned.
"Would I do that?"
Lucinda removed the confection from her mouth and allowed some red
liquid to trickle over her lips.
"You wouldn't if you knew what was good for you."
"Duly noted," Harry acknowledged.
"Are you still working on the Patronus Charm?" Lucinda asked.
Harry nodded but didn't comment further.
With Sirius having broken free from Azkaban and the news that the
Dementors were stationed around Hogwarts looking for him, Harry had
remembered that the creatures had once allied themselves with
Voldemort and may well do again in the future.
Through all of his research and enquiring about them with Professor
Sidorova, the charm seemed to be the best defence against them, though
it was a notoriously difficult spell to master.
Nonetheless, Harry had time to do so, and it was something he had
included in his daily practices.
Thus far, he hadn't managed to produce anything other than a weak
shield that would likely have no effect on a Dementor that was baring
down on him, but it was a start, and something he would continue to
build upon.
(Break)
It was with a pounding head that Remus awoke on the hard floor of what
had once again become familiar surroundings after a transformation. The
shrieking Shack evoked many memories of happier times within the man,
but those times had certainly passed.
Still, there was a thread of hope within him that when he turned, he
would find his three childhood friends there with him, the trio having
spent the night in their Animagus forms to make his monthly horror just
that little more bearable.
It wasn't to be, however.
Instead, he was alone as he had been for over a decade now, weakened
by his antics of the previous night, and shaking as he used the remains of
a nearby table to help himself to his feet.
There was a time that James and Sirius would do that before all but
carrying him into the castle and placing him in his bed where he could
rest.
Remus swallowed down the lump that formed whenever he pondered
those days.
Sirius, James, and Peter had been the best friends he could have hoped
for, and now only one remained, the very same that had shown his true
colours.
With his breathing laboured, and though he wished to rest more, Remus
could no longer face being in the shack, and stumbled from the room,
somehow descending into the tunnel below where he paused at the sight
of a piece of parchment containing only one word scrawled across the
front.
Moony
There was only one who would address him with the moniker he had
been given during his formative years, and Remus felt a weight of dread
hit his stomach, and his blood boil with rage.
How dare he?
How dare Sirius write to him after what he had done.
Did he truly expect to be forgiven, or that Remus could ever understand
any reason why that he could offer?
With a growl, the werewolf tore the note from the wall, his jaw
tightening at the thought of Sirius once more trespassing onto the school
grounds.
For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to either shred the letter as
it was or hand it Dumbledore.
Something, however, prevented him from doing so.
Perhaps it was the somewhat sentimental mood he had woken in, or the
deep-seated longing he felt for just a moment of what had been his best
years.
Remus couldn't be certain, but with a shaking hand, he opened the letter.
Moony,
I expect that you believe that it was me who betrayed James and Lily to
Voldemort, and you would be right, but not in the way you think.
However, I did not give him their location!
My part in their betrayal was by showing trust in the wrong man, and
convincing James to show that same trust.
Contrary to what you may know, James and Lily were living under the
Fidelius Charm, and it was Peter who was their secret keeper, not me as you
would expect.
It was my idea to use Peter.
Voldemort and his followers knew that I was close to them, so I played the
part of the decoy and went into hiding myself, as did Peter, or so I believed.
He sold them out, Moony. You have to believe me.
I would have given my life to keep them all safe, and when I learned what
Peter had done, I went to look for him.
He's not dead, Remus.
I cornered the snivelling coward, and he declared that I had sold James and
Lily out before he blew up that street.
Before I knew it, the Aurors had arrested me and I was in Azkaban.
It wasn't until shortly before I escaped that I learned that Peter was still alive,
check the photo I have included and you will see it is him.
I'm begging you, Moony, to believe what I am saying.
Look at the photo and get the rat and you will know the truth.
Padfoot
Remus read the letter several times to take in what had been said, not
wanting to believe that what he had thought happened all those years
ago had been a lie.
However, when he looked at the photo that had been taken from The
Daily Prophet back at the beginning of July, there was no denying that the
rat sitting atop Ron Weasley's shoulder was indeed Peter.
Remus had seen the boy turn into the creature dozens if not hundreds of
times.
Could Sirius be telling the truth?
Swallowing deeply, Remus shook his head.
No, he didn't want to believe it.
It had been Sirius who had betrayed James and Lily, Sirius who had left
little Harry an orphan.
Remus's breath hitched in his throat as he remembered what he had seen
on the map only a few weeks prior, the name of the very man that Sirius
had allegedly murdered in cold blood.
It had to be a mistake, surely a coincidence.
"The map doesn't lie," he whispered to himself.
Ever since it had come back into his possession, he had looked at it in his
free time, just watching the dots as they moved about the school.
Not once had anything else been amiss, but he hadn't spotted the dot
belonging to Peter again either.
Pocketing the letter, he made his way back towards the castle, and
though he was feeling fatigued from his transformation, he was
determined to get to the bottom of what had happened.
As much as he did not wish to believe what Sirius had written, he could
not dismiss it out of hand whilst the evidence was beginning to stack in
favour of what his former friend had said.
One way or the other, he would learn the truth of what had happened,
and if by some miracle Sirius had been framed, then wizarding Britain
owed him an apology, none more so than Remus who had readily
accepted what the media had assured the public had transpired.
(Break)
June 1994
The remainder of the school year had passed Harry by in a blur. With the
increased intensity of their lessons, his own pursuits, and continuing to
assist Viktor, he had little time to himself, but he preferred to remain
busy.
It was the latter of the things he had committed to that was occupying his
morning, and as had become a common sight, he and Viktor were flying
around the Quidditch pitch, both seated atop a matching Firebolt, not that
the equally good brooms equated to a fair contest.
Although Harry was vastly improving, Viktor's ability seemed to be
limitless.
Still, Harry was never one to shy away from a challenge, and he enjoyed
being pushed to his physical limits by the other boy.
For the most part, it was only the two of them that trained daily.
They were sometimes joined by the other older students a few times a
week, but as Viktor had predicted, Harry had quickly caught them up
before surpassing them completely.
It had taken the best part of two years of hard work, but he had made it,
and more often than not, he would find himself facing off against the
Bulgarian as the only one that presented something of a challenge to him.
Despite the weather having become significantly milder having entered
the early summer months. It never truly became warm in this part of the
world, but both Harry and Viktor were sweating profusely from their
efforts, nonetheless.
They had been at it for close to an hour now, and already, Harry had
needed to prevent the older boy from catching the Snitch four time.
Regardless of his successes, it was only a matter of time before it would
happen.
"Ready to give up, Harry?" Viktor called as they passed one another.
"Up yours, Krum," Harry replied.
The Bulgarian laughed heartily, and Harry stiffened as he spotted a
glimmer of gold shoot by behind him.
Without thought, he urged his broom forward, flattening himself against
the shaft to build as much speed as he could.
Viktor was on him only a moment later, but Harry's eyes never left the
Snitch as the two gave chase, the Bulgarian drawing level as the elusive
ball shot vertically into the sky.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Viktor's voice sounded over the
howling wind.
Harry merely gritted his teeth in response as the Snitch plunged back
towards the ground.
It was then that Harry realised just how high they had climbed in pursuit
of it, but with the speed of the broom, the ground returned to them
quickly as they remained side by side in a potentially deadly test of wills.
Neither would relent, and as they both reached for the Snitch, their
brooms became entangled and Harry and Viktor crashed to the ground,
sliding through the slush and grime before coming to a stop.
"Well, bollocks," Harry groaned, as he felt a sharp throbbing in his left
arm.
Even breathing was painful, and he coughed as he heard the sound of
rushing footsteps.
"Viktor?" he called.
He received a groan in response.
"Are you dead?"
It was a pained laugh that answered him, and Harry felt a wave of relief
wash over him knowing that his friend was okay, or as well as could be
in the circumstances.
"That was bloody stupid, wasn't it?" Harry snorted.
"That's Quidditch," Viktor wheezed from somewhere to his left.
Harry chuckled, wincing as another stab of pain lanced through his ribs.
"Is it wrong that I found it fun?"
"That just means you're as mad as me."
Harry nodded as he attempted to sit up, managing it on his third attempt,
though his head was spinning and he felt nauseous.
"Get up you lazy bastard," he huffed, spotting Viktor laying half a dozen
feet away.
The Bulgarian managed it as a rather irate Olaffson reached them.
"Stupid boys," he declared, his nostrils flared. "Are you hurt?"
"A few broken bones maybe," Harry answered, grimacing from the pain in
his arm.
Viktor nodded as he pushed himself to his feet, his legs trembling, and
blood flowing from a wound above his eyebrow.
Nonetheless, he laughed as he helped Harry to his feet.
"Ow, watch my arm," Harry groaned.
Viktor said nothing else, wide smile cresting his lips as he nodded
towards Harry's uninjured right arm.
Within his closed fist, two golden wings were beating against his hand.
"I caught it," he whispered.
Looking up at Viktor, he thought the boy would be angry with him, but
the smile remained, and he wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulder.
"You finally got one," he said proudly.
Harry shook his head.
"I don't remember catching it."
"We both tried," Viktor reminded him, "and you got there first. Well
done."
"Does that mean we have to do it again?"
Viktor nodded as he wiped the blood out of his eye.
"Every day."
"Bloody hell, I don't think I can go through this every day."
Viktor laughed, and Olaffson shook his head, eying Harry with something
akin to respect.
"Come on, off to the medical bay with you both," he instructed, ushering
them back towards the school.
"At least we will get a day off," Viktor said thoughtfully.
"I doubt it," Harry countered. "They'll just bring our work to us."
"They will," Viktor agreed with a sigh. "Still, it was worth it, wasn't it?
You can tell the world you got the better of me."
Harry frowned as he shook his head.
"Why would I do that?" he asked. "It doesn't change anything. We've
trained together for two years now. It was bound to happen at some
point. The other Seekers you play against don't have that benefit."
"True," Viktor conceded.
"Besides, who would believe it? The only witness was Olaffson, and he
doesn't strike me as the type to speak to the media."
Viktor laughed at the thought.
The Icelander barely spoke to the other members of staff.
"So, it will only be us, and that monster who will know?"
Harry nodded.
"I don't see why anyone else needs to."
Viktor said nothing else but offered Harry an appreciative nod as they
finally reached the school, both eager to have their wounds seen to by
the healer.
(Break)
It was an irritable Cornelius Fudge who had arrived with Walden
Macnair at Hogwarts to oversee the execution of the beast that had
injured Lucius's boy, who, by all accounts other than Draco's own and his
friends had deserved exactly what he had gotten.
Nonetheless, Cornelius was not going to risk falling out with Lucius for
the sake of a single Hippogriff, and it wasn't as though the entire affair
would not be forgotten about quickly.
"That's it, is it?" he asked the executioner, nodding towards the large
creature tied up in the pumpkin patch behind the hut belonging to the
gamekeeper.
Walden nodded, his thumb rubbing against the shaft of his axe in
anticipation.
"Then let us get this over with," Cornelius sighed, knocking smartly on
the door.
The man that answered it was enormous, and the Minister swallowed
nervously.
If he chose to make this difficult, Cornelius doubted that even the
combined efforts of himself and Walden would do little good.
Perhaps he should have brought a few Aurors along?
Clearing his throat, Cornelius stood as his full height before addressing
the crying man.
"Mr Hagrid," he greeted him. "You know why we are here."
Hagrid nodded.
"He's in the back," he croaked. "I can't watch it."
Cornelius breathed a sigh of relief.
Intimidatingly large he may be, but the man was a coward.
"There is the formality of the paperwork," the Minister informed him.
"You must sign the declaration."
Cornelius removed the roll of parchment from within his robes, and the
man stepped aside to allow them entry into what he considered to be his
home.
"Good gracious!" Cornelius gasped as a large dog made their way towards
them. "What is that?"
"Fang, get back!" Hagrid commanded, pulling the drooling creature away.
"It's just Fang, my dog."
Cornelius nodded as he placed the parchment on the table, though his
breathing had become more laboured.
"I just need you to sign here confirming that we arrived at dusk, and that
the execution was carried out to the Ministry standard," he explained.
With a trembling hand, Hagrid did so, followed by Cornelius, and then
Walden who was quickly becoming impatient with the affair.
Tapping the parchment with his wand, the decree was sealed with the
Minister's own stamp, and Cornelius placed it back within his robes,
scowling as a frantic knock sounded at the door.
Before Hagrid could answer it, a shabbily dressed man barged in having
evidently ran from the castle.
"Lupin, what're you doing here?" Hagrid demanded.
"Sorry," the new arrival wheezed, "but there is something you have to
see."
Cornelius looked on in confusion as the man began rifling through one of
the cupboards in the kitchen area before unleashing an exclamation of
joy only to yelp as something squealed loudly.
"No you don't!" Lupin growled, aiming a spell at a fleeing rat.
The man was deranged, had undoubtedly taken leave of his senses, but as
the spell collided with the scurrying creature, Cornelius looked on in
shock as it began to shift and transformed into a man with a somewhat
familiar face.
"Pettigrew?" the Minister whispered.
Before the rodent-like man could respond, Lupin had stunned him.
"What are you doing?" Cornelius demanded to know.
"It was him, Minister," Lupin hurriedly explained. "He was the one that
sold the Potters out to Voldemort, and when Sirius Black went looking for
him, he faked his death by blowing up the street and killing the
muggles."
The man truly had lost all sense of logic, and Cornelius shook his head.
He did not know how Pettigrew was alive or why he had hidden for so
long, but there had to be another explanation.
"No," he denied, his gaze shifting towards Macnair.
The man seemed to be positively alarmed by Pettigrew's appearance.
"Minister, it is the truth!" Lupin insisted. "Look at his hand. The only part
of Pettigrew they found…"
"Was a finger," Cornelius whispered as he eyed the unconscious man.
"He has been hiding from fear that people would discover the truth,"
Lupin sighed tiredly. "I didn't want to believe it either, but Black is
innocent. He didn't kill Pettigrew or the muggles. Pettigrew cast the spell
that did it."
Cornelius didn't know what to say.
It was not often that something occurred that left him so speechless, yet
here he was having to face what was shaping up to be quite the injustice.
Crouch was of course to blame.
He had been the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at
the time of Black's imprisonment.
Still, this would not look good on the Ministry, and Cornelius would need
to find a way to mitigate the fallout.
Already, his mind was working on a way for him to come out of this mess
with his reputation intact.
"Wake him up, I want a word with him," he instructed. "Walden, send for
the Aurors."
"Minister, I do not believe…"
"Do it!" Cornelius snapped irritably.
Without another word, Walden left the shack, and Lupin tied Pettigrew
up in thick ropes before Cornelius tapped Pettigrew with his own wand.
"Ennervate," he murmured.
The man's eyes fluttered open, and Cornelius glared at him.
"Do you know who I am?" he questioned.
Pettigrew nodded.
"Good," Cornelius declared. "Are you or are you not, Peter Pettigrew?"
Another nod.
"I have been told a most interesting story," Cornelius informed him. "It is
my understanding that it was you who sold out the Potters. Is that
correct?"
Pettigrew began to shake fearfully.
"You don't understand," he whimpered. "I didn't have a choice. He would
have killed me."
"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE LET HIM!" Lupin roared furiously.
Cornelius merely glared at the portly man before stunning him once
more, taken aback by the sudden return of Walden who had Lucius
Malfoy in tow.
"Is it true?" the blonde asked worriedly.
"Where are the Aurors?" Cornelius questioned confusedly.
Lucius did not reply, his wide eyes locked on the stout man bound in
ropes on the ground.
"I was in the village when I bumped into Walden," he explained
smoothly. "He said that the Minister needed assistance, so here I am."
Cornelius nodded gratefully, and even Walden seemed to be more relaxed
with Lucius here.
"Indeed, we will need to get him to the Ministry," Cornelius sighed. "What
a mess this will create."
"Do not worry, Minister, I will be pleased to help you navigate it," Lucius
assured him.
'At what cost?' Cornelius asked himself internally.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. "Let us get on with it."
"What about the Hippogriff?" Walden questioned.
"I think this is more important than a Hippogriff, Macnair," Lucius
responded.
The executioner did not argue, and between them, they levitated
Pettigrew from the hut.
"We will return to carry out the execution," Cornelius informed, twirling
his bowler in his hand nervously. "Your beast has had a lucky escape. It
will live to see at least one more day."
Hagrid merely nodded.
"I'll be coming too," Lupin declared, his eyes narrowed towards Lucius
and Walden suspiciously.
"That will not be necessary," Cornelius said dismissively. "We are
perfectly capable of.."
"MINISTER!"
The trio that had remained in the shack hurried outside to find Walden
and Lucius on the ground with a bundle of ropes between them.
"What happened?" Cornelius demanded.
"He woke up," Lucius groaned. "He transformed into a rat and fled."
"Idiots!" Lupin growled, his eyes flashing a dangerous amber colour. "Oh
no," he gasped, his eyes shifting towards the night sky.
With a scream of agony, the man collapsed to the ground and his body
began shifting.
Cornelius could only look on in horror as he transformed into a beast he
had only heard the most horrific tales about.
"He's a werewolf," he whispered in disbelief.
"GET BACK INSIDE!" Hagrid roared, bodily throwing the Minister back
into the shack.
Walden and Lucius joined him immediately and slammed the door
behind them.
"What's happening?" Cornelius asked, pushing himself to his feet as he
approached the window. "Goodness me!"
He and the two other men could only look on as Hagrid and the werewolf
traded blows, yelps of pain and cries of agony renting the air.
"He'll be killed!" Cornelius whimpered.
"Us too if we go out there," Walden pointed out.
Cornelius nodded, wincing as the werewolf landed a savage blow on the
enormous man who collapsed to the ground, his large overcoat torn
across the chest.
Pouncing, Lupin landed on his chest and attempted to maul Hagrid who
somehow still had some fight left in him.
With one hand, he seized the werewolf by the throat to keep its teeth
away, but Lupin continued to claw at the man, tearing pieces of flesh
from his face and body.
Just as he believed the fight would end in the death of the gamekeeper,
another screech sounded, and another creature joined the fray, attacking
Lupin with its own claws.
The Hippogriff had managed to break free to help its owner.
Despite the viciousness the werewolf possessed, it fled into the nearby
forest, unleashing a final howl as it did so.
"Is he dead?" Cornelius asked, nodding towards the still form of Hagrid.
The man had saved their lives, after all.
"No, he's still moving," Macnair whispered.
Cornelius nodded in relief.
"And here comes Albus," he groaned, noticing the man exiting the castle
in the distance with what appeared to be the entire Hogwarts staff with
him.
"What do we tell him?" Walden asked.
"The truth," Cornelius replied firmly.
Lucius shook his head and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Minister, do you not think it would be best to forget what happened here
tonight?" he questioned. "You can give Hagrid a silent commendation for
his actions, and even let him keep his Hippogriff. This could prove to be
quite embarrassing for all involved if it were to get out."
Cornelius nodded his understanding.
"Perhaps you're right, Lucius," he conceded.
15. The Final
The Final
A/N
Onwards we go…
TBR
It was rather disconcerting how much Harry resembled Charlus Potter as
he paced back and forth, his expression thunderous and small bolts of
lightning crackling at his fingertips.
At only fourteen-years-old, he already cut quite the intimidating figure,
and Cassiopeia could only imagine how much more prominent that
would become the older he grew.
"Is that all Dumbledore had to say?" Harry asked.
Cassiopeia nodded as she reflected on the conversation she had shared
with the man.
She too was feeling a mixture of confusion and anger, and she had
ensured Dumbledore had known her feelings before they parted.
Flashback
"You're telling me that the man that Sirius murdered is not dead?"
Dumbledore nodded severely.
"According to two people whom I trust implicitly, Pettigrew is very much
alive," he confirmed. "He admitted that it was him that sold the Potters
out to Voldemort. I believe that it was also him that murdered the
muggles."
"So, Sirius is innocent?"
"It would seem so," Dumbledore sighed.
Cassiopeia released a deep breath.
"How did Pettigrew escape?"
"In a most unfortunate incident," Dumbledore murmured sorrowfully.
"Having been exposed to the Minister, he sent the man who had
accompanied him to fetch the Aurors. That man was suspected to be a
follower of the Dark Lord, but nothing was ever proven. Instead of the
Aurors, he returned with Lucius Malfoy. I have no doubt they took
advantage of the situation and allowed Pettigrew to escape."
"And this Lupin did nothing to prevent it?"
Dumbledore deflated.
"Remus is a werewolf, and as luck that night would have it, it was a full
moon," he explained. "He transformed in front of Cornelius, and Hagrid
was forced to intervene. There was a violent confrontation in which he
was severely injured, and Remus fled. Naturally, Cornelius believed it
would be best for all involved that the entire incident was forgotten
about, including the re-emergence of Peter Pettigrew."
"Which means that Sirius is still wanted."
Dumbledore nodded.
"But still innocent," he pointed out.
Cassiopeia snorted.
"He is still a fool," she declared. "Why has Lupin or this Hagrid not
pressed the matter?"
"You know how the public perceives werewolves," Dumbledore reminded
her, "and Hagrid's words too would fall on deaf ears. He is of a similar
position to Remus."
"A werewolf?"
"Thankfully not," Albus denied. "No, his own blood prevented him from
being contaminated with lycanthropy. He is a half-giant."
Cassiopeia shook her head irritably.
"So, there is nothing that can be done."
"For the time being, I do not think so," Dumbledore murmured unhappily.
"Remus's status was released to the media, and he has taken his leave of
the castle of his own volition."
"Lucius?"
Dumbledore nodded.
"He is a school governor, and he would not want his son to be educated
by a werewolf."
"What a mess," Cassiopeia muttered. "Harry will not take this well."
"But he deserves to know the truth."
"He does," Cassiopeia agreed. "I will speak with him, but I wouldn't
expect him to jump for joy."
"Thank you," Dumbledore replied gratefully. "What will you do about
Sirius?"
"I do not know," Cassiopeia answered uncertainly. "Despite what you
have told me, his innocence has not been determined. Ultimately, it will
be up to Harry what happens to him. As things stand, the world believes
him a murderer, and he is wanted by the Ministry."
Dumbledore nodded his understanding.
"I will attempt to find him," he assured her. "Perhaps I will have more
success than the Ministry."
"Then I hope you find him before I do," Cassiopeia snorted. "He may be
innocent, but he is still a fool."
With that, she took her leave of The Hog's Head, before activating the
portkey that would take her home, pondering all she had learned of what
had transpired at Hogwarts.
End Flashback
"Do you trust what Dumbledore told you?" Harry asked.
Cassie nodded.
"I don't see why he would lie."
Harry hummed thoughtfully.
"So, Malfoy and Macnair?"
"You already know everything you will ever need to know about Malfoy,"
Cassie assured Harry. "The Macnair family are nothing."
"And this Pettigrew?"
"I can only assume that he was a close friend of your father," Cassie
answered with a shrug. "He must have been if he was trusted to be your
secret keeper."
"Was he though?"
"I don't know, Harry, but the fact that he is alive and has gone to such
great lengths to conceal it is troubling."
Harry nodded.
"I want the truth, all of it," he declared. "If Sirius didn't give my parents
up, then he has suffered a miscarriage of justice, and if Pettigrew really is
as guilty as he appears, I will make the last moments of his life more
miserable than he could ever imagine."
Cassie felt herself filled with pride at his words.
"I will keep looking for Sirius."
"Good," Harry murmured. "If he is guilty in any way, have him taken
back to Azkaban, and warn him if he escapes again, I will personally feed
his soul to the Dementors."
It was a cold approach, but it was a decision that only Harry had the
right to make, and one Cassiopeia agreed with.
Harry may not be able to be seen killing a member of the family he
would be head of, but the other Lords and Ladies would expect a suitable
punishment for Sirius's crimes.
If, however, Sirius was indeed innocent and it could be proved, they
would equally expect Harry to see that his godfather was free and that
the Black family was suitably compensated for the slight against them,
unintended or not.
"I will leave it with you, for now," Harry decided. "I need to let this all set
in, and I still have the match to go to tomorrow for Viktor."
"The others will be joining you?"
Harry nodded.
"For this one," he confirmed, "but they are still waiting for the visitors
visas from Britain for the final if Bulgaria wins tomorrow."
"They still haven't arrived?"
Harry shook his head.
"I don't think they will," he sighed. "Britain is less tolerant than most
other countries, and they're not likely to allow a werewolf, vampire, half-
elf, and whatever Jonas is in if it can be avoided."
Cassiopeia offered Harry a sad smile.
"Well, I hope it works out for them."
Harry shrugged.
"If it doesn't, there is something else waiting that will make the trip
worth it, even without the Quidditch."
"Why do I have a feeling that you're up to something, Harry?" Cassie
sighed.
"Because I am," Harry answered unashamedly. "I'm rather interested in
meeting Fudge, and it just so happens that the Bulgarian Minister will be
attending the final. Now, where do you think he will be sitting?"
"With Fudge, and likely Malfoy," Cassiopeia pointed out.
"Exactly," Harry replied with a mischievous smirk. "And guess who is the
Bulgarian Minister's favourite person right now? I could get a seat with
him rather easily."
Cassie could only shake her head as Harry took his leave of the room.
She had been encouraging him to prepare for his eventual interactions
with the likes of Malfoy, but she had not expected him to seek it out so
soon.
Still, it would be in a favourable situation, and Malfoy would be
compelled to behave in front of such an important foreign dignitary.
Perhaps Harry was not acting as rashly as she had first thought.
In a way, she felt sorry for Lucius.
The man had no idea just what a menace Harry was.
(Break)
Albus watched as Alastor emerged from the pensieve and returned to his
seat on the opposite side of the desk, every other step he took echoing
with a dull thud.
"I think it is proof enough," the ex-auror declared. "Not that it will mean
anything to the Ministry, especially with Fudge now ignoring it. Why
would he not seek the truth?"
"Because acknowledging one truth will lead to others coming to light,"
Albus sighed, "truths that Cornelius will never be able to accept."
Alastor frowned at him questioningly.
"Voldemort," Albus added simply.
"You believe he is alive?"
"I know for certain that he is," Albus returned severely. "I encountered
him twice in the past two years."
Alastor leaned back in his chair as he released a deep breath.
"I can only guess that he is in no state to be in the position he was before
the night at the Potter's."
"Indeed," Albus confirmed, "but he is as resourceful as they come. It is
only a matter of time."
"Bloody hell," Moody cursed unhappily. "What of Lupin?"
"Gone," Albus murmured. "He is most upset by what happened. He visited
Hagrid to offer his apologies, took his belongings and left. I expect that
he too will be looking for Sirius."
Alastor grunted his agreement.
"Pettigrew?"
"Nothing has been seen nor heard."
Alastor nodded his understanding.
"I have no doubt that Malfoy and Macnair aided him," he deduced. "Just
imagine what Pettigrew would have revealed had he been arrested and
fed veritaserum."
"My thoughts reflect your own, old friend," Albus replied.
"So, what do we do now?"
"There is little that can be done. Pettigrew will return to the one person
he believes can protect him, and Voldemort will have a loyal servant
once more. Even someone as incompetent as Pettigrew will be of great
help. I expect he will return sooner rather than later."
"That's why you want me here this year?"
"Partly," Albus confirmed, "but also because we will be hosting the Tri-
wizard tournament, and Durmstrang has consented to join in."
"Karkaroff," Moody growled.
Albus nodded.
"He may no longer harbour loyalty to Voldemort, but I would be remiss
in my duties if steps were not taken to ensure he remains civil and
respectable."
"Then I will do it," Moody declared. "I'll take the post, but for this year
only."
"Thank you, Alastor," Albus returned gratefully.
"Don't thank me yet," Moody warned. "I do not think your students will. I
will work them harder than they have been worked before."
"I would expect nothing less," Albus chuckled. "Now, would you come
with me to visit Hagrid? He is still feeling rather put out, despite being
awarded his Order of Merlin, Second Class."
Alastor nodded and stood.
Albus led the man through the corridors of Hogwarts until they came to
the Hospital Wing.
Entering, and spotting the enormous man in a bed that had been created
to accommodate him, Alastor, a man who was no stranger to rather
gruesome injuries, winced at the sight of the gamekeeper.
His face was heavily scarred from his fight with the werewolf, some of
the seemingly healed wounds still weeping slightly.
Madame Pomfrey had been doing an admirable job caring for the man,
but the injuries he'd sustained were not negligible, and Hagrid would
carry the heavy scarring for the rest of his days.
Still, he remained rather upbeat under the circumstances.
Albus suspected he was merely happy that he had not contracted
lycanthropy, nor did he seem to be suffering any significant side effects
from his wounds.
"How are you today, Hagrid?" Albus enquired.
"I'm alright," the man answered with a shrug. "Just looking forward to
getting back to work."
Albus chuckled amusedly as he gestured to Alastor who was still eying
Hagrid thoughtfully.
"I'm sure you remember Alastor Moody. He will be joining us as the
Defence Against the Dark Arts professor this year."
Hagrid nodded.
"Remus left then?"
"He did," Albus confirmed. "We could not risk another incident, not after
what happened to you or could have happened to the others."
Hagrid scowled unhappily.
"They won't tell the truth about Black, will they?"
Albus shook his head.
"I'm afraid not," he sighed. "The truth would be problematic for those
who currently control what the truth is. It was no coincidence that
Pettigrew was able to get away."
Hagrid nodded his understanding.
"What about little Harry, does he know?"
"I suspect he does by now," Albus mused aloud. "What he will do with
that information, I can only speculate, but I expect he will use it to his
advantage."
"Whatever happened to the lad?" Alastor asked curiously. "I've not heard
any whispers of him being here."
"Because he isn't," Albus explained. "He chose to be educated at
Durmstrang."
Alastor unleashed a bark of laughter.
"Oh, he'll learn a thing or two there," he declared, rubbing his gnarled
hands together.
"Of that, I have no doubt," Albus murmured as he turned his attention
back towards Hagrid. "Worry not, I imagine everything will work out in
the end. I certainly do not expect the silence on the matter will last."
(Break)
It was the first time Harry had been in Britain since he had been a baby,
and if he was honest with himself, there was no semblance of it feeling
like his home. If anything, he felt like a foreign visitor.
Still, he would only be here for a short stay.
A single overnight visit, and then he would return to Greece for the
remainder of his summer holiday.
Nonetheless, he felt put out being here alone.
All of his friends from school had received a letter only the previous day,
denying them a visitor's visa to watch the world cup final between
Bulgaria and Ireland.
He had expected such, but it certainly had not endeared his homeland to
him.
Despite this, Harry had decided to come to see Viktor play, and perhaps
have a little fun of his own should the opportunity present itself.
Purposely, he had allowed himself to be seen publicly around the
stadium, and as he had believed, it hadn't taken long for the pointing and
whispers to begin from those old enough to remember the look of the
male Potters.
Not that Harry had hung around long enough to be approached, but he
had left those that had recognised him with no doubt as to who he was.
Soon enough, the rumours of his presence would spread, and if Fudge
hadn't already planned on inviting the Bulgarian minister to sit with him,
he certainly would now.
The man would be unable to resist being the first in Britain to be
photographed with Harry.
For those that lived through the war, it would be a strong political
statement.
The thought of offering Fudge any such favour sickened Harry, but
sometimes sacrifices needed to be made towards a future goal.
"You are very popular, Mr Potter," Minister Popov murmured from his
left where they were surrounded by a contingency of white-robed aurors.
Harry nodded in response as they were shown into an empty box in the
stadium.
These were excellent seats, but they were not granted much time to enjoy
them before they were intruded upon.
"Minister Popov, Minister Fudge offers an invitation for you and your
guest to join him in the top box."
Popov replied in his native tongue and Harry nodded.
"What did he say?" the English auror questioned.
"He said that he would be delighted."
"I'd rather be left alone," Popov grumbled, releasing a deep sigh as they
were led from the room.
"Don't worry, Minister, I'm sure I will be providing you with additional
entertainment. If you wish to enjoy it more, pretend you do not speak their
language."
Popov smirked as he nodded.
"Viktor said I would not regret spending time with you, Mr Potter."
"Then I am glad to be of service."
Popov chuckled, and Harry offered a smile to the scowling auror who
eyed them unhappily.
"Are you Potter?" he asked.
"I am," Harry confirmed.
The auror grunted dismissively, his gaze trailing over Harry critically.
"Here we are," he declared only a moment later, showing Harry, Popov,
and their group of aurors into an even larger box than the one they had
originally been allocated.
"Ah, Minister Popov!" Fudge gushed, shaking the Bulgarian minister's
hand enthusiastically. "It is so very nice to meet you."
"His hands are sweating," Popov muttered.
"Cowards tend to sweat."
Popov nodded as he smiled.
"The Minister is pleased to make your acquaintance also," Harry replied
to Fudge.
The man froze, his eyes shifting towards Harry's scar.
"Harry Potter," he greeted him in a whisper. "I'd heard rumours that you
were here."
"And of whom I am here with, I expect," Harry chuckled.
Fudge nodded thoughtfully.
"It is possible," he agreed. "May I introduce you to my other guests. Of
course, we have Lucius Malfoy and his beautiful wife, Narcissa."
Whatever beauty the Black-born woman possessed was nullified by the
sour expression she wore.
Harry couldn't blame her really.
Anyone married to a Malfoy couldn't have a fulfilling life.
Were it not for Harry knowing the truth of the man's character, Lucius
Malfoy would cut quite the impressive figure.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and stood straight as he leaned on an
intricately crafted cane. His blue eyes brimmed with cunning, but Harry
once more reminded himself of what he knew.
Malfoy was the very definition of the word coward.
"Potter," the man greeted Harry quietly, narrowing his eyes at him.
"Malfoy," Harry acknowledged in return. "Mrs Malfoy," he added,
emphasising the name she now carried.
Fudge watched the back and forth between them almost nervously, but
the tension was broken by a chuckle from Popov.
"He postures like a prized cock."
"He does," Harry agreed. "The Minister says he has heard of you and is
pleased to make your acquaintance."
Malfoy somehow stood taller from the recognition and offered Popov a
shallow bow.
"Tell him it is an honour to share this momentous occasion with him."
"He's trying to kiss your arse now, Minister," Harry spoke to his companion.
"And doing a terrible job at it," Popov said airily.
"The Minister says that the honour is his," Harry translated with a smile.
Malfoy lapped it up, and Fudge momentarily panicked and dropped his
bowler hat before addressing the crowd and introducing the two teams.
The stadium erupted as Viktor was announced, and Fudge grinned as
though the masses were cheering for him.
When the balls were released and the game had begun, Fudge took a seat
and leaned back in it.
"It is a shame that Draco isn't with us," he declared with a gentle frown. "I
suppose it would have been nice for Harry here to have someone his own
age to speak with."
"Draco had already promised that he would sit with the Notts," Lucius
explained. "As a Malfoy, it would have been rude to go back on his
word."
"Indeed," Fudge agreed.
"Well, my friends were supposed to be here," Harry cut in. "The British
Ministry, however, denied them visitation visas."
Fudge's frown deepened as he sat up.
"That is unacceptable," he declared. "You should have written to me. I
would have personally allowed them entry."
Harry offered the man a bright smile.
"It is nice to know that the Minister here is not as prejudiced as everyone
else I have met."
"Prejudiced?" Fudge asked cautiously.
Harry nodded.
"My friends, well, one of them is a vampire."
"A v-vampire?" Fudge choked.
"Another is half-elf," Harry continued, "oh, and one of them, his mother is
a hag."
"Half-breeds?" Fudge scoffed, and Popov's own scowl deepened.
"I can't forget the werewolf," Harry spoke once more, "but we already
know you don't like them, don't we, Minister? No, you seem to favour
rats instead."
Both Fudge and Lucius looked at one another.
"I do not think I understand," the former denied and Harry chuckled
darkly.
"You know exactly what I mean," he countered. "The fact that Sirius Black
is in fact innocent of the crimes he was imprisoned for."
Evidently, this was news to Narcissa whose eyes widened in shock.
"H-how?" Fudge stammered.
"Secrets do not remain that way, even if you have those that would do
everything they could to cover them up. I do find myself wondering,
however, why you would allow Pettigrew his freedom. It would have
been better if you'd killed him. Dead men tell no tales, after all," he
added to Lucius who narrowed his eyes.
"You have proof of nothing," the man hissed.
"Not to bring before the Wizengamot," Harry conceded, "but why does
such a thing have to be handled there. In a few years, I will be finished
with school and I will be free to spend my time however I wish. If you
believe that I will let what happened to my parents go unpunished, then
you are in for a rude awakening. Pettigrew will suffer for what he did, as
will anyone else who had a hand in it. That is a promise I make here and
now, and there is nothing that will stop me."
Lucius and Fudge said nothing else and Harry offered a friendly chuckle.
"Not that anyone here has anything to fear from me, of course," he
declared. "I can sense that I am in good company with good men. Now,
shall we enjoy the rest of the game and watch as Bulgaria loses?"
Once more, Popov scowled at him and Malfoy scoffed.
"Viktor Krum is the best seeker in the world. Bulgaria will not lose."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
"I will not argue that Krum is the best," he replied, "but the Irish chasers
are leagues above the Bulgarian ones. They will establish an unassailable
lead, and quickly," he added as the Irish team scored.
Malfoy shook his head.
"No, Krum will catch the Snitch before that happens."
As much as Harry believed in Viktor, the Irish seeker was excellent
defensively and would be able to keep him away from the Snitch long
enough.
"Well, we will have to agree to disagree," Harry shrugged. "My bet is that
the Irish will win, but Krum will get the Snitch."
"Preposterous," Fudge muttered. "No seeker would make that catch if it
meant their team would lose."
Viktor would, and he had told Harry as much.
He had yet to be beaten in a professional match, and at the very least, he
could ensure his national team did not lose by an embarrassing margin.
"That's my prediction," Harry reiterated.
"A fool's bet," Malfoy declared, eying Harry as though he was such.
"We will see."
"Then why don't you put your gold where your mouth is," Malfoy
challenged.
"How much?"
"One hundred galleons," Malfoy decided calculatingly.
"Make it five hundred, and it might be worth my time."
"I was not aware that the Potters had such a sum to spare on such a
frivolity," Narcissa Malfoy interjected.
"I expect what you don't know about my family would be rather
surprising, Mrs Malfoy," Harry returned with a smile.
The woman quirked an eyebrow at him, reminding Harry of Cassie.
There was something of a resemblance between the two.
Not that it surprised him.
All of the women from the Black line he had seen photos or portraits of
shared similarities.
"Five hundred it is," Lucius broke in, confirming the bet.
"What about you, Minister, would you care to make a wager?"
Fudge shook his head.
"I'm afraid that being a servant of the people does not afford me such
sums as yourself and Lucius."
"Then perhaps we can wager on something that involves no financial loss
for either of us."
"Such as?" Fudge questioned cautiously.
"If you win, I will personally advocate for you for your next term as
Minister."
Fudge's eyes lit up at the offer.
"What if you win?" Lucius interjected.
"I want a pardon for Sirius," Harry requested. "It does not have to be
made public in any way, but I would have his name cleared. That way, I
do not have to make such a fuss about it when the time comes for me to
join you in a few years."
"Out of the question," Malfoy snapped. "Minister, we cannot pardon him.
Despite what Potter thinks, he is a dangerous man who is on the loose."
"You seem to be very interested in the fate of Sirius Black," Harry
observed. "I would think that as a Lord of a great house, you would wish
to see justice for another in the same position. You never know when you
yourself may need the help of another. I can think of no one more
powerful than the Lord Black."
Lucius's eye twitched irritably, but Fudge spoke, cutting off any reply he
may have offered.
"I think Lucius is right," he sighed. "Sorry, Harry, but it would be career
suicide for me to do so, especially without an explanation. What I will do
is lessen the search for him. I will have the Dementors returned to
Azkaban and give him a chance to slip through the net. So long as he
does so, he will be nothing but a slight stain on the Ministry's reputation."
Malfoy was severely displeased by Fudge's offer, but he did not comment
on it, wincing as the Irish scored their tenth goal of the match.
"That is very kind of you, Minister," Harry replied to Fudge.
As much as he disliked the man, he was still amongst the most powerful
people in Britain.
There was more of an advantage to being on his good side than making
an enemy of him unnecessarily.
He was a fool who fell for the charm of the likes of Lucius Malfoy, but
perhaps he could be swayed in the future.
"It seems that my prediction is becoming more likely," Harry chuckled.
"130 – 10 is not a promising score."
Lucius's jaw tightened as yet another Irish goal came.
"Krum still won't catch it," he denied irritably.
Harry said nothing as the rest of the game unfolded but smiled
triumphantly when his prediction came true.
"You can deposit my winnings into my family account," he instructed
Lucius, who stormed from the box, much to the amusement of the
Bulgarian Minister.
"That was quite the risk that paid off, Mr Potter," Narcissa Malfoy
commented, gazing at him through calculated eyes.
"I learnt from the best," Harry replied. "I'm sure your Aunt Cassie would
like for me to pass on her regards."
"Cassie?" Narcissa whispered, unable to conceal her surprise.
"Come, Narcissa!" the voice of Lucius sounded from the door.
"I would have thought he was getting used to losing by now," Harry
chuckled. "Was it not him and Macnair that Pettigrew got the better of to
escape. Now, that would be embarrassing if that information got out. No
wonder he wishes to keep the entire affair under wraps."
Narcissa swallowed deeply as she stared at Harry for a moment.
"I would tread carefully, Potter," she urged. "Lucius is not an enemy you
wish to make."
"Is he not already my enemy, Mrs Malfoy?"
"I do not think so, but I suppose that depends on you, doesn't it?"
Harry merely nodded at the woman as she took her leave.
Narcissa was very much mistaken if she believed Harry and Lucius were
anything but foes.
He frowned as he caught sight of an elf sitting in the corner, pushing
thoughts of the Malfoys aside.
"Who does she belong to?" he asked Fudge.
"Oh, she is Barty Crouch's," the man replied. "He was supposed to join us.
I suppose he must have gotten caught up with something. His devotion to
the Ministry may outstrip even my own."
Harry hummed as he eyed the diminutive creature.
It wasn't unusual to ask an elf to queue in their master's stead if required,
but to take a seat in a private box that did not necessitate it was odd.
"I'm afraid you will have to excuse Lucius's demeanour," Fudge
continued. "He is not accustomed to being bested."
"Well, maybe he should get used to it," Harry replied dryly. "The day will
come when someone in a position to do so will always best him. You
must remember, Minister, that before the war, the Malfoy name was not
the one that most feared. His equals were merely pushed aside for a
while, but that will change soon enough. In less than three years, things
will change."
Fudge nodded thoughtfully and accepted the offered handshake.
"I cannot help but express my disappointment in what I have seen thus
far, Minister," Harry said firmly. "I would like to think that the changes to
come can be for the betterment of us all, and not for the select few."
"What do you have in mind, Potter?"
"More than you could imagine Minister," Harry returned cryptically. "I'm
sure you can understand that my enemies are plenty, and there are those
that will harbour a grudge against me for what happened to their
master."
Fudge chuckled as he shook his head.
"The Death Eaters are already locked up. You have nothing to fear from
them."
"The ones that were convicted," Harry said pointedly. "You do not strike
me as a fool, Minister. You cannot believe that all of them were brought
to justice."
Fudge's frown deepened, and Harry made his way to the door, pausing
and looking at the man a final time.
"It was nice to meet you, Minister, and I do hope that we find ourselves
on the same page in the future."
Fudge said nothing, but offered the slightest of nods, and Harry left,
pleased with what he had achieved today.
(Break)
"I think that you are worrying for nothing," Gellert offered reassuringly.
"From what you have told me about him, he is not a fool."
"But he can be reckless," Cassiopeia sighed. "He harbours so much anger
towards so many, and he has a fiery temper if provoked. I should not
have let him go."
"Perhaps not," Gellert conceded, "but you said yourself that he will need
to stand on his own two feet whilst handling his affairs there. Having you
with him would make him appear weak."
Cassiopeia nodded.
"I know, but maybe I'm just not ready to set him free yet."
Gellert smirked at her and Cassiopeia flared her nostrils.
"You have raised that boy," the former pointed out. "He was a defenceless
babe when you took him in, but he is not anymore. He may only be
fourteen, however, how many have you met throughout your life who
can handle himself the way Harry can?"
"Very few," Cassie murmured. "That doesn't mean I won't ever stop
worrying about him."
Gellert offered her a smile.
"At this point, I would not believe you if you told me differently, and I
would be disappointed in you if you tried to hide it. You may not have
birthed him, but Harry is your boy, is he not?"
Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes at the mocking man who was unfazed by
her efforts to immolate him with her glare.
"He is," she conceded, "but he can still be a reckless prat if the mood
takes him."
Gellert chuckled amusedly.
"Would he be reckless enough to search for Sirius?"
Cassie shook her head.
"No, Harry has agreed that he will let me find him," she explained.
"Whether he is guilty or not, I will find the truth of the matter, and Harry
will decide what to do from there. He will soon be head of the family,
and he needs to learn how to make those decisions."
"He does," Gellert acknowledged. "And if Sirius is innocent?"
"I don't know," Cassie sighed. "Is it wrong that a part of me does not want
him involved in Harry's life?"
"No," Gellert replied. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to keep
someone to yourself. I was very much the same with Albus, though it did
not end in a way I am happy with. I never wanted for his family to suffer,
but I did want him all to myself."
"Would you have done anything differently?"
Gellert shook his head emphatically.
"I would never have been content with watching the world pass me by as
it is," he explained. "My wish to see my vision come to life would have
always been there, no matter what other ventures I may have pursued.
No, I believed in the vision so much that I had to follow it, and I regret
nothing despite spending the best part of five decades in here."
"You have a purpose now," Cassie reminded him.
"I do," Gellert conceded, "and I would see Harry succeed. He deserves to
find some happiness to balance out the misery that haunts him."
"He does," Cassie murmured, "but he will not find it until he can allow
someone in. His heart is set on destroying his enemies, not beginning
what should be his political career or any other expectation that would
be had of him from the others on the Wizengamot."
"Then let us hope his enemies become few, so that he may find a
semblance of peace," Gellert urged.
"And not get himself killed in the process," Cassiopeia muttered, her mind
drifting to just what Harry had been up to since he had arrived in Britain.
(Break)
It was to the smell of burning that Harry was woken to in the early hours,
and he grumbled sleepily to himself, cursing the Irish for their
celebrations getting out of hand.
All vestiges of the tiredness he felt vanished as a scream in the distance
sounded.
It was not one of merriment, nor were the others that followed.
No, something was amiss, and it was causing mass panic.
The sound of pounding footsteps began passing his tent as the wails of
distress drew closer, and with a wave of his wand, Harry dressed before
stepping outside.
He was almost knocked to the ground by the stampeding witches and
wizards, many clinging small children to their chests protectively.
It wasn't until Harry spotted what they were fleeing from that he had any
reaction. And seeing the cluster of people garbed in dark robes and white
masks levitating others above them as though it were a sport, it was an
unbridled fury he felt.
He had seen them in his dreams throughout his life, gathered at his feet,
prostrating themselves, declaring their undying devotion to Voldemort,
and boasting of the deeds they had carried out in his name.
As a child, the dreams had terrified him, had seemed so real, but it wasn't
until he had gotten older that he realised they were not merely dreams.
These were events that had taken place.
Still, Harry was not foolish enough to attempt to fight a dozen or so
others so brazenly, but he could not bring himself to flee with the others.
The sounds of laughter from the Death Eaters reached him, and his anger
only increased as he watched them destroying more tents that were in
their path.
What they hoped to achieve, he knew not, but one glance at the woman
in her nightgown and her children screaming helplessly only served to
remind him of the position he had once been in.
None had come to save him in his moment of need, and seemingly, none
would do so now for this family.
Gritting his teeth, Harry removed the cloak left to him by his father and
draped it over himself.
Cassie would be furious with him for what she would deem to be reckless
behaviour, but Harry could not sit idly by and allow the Death Eaters to
continue with their torture.
Working his way through the stragglers of those that were fleeing, he was
pleased to see that not all were doing so.
Another group had remained behind to engage the Death Eaters, for what
good it was doing.
The small group, consisting of three redheaded men and two women
were unable to prevent the advance of Voldemort's followers. However,
they would serve as the perfect distraction so long as they didn't get
themselves killed.
Where were the aurors?
Harry shook his head as he began working his way to the right flank of
the Death Eaters, his hand flexing in anticipation.
He had envisioned having this opportunity, and he wouldn't let it go to
waste, not when there was a semblance of justice to be had for what
many had suffered for.
When he was in position, he slid the tip of his wand through the gap in
his cloak and took aim, choosing a target that was not levitating any of
their victims.
Harry cheered internally as his chosen curse slammed into the back of
one of the attackers.
The man lurched forward and unleashed a guttural, drawn-out roar of
agony, collapsing to the ground and writhing as his robes began melting
away, revealing skin that was bubbling.
The display did not go unnoticed, and the fighting seemed to reach a lull
as those on both sides looked on in a mix of morbid curiosity and horror.
Without warning, the flailing man was engulfed by fire and his screams
intensified.
"HELP HIM!" one of the other Death Eaters roared.
Another cloaked figure stepped forward to do just that, only for the fire
to strike out at him and scorch his face.
He too screamed as he wrenched his mask off, pointing his own wand at
his face and dousing it in water to alleviate the burn.
Trembling, he staggered back to his feet as the fighting began once more
in earnest, and Harry took the opportunity to strike again, flooring a
large man as he and another Death Eater faced off with one of the
redheads who was struggling to hold his own against the odds.
The man's knees buckled, and he dropped his wand as he gasped for
breath before he was seemingly thrown to his back by an invisible force,
the sound of his ribs being torn away from his sternum almost as jarring
as the howl that cut through the ensuing battle.
"SOMEONE'S THERE!" one of the Death Eaters shouted, pointing in
Harry's direction, and the teen breathed a sigh of relief as a distraction
arrived before any could fire curses towards him.
Not that he was pleased to see the Dark Mark hanging ominously in the
sky.
The Death Eaters, however, seemed to lose whatever composure that
remained with them at the sight of the mark they used to gather under.
"The m-mark," one of them gasped, pointing unnecessarily towards it.
"AURORS!" another added, pointing towards the red-robed men and
women bearing down on them, finally arriving to do their jobs.
Only a few seconds later, the campsite was bereft of any Death Eaters
that remained standing, the first that Harry had struck already
succumbing to his disturbing wounds and the second would undoubtedly
follow his companion soon.
The curse he'd used was fatal, and only the Blacks were privy to the
counter.
"Who's there?" one of the redheads, the eldest by his ageing appearance,
questioned, his wand pointed close to where Harry was standing.
Harry remained still, not answering the challenge, not even daring to
breathe despite the adrenaline of what he had just done beginning to
wear off.
"What the hell happened here, Arthur?" another redhead, a woman
dressed in auror robes demanded.
"Death Eaters, Amelia" Arthur answered. "I think those two are dead," he
added, gesturing to the unmoving figures on the ground.
"Bloody hell," Amelia muttered as she inspected the bodies. "Who did
this?"
Arthur shrugged.
"We were fighting them off, but someone else was here," he explained.
"We didn't see them, but we saw their curses. Me and my boys will
happily surrender our wands for inspection."
Amelia nodded.
"I'd best take them," she sighed, holding out her hand. "I need to formally
eliminate you from the investigation."
The three redheads handed the woman their wands without hesitation,
and Harry continued to watch, not moving.
"Isn't that Thorfin Rowle?" one of the other aurors questioned, pointing to
the larger of the bodies.
"It is," Amelia confirmed, "as for the other, I have no idea."
The man was burnt beyond recognition, his skin charred and expression
one of sheer agony.
Perhaps Harry should feel guilty for what he had done, but he didn't.
These men had tortured many others, those that could not defend
themselves and had taken no small amount of joy in it.
They had never faced justice, but that had changed for two of them
today.
No, Harry did not feel a shred of guilt for what he had done, not when
both had deserved so much worse.
"Well, whoever it was, I don't suppose they hung around," Amelia sighed.
"What a mess."
With a slight smirk tugging at his lips, Harry had seen enough, and
without any need to remain any longer, he carefully made his retreat,
activating his portkey when he reached the woods in the distance.
His trip here had been more productive than he'd expected.
With two enemies down, he was a step closer to righting the wrongs done
to him by Voldemort, and this was only the beginning.
If and when the Dark Lord returned, it would not be to pursue and
torture those that fled from him and his followers.
No, Harry would be as bold as his mother and father had been, but more
prepared.
He may not have truly killed Voldemort when he had been a babe, but he
would.
Should the man resurface from whatever hole he was hiding in, Harry
would take great pleasure in ending him permanently, ensuring he
suffered more than Harry ever had.
16. A Burgeoning Voyage
A Burgeoning Voyage
And so we continue…
He had perhaps thought that he may experience some emotional turmoil
from his actions in Britain, but no such thing had happened. It wasn't as
though Harry believed he could simply kill just anyone in cold blood, but
he had no such reservations when it came to the Death Eaters.
Whenever he found himself questioning the justification for what he'd
done, he reminded himself of the deeds they had carried out, the cruelty
they had inflicted on others merely because they believed they were
inferior to them, and any semblance of doubt all but vanished with his
next breath.
He had pondered his own approach deeply, turned the memory over in
his mind dozens of times, and still nothing.
As far as Harry was concerned, the Death Eaters who had fallen to him
had gotten what they deserved; maybe even less so.
"You're doing it again," Ana huffed, nudging him with her shoulder.
"Doing what?"
"Flexing your hand towards your wand. Is there someone you wish to
curse in here?"
Harry snorted as he shook his head.
"No, I'm just thinking about duelling."
The girl rolled her eyes at him.
His friends had initially been disappointed that they had not been able to
attend the final, but having explained what had occurred during the
aftermath, they had been relieved for their absence.
It was not something any would wish to be caught up in.
"I'm surprised it wasn't bigger news," Cain mused aloud. "An incident like
that after the cup final, I would have thought the media would have
made a song and dance about it."
"Not if they didn't know," Harry replied with a shrug. "I doubt the British
Ministry held a press conference to explain everything. All they reported
was the Dark Mark being in the sky."
It was odd to Harry too, but he wasn't going to complain about the
seemingly unexplainable deaths of Thorfin Rowle and whomever the
other Harry had cut down had been.
He had yet to learn who his second victim was.
Not that it mattered.
The Death Eaters were equally guilty, and any that donned the robes and
mask had never done so without the intention of harming others.
"Where is Lucinda?" Summerbee questioned.
Harry too had been wondering where the vampire had gotten to.
She hadn't been on the shore waiting for the ship, but it wasn't as though
many stuck around to ensure everyone boarded who is supposed to.
It was too cold for such things, and the moment the ship surfaced, the
students tended to seek out the warmth of the cabins within.
"She didn't mention anything in any of her letters," Ana returned with a
frown. "I got one from her yesterday and she said that she'd be here."
"Maybe she found a dark corner to take a nap in," Jonas snorted.
"Or a different victim to torment instead of Harry for once."
"I wouldn't be that fortunate," Harry murmured. "I fear that I will spend
the rest of my life being stalked in the shadows by an immortal creature."
"Like you would have it any other way," Cain muttered. "The happiest we
see you is either when you're duelling, flying, or irritating Lucinda. It's
quite disgusting the way you are with each other."
"The way we are with each other?" Harry questioned.
Cain nodded.
"She's always wrestling with you."
"You mean throwing me around like a ragdoll," Harry huffed. "That
vampire strength is something else."
"She's always threatening to turn you."
"She threatens everyone with that," Harry pointed out.
"She's always licking her lips around you," Jonas broke in.
"Because of her blood cravings," Harry defended.
Jonas hummed sceptically.
"Whatever you say, Harry."
Harry frowned at the boy before his gaze swept over the rest of the
group, none of them meeting it without smirking mockingly.
"I don't treat her any differently than I do any of you."
"You don't," Ana agreed, "but she treats everyone else differently to what
she does you."
"It's true," Cain spoke once more. "If anyone else dared say the things you
do to her, Merlin knows what she would do to them."
"But that's just me," Harry chuckled. "I've done it since I first met her.
She's just used to it."
"Maybe," Cain conceded. "Or she is actually fond of you in her own way."
"She's fond of all of us," Harry sighed. "She wouldn't spend time with us if
she wasn't, and she spends more time with Ana and Summerbee than
anyone else."
"He's not wrong," Jonas acknowledged. "Maybe we're reading too much
into it. It's not like any of us really understand vampires. Maybe she just
likes to think about draining you of your blood."
Harry nodded.
Barely a day passed at Durmstrang where Lucinda didn't echo such a
sentiment.
"Anyway, I wonder where she is?" Cain mused aloud.
His answer came only a few moments later when the door opened and
Lucinda entered.
She said nothing as she took a seat next to Harry who frowned as he took
in her appearance.
Lucinda looked different.
Not in any obvious or truly discernible way, but she appeared to have
grown over the summer. Her features having become more prominent,
pointed, but also delicate.
Her hair and eyes remained as they had always been, and although her
figure was just as lithe, she had seemingly filled out.
All of this, however, was negligible as Harry caught a waft of her scent.
It was a musky aroma, not unpleasant and not overpowering, but it was
unmistakeable, a subtle addition to her presence.
"You look different," Cain said bluntly, and Harry threw a box of Bertie
Bott's Every Flavour Beans at him as Lucinda narrowed her eyes irritably.
"You have as much tact as a stampeding Erumpent," Ana muttered,
shooting Cain a filthy look.
The cowed werewolf offered the vampire a look of apology, wisely
choosing to remain silent.
"It's not that different," Lucinda sighed. "Is it?"
Harry raised an eyebrow at the sound of her voice.
It had deepened somewhat, and somehow made her accent seem thicker.
"No," Summerbee assured her. "No one who has never paid much
attention to you will notice. We see you and talk to you every day at
school, so it is different for us."
Lucinda merely nodded gratefully in return, and Harry scooped up a
passing Chocolate Frog and threw it at Jonas, hitting the staring boy
between the eyes.
"It's rude to stare," he said pointedly as the boy scowled at him.
Lucinda offered him a look of gratitude.
"So, how was the final?" she asked.
Having little interest or access to the news in the wizarding world,
Lucinda had not been made aware of anything that had transpired during
the match and the aftermath.
When Harry finished explaining it to her, she offered him a probing look.
"You just left?" she questioned pointedly, when he'd finished informing
her of the appearance of the Death Eaters.
Harry nodded.
"I'm not stupid enough to attempt to take on that many people at once,
am I?"
"Knowing you, probably," Lucinda grumbled, her eyes roaming over him
as though she was looking for any sign of injury. "You act without
thinking."
The others nodded their agreement.
"That's not true," Harry defended. "I always think things through, even if I
don't spend too much time on it."
"That's being reckless," Lucinda sighed. "It's like you have a death wish or
something. Remember the Quidditch incident?"
"I caught the Snitch."
"And broke several bones in the process," the vampire pointed out. "Both
you and Krum could have been killed."
"I don't think the world would have liked that," Cain chuckled. "Their two
favourite teen celebrities actually killing each other during Quidditch
training."
"Don't call me that!" Harry snapped.
"Are you not famous?" the werewolf returned.
Harry's jaw tightened.
For his entire life he had been able to avoid being gawped at or
approached by the bolder members of the public.
That had changed when he had visited Britain for his stay, but it was
something he would have to get used to, for when he returned in the
future.
"Fine," he conceded, "but I would swap places with any one of you to be
rid of it. Even you, Jonas, you ugly shit."
"Oi, I'm not ugly," the son of the hag bit back. "My looks are characterful."
"No. You're ugly," Cain snorted. "I think you somehow get uglier every
year."
Jonas raised an eyebrow at the heavily scarred werewolf.
"Scars are different," Cain argued, understanding the pointed glance.
"Girls love scars."
"I suppose they love their boyfriends turning into a savage beast once a
month too," Jonas said airily.
Cain grinned as he nodded.
"As it happens, there are some that do," he replied. "There are groups of
witches that are attracted to werewolves. I can't remember what they call
it…"
"Bestiality?" Harry questioned.
Cain frowned as he shrugged.
"It might be that. Either way, I won't ever be going without."
"Going without what?" Summerbee asked with a mischievous smirk.
Cain reddened and the others laughed at his embarrassment.
"Saved by the horn," Harry quipped as the bellowing sound alerting them
to their arrival at the school rang throughout the ship. "Come on, before
Wolfie here decides he's gone without for long enough.
Cain muttered under his breath whilst the group took their leave of the
cabin and entered the throngs of other students who were eager to reach
the warmth of the school.
As ever, it was bitterly cold as they slogged their way through the snow,
and only Lucinda, along with the other vampires did not need the help of
a warming charm or an extra layer to stave off the chill.
"Finally," Jonas groaned as they were shown into the main hall, each of
them rubbing their hands together to get the blood flowing back through
them. "Why can't they relocate to the Caribbean or somewhere else
warm?"
"Then our lives would be made just that little more pleasant," Harry
snorted as the teens found their seats and waited for Karkaroff to give his
usual, short, beginning of the year greeting.
The headmaster stood as soon as the final students had settled themselves
with an unusually excited expression in place of his surly demeanour.
"Before I begin with the formalities of the upcoming school year, I have
an important announcement to make regarding our seventh-year
students," he began. "After centuries of not taking place, it is my pleasure
to announce that this year, the Triwizard Tournament will be making its
return."
Many around the hall began whispering excitedly at the news, and Harry
shared a look with his peers who were none the wiser to what the
tournament was.
He had no idea, but to elicit such a response from those that did know, it
must be quite the event.
"I say that it affects only our seventh years because of the new
regulations agreed upon that an age limit has been put in place. The
tournament will be hosted by Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and
Wizardry, so those of you that are eligible and interested, remain behind
at the end of the meal where I will explain what is to happen in further
detail."
Many of the students were disappointed by the introduction of an age
limit, yet, Harry still had no idea what the tournament even was to
warrant such a thing.
"Does anyone want to explain to the others what it is?" he sighed
irritably.
"It's a tournament that is held between us, Hogwarts, and Beauxbatons,"
one of the older boys, a half-blood named Egan answered. "A champion
from each is chosen, and they compete in three different tasks. The
winner usually gets some gold, and the school gets the trophy until the
next one. They usually hold it every four years."
"But it was banned?" Cain asked.
Egan nodded.
"Too many people died," he explained. "During the last one, a cockatrice
went on a rampage and killed several people in the crowd and two of the
champions."
"Well, that seems like a brilliant reason to bring it back," Ana scoffed.
"Maybe this time they'll unleash a horde of griffins or dementors on
people."
"They might," Egan replied with a shrug. "They've used dragons before."
"Then we should be grateful they put the age limit in place, or Potter
here would be the first one in the queue to sign up," Lucinda murmured.
Harry shook his head.
"No thanks, I don't need anyone or anything else that want me dead,"
Harry replied dryly. "I don't care about gold or being a champion. Despite
what you think, I'm quite fond of breathing."
"And his Aunt would hit the roof," Cain pointed out.
Harry winced at the mere thought of what Cassie's reaction would be.
He'd need not worry about dragons, dementors, or cockatrice.
If he ever felt compelled to take part in such a dangerous tournament,
Cassiopeia Black would ensure he thought twice about that level of
foolishness.
(Break)
"Barty has personally secured the Goblet until it is to be brought to
Hogwarts and placed in the Great Hall for the champions to submit their
names," Ludo explained.
Albus nodded.
If there was anyone who could be trusted to ensure the new rules would
be adhered to, it was Barty Crouch.
"So, now we just have to wait until the delegates from the other schools
arrive," Albus mused aloud. "Is everything prepared and confirmed for
the tasks?"
'Everything," Crouch confirmed with a stiff nod. "The dragon reserve is
happy to supply the creatures, and everything else will be handled here."
"Dragons?" Cornelius interjected worriedly. "Are they really necessary?"
"This is the Triwizard tournament, Minister," Ludo chuckled. "There must
be a level of danger and excitement."
"Very well," Cornelius agreed reluctantly. "I am hopeful that the
tournament will help the British public forget what happened at the
World Cup. I suppose I should be pleased that they only know of the Dark
Mark and not the full story."
Albus frowned lightly at the Minister.
Cornelius may be willing to ignore what had occurred, but the truth
could not be denied.
Several Death Eaters had decided to dress in their former garb to
terrorise those that had chosen to camp at the site, and despite the
Ministry assurances that it had been a harmless prank, those that had
witnessed the unfolding events knew otherwise.
Fortunately, the crowds had dispersed before the fighting had taken place
and had not witnessed the chilling climax.
Arthur and his two eldest sons had jumped into the fray to attempt to
save the lives of the muggles that had been targeted, but unbeknownst to
the men, another had joined them.
"Did the auror investigation lead to anything?" Albus asked interestedly,
already suspecting what the answer would be.
"No," Cornelius sighed. "Bones investigated it herself. The Weasleys were
cleared immediately, but there was no sign of the other person. I expect
they left quickly."
"And no one saw a thing?"
Cornelius shook his head.
"Not a glance," he confirmed. "Whoever it was must be an expert in
concealment. The fighting took place on open ground, the closest cover
almost one hundred metres away. To hit those spells, they must have
been close."
One hundred metres was indeed an impossible distance to comprehend
for combat purposes, especially with the precise magic that had been
used.
"An ugly business," Cornelius sighed. "Rowle was the luckier of the two
victims. He died in a matter of moments. Yaxley was not so fortunate."
Yaxley.
Albus had not been made aware of whom the second victim had been,
but the death of the man would be quite the blow for Tom when he
returned.
Yaxley had been amongst the most talented of his followers and had a
keen mind for politics.
"So, there is no clue as to who was behind their deaths?" Barty enquired.
"None whatsoever. Amelia has closed the case until new evidence is
found. I thought perhaps it may have been Sirius Black, but I have my
doubts. After I spoke with Harry Potter, Black would be a fool to draw
attention to himself."
"Harry Potter?" Barty pressed.
"The boy attended the final," Cornelius explained. "I all but assured him
that I would call off the search for Black. After what happened here, the
boy somehow learned of it, and all but assured me it would be brought to
the public's attention. I thought it best for all involved that Black be
given the opportunity to leave quietly."
Barty offered Cornelius a look of disapproval.
"You met with Mr Potter?" Albus asked curiously before the man could
make his displeasure known.
"I did," Cornelius confirmed. "He's an interesting young man to say the
least. He and Lucius did not have the most amicable of exchanges,
especially as young Mr Potter made quite the sum of gold from a bet they
had on the game."
"A sum of gold?" Albus pressed.
"Five hundred galleons," Cornelius snorted. "It was what appeared to be a
fool's bet on Potter's behalf, but his prediction came true. Lucius did not
take the loss well, and Mr Potter had a few choice words for him; and for
me," he added with a frown.
"What did he say?"
Cornelius shrugged.
"That the Malfoy name was not the one to be feared, and that in a few
years, things would change. It was rather ominous, but I believe we
managed to part on reasonable terms."
Albus hummed thoughtfully.
He had wondered if Harry would indeed return to Britain when he
reached his majority, and now, it seemed as though he had his answer.
Interesting times certainly lay ahead, particularly as Lucius would learn
that it would not be Draco inheriting the Black title.
It was one of the perceived eventualities that made everyone so cautious
of provoking the ire of the man.
Nonetheless, Harry still needed to tread carefully.
Lucius Malfoy, even without the prospect of adding the enormous Black
wealth and influence to his family was an exceedingly dangerous man.
One did not find themselves at such a lofty height without being ruthless
and possessing a keen brilliance for the political field.
No, Harry would indeed need to carve his path carefully, especially with
the Dark Lord somewhere out there baying for his blood.
(Break)
Viktor was torn on what he would do regarding the tournament. He was
certain that he wished to enter and believed he had an excellent chance
of being selected to represent Durmstrang, but for him, the decision was
not such an easy one to make.
Having attended the meeting with Headmaster Karkaroff the previous
evening and even allowing himself to be caught up in the excitement of
what was to come, he was no closer to making up his mind.
The tournament was a risk, but it was a once in a lifetime opportunity
that he did not wish to pass up.
However, he was a Quidditch player first and foremost and he could not
neglect the sport for his own selfish desires.
Releasing a deep sigh, he knocked on the door he had been standing
before for the past several moments.
"Who is it?" the voice of the headmaster barked irritably.
Viktor entered the office and the scowl of the man immediately morphed
into something more accommodating.
"Viktor!" Karkaroff greeted him warmly. "Come, take a seat."
Viktor nodded gratefully.
Despite Bulgaria not winning the World Cup, he was still being treated
better than any other student here and had even received a hero's
welcome when he had returned to his homeland.
The Bulgarians were prideful people, and Viktor had personified that
with his actions in the final.
His country had taken the loss rather well and had been grateful he had
spared them an embarrassing defeat.
"What can I do for you?" Karkaroff asked, breaking into Viktor's thoughts.
"I wanted to discuss the tournament with you."
Karkaroff nodded eagerly.
"I had hoped you would consider submitting your name for
consideration," he replied proudly.
"I would like to," Viktor confirmed, "but I need to clear it with the team
manager."
Karkaroff waved off Viktor's concern.
"I will personally discuss it with him," he said dismissively. "I will assure
him that you will still be able to play, and the season will not begin until
after the first two tasks anyway."
"Thank you, Headmaster, but there is one other thing."
"Name it, and it will be done."
"Even though the Quidditch season will not begin until March, I will still
need to train…"
"Hogwarts has excellent facilities; better than the ones we manage to
maintain here."
"But they do not have the one thing we do here," Viktor sighed.
Karkaroff frowned questioningly.
"What would that be?"
"Harry," Viktor answered simply.
"Potter?"
Viktor nodded and Karkaroff leaned back in his chair as he released a
deep breath.
"Viktor, Potter came here to avoid going to Hogwarts," he explained. "I
cannot force him to go."
"You will not need to force him. Harry will want to help me, and it would
make it easier if he was there," Viktor murmured. "The others, they will
only care about my fame, and if I trained with any of them, it would
become about egos. I do not have to worry about that with Harry."
Karkaroff eyed him for a moment before nodding somewhat reluctantly.
"You have struck up quite the friendship, as surprising as it is," he
conceded. "Well, I would not wish for you to miss out on the opportunity,
but as I said, I will not attempt to force Potter to go. I suggest we discuss
the matter with him and we can make some decisions from there."
Viktor nodded his agreement.
"Thank you, Professor."
"Don't thank me yet," Karkaroff snorted. "You still have to convince
Potter. I will fetch him now."
Viktor smirked at the thought of the impending conversation.
He knew Harry well enough to know that he would help, but he wouldn't
agree to do so quietly.
He would rant, and he would curse Viktor's name to the ground, but
despite this, he would agree, though unlikely without gaining something
for himself from it.
That would be for Karkaroff to handle.
Viktor merely needed to convince his friend to help him one final time
before he left Durmstrang at the end of the school year.
(Break)
"Today, we will begin our work on proximity and concealment charms,"
Professor Sidorova explained. "Now, can anyone give me an example of
either?"
"The Disillusionment Charm," Cain answered, eliciting a nod of approval
from the veela.
"Excellent," Sidorova praised. "It is a most useful charm to master, but
difficult to do so. With a little work, most can cast it to a satisfactory
degree, but to truly master it is something that takes considerable effort.
With that being said, who can explain the effects of the spell? Go ahead,
Potter."
"It is a concealment spell that has the potential to render the user
invisible," Harry explained. "It is good for surface use but is easily
detected by certain revealing spells. For those that do not master it, it can
be detected through sight as the air around you will shift when you
move."
Sidorova offered Harry a smile.
"I could not have put it better myself," she declared. "Are there any better
alternatives?" she added.
"Only an invisibility cloak," Ana replied. "A cloak will fully conceal you,
and many have charms imbued into them to prevent the user being found
by revealing charms."
"Indeed," Sidorova confirmed. "However, invisibility cloaks are
exceedingly rare, very expensive, and do not tend to retain their abilities
for more than five to ten years at the very most."
Harry frowned at the information.
The note he had received with his own cloak said that it had belonged to
his father.
The man had been dead for around a decade when Harry had received it,
and in the few years since, it had not shown any signs of failing him.
Before he could question the professor, however, a loud knock sounded at
the door and Headmaster Karkaroff entered, his expression as unfriendly
as ever.
"Potter, you will come with me," he instructed firmly. "Now," he added
when Harry hesitated.
"Not even been back a day and already in the headmaster's office,"
Lucinda mumbled. "What have you done?"
"Nothing," Harry huffed. "I don't think I have."
"Potter!" Karkaroff snapped.
With a sigh, Harry gathered his things and followed Karkaroff from the
classroom.
The man said nothing as he led Harry through the draughty corridors of
the school but led him to the fourth floor and into a much warmer office
where Harry was surprised by the presence of Viktor.
"Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with me," Harry defended
immediately.
"Shut up and sit down, Potter," Karkaroff huffed irritably. "If you had
been brought here for every transgression of yours, I expect I would have
had to install an additional desk for you to work from."
"So, I'm not in trouble?"
"Not this time," Karkaroff replied with a shake of his head. "We merely
wish to discuss something with you."
Harry's gazed shifted to the smirking Viktor.
"Why do I have a feeling that I'm not going to like where this
conversation is going?"
"You will love it," Viktor replied, not even attempting to hide the edge of
sarcasm to his tone.
"If it involves you, I bloody doubt it," Harry muttered. "What have you
gotten me into this time, Krum?"
Viktor's grin only widened in response and Harry felt his stomach sink.
That grin from the Bulgarian never boded well, but it wasn't Krum that
spoke.
"Viktor intends to enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament," Karkaroff
announced.
Harry leaned back in his chair and frowned, his gaze shifting between the
two.
"I do not know what impression you have of the nature of our
relationship, Headmaster, but what Viktor does is his business. I don't see
why I had to be dragged from my lesson to be told this."
Karkaroff's nostrils flared irritably and Krum attempted to conceal a snort
behind his hand.
"You are being told this because it concerns you also!" the headmaster
snapped. "Viktor's Quidditch training cannot be allowed to suffer. As his
main assistant, it would be most useful for you to come along, if you
consent to, of course."
Harry's frown deepened.
"I'm being given a choice?"
Karkaroff nodded.
"I explained to Viktor that I would not force you to come," he replied
reassuringly. "I have not forgotten that there is a reason you chose to
attend Durmstrang instead of accepting your place at Hogwarts. Neither I
nor Viktor wish to force you."
"But I would appreciate it if you did," Viktor broke in. "I really want to
enter the tournament, Harry, but I still need you to help me."
"What about the Hogwarts students? Surely there will be someone there
who can fill in for me."
"Do you really believe that?" Viktor sighed.
Harry deflated as he shook his head.
It was unlikely any would be able to match Viktor, and they certainly
wouldn't be trying for his benefit.
Krum could be injured if someone attempted to do something foolish.
"Bloody hell," Harry cursed. "Can I not just portkey in when I'm needed?"
"Portkeying from here to Hogwarts is impossible," Karkaroff explained,
"and trying to make the journey daily elsewhere to get there would be
quite the inconvenience. It would simply be easier for you to come as
part of the delegation. You will be given the opportunity to expand on
your studies and learn from some of the very best in their fields.
Hogwarts has an excellent staff."
Viktor offered him a pleading look, and Harry suspected there was more
to it than he was saying.
With Harry going, Viktor would not have to handle all of the attention
being on him.
Much to his chagrin, and Krum's knowledge, Harry was famous there too.
Still, he knew he had to confront it soon enough, and doing so at
Hogwarts would be easier than in the public sphere outside of the British
school.
"Fine, but I have some conditions," Harry declared.
"Name them," Karkaroff sighed.
"I want complete access to all works available in the library for the rest of
my time here."
"Done," Karkaroff agreed immediately. "What else?"
Truthfully, Harry couldn't think of anything else that would be of
advantage to him, but he wasn't going to concede so easily, and a grin
formed as another idea formulated in his mind.
"Only one other thing," he mused aloud. "Viktor here will be the one to
tell my Aunt."
Karkaroff offered the older boy a look of sympathy, but Viktor nodded.
"I'll do it," he sighed. "I'll write to her tonight."
"You will not," Harry snorted. "You will speak to her over the floo."
Viktor cursed in his native tongue, and Harry took no small amount of
glee from his discomfort.
If he was to help the other boy, he wanted to receive some amusement
from the situation.
There would undoubtedly not be much to have when he arrived at
Hogwarts, other than seeing Pansy again sooner than he had expected.
It had been over a year since their last visit together, and though they
wrote often enough, he still missed his first friend.
"I will do it," Viktor huffed.
"Good, there's no time like the present," Harry replied, nodding towards
the fireplace.
(Break)
"You wish for him to do what?" Cassiopeia whispered.
Krum withered under her gaze, the flickering flames doing little to hide
his apprehension.
"I would like Harry to come with me to Hogwarts so that I may enter the
Tri-Wizard Tournament. I need him to help with my Quidditch training,"
he explained.
Cassiopeia hummed thoughtfully.
"Has Harry agreed to go with you?"
Krum nodded.
"He said that I had to be the one to ask you."
"I see," Cassiopeia murmured. "I suppose he is feeling rather amused
watching you squirm."
Krum turned away for a moment before looking at her once more.
"He is finding the whole thing rather funny," he confirmed with a scowl.
"I thought as much. I would speak with my nephew please, Mr Krum."
The boys' head vanished and was replaced a moment later by Harry who
offered her an innocent smile.
"I did not expect you to be so keen," Cassie commented.
"I'm not, but Viktor needs me."
Cassie nodded her understanding.
"For the record, I do not like the idea, but it has its merits," she sighed. "It
is an opportunity for you to begin making the acquaintances of those you
will one day serve on the Wizengamot with, and to learn of the political
field in Britain, but you must be careful, Harry."
"I will be."
"Do not intend to make enemies, but do not allow any to take liberties
with you," Cassie urged. "You will be the Lord of two influential families,
and you must find the right balance to satisfy both. Find those that you
share beliefs with, and perhaps you will lay some foundations for the
future."
Harry nodded.
"Good, and I will be close by if I am needed," she informed him. "I think
it is time I check on Grimmauld Place again anyway."
"You're coming with me?"
"With you, no, but I will be in Britain," Cassie said firmly. "You are still
only fourteen, and should any attempt to take advantage of you, I will be
on hand to deal with it. I may even have better luck finding your idiot
godfather. Now, behave, but not too much. You do have a reputation to
uphold and one to forge in Britain."
With that, Cassie closed the connection and released a deep breath.
She truly did not like the idea of Harry returning to Britain so soon, but it
provided an opportunity to establish a foundation for his future that he
shouldn't miss.
Besides, Hogwarts truly was an excellent school, and in agreeing to
helping Viktor, he would get to experience one year of it.
(Break)
Lucinda looked on as Harry checked the contents of his trunk in the
common room. He would be making his way to the ship with the seventh
years who had opted to submit their name for the tournament in a little
over an hour.
She hadn't expected that him being pulled from class would result in him
announcing his departure for the remainder of the school year, and she
hadn't commented on it, though a knot in her stomach had only grown
tighter the closer the time for Harry to leave came.
Would she miss him?
She snorted to herself at the thought but could not deny the truth of the
matter.
Lucinda would miss him, despite his proclivity of being able to get under
her skin, his mocking of her, and that stupid grin he wore when he knew
he was in trouble with her.
Regardless of all of these things, Harry was the one who understood her,
knew how to lift her mood or distract her from the worst of her cravings
when they surfaced.
He was always on hand to give her a Blood-Pop or give her something
else to focus on when she needed it most, and Durmstrang simply
wouldn't be the same without him.
"You really should speak to him," Ana whispered.
"Why would I speak with him?"
"Because he probably thinks you don't care that he is going," the half-elf
sighed. "You've not said a word to him in almost two days."
Lucinda shrugged.
"He's going. Nothing is going to change that."
"You should at least tell him that you will miss him, or something."
"She's right," Summerbee interjected. "You've been a miserable cow since
he told us. More miserable than usual."
"I have not!" Lucinda defended hotly.
"Fine, do as you please," Ana huffed, "but you'll regret it when he's gone."
Lucinda quirked a brow at the girl and shook her head, her attention
shifting to Harry as he pocketed his trunk.
"That's everything," he declared. "Bloody hell, you're all acting like I'm
dead."
"We just don't want you to go," Cain replied. "It will be hell here without
you. Barkus will be a shit again."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about Barkus," Harry chuckled. "There are more
than enough things dotted around the school to keep him occupied.
You'll be fine. You've got your potion, and I'm hoping that by the time I'm
back next year, I'll be able to help you more," he added ominously.
Cain merely shook his head in response, his demeanour similar to how it
had been during the days leading up to the full moon before Harry had
begun supplying the werewolves with the Wolfsbane.
"Well, I'll just miss you," Summerbee declared, throwing her arms boldly
around him. "You'd better write and tell me about all the trouble you get
into."
"I will," Harry assured her with a smirk as the girl released him.
"And me," Ana insisted as she followed Summerbee's example. "Bring me
back something nice from Britain."
"Like what?" Harry asked curiously.
"Whatever you think I will like."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
"I'm sure I can find something, and what about you, Jonas? Would you
like something to help conceal that mug of yours?"
The boy laughed heartily as he clapped Harry on the shoulder.
"Just you coming back will do me, Potter," he returned. "Don't leave me
with this rabble of half-bloods and half-breeds any longer than
necessary."
"You're a half-breed," Harry pointed out.
"True," Jonas conceded. "How about some British liver?"
"Human or animal?"
Jonas grimaced.
"I've not resorted to cannibalism, but don't tempt me," he warned. "You'll
still be sharing a room with me for three more years when you come
back. I might get the urge to harvest yours whilst you sleep."
Harry chuckled.
"Well, if you can take it, then you've earned it," he quipped. "Take care of
yourself, Jonas."
Harry then turned his attention to Lucinda, and she fought the urge to
meet his gaze, but could not ignore him pulling her into his arms.
"I've hidden 295 Blood-Pops under your bed, one for every day that I'm
not here for the rest of the year," he whispered. "If you need any more, or
anything else, just write to me."
He said nothing else, but gave her a final squeeze before releasing her,
and Lucinda felt a conflicting mixture of warmth and the pang of loss fill
her as she watched him take his leave of the common room.
She could feel the burning gazes of Summerbee and Ana on her, and she
made the mistake of looking at the two girls.
"If you don't go now, he'll be gone."
With a huff, Lucinda rolled her eyes at them before following in Harry's
footsteps, her walk turning into a run as she left the common room.
She caught up to him in the next corridor, but as she did so, she didn't
even know what it was she wanted to say.
Harry paused and looked at her questioningly, and with no words still
coming to her, Lucinda pulled him into a tight embrace.
"I will miss you," she muttered, "but if you tell anyone I said that…"
"You'll bite me and spend the rest of eternity making my life a misery?"
Harry questioned amusedly.
"Exactly," Lucinda agreed with a nod. "You can write to me, if you like."
"I will," Harry promised, "and I'll be back before you know it, and you'll
want to kill me within five minutes."
"Probably," Lucinda conceded, "but there's not anyone else I'd rather
think about killing."
"I'm not sure if that is a compliment or an ominous future for myself,"
Harry replied with a frown. "Look after yourself."
Lucinda could only watch as Harry left, and though she was pleased that
she had not allowed her pride to make a fool of her, she didn't feel any
better about him going.
Despite her rather closed-off and often aloof nature, she would miss
Harry, and she hoped that he would truly miss her too.
17. Champions
Champions
A/N
And onwards we go…
Once more, Cassiopeia found herself assaulted by dozens of childhood
memories when she arrived at Grimmauld Place to begin her vigil over
Harry whilst he would be visiting Britain.
Having stepped through the fireplace, she immediately noticed that the
smell of decay was prevalent, and the kitchen table was as polished to a
smooth finish, just as it was when she had been a little.
Running her fingers across it as she passed, she remembered the many
meals here she had shared with her mother, father, and siblings.
They were the better times of her life, but then, her mother had fallen
suddenly ill and perished quickly.
The Black household had never been the same since.
Her father had always been a rather abrasive man who seldom showed
any warmth to his children, and with the passing of his wife, he had only
become colder and bitter until he too had died.
Cassie had not been around to witness his decline.
Shortly after the death of her mother, she had taken her leave of Britain,
and what happened next was well documented in the annals of history.
Still, there was still an echo of fondness she held onto here; watching
Arcturus and Dorea grow, the smile of her sweet mother, and those few
precious moments of them being a whole when she had not understood
how cruel the world could be.
"Mistress Black has returned," a voice croaked from the door.
"I have," Cassiopeia replied stiffly. "The house seems to be in a much
more acceptable order since I last visited."
"Kreacher has been busy," the elf explained.
Cassiopeia hummed.
The elf had indeed followed her orders.
"And has Walburga's portrait remained silent?"
"Mistress has not spoken a word," Kreacher said sadly.
"Good," Cassiopeia declared as she stepped into the hallway and made
her way towards where the portrait of the woman hung.
She was torn between destroying the painting and keeping it.
Despite how vile, uncouth, and unpleasant Walburga was, her knowledge
on the pureblood families could prove to be useful in the future, even if
Cassiopeia had to endure the baleful glare of the woman whenever she
looked at her.
With a flick of her wand, the curtains around the portrait were closed
and Cassie turned back towards the waiting elf.
"I would like for you to prepare my room for me, third floor, second on
the left."
"That room was given to Master Regulus," Kreacher replied, unable to
hide the dejected edge to his voice.
"What happened to Master Regulus?"
Cassiopeia knew little of the boy.
As the second son of Orion and Walburga, he had been rather
insignificant in the grand scheme of the family standing.
Kreacher became visibly upset by the question.
"Master Regulus was k-killed, Mistress."
"Killed?"
"M-murdered… by him."
"Him?"
Kreacher looked around the hallway, seemingly checking that they could
not be overheard.
"The Dark Lord," he whispered.
Cassiopeia was taken aback by the answer.
"Why would the Dark Lord kill him?"
From what Cassiopeia had learned, Regulus had been proud to serve
Voldemort, and had been recruited the moment he had left Hogwarts.
What could have transpired that had seen him killed by the very man he
had chosen?
Kreacher's eyes darted around the hallway once more before he leaned in
closer.
"Because Master Regulus discovered his secret," he informed her quietly,
wincing at his own words.
"His secret?"
Kreacher nodded.
"A dark secret, darker than anything any Black has done that Kreacher
has served, so dark that even Master Regulus was appalled."
"What is the secret, Kreacher?"
The elf swallowed deeply before reaching within his soiled apron.
From it, he produced a gold locket, one bearing the letter 'S' that was
made up of small emeralds.
Immediately, Cassie felt a shudder run through her spine.
The magic oozing from the locket was heavy, oppressive, but as enticing
as anything she had ever experienced.
"What is it?" she asked.
"He lives in here," Kreacher croaked. "The Dark Lord lives inside."
Cassiopeia released a deep breath, her eyes not leaving the locket.
"He lives in there?"
Kreacher nodded.
"A part of him," he answered. "I hear him whispering sometimes, telling
Kreacher that he should give the locket to a powerful wizard so that he
might live again, but he is not Kreacher's master."
"No, he is not," Cassiopeia agreed.
"Master Regulus told Kreacher he must destroy it, but Kreacher does not
know how."
The elf began to sob, and fell to his knees, declaring his sorrow for failing
to follow what was likely the final wish of his master.
"Would you like me to help destroy it?" Cassiopeia asked.
After a few moments of composing himself, Kreacher looked up and met
her gaze.
"Could you destroy it?"
Cassiopeia nodded.
"I will find a way," she assured the elf. "The future Lord Black is going to
kill the Dark Lord, and Master Regulus will be remembered as the brave
man he was."
"He was very brave," Kreacher echoed as he stood. "Even when Kreacher
begged him not to go to that cave, Master Regulus went to get this," he
added, holding up the locket.
"Could you show me where the cave is?" Cassiopeia requested.
Kreacher shook his head.
"Kreacher cannot go back there," he choked. "There are terrible things in
the cave; the men that don't breathe but still move."
"Men that don't breathe?"
"The ones that can only be killed with fire."
Cassiopeia frowned.
"Killed by fire," she mused aloud, her eyes widening at the implications.
"Inferi?"
"Yes," Kreacher confirmed, "hundreds of them, and the nasty potion. No
one must ever drink that."
The elf began to shake uncontrollably.
Cassiopeia nodded her understanding.
She was not foolish enough to put herself in such danger needlessly,
especially when the object the inferi and other protections had been put
there to guard was already in her possession.
"No one is going to the cave, Kreacher."
The elf deflated, evidently relieved by her decision.
"I will take the locket, and I have a job for you, if you think you can
manage it."
"Kreacher serves the House of Black," the elf replied firmly.
"Do you think you can find Sirius?"
The grimace she received in return spoke volumes of how little Kreacher
thought of the man. Nonetheless, he nodded, albeit reluctantly.
"Kreacher might find him."
"Then do it, and bring him to me," Cassiopeia instructed.
"And you will destroy this?" the elf asked.
Cassie nodded and levitated it from his grip, encasing it in a glowing
white ball.
Immediately, the oppressive magic vanished, and with only a nod of
gratitude, Kreacher vanished.
Left alone with her thoughts, Cassiopeia eyed the locket warily.
She had no doubt as to what it was, but where to begin with destroying
it, she knew not.
However, if there was one person who had the knowledge, it would be
the very one she could rely on in her most trying moments of need.
Gellert would know what to do, and with that in mind, she took her leave
once more of Grimmauld Place to pay him a much-needed visit.
(Break)
"Come on you lazy clods!" Olaffson encouraged in his typical, impatient
way.
Having learned that both Harry and Viktor would be away from
Durmstrang for the school year, the man had taken it upon himself to
volunteer to come along.
It seemed as though he too did not relish the prospect of his two
favourite victims escaping his grasp for so long.
"One day, I'll swing for him," Eden, one of the Dutch seventh years
vowed.
Harry chuckled as he continued rowing, both he and Viktor having
grown accustomed to hard labour long ago.
"This is abuse," Bielert grumbled.
"Shut up and get on with it," Viktor sighed irritably.
It was like this whenever they were tasked with rowing the ship.
There was no need for it as the vessel moved through the depths with
ease under the power of magic, but this being Durmstrang, Olaffson and
Karkaroff agreed the physical activity would serve the students well.
They certainly couldn't be allowed to be idle for so long whilst aboard.
Harry couldn't be certain, but he believed this was the fifth or sixth day
they were experiencing since they'd departed.
Without seeing the sun rise or set, it was difficult to tell.
"Alright, that will do," Karkaroff announced, nodding approvingly at the
sweating teens. "Get yourselves cleaned up. We will be arriving at
Hogwarts within the hour. MOVE!"
The students didn't need telling twice, and Harry gratefully headed
towards the galley where the communal showers were, gasping in utter
bliss as the hot water ran over him.
"What do you think Hogwarts will be like?" Bielert asked excitedly.
"Like Durmstrang, just without Olaffson, Karkaroff, and the cold."
"I wouldn't bet on it," Eden snorted. "I bet they have their own miserable
bastards there to make people's lives unbearable."
The others laughed, though Harry expected the boys' words were not far
from the truth.
"Who do you think will be chosen as champion?" Bielert questioned the
others.
"Krum," Brandt, a German prospect answered. "I can't see how he won't
be chosen. He's just better than us at most things."
Most of the others nodded their agreement.
"Imagine if Potter was picked," Eden guffawed.
"Piss off," Harry returned. "I've got no interest in it. If it wasn't for this
tosser, I wouldn't even be here," he added, jerking a thumb towards the
grinning Viktor.
"If Harry was chosen, I bet he'd win," the Bulgarian declared thoughtfully.
"Probably," Eden muttered, rubbing the back of his head, which was still
swollen from when he had duelled Harry a few days prior.
The seventh years had known of his prowess in the art, but that didn't
stop them challenging him, though Harry suspected they had no
understanding of his magical ability outside of duelling.
He suspected that he would surprise them all considerably.
"Alright, that's enough," Karkaroff's voice sounded from the doorway.
"Dress in your smart attire. The ship will be surfacing soon enough."
Despite having his reservations of making the voyage here, Harry found
that he had been caught up in the excitement of experiencing a new
school, and though he had his reasons for not attending Hogwarts, a part
of him felt that his parents would be pleased that he had decided to come
now.
His time here would be interesting to say the least.
(Break)
Albus could only smile as the students of Hogwarts gathered in front of
the castle, eagerly excited to greet their guests for the year.
He too was excited, not merely for the commencement of the
tournament, but that he would get to experience something that no
headmaster had in several centuries.
For the first time in living memory, perhaps other than Nicholas and
Perenelle Flamel's, Hogwarts would host their counterparts from two
other premier schools of magic.
"Straighten your tie, Weasley, and if I get a whiff of anything from the
two of you, you will spend the remainder of the year in detention with
Mr Filch," Minerva warned the redheaded twins.
"We will be on our best behaviour, Professor."
"We promise," the other twin added.
Minerva shook her head as she approached Albus, who offered her an
amused smirk.
"Trouble with some of your students, Minerva?"
The woman bristled slightly.
"Honestly, I do not see how the two of them have not found themselves
expelled for all of their exploits."
"Because most of them are rather harmless," Albus pointed out. "I find
them to be quite fascinating young men."
"You wouldn't be saying that if you had to deal with their escapades as
often as I do," Minerva muttered.
"Perhaps not," Albus acknowledged.
The two fell silent for a moment before Minerva spoke once more.
"Is he truly coming?"
Albus did not need to question whom the woman was referring to, and he
nodded sagely.
"Igor made the request himself," he explained. "Harry is here to assist
Viktor Krum with his Quidditch training, and to attend lessons that he
chooses to."
"That only makes me wish he had come here more," Minerva sighed. "If
he is able to assist Krum, he must be rather gifted at Quidditch. If he was
here, maybe we would stand a chance at winning the cup."
"According to Igor, he has even beaten Mr Krum in training," Albus
revealed. "Apparently, Mr Potter has very much followed in his father's
footsteps."
"Merlin help us all," Severus grumbled from Albus's left.
The headmaster shot him a pointed look.
He had already discussed Harry's imminent arrival with the man and had
warned him that any grudge he harboured towards James Potter was not
to be transferred to Harry.
"I do believe the delegation from Beauxbatons has arrived," Albus
murmured, nodding towards the approaching speck in the sky. "And so it
begins."
(Break)
Pansy shared a look with Daphne, and the other girl rolled her eyes as
she elbowed Blaise sharply in the ribs, jerking him from his stupor.
The boys in her house, much like the others, were gawping dumbly at the
blonde who was being escorted into the castle by the giant Madame
Maxime.
"What did you do that for?" Blaise groaned.
"Because you were making a prat of yourself," Daphne replied.
Blaise scowled and rubbed his ribs, his eyes widening as he pointed
towards the lake.
"Bloody hell, why don't we have anything like that?" he asked as an
enormous ship broke the surface.
It was impressive, but Pansy preferred the horse drawn carriage the
Beauxbatons students had arrived in.
"They look like a surly lot," Theo commented as the Durmstrang
delegation, garbed in red military dress, made their way off the ship.
Pansy nodded her agreement, though her mouth fell agape as the
students drew closer.
Amongst them was a familiar face, and it didn't belong to Viktor Krum as
Draco and the others were whispering about.
No, it belonged to another, and in her frozen state of shock and awe, she
expected that she perfectly mimicked the expression the boys wore when
they had been affected by the French, blonde girl.
"What is wrong with you, Pansy?" Daphne huffed.
Pansy said nothing, her feet carrying her without thought towards Harry
until she was sprinting.
"MISS PARKINSON!" the voice of Professor McGonagall cut across the
grounds, but Pansy ignored the deputy headmistress and flung herself
into Harry's arms.
"Do you know this girl, Harry?" an amused voice questioned.
"Well, if I didn't, you'd make a terrible bodyguard, Viktor," Harry huffed.
"She could have killed me already."
The other boy snorted.
"Not you, Potter," he sighed. "Even the devil himself wouldn't take you."
"No, but he'd take you, you git."
Pansy heard the spoken words, but she wasn't taking them in.
She was too wrapped up in the surprise of seeing Harry again after so
long.
"Pansy, everyone is staring at us," Harry murmured.
Extracting herself from his arms, she slapped him on the chest.
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" she growled.
"I thought it was better if you found out this way."
"Idiot," Pansy huffed. "I can't really play that off as anything else, can I?"
"You could pretend you recognised me and that you were starstruck by
my enormous fame," Harry suggested. "Or you could say you mistook me
for Krum, but then again, I'd be insulted if I was mistaken for that ugly
sod."
"Ugly, am I?" Viktor asked. "We'll see how pretty you are when I pound
your face in."
"Empty words, Krum," Harry said dismissively.
"For now," Viktor returned with a frown, "but I won't need you one day."
Harry chuckled, and the group continued on their way towards the
waiting Hogwarts students, the presence of both Harry and Viktor having
been noticed by now.
"Whoever that woman is, she doesn't seem happy with you," Harry
whispered.
"That's Professor McGonagall," Pansy muttered. "She'll give me a
detention or two. I'm more concerned about my housemates," she added,
nodding towards the students in black robes trimmed in green and silver
who were looking at them in a mixture of confusion and interest.
"The blonde is Malfoy?"
Pansy nodded.
"Well, it looks like you have some explaining to do to them," Harry said
with a shrug. "Maybe they'll be too distracted by Viktor's presence."
"Oh, so we are resorting to using each other, are we?" the Bulgarian
questioned.
"You've been using me since we met."
"True," Krum conceded. "I always thought you were too stupid to notice."
"I always thought you should trim your eyebrows."
Viktor offered Harry a smirk, before replacing it with the scowl he was
known for.
"Looking unfriendly keeps some people away," he explained to Pansy. "It
works, sometimes."
Pansy could only nod and look on as Dumbledore shared a brief
conversation with the Durmstrang headmaster, the gaze of the former
shifting towards Harry as they approached, though her own focus
remained on her housemates.
She deflated as the students were ushered inside the castle, and much to
her relief and equally trepidation, the Durmstrang students chose to sit
with the Slytherins.
Pansy found herself beside Harry on one side, and Daphne on the other
who had elbowed her way through to reach her.
"Well, someone has some explaining to do," the blonde said airily. "You
never mentioned you knew Harry Potter."
It seemed as though the entire table was focused on her, as was every
other pair of eyes in the hall, but it was Harry who spoke before Pansy
could answer.
"Pansy and I met over the summer," he lied brazenly, a grin tugging at his
lips. "We had quite the pleasant and often sordid fling."
Daphne choked on her pumpkin juice, and the rest of her housemates
were no less shocked by the revelation.
"That is not true," Pansy sighed, "and you can stop laughing," she added
to Harry and the Durmstrang students who were rather amused by the
reactions.
"Then how did you meet?" Draco broke in, his eyes narrowed
suspiciously.
"We met around ten years ago," Harry answered honestly. "Lord
Parkinson has business with my guardian, and Pansy has been sworn to
secrecy ever since. You know how family business can be."
The Slytherin students nodded their understanding, but Draco did not
seem to be appeased by the explanation.
Before he could speak, however, he was cut off by Harry.
"You must be Lucius's son, Draco," he acknowledged.
"How do you know my father, Potter?"
"I had the pleasure of his and your mother's company in the Minister's
box during the final," Harry explained. "You look just like him. Do pass
on my gratitude to him, will you?"
"Gratitude for what?"
"Oh, did he not tell you of our wager?" Harry asked, feigning surprise. "I
must say, your father was a good sport and paid his debt with all the
haste one would expect from a man of his station."
Malfoy frowned in confusion, but Harry's intervention served to distract
him from whatever questions he had.
"So, you have been friends all this time?" Daphne questioned.
"Friends, lovers, all of the above," Harry answered, and Pansy kicked him
under the table.
"We have not been lovers," she huffed, ignoring the blush forming on her
cheeks.
"Ah, I must be better at Divination than I thought," Harry mused aloud. "I
must be seeing into the future."
"Oh, shut up, Harry," Pansy grumbled as the others laughed.
"No offense, Potter, but why are you sitting here?" Blaise broke in.
"I'm with my schoolmates."
"But haven't all of your family members been Gryffindors?"
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
"For the most part," he agreed, "but that's only the Potter side."
"You only have the Potter side," Draco snorted. "Your mother was a…"
"I would choose very carefully how you finish that sentence," Harry cut
in. "I will not have a bad word said against my mother. If it wasn't for
her, most of you would probably not be sitting here."
Pansy reached under the table and squeezed Harry's knee comfortingly,
but he seemingly wasn't finished saying what he wanted to.
"Now, I expect there may be some of you here that bears a grudge against
me, and I would advise you to forget it," he urged. "I can assure you that
any attempt against me will be met with more violence and pain than
you could hope to cause me. For now, I am willing to leave the past
where it is, but if anyone wishes to drag it back up, then do so at your
own peril. I will not repeat myself."
Pansy swallowed deeply, she alone garbed in Hogwarts robes knowing
that this was Harry at his most diplomatic when it came to dealing with
potential enemies.
"Ah, Draco, could you pass me the potatoes, please?" Harry requested
with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
It was around an hour later that Pansy found herself in the common room
with her housemates, many of whom seemed to want to ask questions of
her.
"How dare he!" Draco cursed. "The filthy half-blood thinks he can come
here and threaten us? Who does he think he is?"
"He's Harry Potter," Daphne pointed out. "If you think that he hasn't had
extensive training, then you are a fool. He has no bodyguards here. That
should tell you all you need to know about him, right Pansy?"
Pansy nodded.
"I can't say who his guardian is, but they are one of the most dangerous
and gifted people of the last century. Harry knows his stuff, and it's not a
good idea to get on the wrong side of him."
Draco snorted and began ranting once more, evidently not heeding the
warning, and Pansy shook her head.
Perhaps the only way he would learn was by making such a foolish error,
though there was no guarantee that Harry would be so forgiving to all of
it.
"He's here helping Krum with his Quidditch training." Draco chuckled.
"How lacking must Durmstrang be if they have Potter as his training
partner?"
Once more, Pansy shook her head.
"I would be very careful of Potter, Draco," Blaise broke in.
The usually quieter boy of the group had always been content to watch
Draco make his blunders, but his expression was deathly serious.
"What are you talking about, Zabini?" Draco snapped.
"My sister is at Durmstrang," he revealed, much to the surprise of the
others, "and she may have mentioned that Potter was there."
"And you thought it not relevant to mention it to us?"
Blaise shrugged indifferently.
"Potter is of no concern to me or my family," he replied. "Where he goes
to school is hardly important."
"Your sister mentioned him?" Daphne questioned before Draco could
speak.
Blaise nodded; his next words being chosen very carefully.
"It would be foolish to make an enemy of him," he declared. "My sister is
an exceedingly gifted duellist, and even she speaks very highly of Potter.
She says that he does things that she has never seen; that he has never
been beaten."
Draco snorted derisively.
"All the Durmstrang students probably lose to him on purpose," he
declared, and Blaise shook his head.
"If you wish to believe that, then that's your choice," he returned
uncaringly. "I'm giving you fair warning of what I know. I just wouldn't
want to see you embarrass our house or yourself for that matter."
Draco laughed uproariously.
"The only one who will be embarrassed will be Potter!" he declared.
Pansy raised an eyebrow at Blaise who only offered a final shrug in
response.
Draco always had an ego, an edge of cruelty also, but compared to Harry,
he was nothing, and if he carried on the way he had started where Harry
was concerned, it would likely end terribly for the Malfoy heir.
(Break)
"Dumbledore wasn't joking about the age restriction, was he?" Neville
chuckled.
"Don't worry your sweet little head, Longbottom, we will find a way
around it," one of the twins declared.
The Gryffindor common room was abuzz with the excitement of the
tournament, the lighting of the Goblet of Fire having been fascinating to
witness, but it was their guests that had piqued their curiosity most of all.
"Forget that, who knew that Harry Potter was at Durmstrang?" Ron
interjected, "and he's friends with Viktor Krum!"
Hermione frowned thoughtfully.
She too was pondering why Harry Potter had attended Durmstrang
instead of Hogwarts. She had taken it upon herself to learn his story
when such a fuss had been made about his absence during first year, and
if half of what she read was indeed true, he was quite the fascinating boy.
"I expect everything about him has been kept a secret," Neville mused
aloud. "If you think about it, it's not surprising that he's not here. He
wouldn't get a moment of peace."
"But doesn't Durmstrang study dark magic?" Ron asked.
"No one really knows what they study," Neville replied. "It's widely
accepted that they are more relaxed about what they are allowed to
pursue, but only a student can tell you, and I doubt they'd do that.
Durmstrang protects its secrets very closely."
Hermione hummed.
She had read what information was available about both Durmstrang and
Beauxbatons, and the former was much less forthcoming than the latter
about what went on behind closed doors.
"I think the question we should be asking is why Harry Potter is here?"
Dean broke in. "He's not a seventh year, so he can't enter the
tournament."
"Maybe he's transferring," Neville suggested.
"No, we asked one of the Durmstrang lot," one of the twins informed
them. "They reckon he's only here to help Krum keep up with his
training."
"He trains with Krum?" Ron groaned wistfully.
"If he's half as good as his father, it makes sense," Fred, or George,
pointed out. "The trophy room is full of awards for James Potter. Even
McGonagall says he was the best she's seen pass through since she has
been here, and that's a long time."
"Do you think they'd let us train with them?" Ron asked excitedly.
"If you fancy having your face caved into the ground, I don't see why
not," one of the twins snorted. "You saw Krum play at the World Cup.
He's lunatic on that broom, and I bet Potter is too."
"It would still be cool."
"It would," the other twin agreed. "Maybe we can convince them to train
with us."
"If the Slytherins don't beat you to it," Seamus muttered.
"Great, that's all we need," Ron despaired, throwing his arms up. "Malfoy
is already a git, and he'll just be even more smarmy."
"Well, they did sit with the Slytherins first," Dean sighed.
Hermione was quickly losing interest in the conversation.
Quidditch was not something she had any interest in, but from what little
had happened thus far, she couldn't deny that she was looking forward to
the rest of the school year.
(Break)
Having arrived on a Friday evening, there had been no lessons to attend
the following morning, and having been rudely awakened by Olaffson,
who evidently was not willing to give Harry and Viktor a respite, the two
had completed their training with the man.
Upon doing so, Harry had decided to begin familiarising himself with
Hogwarts. However, with all the attention he had received the night
before, he decided that he would wear his father's cloak.
It was strange roaming the grounds and the castle.
Much of it already felt familiar to him, though he knew he had never
been here, other than during the brief visions he'd experienced up until a
couple of years ago.
Still, it was like he had already tread through the corridors, and even
beyond the first line of trees of the forest they had been warned not to
enter.
As familiar as it felt, it was still a strange place, and though Hogwarts
was larger than Durmstrang, Harry seemed to already know many of its
secrets.
"There you are," Viktor sighed in relief as he entered Harry's cabin on the
ship. "Where have you been?"
"I watched people submitting their names for the tournament for a
while," Harry answered with a shrug, "and just went for a wander."
"Well, you're not going to like this," Viktor murmured as he placed a
newspaper in front of Harry.
Harry Potter Returns!
By Rita Skeeter
"They were bound to find out about it," Harry said dismissively. "She
must be keen to have gotten this out so soon. I didn't think journalists
were allowed on school grounds."
"They're not," Viktor confirmed, "not without the permission of the
headmaster."
Harry merely shrugged in response.
"It doesn't matter," he assured the older boy. "I'm not getting hung up on
an article. It's not like she's said anything untruthful."
"I suppose not," Viktor conceded. "Anyway, we need to head into the
Great Hall. The goblet should be ready soon."
"Nervous?"
Viktor shook his head.
"No, if it is meant to be, my name will be the one chosen."
"And if it isn't?"
"Then it looks as though my final year of teaching will be spent mostly
with Karkaroff," Viktor chuckled.
Harry shook his head amusedly.
"He's not that bad," he assured him. "At least with the Dark Arts, he
knows his stuff, and it's not like the other professors haven't prepared
everything else for us."
"I know," Viktor replied, "but being taught by him will be strange. He's
just not the teaching type."
"True," Harry agreed, "but you do have the option to attend the lessons
here too, but it's not like you will need to. If your name doesn't come out
of the Goblet, I'll eat the caretaker's cat."
Viktor chuckled as they joined the others who were eagerly anticipating
the announcement of the champions.
"Remember," Karkaroff barked, silencing them, "that it truly could be any
one of you that is chosen to represent us for the tournament, and
regardless of who it is, you will have our full support. I do not see a face
among you that is not worthy of being called champion, but there can
only be one. We are Durmstrang! Now, let us show the other schools why
we are the best!"
After the unexpectedly impassioned speech from the headmaster, the
delegation left the ship and made their way towards the castle, arriving
shortly after the Beauxbatons students.
As excited as everyone undoubtedly was, there was a tension that had
settled over the castle since the other schools had arrived the previous
night, one not so dissimilar to the any Quidditch match Harry had
attended.
Competition.
As incredible as this would be to experience, the three schools attending
were competing with one another, and who was chosen to represent
them would be the first look at each champion whom the honour of their
schools would rest upon.
The meal provided by Hogwarts was eaten in silence for the most part,
and the tension only grew when the plates were cleared and Dumbledore
stood to address the room.
"If I am not mistaken, the Goblet will soon be ready to name its chosen
champions."
With a wave of his hand, the candles and chandeliers dimmed, and he
peered at the wooden cup interestedly until a sudden gout of blue flame
erupted from the opening, spewing out a piece of parchment.
"The Champion representing Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour," Dumbledore
announced.
A round of applause sounded for the French girl who approached the
head table where she was ushered through a side door.
Once more, the hall fell silent and the Goblet produced another piece of
parchment only a moment later.
"The Champion for Durmstrang is Viktor Krum," Dumbledore informed
them.
The Durmstrang students, and most others within the hall cheered
uproariously for Viktor, and Harry clapped him firmly on the shoulder as
he stood, his scowl firmly in place as he followed in the footsteps of the
French champion.
When he was gone, the attention of the room shifted towards the Goblet
for a final time, and Dumbledore nimbly snatched the last piece of
parchment form the air as it was expelled.
"Representing Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory!"
The applause for the boy garbed in black robes trimmed with yellow was
deafening.
Evidently, Diggory was a popular boy at the school, and there seemed to
be little disappointment from any that he had been chosen.
When the final champion had been shown into the room beyond the head
table, Dumbledore turned his attention towards the Goblet, nodding
satisfactorily as the flame extinguished itself.
"Our champions have been selected, and more information regarding the
first task they will face will be made known only to them," he explained.
"It truly is my honour to declare that the Tri-Wizard Tournament has
officially begun!"
Harry clapped along with the rest of the students as the three respective
leaders of their schools left via the same door as the champions, followed
by two others that Harry did not recognise, and as he fell in with the
other Durmstrang students, he too found himself anticipating just what
was to come.
His time here would be interesting to say the least, and he found himself
looking forward to what entertainment the Tri-Wizard Tournament
would provide in the months to come.
(Break)
Lucius could only look on in shock at the man who was seated before
him. He had aged terribly in the past thirteen years, but there was no
denying who he was.
"How?" he asked simply.
"My father switched me out with my mother as a final mercy to her when
she was dying," Barty explained. "I have been under the Imperius Curse
since. I managed to break free eventually."
Lucius shook his head in disbelief.
Barty Crouch was nothing if not a stickler for the rules. For him to do
such a thing, he must truly have had a soft spot for his wife.
"And your father?"
"Is now under my curse," Barty replied with a grin.
"That is very risky," Lucius sighed. "What will you do now?"
"Well, I had considered killing you and the others for your lack of loyalty
to our master," Barty said airily as though he was merely discussing the
weather, "but I am not like the rest of you. I remain loyal to the cause,
and maybe there is a part of me that believes you and the others do too."
Lucius leaned forward in his chair.
"There is no longer a cause," he murmured. "The Dark Lord is gone, and
we have none that can lead us like him."
"Is he gone, Lucius?" Barty replied with a grin.
Lucius frowned.
"What do you know, Barty?"
"Many things," the man replied, tapping the tip of his nose with a finger.
"My father is currently investigating the disappearance of one of his
workers."
"Bertha Jorkins."
Barty nodded.
"She was sent on a trip to Albania and has not been since. Very
suspicious, is it not?"
"What is your point, Barty?" Lucius sighed impatiently.
"My point is that my father, whilst investigating, made the acquaintance
of an old friend of ours who was looking for someone. Pettigrew's
attempt at placing my father under the Imperius Curse was rather
pathetic, but I had him play along. Who do you think he was taken to?"
Lucius frowned at the other man, wondering if he had become delusional
from his exposure to the Dementors.
"Well?" he questioned.
"I don't know," Lucius huffed.
"The Dark Lord," Barty announced excitedly. "He lives, Lucius, but he is
weak, and with only Pettigrew to assist him, he will not grow stronger."
It felt as though his heart had stopped in his chest, and Lucius was now
convinced the man before him was indeed insane.
"No," he denied, "it cannot be."
"It is true!" Barty replied firmly. "I came to you for help, Lucius. We must
find a way to bring him back. You cannot deny it, the mark is growing
stronger. Surely, you have noticed it."
Barty's eyes had become wild, and Lucius felt a trickle of fear run down
his spine.
The mark had indeed grown darker over the past few months, but he had
chosen to ignore it.
If the Dark Lord was indeed returning as he claimed would happen if he
was somehow robbed of life, then things would change, and Britain
would once more be plunged into war.
For Lucius, there was no positive outcome to this.
Undoubtedly, he would be welcomed back into the fold of the Dark
Lord's inner circle, and he would have no choice but to obey.
The mark was for life, and service to the Dark Lord was in perpetuity.
For the first time since he and Macnair had done so, Lucius regretted
setting Pettigrew free in his panic at finding him alive instead of simply
having him murdered before he could stand trial.
How the rat had found their master was irrelevant, but Lucius should
have known that if the man heard even a whisper of a rumour of him, he
would seek out the protection the Dark Lord afforded him.
Thinking quickly, he realised he had two choices, one being to ignore
what he had learned and dispatch of Barty or accept what was seemingly
the inevitable and perhaps not find himself the victim of the Dark Lord's
ire when he returned.
Neither were desirable, but with no other option available to him, and
being the consummate survivalist, he nodded.
"What do you need from me, Barty?"
18. Snatched by the Past
Snatched by the Past
A/N
Another chapter for you guys.
Happy Reading,
TBR
It was impossible to ignore just how different Durmstrang was without
Harry. There was less laughter, less teasing, and somehow less smiles, all
the things that were needed to make it through the often-challenging
days here.
For Lucinda, it was as though most of the happiness had been sucked out
of school life, and she knew it was the same for the others.
As infuriating as Harry could be, Durmstrang simply wasn't Durmstrang
anymore.
It had been only ten days since they had departed, and already, Barkus
had decided that without the seventh years here, that he would fill the
role as the dominant force amongst the students.
Somehow, the boy had become even less bearable than ever, though his
vying for the position had been thwarted at every turn.
Harry had not been jesting when he said that he had left things dotted
around that would keep Barkus in line.
In only ten days, he had found himself in the medical bay no less than
four times, sporting signs of various hexes and even a few wounds he
would not forget about so easily.
Lucinda didn't know how he had done it, or how much time he had
invested in the venture, but Harry was indeed looking out for them from
afar.
She was pulled from her thoughts by Professor Sidorova placing a sizable
pile of letters on the table in front of the group, a knowing smile from the
woman leaving no doubt as to who had sent them.
Harry had finally written.
Without preamble, she took it upon herself to hand the missives out,
holding up a hand as she reached the one at the bottom of the pile.
"This one is addressed to all of us," she informed them.
"To all of us?" Summerbee questioned as Lucinda opened the envelope, a
wave of relief washing over her as she took in the familiar scrawl.
"Greetings from Great Britain," she read, rolling her eyes. "Before I begin,
Jonas, put the bloody sausage down and pay attention."
The others laughed as Jonas paused, his mouth agape from where he was
indeed about to bite into a sausage.
"How did he know?" he groaned.
A smirk tugged at Lucinda's lips.
Harry simply knew them all too well.
"Hogwarts isn't so bad. If you didn't already know, Viktor was chosen as
our champion. Nothing else interesting has happened. I met some of the
people I will have to work with in the future, and I must say, I find
myself underwhelmed by most."
"Potter is underwhelmed by everyone he meets," Jonas snorted.
Lucinda shot him a pointed look before continuing.
"Many of the purebloods are exactly what you'd expect, and although
there are others that seem to be more tolerant of muggleborns and half-
bloods, that courtesy does not seem to extend to creatures. The French
champion is a veela, or part veela at least, and the way most speak about
her is rather unflattering. I have the urge to have you lot brought here
just to piss them off even more."
"He would too," Cain chuckled.
"Anyway, I have written to you all individually, but I wrote this to make
sure that you're all looking out for each other in my absence. I know how
temperamental, and stubborn some of you can be."
Lucinda rolled her eyes at the letter.
"Stay safe and be there for one another. I will see you all again soon,
Harry."
The group remained silent for several moments before Ana spoke.
"It really is different without him here, isn't it?"
The others nodded their agreement.
"I never thought I would miss him this much," Summerbee sighed.
"Then why don't we do something about it?" Cain suggested.
"Like what?" Jonas pressed.
"Be more like Harry," Cain answered with a grin. "We can do the things
that he usually would."
"You mean cause trouble," Summerbee mused aloud. "I like that."
Lucinda was not so sure.
Harry was a troublemaker, mischievous at best, but could they really
replicate the things he did to fill the void he had left behind?
She had her doubts, but something needed to be done.
Lucinda didn't think she could survive the rest of the drudgery of the
school year as things had become.
"We could always try," she agreed reservedly.
"Then it is settled," Summerbee declared. "Now, where do we begin?"
The others began discussing ideas of what they could do, and Lucinda
listened to the suggestions, but much of her focus was on the other letter
she held, the one that bore her name alone.
Not wanting to wait any longer, she carefully opened the envelope and
removed the parchment within, shuddering as his scent curled into her
nose.
Even as mild as it was, her keen sense of smell lapped it up.
Dear Lucinda,
It feels strange being here, and though I cannot say that it is proving to be an
unpleasant experience, I find myself missing Durmstrang already.
Other than the French champion, the Beaxubatons Headmistress, the Charms
professor, and I suspect the Care of Magical Creatures professor, there are no
other part-creatures.
Having spent three years with you all, it is odd to say the least.
I suppose that it isn't that I miss creatures as such, but the ones that have
become important to me; you especially.
You're probably thinking I've gone soft, or even cursing me for being nice, but I
find no reason to not be honest.
Anyway, I will not drone on about my own observations of my existence, not
when I have little to truly complain about.
I just don't want you to think that me being here is preferable.
It isn't.
I will admit the differences are piquing my curiosity, and I am looking forward
to what I will experience, but I already know without doubt that Durmstrang is
where I belong.
Write soon,
Harry
P.S: This letter will explode and shower you with glitter when you finish
reading it.
Lucinda's eyes widened as she absorbed the final sentence, and she
cursed as the parchment unleashed a loud bang.
The rest of the group laughed and Lucinda's nostrils flared.
"I'll kill him!" she hissed.
Although she spoke it aloud, there was no sincerity to her declaration.
Despite the annoyance and inconvenience of being covered once more in
glitter, it was what she had needed to lift her spirits in a way that only
Harry could.
Scowling, she removed a piece of parchment, a quill, and some ink before
penning her response.
Of course, it wasn't because she was so keen to reply, but there was no
time like the present to do so.
(Break)
Upon concluding his conversation with Lucius, Barty had immediately
absconded to Albania to where his father had been intercepted by
Pettigrew, hoping that the snivelling coward had not yet taken leave of
the area with their master.
Wormtail was a fool at best, and a hazard to the Dark Lord in his
weakened state.
He had his uses, of course, but they were few and far between, and not
conducive to seeing Lord Voldemort rise again.
Barty watched as the rotund man scowled at him, not welcoming his
presence.
"I had heard that you were dead," the Dark Lord wheezed, the body he
was occupying not a suitable vessel for one larger than life itself.
Even to Barty, the pale infant was not easy to look upon without feeling
sick, but a quick reminder of whom it was he was addressing allowed
him to dismiss his reservations.
"It appears that rumours of my passing were no less true than the
rumours surrounding yours, My Lord," he replied.
The infant offered a toothless grin in response.
"Indeed," the Dark Lord murmured. "I find myself relieved that you have
found me. Does any other know of my current status?"
"Only Lucius, My Lord," Barty assured his master who did not appear
pleased by the revelation.
"I would rather him not see me like this," he sighed.
"But Lucius is perhaps the most useful contact we have," Barty pointed
out. "He is on excellent terms with the Minister and can provide anything
we need via his connections. I did not speak with him with the intent of
displeasing you, but to assist you, My Lord. You have my apologies if I
acted out of turn."
The Dark Lord eyed Barty speculatively for a moment.
"As I am, my mind is not as keen as I would like," he conceded, "but
whether or not you have made the right decision, Barty, remains to be
seen. With Wormtail on the run, and people believing you are dead,
perhaps we will need further assistance."
Barty nodded.
"Would you like me to send for him, My Lord?"
The infant frowned thoughtfully before answering in the affirmative.
"His input would be most useful, as will your own, but I would have you
watch him closely. As trustworthy as Lucius once was, he still denounced
me when I needed my most loyal to keep faith."
"Of course, My Lord," Barty replied, taking a moment to summon the
blonde. "I apologise that my own information may not be so useful."
"You being here will prove useful enough," the Dark Lord replied. "Tell
me, Barty, what do you believe we should do from here?"
"I would not presume to know, My Lord," Barty answered. "I believe that
providing you with a more suitable body would be best, but there is
something that I thought may be of interest to you."
"Then speak, Barty, and share what you have learned since your
liberation."
Barty removed a stack of newspapers he had accumulated since he had
gained his freedom from within is robes and handed them to Wormtail.
"The Triwizard Tournament?" the rat-like man asked.
"They are hosting it at Hogwarts," Barty explained, "and my father is one
of the organisers. We could use that to our advantage."
The Dark Lord hummed thoughtfully.
"Perhaps," he mused aloud.
"Mad-Eye has been appointed as the Defence Against the Dark Arts
professor," Wormtail announced as he thumbed through the stack of
articles.
"I suspect Dumbledore would want a man of his calibre around,"
Voldemort murmured. "His presence alone would make any think twice
about interfering with the tournament."
"Quite likely," Barty agreed. "I'm sure none of us have forgotten what he
did to Rosier."
"Amongst many others," the Dark Lord sighed. "Moody is a problem."
"Harry Potter returns," Wormtail read aloud.
The Dark Lord visibly stiffened at the mention of the boy.
"Potter?" he whispered dangerously.
Wormtail nodded nervously.
"According to the article, he arrived with the Durmstrang delegation, My
Lord," he explained. "I found it rather odd that he did not attend
Hogwarts when expected."
"That is rather interesting."
"Just say the word, My Lord, and I will have the boy killed," Barty
offered.
"NO!" the Dark Lord snapped. "Potter will meet his end at my hands only.
What do we know of him?"
"Nothing, My Lord," Barty replied frustratedly. "He shared a box with the
Minister and Lucius for the Quidditch final, but I was able to gage very
little of his character. He is rather brazen, but does not seem foolish, and
was rather keen to win Fudge's favour."
Voldemort hummed to himself, frowning as a familiar man entered the
room.
"Ah, Lucius, how good of you to join us," he greeted the blond. "We were
discussing what steps to take to arrange my triumphant return."
Lucius said nothing for a moment, eying their Lord curiously, though he
had the sense to prostrate himself before the infant being.
"My Lord, it swells my heart to see you once more," he declared with his
head bowed. "Had I heard even a whisper…"
"Quiet, Lucius," the Dark Lord wheezed. "I am not interested in lies or
platitudes. What I need is your assistance. I will deal with your
transgressions against me later."
"Of course, My Lord," Lucius replied as he stood. "How may I serve you?"
Voldemort glared at him through narrowed eyes for a moment before
nodding to himself.
"Barty believes that we could use the tournament to our advantage," he
explained. "What are your thoughts on the matter?"
Lucius frowned as he shook his head.
"My I be frank with you, My Lord?"
"Speak your mind, Lucius."
The blond released a deep breath, choosing his words carefully before
speaking once more.
"I do not know what your intentions are, but I do not believe we should
be taking any more risks than necessary," he began diplomatically. "The
tournament should not be a focus. Too many eyes are on it and we do not
wish for a single pair to fall upon you."
The Dark Lord nodded and gestured for Lucius to continue.
"We must operate in a way that worked for us in the past, My Lord," he
said almost pleadingly. "We must gather your forces, ensure that you are
strong enough once more. Patience will be key. I will do what I can to
obtain information that will be useful to us and pave our way to victory.
Our first priority is you, My Lord. Without you, all else would be for
naught."
"I have a plan for myself, Lucius," the Dark Lord replied, "but I see the
wisdom in your words. I have waited for thirteen years, a little longer is
no burden."
Lucius almost sagged in relief.
"What of Potter?" Voldemort asked.
"What of him?"
"You have met the boy. What did you make of him?"
"He proved to be rather arrogant," Lucius shrugged. "He reminded me
very much of his father, but he is no fool. Other than that, I do not
know."
"Then I must learn about him," Voldemort declared. "Barty, have the boy
watched as closely as possible without drawing unwanted attention."
"Of course, My Lord" Barty complied.
"To watch only, Barty," the Dark Lord reiterated. "He is not to be
harmed."
Barty nodded, though he was not pleased by the request.
Were it up to him, he'd have the boy throttled in his sleep.
"Why not just kill him, My Lord?" Wormtail interjected.
"All in good time, Wormtail," Voldemort said firmly. "For now, I wish to
know my enemy. He will die when the time is right. Our meeting is
written in the stars."
Barty shared a look of confusion with Lucius and Pettigrew, but before
any could question their master, he spoke once more.
"You urge caution, Lucius, and I am inclined to agree," he conceded. "I
would have you fill your former role but do so carefully. I would have my
return occur from a position of strength with Britain ready to fall to its
knees. Can you do this for me?"
Lucius bowed deeply.
"It shall be done, My Lord."
"What would you have me do, My Lord?" Barty questioned.
"You have already made our position difficult by placing your father
under the Imperius Curse," Voldemort grumbled. "However, it is
something I can use to my advantage. I will have need of a strong wizard.
Ensure he remains healthy, and continue to gather what information you
can, but take no risks. We do not wish to draw attention to him."
"It will be done, My Lord," Barty assured the man.
Voldemort nodded.
"Wormtail will remain by my side and provide the care I will need until I
can fashion a body for myself. I would rather it be done sooner rather
than later, but it must wait for now. I hope to use the summer solstice to
my advantage. I will need some ingredients fetched for me closer to the
time. Wormtail will be responsible for that."
"And then?" Barty pressed.
"Then we gather our allies, Barty," the Dark Lord declared. "When I make
my return, it will be triumphant, and in a way that does not arouse
suspicion until it is too late for our enemies to act. Now, however, I must
rest. Leave me and do as I have asked of you."
"Of course, My Lord," Barty and Lucius replied, offering a final bow
before exiting the shack Voldemort currently resided in.
"Some would think you are stalling, Lucius," the former commented.
"Nonsense," he replied dismissively, "I merely wish for there to be no
mistakes. He is our Lord, Barty, but he made an error of judgement the
night he went after the Potters. If we are to be successful, we must be
strong once more."
Reluctantly, Barty agreed with the man.
"And we will be, won't we?"
"Only if we are careful and meticulous," Lucius said firmly. "We cannot
afford to make mistakes, and we cannot rush. To do so would be foolish,
and forgiveness is not something we can expect if we fail."
With his parting words given, Lucius activated a portkey, and Barty
stared at the spot the man had been standing in.
Perhaps Lucius was right.
Were it Barty's plan that was being followed, they would indeed use the
tournament to their advantage, and Potter would be killed at the earliest
convenience.
However, the Dark Lord was adamant the boy be left alone for the time
being so that he may learn more about him.
It was a clever strategy, though one that would not yield the results he
desired so quickly.
Perhaps Barty was impatient after so long as nothing but a prisoner, and
for the first time since they had been reacquainted, he was grateful for
Lucius's guile.
It would certainly serve their Lord better than a bold plan that could
draw attention to them.
Still, all remained to be seen, but Barty had no doubt that life was once
more becoming rather interesting.
Soon enough, the Dark Lord would rise once again, and Britain would be
gripped by fear, and the filth of society would not rest peacefully,
knowing that the threat that once hung over them was back with a
vengeance.
(Break)
Having spent much of his first weekend here exploring the castle, Harry
had decided that he had taken enough of a break from his education.
Although Professor Karkaroff had held classes on the ship, he was no
substitute for experts in the fields of study Harry had opted to take.
He was looking forward to sampling the schooling Hogwarts had to offer,
and first on his list was a fourth year Transfiguration class under the
tutelage of Minerva McGonagall.
The woman was as respected as they came in her area of expertise, her
contributions to the subject being held in high regard.
Even Harry's own professor at Durmstrang had mentioned the woman
many times over the past few years, so Harry was quite keen to see for
himself her revered brilliance.
Arriving at the classroom, he found that it was already full of students in
black robes trimmed in either the red of Gryffindor, or the green and
silver of Slytherin, his presence being noted immediately by all.
"Might I assume that you wish to join my lesson, Mr Potter?" an aged
witch questioned.
She had a stern appearance about her, the green eyes behind her
spectacles as hard as her voice, and greying hair held in a tight bun.
"If I would not be intruding, Professor," Harry replied respectfully.
The woman eyed him speculatively for a moment, seemingly searching
for something before she nodded.
"You are most welcome," she replied. "There is a seat available next to
Miss Granger," she added, gesturing towards a bushy-haired girl seated at
the front.
"Thank you," Harry returned, taking the offered seat next to the girl who
made some space for him.
"Today, we will be continuing with our work in animate to inanimate
transfigurations," McGonagall explained. "During our last lesson, I had
you changing a hedgehog into a pin cushion. This time, we will be
attempting to change a chicken into a belt, like so."
With a wave of her wand, she transfigured one of a dozen or so chickens
in a crate on her desk into a belt seemingly with no effort on her part.
It was not an easy transfiguration to complete, and yet, the woman had
done it with ease.
"Can anyone explain why this transfiguration is considerably more
challenging than the last?" McGonagall questioned.
The girl seated next to Harry immediately raised her hand, and Harry
followed suit.
No other seemed to be willing to offer their thoughts, and the Professor
nodded towards Harry.
"Because when transfiguring a hedgehog into a pin cushion the focus is
solely on the organic changes of the material you are working with," he
explained. "A pincushion is rather subjective when it comes to size, and
the shape is not dissimilar to that of the original project. Changing a
chicken into a belt means that you have to focus on both aspects of the
transfiguration simultaneously or your attempt will fail."
McGonagall nodded approvingly.
"Take five points for Gryff…"
She broke off suddenly and shook her head.
"My apologies," she offered. "An articulate answer, Mr Potter. You are
correct. When attempting this transfiguration, you must remember to
focus on all components of it. You will have the rest of the lesson to
practice, and if you do need any further assistance, I will be at hand.
Come up and fetch your chickens."
Harry followed the rest of the students, pausing as one of the boys in
Gryffindor robes reached out a hand to unlatch the catch.
As expected, the chickens burst out of the door, sending the boy
sprawling before spreading throughout the room.
"I should have known better," McGonagall sighed, shaking her head. "Get
up, Mr Finnegan."
Harry snorted amusedly as he drew his wand and waved it in a sweeping
motion.
The scattered chickens fell still, collapsing to the ground as though they
were puppets that had their strings cut.
"Thank you, Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall said gratefully as the other
students began whispering amongst themselves.
Harry merely offered the woman a smile before picking up one of the
birds and returning to his desk.
"What was the spell you used?" the bushy-haired girl asked as she joined
him.
"Just a localised freezing charm," Harry explained. "I didn't cast it strong
enough to affect the people in the room, but chickens have no magical
defence against it."
"That is impressive," the girl mused aloud.
Harry shrugged.
"We had a similar incident in one of our lessons," he chuckled. "Instead of
chickens, we had doves flying around the room. It seemed like a handy
charm to know."
The girl nodded.
"That was brilliant!" a redhead seated behind them commented. "Nice
one, Harry."
"I'm sorry, I don't think I know your name."
"Ron Weasley," the boy introduced himself, offering his hand.
Harry accepted it and offered the boy a polite nod.
"This is Dean Thomas," Ron continued, pointing to a dark-skinned boy,
"Seamus Finnegan, and Neville Longbottom," he finished, gesturing to the
other Gryffindor boys.
Harry knew the Longbottom name, and Neville could only be the son of
Frank and Alice, the aurors that had been severely tortured by Bellatrix,
her husband, and his brother.
"It's nice to meet you all," he said politely. "What about you?" he added to
the girl.
"Hermione Granger," she answered.
Granger was not a magical name as far as Harry was aware, and judging
by the tweed scarf she sported, she was in fact a muggleborn.
Harry had met so few of them throughout his life, not that her blood
status mattered to him, but it did to others in the room.
His gaze flickered to Malfoy and his ilk, most looking at him
disapprovingly.
The blond and his cohorts would look to cause trouble soon enough, and
Harry was waiting for the moment they did.
"Well, it is nice to meet you as well, Hermione."
The girl offered him a brilliant smile.
"What's it like at Durmstrang?" she asked curiously.
"Different," Harry answered simply. "I'm sorry, but the school is very
protective of almost everything and there is very little I can tell you."
"What can you tell us?" Neville broke in.
"It's cold," Harry replied amusedly. "Very cold."
Neville grinned, but the others seemed to be disappointed with the
answer.
Still, it was the only one they would be getting.
"Well, you obviously study Transfiguration," Hermione deduced.
"Among many other subjects," Harry confirmed.
"What about the Dark Arts?" Ron questioned.
"I can neither deny nor confirm it," Harry answered, "in the same way I
cannot deny or confirm that we have an amazing ice-cream making
class."
"Do you really?" Seamus asked excitedly.
"We might do," Harry returned with a wink.
His rather ridiculous answer served to momentarily distract the others
from asking questions, and he took the opportunity to shift his focus to
the task at hand.
After a moment of eying the chicken, he took aim with his wand and
transfigured it into a replica of the very belt he was wearing.
"How did you do that?" Ron gasped.
"Transfiguration is one of my better subjects," Harry replied.
Hermione made the next attempt, almost replicating Harry's feat, though
her belt still had a beak at one end and a few feathers.
"Try it again," Harry urged.
She managed the transfiguration this time and beamed proudly.
"Not bad at all," Harry praised. "That's a tricky one to get."
"You did it first time," Hermione pointed out.
"I've been able to do that one for a while," Harry admitted quietly.
Hermione eyed him curiously, but any further conversation was
interrupted by the arrival of Professor McGonagall who nodded,
impressed by their efforts.
"Excellent work," she praised. "That will be five points for Gryffindor,
Miss Granger. Do you have a reward system, Mr Potter?"
"Not as such," Harry answered cryptically. "If we do well enough in class,
we don't have to be beaten in the evenings."
McGonagall gasped and Harry chuckled.
"Does Durmstrang really have that bad a reputation that you would
believe that, Professor?"
The woman shook her head.
"When a place is shrouded in such mystery and rumours are spoken, it is
difficult to know what is real and what isn't. From what little is known
about the school, it would not surprise many to learn that students are
beaten there."
Harry snorted as he shook his head.
"Well, I'm sure Professor Karkaroff will not mind me confirming that we
are not beaten, not by the Professors, at least."
"I am glad to hear it," McGonagall replied, her already thick Scottish
accent only becoming more so. "That will do for today," she declared, her
gaze shifting towards the clock. "For those of you that didn't quite
manage the transfiguration today, we will work on it again next lesson.
Off you go."
"Are you coming to Herbology, Harry?" Hermione asked.
Harry shook his head.
"No, I don't study it," he explained, "and I was hoping to speak with
Professor McGonagall."
Hermione nodded her understanding and left with the others, the
Slytherins once more eying Harry speculatively as they took their leave.
He knew they hadn't the most pleasant of meetings when he'd arrived,
but he had not set out to offend any of them.
Still, he had not expected to make many friends amongst the snakes
given his own past.
"Is there something I can help you with, Mr Potter?" Professor
McGonagall questioned, pulling Harry from his thoughts.
"Actually, there is," he replied carefully. "I was hoping to discuss
something with you, and maybe get some advice."
"Of course," the woman replied as she took her seat behind the desk and
gestured for Harry to take the one opposite.
"Well, I know that you are a registered Animagus…"
"Is that something you are interested in pursuing?"
Harry nodded, his eyes sweeping around the room to ensure they were
not being eavesdropped on.
"I began the process almost two years ago, but I am stuck."
McGonagall's eyebrows rose significantly at the revelation.
"Who has been supervising you?"
"I may have started doing it on my own."
McGonagall shook her head.
"It is a very dangerous undertaking, Mr Potter," she said sternly, "and
pursuing it alone is something that I wouldn't advise even the most
accomplished of practitioners. You are fortunate that you have not cause
yourself irreparable harm."
"I've been careful," Harry assured the irate woman. "That is why I haven't
pushed too far and am discussing it with you."
McGonagall pursed her lips.
"How far into the process are you?"
Harry held up his right hand, and with a little effort on his part, it
transformed into a large paw coated with thick, dark fur.
Once more, Professor McGonagall was taken aback and stood to inspect
his work.
"The fact that you have already achieved this is rather astounding," she
whispered. "Might I assume that you know what your form is?"
Harry nodded.
"I do," he confirmed, "but I find it difficult overcoming the barrier of
allowing it to consume me. I'm afraid that I may harm someone if I
cannot seize control of the animal."
Minerva nodded her understanding.
"What does it feel like?"
Harry swallowed deeply as he cast his mind back to the many times he
had felt the presence of the other side of himself.
"Angry," he whispered. "It wants to protect those I care for and has no
reluctance to do so by any means necessary. It wants the blood of my
enemies, and to tear them apart."
"A predator then," McGonagall replied, swallowing deeply. "Well, Mr
Potter, I cannot say that I am pleased you chose to pursue this in such a
way, but as an educator and seeing that you have handled this somewhat
responsibly, I am willing to assist you."
"Really?"
McGonagall nodded firmly.
"On the condition that you follow my guidance, and only attempt any
sort of transformation under my supervision. I expect that by the end of
your time here, you will be able to manage it."
"Agreed," Harry replied immediately.
"Excellent," McGonagall declared. "We will meet twice a week in the
evenings. I will inform you of the times when I have had time to arrange
my diary."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said gratefully as he stood and made his
way towards the door.
He paused as the woman spoke again.
"You really do remind me of your father," she said wistfully. "He was
perhaps the most brilliant and frustrating student I had the pleasure of
teaching. You look just like him, but you have your mother's eyes, Mr
Potter. I cannot express how saddened I was to hear of what happened to
them, but I have no doubt that they would be very proud of you."
Harry turned to look at the woman and was surprised to see a tear rolling
down her cheek.
"Maybe we can find some time and you can tell me all about them,"
Harry suggested. "I don't know much, and it would be nice to hear more."
Professor McGonagall nodded.
"I would be honoured to share what I know with you, Harry."
He offered the woman a sincere smile before leaving the room, pleased
that he would be getting the help that he needed, and equally so that he
would learn more of his parents.
It wasn't as though Cassiopeia had refused to discuss them with him, the
woman simply knew nothing about James and Lily Potter.
(Break)
It was a rather confused Sirius that made his way back towards the cave
in Hogsmeade he had spent much of the previous year residing in.
Having received a note from Remus at the beginning of the summer
break informing him that he had failed to capture Pettigrew, but that he
believed Sirius was telling the truth, the former Azkaban inmate had seen
no reason to stay so far north.
Instead, he had made is way to London in the hopes of overhearing
something about Pettigrew's whereabouts, or news of Harry.
He had not heard even a whisper of his godson since his escape,
something that concerned him deeply.
This did not change during the weeks in the capital, and nothing was
mentioned about Wormtail, not even in the dreariest and disgusting of
establishments in Knockturn Alley.
Wherever the rat was hiding, he was seemingly doing so without
assistance.
Still, Sirius's journey had not been for nothing.
He had at least managed to take a wand from a drunk that had passed
out, and though it was a terrible match for him, it worked well enough
that he had been able to feed himself and even acquire some other much-
needed essentials from the muggle world.
Nonetheless, he remained at a loss as to what he would do next.
He had considered returning to his hated childhood home, but the mere
thought of doing so made him shudder.
No, Sirius would sooner be on the streets than at Grimmauld Place.
Seeing no reason to remain in London where auror patrols were most
prevalent, he had drifted from place to place, staying for no more than a
few days at a time whilst he pondered what his life had become and
where it was going.
Not well in either regard, he decided.
He had been a young man when he had been locked up, and though he
was not old, he felt it.
The cold that had seeped into him from his years in Azkaban had stayed
with him, and Sirius suspected he would never feel warmth again,
something that proved to be false.
Harry Potter Returns!
He had been in Liverpool when he had taken the edition of The Daily
Prophet, and had immediately made his way back north, his emotions
flitting between sheer joy and worry at learning something of Harry.
Sirius was pleased that the boy was seemingly doing well, but aghast that
he was attending Durmstrang, just as James and Lily would be if they
were here.
No, something was not right, but with no other information to hand,
Sirius could only wonder what had transpired for Harry to not be at
Hogwarts.
That was why he had returned to Hogsmeade, the little village much
more pleasant without the presence of the Dementors.
Arriving at the hidden cave that had become something of a home, he
placed his bag in the corner, only to stiffen as he heard a familiar voice.
"Kreacher has been looking for you, nasty master."
It was then that Sirius had not stiffened from fear or shock, but because
the elf he despised had cast a spell on him.
"There is someone who wishes to speak with you," Kreacher continued,
the disdain he felt for Sirius evident in his voice.
Whoever it was would not likely be happy to see him, but as Sirius
wracked his brains for a clue on who it might be, Kreacher took hold of
his arm and the two of them vanished from the cave with Sirius cursing
himself for his laxity.
His next lungful of air was musty but was as familiar to him as the
intricately decorated floor he found himself lying face down on, and his
heart sunk into the pit of his stomach.
Whomever had brought him here did not do so with his best intentions in
mind, and as Sirius rolled onto his back, his thoughts were only
confirmed as he spotted an older woman looking down on him in a
mixture of anger and disappointment.
"Aunt Cassie?" Sirius gasped in disbelief.
Much to what had once been his relief, he had only met the woman on
two occasions when he was growing up, her mere presence having left
him with no doubt that her reputation would precede her.
Sirius remembered Bellatrix's wedding to Rodolphus and how even the
most ardent of purebloods in attendance avoided Cassiopeia Black.
The other time had been a family Christmas, and even then, the most
outspoken members of the family had kept their mouths firmly shut.
Sirius expected that his grandfather had invited her to the occasions just
for the effect she had on others, the very same Sirius felt washing over
him.
"If I wanted you dead, you would not be breathing now," the woman said
in barely above a whisper.
She was furious; of that, Sirius had no doubt.
"What do you want?" he managed to question.
"From you, I want nothing," Cassiopeia hissed, "but there is a boy out
there who deserves more people in his life that care about him."
Sirius frowned confusedly.
"Harry," he whispered.
Cassiopeia nodded.
"Mind, I do not expect he will be as welcoming as I have been," she
mused aloud. "Now, get up. You will not be setting eyes on my boy in
that state."
"Your boy?" Sirius pressed as he did as he was bid.
Cassiopeia's nostrils flared as her gaze bore into his.
"What did you think would happen to him?" she snapped. "When you
decided to be a reckless fool, did you not consider what would become of
Harry?"
Sirius shook his head.
He had not been thinking clearly then and had not for many years after.
"No, you didn't," Cassiopeia hissed. "I have raised him, taught him
everything he knows, so yes, Sirius, he is my boy."
"You?" Sirius snorted unwittingly. "Why would you raise him?"
Cassiopeia laughed as she stared at his clueless expression.
"And I thought that you may have intentionally done something quite
brilliant," she eventually replied. "Not to worry. You did what you did,
and Harry is all the better for it."
"What did I do?"
Cassiopeia's amused expression formed into a frown.
"Well, it seems as though we both have some explaining to do, doesn't
it?" she sighed, "but first, you will have a bath. Your stench is offensive,
and I will not have you in my presence in such a state. Kreacher!"
"Kreacher has already prepared a bath for filthy master," the elf explained
as he arrived.
"Excellent," Cassiopeia declared. "Now, off you go, and if you even
consider making a run for it, I will ensure that you will never meet your
godson, do you understand?"
Sirius could only nod as a bundle of robes was shoved into his arms by
Kreacher, wondering just how the day had taken such a turn, but more
so, what twisted series of events had seen Harry raised by one of the most
notorious women in recent history?
19. A Champion's Woes
A Champion's Woes
A/N
Onwards we go…
Quidditch was not something that Pansy had ever truly been interested in
but having been all but dragged to every one of the house games since
the beginning of Hogwarts, she had grown accustomed to watching it.
However, although she found little enjoyment in the sport, she could not
help but be in a state of awe as she watched Harry and Viktor Krum
competing for the Snitch, their reckless and seemingly death-defying
antics eliciting gasps and looks of concern from all that had ventured out
to watch them train.
"It's not that impressive," Draco sighed airily. "They just both have good
brooms."
Pansy rolled her eyes at the boy, and even the rest of their housemates
shot him looks of irritation.
Those who knew the sport well could not deny that the display was
impressive, even if Pansy detested being rudely awakened at the crack of
dawn to see it.
"Why don't you challenge them, Draco?" Blaise suggested. "Show them
what a real seeker can do."
Draco snorted.
"It would hardly be a fair competition," he declared. "Both have a Firebolt
and I still only have a Nimbus 2001. Father has promised me the
upgrade, but the waiting list is impossibly long and not even the Malfoy
name can change that."
Blaise smirked at the blonde.
"Well, with a flier of your calibre, I'm sure Krum or Potter would be
happy to loan you theirs to face the other," he pressed.
Draco shook his head.
"And risk them placing a curse on it? I do not think so."
Pansy and the others knew that Draco was attempting to save face whilst
posturing in his typical way, but as ever, none commented on it further
than Blaise dared.
They feared the Malfoy name, and with good reason.
Draco would one day be the Lord of the prominent family, and he was
certainly petty enough to bear a childhood grudge or slight against him.
It meant that he was all but untouchable at school.
Too many were already attempting to curry favour with the boy for the
future, and others would simply defend him to protect their family
interests that were already in place.
It was frustrating to say the least, and even Pansy had her part to play in
the farce.
She was pulled from her thoughts at the sight of Harry and Krum diving
vertically towards the ground, and she gasped, placing a hand over her
mouth.
Before the expected collision with the ground came, however, both
managed to pull out of the dive, and Pansy relaxed.
"Don't worry, your boyfriend is safe," Draco said scathingly, a twisted
smirk tugging at his lips.
Many of the others that heard the comment laughed, and Pansy released
a deep sigh.
"Harry is not my boyfriend," she reiterated for what felt like the
hundredth time. "We are friends and have known each other since we
were small children."
Draco pointedly ignored her and Daphne raised an eyebrow in Pansy's
direction.
"So, nothing has ever…"
"No," Pansy said firmly. "Nothing has ever."
"But she wants it to, don't you, Parkinson?" Draco broke in with a sneer.
"Potter and Parkinson. It has quite the ring to it."
Pansy gritted her teeth in irritation.
There was nothing that would change how happy she was that Harry was
here, but she could do without the comments and speculation from her
housemates.
"Krum got it," Blaise announced, pointing towards the Bulgarian who was
holding the Snitch aloft.
"Of course, he did," Draco scoffed. "Potter didn't stand a chance. It makes
me wonder why Krum bothers with the half-blood."
The passing Viktor evidently heard what Draco had said and turned his
broom back towards the group of Slytherins and landed in front of them,
his typical scowl in place.
"Who said that?" he questioned, his thick, Bulgarian accent not masking
the irritation he felt.
"Draco here was wondering why you train with Potter," Blaise echoed
Malfoy's question. "He seems to think it is a waste of your time."
Krum's nostrils flared as he stepped closer.
"I train with Harry because he has proven to be the best flier I have ever
flown against," he declared proudly, "and for your information, he is the
only person to have ever beaten me to the Snitch."
Draco was lost for words, but the other Slytherins murmured interestedly
at the revelation.
"Did he really?" Blaise asked.
Krum nodded.
"We both ended up in the medical bay with some broken bones, but he
got it before I could, and I have no shame in admitting I gave it my best."
"Impressive," Blaise murmured, eliciting a nod from several others.
Krum nodded before turning his attention back to Draco.
"Do you play?" he questioned.
"He's a seeker, just like you," Blaise answered before Draco could.
"Then you go against him and answer your question for yourself," Krum
urged.
Draco shook his head.
"I d-don't have my broom."
"You can use mine," Krum offered, shoving it into Draco's chest.
The boy had no choice but to accept it into his trembling hand, and
Viktor whistled to Harry who approached the group with a questioning
frown.
"Malfoy here believes he can beat you in a seeker's duel," Krum
explained.
"I d-did not say that!" the blonde denied.
"You heavily insinuated it," Krum pointed out. "Do you accept his
challenge, Harry?"
"Why not," Harry answered with a shrug.
"I've never flown a Firebolt before," Draco defended.
"Then get up there and get used to it, it's not much different from other
brooms, just faster," Krum explained. "Go on."
Reluctantly, Draco mounted the broom and kicked off from the ground,
the words of encouragement from the Slytherins following him.
Harry and Krum watched his progress, the latter murmuring in his native
tongue and Harry looking on as though he was bored.
Draco was a brilliant flier, one of the best at Hogwarts, but his display
seemed to be rather pathetic compared to what Pansy had seen from
Harry and Krum, and she was certainly no expert on the topic.
"ARE YOU READY, DRACO?" Krum called after around twenty minutes
had passed, using his wand pressed against his neck to make his voice
reverberate around the stadium.
Too proud to admit that he had been an idiot, Draco nodded and Harry
mounted his own broom, a hand on his shoulder from Krum halting him
before he could take to the sky.
The older boy spoke once more in Bulgarian, and though Pansy could not
understand a word he said, she doubted he was telling Harry to treat
Draco kindly, and Harry's expression of focus left her in no doubt as to
what would happen next.
Krum released the Snitch he was still holding into the sky, and for the
next several moments, Pansy looked on as Harry toyed with Malfoy who
had clearly bitten off more than he could chew.
Despite the mismatch, she had to give credit to her housemates who did
not stop cheering for the blonde, though Harry evidently tired of
whatever fun he was having quickly and caught the Snitch before Draco
had even noticed he was chasing it.
Both landed, and Harry merely handed the golden ball to Krum who
stared smugly at the furious Draco, his ego unable to admit that he had
been bested.
"You have been flying your broom longer than me!" he defended angrily.
"And if you were as good as you have made yourself out to be, that
wouldn't matter," Harry replied. "Give me a Nimbus 2000 and I would
still beat you."
Draco narrowed his eyes as his cheeks reddened, though he was
somewhat calmed by a hand on his shoulder from Cassius Warrington
who whispered a few words in his ear.
Harry snorted amusedly, offering Pansy a smile before he turned to leave
with Krum, but the former stilled as Warrington spoke his next words
louder.
"He's still the son of a mudblood whore," the seventh year declared.
Pansy felt her own anger pulse through her veins, but it was a sense of
dread that filled her as Harry turned, his expression unreadable as his
gaze burned into Warrington.
Even Krum appeared to be concerned as he tried to placate Harry, but he
would have none of it.
"I'm going to give you three seconds to draw your wand," he whispered
dangerously, flicking his own into his hand. "One, two…"
Warrington removed his at the count of two, but the gesture was for
naught.
Before any could comprehend what had happened, Cassius was writhing
on the ground, screaming in agony from whatever Harry had done to
him.
The boy had moved so quickly that Pansy had merely blinked and missed
the entire exchange.
The result, however, spoke for itself and as Warrington's screams ebbed
away into a quiet whimpering, she chanced a glance at her friend who
was transfixed on the rest of the Slytherins.
"I warned each and every one of you," he whispered. "If another word is
spoken of my mother, I will make this look like a tickle."
Even Pansy swallowed deeply at the declaration and watched as Harry
left with Viktor who was attempting to calm him down, for what good it
would do.
"Bloody hell, where does it hurt, Warrington?" Marcus Flint asked.
"Everywhere," Cassius groaned.
Pansy peered over her gathered housemates to get a look at the boy,
wincing as she caught sight of his grotesquely twisted arm and the burns
on his face.
What Harry had done, she could only guess, but she doubted that any
other of her housemates would provoke him in such a way again.
They were braggarts, and they could be dense at times, but none of them
were completely stupid, though Draco would likely somehow provoke
Harry's ire.
Still, maybe being taught such a lesson would do him good, but Pansy
doubted it.
Draco would always be his cruel self, and there was nothing that would
deter him from that, not when he believed that there was none that could
stand against the Malfoy name.
(Break)
Cassie watched as Gellert inspected the locket that Kreacher had given to
her. He twirled it about his fingers as he hummed interestedly,
murmuring words to himself that she couldn't hear.
When he was done Gellert closed his eyes and nodded before releasing a
deep breath.
"Despite the unpleasant nature of what he has created, it is an
exceptional piece of magic," he declared.
'So, it is a Horcrux?"
"It is," Gellert confirmed, "but that is not the most impressive thing about
this. No, what I have learned about the man is most interesting."
"What have you learned?" Cassiopeia pressed.
"We will get to that," Gellert said dismissively. "First, you need to
understand the magic it takes to create one of these."
"Sacrifice," Cassie replied.
"Yes," Gellert agreed, "but it is not as simple as merely sacrificing
someone. No, there must be a true desire to separate the soul, to keep it
safe. Only the most powerful emotion of self-preservation can create
that."
Cassiopeia frowned confusedly.
"Fear," Gellert informed her. "One must truly fear death for such a feat to
be accomplished in this way. Voldemort is terrified of death, and that
makes his Horcruxes all the more dangerous."
"More dangerous?"
Gellert hummed thoughtfully.
"His fear is so deep that even the separate piece of soul within the
container feels it. As such, it will take desperate actions to preserve itself.
The locket, for example, has the ability to feed off of ambient magic to
keep itself strong, but also the ability to unleash what I believe would be
a powerful attack on the mind."
"That is concerning," Cassie mused aloud.
"It is," Gellert agreed, "but it will only be effective on someone who has
either been in close proximity of it for an extended period time and has
become susceptible to the magic, or someone who is already weak-
minded."
"So, it will not affect us?"
Gellert shook his head.
"In the short term, no, but if it was in your possession for several years, it
could, and even take control of you."
"Merlin," Cassie whispered worriedly.
"Indeed," Gellert sighed, "but it is of no concern because you will destroy
it soon enough. However, we have not discussed the most curious thing
about it."
"Go on," Cassie urged, rolling her eyes at the smirk tugging at his lips.
"The magic that created this is not natural."
"Not natural?"
The grin Gellert wore did not shift as he leaned closer towards the bars of
his cell.
"Voldemort has artificially strengthened his magic."
Cassiopeia frowned deeply at the revelation.
"How?"
Gellert scratched his chin as he took a step back.
"I suspect he would have done so through a series of rituals, perhaps
using blood magic, or even other forms of sacrificial magic. It is a very
dangerous undertaking, and I cannot fathom why he would risk it. His
natural magic is one of the strongest I have felt, and to take such
measures could have been disastrous to say the least. A single error could
have left him a squib."
"Then why would he do it?"
"Power," Gellert answered. "His campaign relied on him being magically
strong enough to defeat any that would challenge him, but he must have
invested years into his practices. Albus said that Voldemort was the most
gifted student that has passed through Hogwarts during his tenure, and I
have no doubt the man remained dedicated to building his skill. To be
able to stand with Albus in any capacity is impressive to say the least,
and Voldemort did so on several occasions."
Reluctantly, Cassiopeia nodded.
"So, he is a very dangerous man," she said worriedly.
"As dangerous as he can be foolish," Gellert chuckled. "Albus, even now,
laments that men such as he and Voldemort rarely make mistakes, but
when they do, they tend to have much direr consequences. I believe that
Voldemort has proven that here, but I need to confirm it. Would you
happen to have anything Harry has created magically?"
Cassie's frown returned as her hand went immediately to the necklace
Harry had given her for her birthday only a month prior.
"He enchanted this with built in warming charms and some other things,"
she explained as she handed the pendant and gold chain to Gellert.
The man said nothing for several moments as he inspected it the same
way he had with the Horcrux.
"Do you have anything he made earlier?"
"This ring," Cassie replied, removing the piece of jewellery from her
finger. "He gave it to me for Christmas during his first-year t Durmstrang.
It lights up whenever he is writing to me. He connected it to a quill."
Gellert smiled as he took it and held it in his other hand.
"That is interesting," he declared after a moment, laughing to himself
amusedly.
"What is it?" Cassiopeia enquired.
"Well, when you gave me the Horcrux, I had my suspicions. That along
with the parseltongue ability Harry has already demonstrated led me to
believe that there is more to it than that, and these have confirmed it," he
informed her, handing back the ring and necklace.
"Confirmed what?"
"That Voldemort gave Harry more than just the parseltongue, much
more."
"Such as?" Cassie pressed.
"A part of his own magic, that goes without saying, but also the benefits
of whatever rituals he has carried out," Gellert explained. "The signs of
the very same enhancements are in the ring, but more prominent in the
necklace. It seems that the stronger Harry's own magic becomes with age,
the more it is absorbing of Voldemort's to further strengthen it, including
the magic of the rituals."
"Is that not dangerous?" Cassie asked worriedly.
Gellert shook his head.
"On the contrary, it is rather spectacular and beneficial," he assured her.
"Harry is benefiting from the rituals without the risk of undertaking
them."
"But it is Voldemort's magic," Cassie pointed out.
"No, it isn't," Gellert said firmly. "Harry's magic is very much his own. I
suspect that it is actively suppressing whatever of Voldemort's is within
him and allowing small amounts of it through at a time when it is able to
absorb it. Think of it as Harry's magic being drip-fed a concoction that is
benefitting him greatly."
"So, there is nothing to worry about?"
"No," Gellert replied immediately. "It truly is quite a wondrous thing that
will serve him well. I expect that when he reaches his majority, the
process will be complete, and Harry will be all the better and stronger for
it."
Cassiopeia nodded, though she was not entirely convinced nor pleased by
what she had learned.
She did not like the idea of Voldemort's magic being inside the boy.
"Can it be stopped?"
"No, and attempting to do so would likely kill him," Gellert sighed. "It
would be such a sudden change, and any weakness could allow for
Voldemort's own to truly take hold. As things are, this is the best-case
scenario for Harry. He will be fine, Cassie, better than fine if truth be
told. I would bet my life on it."
Although Cassiopeia did not like it, she would defer to Gellert on the
matter.
She had never met another who understood magic the way he did, and
she was grateful to have his expertise at her disposal.
"We wait and see then?"
Gellert nodded.
"We wait and see just what Harry will become," Gellert agreed excitedly.
"I have always expected much of him, but now, I truly expect an
excellence that even Albus will not believe. Now, how is life with your
new guest?"
Cassiopeia huffed irritably.
Sirius was eager to meet Harry, to speak with him to explain what had
happened the night Voldemort had murdered his parents, but Cassiopeia
had not even informed the boy that she had found his godfather.
It would be a lot for him to take in, and though she knew she would have
to do it soon, she wanted Harry to be ready in his own time and she
would not compromise on that.
Still, it would be Harry's choice how he handled the matter, but if Sirius
was expecting a warm welcome, the man had better think again.
(Break)
Barely a day went by that each of the group didn't receive a missive of
sorts from Harry. Sometimes, it was a letter that they could reply to, and
others were seemingly thoughts he had decided to share with them.
He even reminisced some of the memories they had shared together,
something that each of them appreciated receiving.
In truth, the dynamic of the group was not the same without him being
there, but they were making the best of it.
"There he goes again," Lucinda muttered irritably, nodding towards
Barkus who was once more attempting to assert himself over some of the
younger students.
"What do you think will happen this time?" Ana sighed as she looked on
intently, wondering what Harry had in store for the boy.
They had all pondered how Harry continuously thwarted Barkus from
afar. Ana had even written and asked him.
His approach had been rather genius, and though she did not know how
he had pulled it off, it was proving to be effective.
I broke into his dorm and placed several curses on his wand, his robes, and
even his underwear. Whenever he attempts to harm someone without cause,
the curses will react in a variety of ways.
Thus far, they had witnessed Barkus having his underwear pulled up and
over his head, his robes becoming transparent, and even being
backhanded by a nearby statue of a famous gypsy witch.
Still, the boy had not learned his lesson and continued to be a nuisance
around the school.
"I'm guessing he might shit his pants," Cain snorted.
Ana nodded thoughtfully
She certainly wouldn't put it past Harry to resort to such a measure,
though she hoped he wouldn't.
"Maybe he'll vomit uncontrollably," Jonas guessed with a shrug.
Both were proven to be incorrect.
As Barkus raised his wand to curse one of the second years, a ghostly fist
shot upwards from the ground below and collided with his groin.
The wand he held clattered to the ground as the boys that looked on
winced sympathetically.
"Shit, you know that had to hurt," Cain muttered, grimacing at the sight
of Barkus trembling and groaning on the ground.
"He deserves everything he gets," Lucinda replied with a giggle.
"What are you laughing at, you half-breed bitch?" one of Barkus's lackeys
demanded to know as he stalked towards the girl.
Lucinda merely raised an eyebrow in his direction.
The boy was around the same height, but thickly built, though the
vampire was not intimidated.
"I was laughing at the idiot making a fool of himself once again," Lucinda
replied somewhat demurely, her gaze sweeping up and down the boy as
though he was a piece of meat. "Do you have a problem with that?"
The boy clenched his jaw as he reached for his wand, only to be seized
around the throat and slammed into the nearby wall.
He whimpered as Lucinda lifted him with ease, baring her fangs as she
grinned at him.
"Now that was a rather silly move, wasn't it?" she whispered. "If I did not
think your blood was so worthless and weak, maybe I would consider
taking some," she added, licking her lips.
"You c-can't," the boy choked. "You'll be expelled."
Lucinda hummed.
"True," she conceded. "You're certainly not worth that, but if you ever
attempt to draw your wand on me again, I will take great pleasure in
tearing your limbs from your sockets. Do you understand?"
He nodded, and Lucinda threw him bodily down the corridor where he
skidded to a halt, his eyes widened in fear as she continued to glare at
him.
"I think Harry should be careful when he comes back," Cain deadpanned.
Lucinda snorted.
"I could have done that to him any time I wished over the years," she said
dismissively. "Maybe one day I will."
Without another word, she walked on towards their next lesson of the
day and Ana shook her head.
Each of them had their gifts.
As a half-elf, she was excellent with Charms, her earth elemental
abilities, and even esoteric magic that required an affinity with nature,
but the speed and strength of a vampire was something to behold. Add to
that the ability to wield magic as Lucinda could, she made for quite the
frightening prospect.
Ana was pleased and equally relieved that she and the girl were friends.
She certainly would not wish to be on the wrong side of her.
It seemed that only Harry had leave to goad her in any way he wished
without being subjected to such violent repercussions, though Ana often
felt he was dangerously close to pushing too far.
Still, Lucinda gave as good as she got with the boy and managed to
prevent herself from causing him any real harm, even if she threated to
cause it.
No one else would evidently be so lucky, just as Barkus's friend had just
found out.
Harry Potter was somehow an exception, and even though Ana would not
pretend to understand the plights of being a vampire, he should certainly
consider himself lucky.
(Break)
Professor McGonagall frowned as she felt the bones in Harry's hands to
ensure he had transformed them back to their natural state, humming to
herself as she did so.
The woman was not pleased how deeply Harry had gotten into the
process in his Animagus pursuits without supervision, but she was
impressed, even if she wouldn't admit it.
"I had a rather enlightening conversation with Professor Dumbledore
earlier," she said pointedly. "He did not go into detail but asked me to
keep an eye on a rather unpleasant situation between yourself and Mr
Warrington of Slytherin."
Harry nodded unabashedly.
"He got less than he deserved, as far as I'm concerned," he replied.
McGonagall pursed her lips.
"Might I assume that he said something unpleasant to you?"
"You might."
"And what was it that caused such a reaction?"
"He called my mother a mudblood whore."
McGonagall stiffened, her own expression becoming quite thunderous.
It took a moment to compose herself before she deflated.
"Unfortunately, as I am sure you have seen for yourself, there are those at
Hogwarts with rather strong views."
"It's no different to Durmstrang," Harry said dismissively. "If anything, it
is worse there."
McGonagall seemed surprised by the revelation but chose not to
comment on it.
"Regardless, I'd warned them already after Malfoy almost slipped up,"
Harry explained, "and I gave Warrington the opportunity to draw his
wand. I was just quicker."
McGonagall shook her head.
"Are you in any trouble?"
"Professor Karkaroff was proud of me," he snorted. "He even defended me
against that Potions professor who tried to make something of it."
"Professor Snape?"
"Big nosed, greasy bloke who looks as though he hasn't seen sunlight in a
decade? That's him. I thought him and Karkaroff were going to kill each
other, but Snape quickly changed his mind when he heard what
Warrington said. He became angrier," Harry added with a frown. "Last I
heard was that he went to the Hospital Wing and gave him detention for
the next two weeks, well, when he gets out."
"Professor Snape would not have liked what Warrington said,"
McGonagall sighed.
"Even if he was a Death Eater?"
"How do you know that?"
Harry shrugged.
"I make it my business to know who might be my enemies," he answered.
"It still doesn't explain why Snape would shift so quickly."
"Because Professor Snape and your mother were once friends, since
before they came to Hogwarts," McGonagall revealed. "Of course, with
your mother in Gryffindor and Professor Snape in Slytherin, their
friendship was doomed to fail."
"So, Snape became a Death Eater?"
"I do not believe it is that simple," McGonagall huffed. "I would not jump
to conclusions, but I must warn you, I would not expect any semblance of
friendliness from him. He and your father were bitter enemies, and
without wishing to speak ill of one of my colleagues, Professor Snape is
rather bitter and petty when it comes to James Potter."
Harry was surprised by the revelation.
"Why did they hate each other?" he asked.
McGonagall shrugged.
"Your mother, for one thing," she sighed. "Your father seemed to be
interested in her from the moment they met, and they seemed to compete
for her attention. It certainly didn't help that your father was a talented
wizard, popular with other students, and the best Quidditch player in the
school. Not that any of that impressed your mother," she finished with a
smirk.
"It didn't?"
McGonagall shook her head.
"No, your mother did not show any interest in your father until they were
in their sixth year when he had grown up considerably," she explained.
"It is quite understandable. Your father could be a real pain. Between him
and his three friends, they caused enough trouble around the castle to
last me an entire teaching career."
Harry chuckled at the expression of exasperation the woman wore.
"What sort of trouble?" he asked curiously.
"Oh, mostly harmless pranks and truancy, but it was so regular that I had
a permanent headache because of them. At least once a week I'd have
them in my office for something or other, and in detention even more
regularly."
Harry laughed once more.
He had always wondered where he'd gotten his own sense of mischief
from, and now he knew.
"I expect you yourself have caused more than your share of trouble, have
you not?"
"Me, Professor?" Harry asked, clutching his chest dramatically.
McGonagall hummed, a slight smirk tugging at her lips.
"It's like I said, you remind me of him very much, and not just because of
your appearance. Even now, I am reminding myself that it is not James
Potter sitting before me."
"But you liked him?"
The woman smiled as she nodded.
"As frustrating as he was, he had a certain charm about him that you
seem to have inherited, and I can think of so few that I grew fond of in
all my time here."
Her words warmed Harry, and he too smiled at the lasting effect his
father had on the stern Transfiguration professor.
"What about my mother?"
McGonagall snorted amusedly.
"Your mother was very opinionated, stubborn, and strong-willed, but was
also one of the kindest and sweetest people you could ever hope to meet.
She was talented too. She adored Charms and Potions just as much as
your father did Transfiguration. I have no doubt that both of them would
be very proud of you."
"I hope so," Harry murmured. "Thank you, Professor, for speaking about
them with me."
McGonagall smiled once more.
"I have dozens of stories to tell, Harry, and we have the rest of the year to
share them. I would, however, urge you to speak to Professor Flitwick
also. He knew your mother better than any here."
"I will," Harry assured her.
"And do try not to make too many enemies," the woman sighed. "Not all
of the purebloods here are like Mr Malfoy or Mr Warrington."
"I know, I met Susan Bones and Terry Boot today during a Defence
lesson," he explained. "They were both polite and respectful. I suppose
when the others learn that I am to be the next Lord Black, their attitudes
will change, especially since many have gold from the family invested in
their businesses."
Professor McGonagall nodded her agreement.
"How did you find your Defence lesson with Professor Moody?"
"The man certainly knows his stuff," Harry praised. "All of the teaching
I've experienced here has been excellent. Durmstrang and Hogwarts are
certainly different, but brilliant in their own ways."
"Why did you choose Durmstrang?" McGonagall asked curiously.
"Because it was the best school to avoid my fame and to prepare me for
the uphill struggles I will face when I return," Harry answered honestly.
"So, you intend on returning?"
Harry nodded.
"It may not feel like it, but Britain is my home, and I have my
responsibilities here," he explained. "Maybe I won't live here, but I will
need to be intimately familiar with it. I will hold two prominent seats on
the Wizengamot, and as I said to Cornelius Fudge when I met him, things
will be different. I cannot sit idly by whilst scumbags like Malfoy and his
ilk get away with everything they have done."
"You will make some powerful enemies," McGonagall sighed.
"Or is it that they will have a powerful enemy that will never bow down
to them regardless of what they do?"
McGonagall shook her head.
"Well, life on the Wizengamot will certainly be interesting. I hope that
Professor Dumbledore is ready for it."
"I expect he will be," Harry chuckled. "I don't plan on arriving quietly and
hiding in the shadows. I will certainly make my mark when the day
comes for me to return."
McGonagall released a deep breath.
"Spoken just like your father's son," she sighed. "Just be careful, Harry. I
would not wish to see you meet the same end your parents did."
"I won't," Harry assured her. "It will be the others that fall."
(Break)
Viktor could only shake his head as he exited the forest, his limbs feeling
like jelly and his mouth dry at the prospect of what he must face during
the first task.
Dragons.
Of all the things in the magical world, it had to be dragons.
Karkaroff had come to fetch him an hour ago, his expression always
having been rather grim, but somehow even more so as he led Viktor
through the thickets of trees to the large enclosure surrounded by the
burnt remains of trees.
There were three of them in all, one for each of the champions.
Did the others know?
Viktor shook his head as he neared the ship.
Of course they knew.
Well, Maxime would ensure Delacour did, at least.
Beauxbatons had not won a tournament for decades before it had been
banned and the headmistress would do whatever it took to not fall into
that habit.
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
Harry's voice pulled Viktor from his thoughts.
He was seated on the bow of the ship with the Slytherin girl he knew.
They could often be found there late in the evening, and though the other
Durmstrang students didn't like it, none of them would mention it to
Harry.
"Could be my own," Viktor snorted humourlessly.
"What is it?" Harry asked, switching to Bulgarian seamlessly.
He had made considerable effort to learn several languages since starting
at Durmstrang. Out of all the students that had come along, there was not
one he couldn't converse with.
"I know what the first task is," Viktor replied darkly. "It's Dragons!"
"Well, I was guessing you weren't going to be asked to oil up, wrestle the other
champions and then go for a shiatsu, and I wish I had not thought of that," he
added with a grimace. "Then again, I wouldn't mind seeing the French
champion oiled up."
Despite his maudlin mood, Viktor chuckled.
"I do not think your friend would like you saying that," he snorted.
Harry's gaze shifted to Pansy and he frowned.
"Am I missing something?" she asked confusedly.
"No, Viktor's just having a bit of a meltdown," Harry explained.
"Oh, well, I'll leave you to it," Pansy declared as she stood and wrapped
her arms around Harry. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Harry nodded, and the girl kissed him on the cheek before leaving,
looking back at him more than once as she did so.
What amused Viktor the most was that Harry seemed to be oblivious to
it.
"Are you really that dense?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" Harry returned with a frown.
Viktor couldn't be certain if he truly was so ignorant, or he was purposely
being difficult.
Unsure, he boarded the ship and took a seat a short distance away from
the younger boy.
"You know, there are a lot of girls back at Durmstrang that would be
quite jealous with how much time you spend with her," he chuckled,
nodding towards the direction Pansy left in.
"She's my friend," Harry replied simply.
Viktor raised an eyebrow in his direction.
Harry really was rather clueless.
The Bulgarian cursed under his breath in his native tongue.
"Do you not realise how many girls are interested in you?"
"Interested in me?"
Viktor shook his head in disbelief.
"Zabini for one," he pointed out. "She's always saying how much she
would like to date you."
"She does?"
Viktor grinned amusedly as he nodded.
"She's not the only one. I can think of at least another five or six."
"How do you know this and not me? No one has mentioned anything."
"Because you are always surrounded by the girls in your year," Viktor
explained. "No other girl has a chance to get near you. Everyone just
assumes you're dating one of them."
"But I'm not," Harry defended.
Viktor held his hands up placatingly.
"It's just what everyone thinks. That's why they don't say anything," he
sighed.
Harry hummed as he dragged a hand through his hair.
"Bloody hell," he muttered. "Anyway, we have more important things to
focus on. What are you going to do about the dragon?"
"I don't know," Viktor murmured. "Any ideas?"
Harry shrugged.
"You're the champion."
"Harry," Krum huffed.
Much to Viktor's relief, Harry took pity on him.
"Well, you have to consider what they are going to want you to do," he
began. "I highly doubt they want you to fight a dragon."
"Wouldn't they?"
"Of course not, you idiot," Harry chuckled. "You'd be roasted alive. No, I
would think the dragon is just an obstacle for you to overcome, and if
that is the case, then there must be something you need to reach."
"So, I just need to find a way to get around a dragon. Sounds fun," Viktor
snorted.
Still, he was pleased that he wouldn't have to fight one, and he felt
foolish for having believed that would be the task.
"The question is," Harry continued, "what is the end goal, and how will
you distract the dragon enough to reach it?"
Viktor could only shake his head.
"What are a dragon's weaknesses?"
"The eyes," Harry answered, "but I can't imagine they would want you to
harm it. Dragons are protected creatures."
"That won't stop it harming me," Viktor pointed out.
"That's true," Harry replied with a smirk, eliciting a scowl from Viktor.
The boy was enjoying this too much for his liking.
"What would you do?" the Bulgarian questioned.
"I wouldn't have submitted my name to begin with," Harry sighed, "but,
you should use something you are already good at. Don't try to do
anything ridiculous, fancy, or new."
"Play to my strengths?"
Harry nodded.
"And also learn as much as you can about what species of dragon you
may face. They're not all the same."
Viktor deflated as he nodded.
"Thanks," he offered sincerely. "I thought they would want me to fight
one."
Once more, Harry grinned, but this time he leaned in.
"Just of interest, where are they keeping the dragons?"
"In the forest," Viktor replied with a frown, his eyes widening as he
realised just who he had revealed that information to. "Why, what are
you planning?"
"Nothing," Harry said innocently as he headed towards the door leading
to the galley. "I might just want to have a look."
The boy was insane, but Viktor had known that for years now.
Only Harry would actively seek out a trio of dragons.
He probably believed he could befriend them.
Viktor shook his head at the thought of his friend with three dragons at
his behest.
"Merlin help us," he muttered, the vision proving to be rather unsettling.
Pushing them aside, his focus shifted once more to what he would soon
face, and he groaned as he laced his head in his hands.
What had he gotten himself in for?
For the first time since he had submitted his name, Viktor was beginning
to wish he hadn't.
20. Dancing With Dragons
Dancing with Dragons
It was with a frown that Harry made his way to the Hogwarts library,
having no doubt that was where he would find Viktor. He had been
spending considerable time here recently, researching for the first task.
Entering, Harry was met with the stern glare of the woman who was in
charge; one he had been warned not to get on the wrong side of if he
didn't wish to be stalked amongst the stacks whenever he came here.
Madame Pince was no different to the miserable spinster who worked in
the Durmstrang library, both running their establishments with an iron
fist.
Perhaps all librarians were the same?
Harry shook his head of the distracting thought.
It was not Madame Pince he had come to see.
Hearing Viktor's muttering voice a short distance away, he peered around
the corner to find the Bulgarian in conversation with a familiar girl, the
two of them leaning over a table, their heads almost touching as they
poured over a large tome.
"Well, isn't this cosy?" Harry snorted as he rounded the corner, startling
the duo.
Viktor scowled at him whilst Hermione blushed and began stammering a
poor excuse of sorts.
Harry waved her off and took a seat, ignoring the irritated look Viktor
sent his way.
"So, how did it go?" Harry pressed.
Viktor shrugged.
"My wand is fine," he replied.
"I wouldn't go that far," Harry returned, his gaze shifting to the shorter
and thicker than average wand on the table. "I always thought it was
unsightly."
"I like my wand," Viktor defended.
"And that's all that matters," Harry cooed, patting him on the cheek.
Viktor brushed his hand away as he grinned.
"What's funny?" Harry asked.
"Just that you have another fan."
"A fan?"
"Well, a journalist that is very interested in speaking with you. She seems
to be quite determined."
Harry released a deep sigh as he shook his head.
"It would be in her best interest to not attempt it," he murmured irritably.
"I've been taught how to handle journalists."
"You should be careful of this one," Hermione urged. "Her name is Rita
Skeeter, and she is a nasty woman. If she doesn't get what she wants from
you, she will just make it up."
"Oh, I hope she does," Harry declared. "I will bury the woman in so many
legal problems that she won't have the time to scratch her arse, let alone
another article."
Viktor laughed approvingly but Hermione did not seem to be convinced.
"She's a ghastly woman, Harry, and even the Minister hasn't been able to
stop her writing about him," she explained.
"I am not the Minister," Harry pointed out. "I am not bound by any
professional courtesies nor do I care about what she thinks she might be
able to do with me. If she attempts to write anything untoward about me,
I will ruin what remains of her life."
Viktor nodded his agreement.
"Anyway, what are you two doing in here, huddled up in your little
secretive corner?" Harry asked, changing the subject.
"We are not huddled!" Hermione huffed, "but I do need to get class. I'll
see you later, Viktor."
"Wait," Harry requested, taking the girl by the arm. "I have a gift for you."
"A gift," Hermione asked suspiciously as Viktor rolled his eyes.
Harry nodded as he removed something from his pocket and offered it to
the girl.
"It's a seed," she acknowledged with a frown.
"It is," Harry agreed, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Just watch."
Hermione's eyes widened as it began to sprout, growing until the head of
the rose curled open.
"How did you do that?" Hermione whispered as she accepted the flower.
"Magic," Harry answered with a wink. "Enjoy the rest of your day,
Hermione."
The girl nodded and took her leave of the library.
"Show off," Viktor snorted amusedly.
"I felt like doing something nice for her," Harry replied with a shrug. "She
doesn't have many friends here."
"I know," Viktor sighed. "She prefers the company of books."
"Is that how the two of you met?"
The Bulgarian nodded.
"I was researching dragons, and she just sat down and started talking
about them with me. She's a smart girl."
"She is," Harry agreed. "Are you…?"
Viktor frowned questioningly before shaking his head.
"No," he said firmly. "She's only fourteen. It's just nice having someone
else to talk to."
"Viktor, there are hundreds of people here," Harry pointed out.
"Who only want to talk about Quidditch," Viktor muttered. "She hasn't
mentioned it once. It's nice being treated normally."
"I get it," Harry sympathised clapping the older boy on the shoulder. "I'm
happy for you, and for her. Just be careful. If that journalist is as bad as
Hermione says, she might try and spin this as something it isn't."
"I will be," Viktor promised. "Even if she does write anything, I'm sure
you wouldn't mind helping me out. This is your home country, after all."
Harry nodded.
"Of course," he promised. "I won't have a bad word said against you."
"Thanks, Harry," Viktor replied gratefully.
"You'd do the same," Harry chuckled as he stood. "Anyway, I just wanted
to see how the wand ceremony went. I'll leave you to it, but if you need
anything, let me know. Not that I think you will, not with the lovely Miss
Graner offering you her assistance."
"Piss off," Viktor returned with a scowl, aiming a punch at Harry's arm.
The younger boy danced out of the way of it with a hearty laughed and
offered the Bulgarian a wave before heading towards the exit, pausing as
he heard a crash and someone cursing under their breath.
Passing one of the aisles dedicated to the works pertaining to magical
creatures, he spotted the French champion scrambling to gather the
books she had dropped.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the ever-vigilant Madame Pince
stalking towards the disturbance.
Thinking quickly, Harry drew his wand, and with a wave, the books that
were on the ground were returned to the shelf, nothing seemingly amiss
as the librarian appeared at the other end of the row.
"What was that?" the woman demanded sharply.
Before the startled French girl could answer, Harry spoke, eliciting a
frown from her.
"My apologies, Madame Pince, I wasn't looking where I was going and
almost walked into the young lady here. No harm done."
The librarian's gaze swept across the shelves, looking for anything that
may have been damaged, but with nothing evident, she narrowed her
eyes at Harry.
"Then you should be more careful in the future," she huffed before
turning and stomping away from the duo.
"Have a nice day, Madame," Harry called. "Miserable cow," he added in a
mutter before turning towards the blonde who was eying him curiously.
"What was that?" she questioned cautiously.
"Are you not familiar with Madame Pince?"
"Non," the girl answered.
"If she would have caught you with those books on the floor, you
wouldn't be allowed back in here."
"You sound as though you are speaking from experience."
"Not me, but I've seen her reduce a first year to tears," Harry explained.
The French girl raised a delicate brow in his direction.
"Well, then I should thank you, but I do not scare so easily."
"No, I wouldn't think you do," Harry replied, nodding to the books she
held, all of them depicting one topic.
She held them protectively to her chest as she swallowed deeply.
"You know?"
Harry shrugged.
"Cheating is a traditional part of the tournament, isn't it?"
"I am not cheating," the girl hissed defensively.
Harry held his hands up placatingly.
"It's nothing to do with me," he snorted. "Viktor had made no secret of the
fact that he knows, and I expect Madame Maxime was the one to tell you,
as Karkaroff told him."
Delacour frowned at him suspiciously.
"What if she did?"
"I couldn't care less," Harry chuckled. "It would be stupid to go against a
dragon without being prepared. It's stupid enough doing it when you
are."
The French champion nodded her agreement.
"So, we all know?"
"I don't think Diggory does," Harry chuckled. "If he did, he wouldn't be
walking around with that stupid grin on his face, not unless he is an
expert dragon handler."
"Well, that is less competition for me," Delacour replied with a shrug.
Harry nodded his agreement.
"Anyway, I will wish you luck and leave you to your studies," he
declared. "That book there will have all the information you will need,"
he added, pointing to one of the tomes she held.
"Why would you help me?"
"I'm not," Harry responded with a smirk. "You already have what you
need, I'm only preventing you from wasting time. I cannot stand wasted
time, not when it can be used for more useful pursuits."
The girl actually smiled at him, an expression he had not seen on the
very few occasions he had seen her around the castle.
"Thank you, Harry Potter," she offered sincerely.
Harry offered her a bow.
"I wish you good fortune in the tournament," he said. "Of course, I will be
rooting for Viktor, but that doesn't mean I don't want to see you perform
admirably."
"I will win," Fleur declared firmly.
"Maybe you will," Harry said thoughtfully. "Regardless, I look forward to
seeing what you can do."
With that, Harry exited the library.
The French girl was interesting, a veela judging by the passive magic he
could feel radiating from her, not to mention the affect she had on most
of the other male students in the castle.
Not that such a thing mattered to Harry.
If anything, with how defensive and guarded she was, he suspected it
meant more to her than it did anyone else, other than the typical bigots,
something of which Hogwarts had its fair share of, just as Durmstrang
did.
(Break)
It was a sense of nervous excitement that filled Sirius as he paced the
hallway of Grimmauld Place, waiting for the moment the clock struck
midday.
He had not expected a response to his letter, nor had he thought for a
moment that Remus would accept his invitation to meet, but much to his
surprise, the werewolf had agreed to visit him.
"Come on," Sirius grumbled, urging the clock to chime.
He had been preparing himself all morning for what was to come,
assuring himself that his childhood friend would be as happy to see him
as Sirius would be to see Remus.
Or would he?
So much had happened since they had last been together, so many things
that Sirius would give his life for to change.
His thoughts were interrupted by the clock he had been pleading with to
announce the coming of the afternoon, and with it, the anticipation he
felt melted away leaving him feeling worried once more.
Nonetheless, he released a deep breath as he opened the front door just
enough so that he could look outside, where he was met by the sight of
the werewolf who had once been like a brother to him.
Remus was as pale as ever, sporting more scars than Sirius remembered,
and his formerly brown hair was liberally flecked with grey.
Still, there was no mistaking the man.
"Sirius," Remus greeted him warily with a stiff nod.
Sirius swallowed deeply as he opened the door to allow the man in, his
throat dry as he struggled to find some words with which to speak.
Before he could, however, Remus shook his head.
"I'm sorry, old friend, for Peter getting away."
Sirius waved him off.
"It doesn't matter. Peter will get what is coming to him eventually. It will
only be all the sweeter when it happens."
Remus nodded his agreement.
"Then I'm sorry for believing that you could ever…"
Sirius held up a hand to silence the man.
He did not wish to discuss his own foolishness which had led to the many
years he'd spent in Azkaban.
"It was my fault," he sighed. "I allowed my anger and heartbreak to cloud
my judgement. The only person who deserves any apology is Harry."
"How is he?" Remus asked.
Sirius shrugged.
"I don't know, I've not seen him."
"You've not seen him?"
"Cassie has not allowed it," Sirius grumbled. "I don't think she has even
told him I'm here yet. It's understandable really. He has spent his whole
life believing that it was me who was the cause of James and Lily dying.
It will take him time to adjust."
Remus offered him a sympathetic smile.
"I did hear he is at Durmstrang and doing rather well."
Sirius nodded.
"He is, but he is spending the year at Hogwarts because of the
tournament."
"The tournament?" Remus questioned with a frown.
"Have you not read the paper? It's all the prophet has been printing."
"I've been avoiding it," Remus murmured. "After what happened with
Peter…"
Sirius nodded his understanding.
"Well, they've reinstated the Tri-Wizard Tournament."
"And Harry is competing?" Remus gasped.
"No, he is there helping Viktor Krum with his Quidditch training."
"The Viktor Krum? The Bulgarian Seeker?"
Sirius snorted as he nodded.
"I know, I found it to be a surprise too, but apparently, Harry is just as
good as James ever was on a broom."
Remus smiled.
"James would like that, Lily, not so much."
Sirius chuckled.
"It was bad enough when I brought him his training broom, do you
remember?"
"I thought she was going to kill you," Remus laughed, both men falling
silent when the amusement had faded.
"It's good to see you, Moony," Sirius offered sincerely.
"You too," the werewolf returned. "Wait, do you think we could send
something to Harry?"
"Send him what?" Sirius asked with a frown.
"Well, when I was teaching last year, I came into possession of this," he
explained, removing a familiar piece of weathered parchment from
within his robes.
"Is that?..."
Remus nodded.
"The map," he confirmed. "I confiscated it from a couple of Weasleys who
had somehow gotten it. It's not doing me any good keeping it, but maybe
Harry can make use of it."
"From what Cassie has told me, he certainly would," Sirius sighed
whimsically. "According to her, Harry is quite the troublemaker."
"Does that really surprise you?"
Sirius shook his head.
"No, it doesn't," he replied with a grin. "Let's find Cassie and see if she
will pass it on."
With that, the two of them headed towards the study that the woman
spent much of her time when she was at the house, and Sirius knocked
on the door.
"Come in," the voice of his aunt called.
"Just let me talk," Sirius murmured as he pushed open the door.
Seated behind the desk surrounding by swathes of parchment was
Cassiopeia Black, one of the most notorious witches to come out of
Britain in recent history.
"What can I do for you, Sirius?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.
Sirius didn't know why, but there was always something about the
woman that unsettled him.
Perhaps it was the many stories he had heard about her when he was
growing up, or she just had a talent for putting people on edge.
Remus too was nervous in her presence, something she seemingly
enjoyed.
"I was hoping that you could pass something on to Harry for us," Sirius
explained, placing the piece of parchment on the desk.
"What is it?" Cassiopeia questioned, eying the map with distaste.
"Something we helped make when we were at Hogwarts," Sirius
explained. "Since James was a part of it, Harry should have it. It's a map
of the castle and grounds and identifies anyone who is in the castle with
their location. I'll show you."
Tapping the piece of parchment with the tip of his wand and muttering
the phrase he had done so countless times during their years at Hogwarts,
he watched as the familiar scrawl filled the front, and Cassiopeia picked
it up, humming thoughtfully.
"I must say, this is quite impressive," she declared. "How did you make
it?"
Sirius rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"More by accident than anything else," he admitted. "We were trying to
make a map, but it turned out better than we could hope."
Cassiopeia nodded as her eyes trailed over the parchment, sighing as she
placed it down and pointed to a section on it.
"He is talking to a girl in the library," she murmured. "A French one by
the looks of it."
"He's a ladies man," Sirius laughed, eliciting a scowl from his aunt.
"He is," she agreed. "Many of his friends are females who have more than
a passing interest in him. Not that he realises it yet, or if he does, he is
feigning ignorance. I'd rather he kept it, up if truth be told."
"Does he have many friends?" Sirius asked curiously.
Cassiopeia nodded.
"He does," she confirmed. "He's too kind for his own good at times, and
then that other side of him occasionally rears its head and reminds
everyone that his kindness is far from weakness. He is ruthless when
provoked, and fiercely protective of his friends, whether they are a witch,
wizard, or creature. He treats them all the same."
"A creature?" Sirius pressed.
"Harry has made friends with werewolves, vampires, and even a half-elf,"
Cassie explained somewhat proudly. "Such associations will do him no
good if they become known in the future, but he won't care. As he rightly
says, his enemies are plenty, so who cares if another few chooses to
become one of them."
Sirius could only shake his head as his gaze shifted to Remus.
The man wore a proud smile, and once more, Sirius was reminded of how
kind James could be.
It was him that had urged them all to become Animagi so that they could
help Remus during the nights of the full moon, and it had been James
who had guided them through the process.
He truly had been a marvel at transfiguration.
"So, will you pass it on?" Sirius questioned.
Cassiopeia released a deep sigh as she nodded.
"Write a note for him if you wish," she instructed. "I will speak with him
and explain that you are here, but it will be up to him what he wishes to
do with the information. I will not have him pressured into anything he
is not ready for."
Sirius readily agreed to the terms and took a seat to pen a letter to his
godson, pausing when he realised that he didn't know where to begin.
(Break)
It was with a trembling hand that Viktor removed the model from the
bag, the red scales of the dragon revealing just which of the creatures he
had seen in the forest he would be facing.
"The Chinese Fireball," Bagman announced.
Viktor released a deep breath as he eyed the number on the beasts' chest.
He would be going first, but even if he was to be last, he had no doubt
that his resolve would still be wavering.
Facing off with a dragon in any context was not advisable, especially a
nesting mother.
He shook his head of the many scenarios that had been plaguing his
mind; the potential for being horrifically burned, being bitten, or torn to
shreds by the claws.
Neither were desirable outcomes, and yet, Viktor faced the possibility of
each being inflicted upon him.
"Your name will be called shortly, Mr Krum," Bagman informed him
before he and the other judges left the tent.
The Bulgarian took another deep breath as his gaze shifted towards the
other champions.
Delacour was rather calm and collected.
She too knew what they were to face, but Diggory had paled
considerably, shock evident across his features as he trembled.
None had thought to tell him.
"VIKTOR KRUM!"
The bellowing of his name pulled him from his thoughts, and Viktor
headed towards the exit as he pondered just how he would tackle the
task before him.
Hermione had suggested that he summoned a broom and attempted to
outfly the dragon, an idea with merit, but one that posed too many risks.
Viktor had considered using Transfiguration as a distraction, and perhaps
he still would, but he did not relish the thought of approaching the nest
when the attention of the dragon could shift back towards him.
No, doing so would be an error on his part.
Still, he was not foolish to believe that he could incapacitate a dragon
singlehandedly, so his options were indeed rather limited.
Bracing himself and flicking his wand into his hand, he nodded.
His plan was risky, but it was the best chance he had to escaping with his
prize with his body intact.
There would be those that did not approve, but it was not them being
pitted against a behemoth that had every advantage over them
imaginable.
(Break)
Harry grimaced as he watched Viktor darting between the boulders,
taking aim with his wand and firing curse after curse towards the furious
dragon.
It was not the approach he would have chosen to take, but he understood
why Viktor had.
He could not afford to risk severe, let alone permanent injury whilst
competing in the tournament. Which only made Harry wonder why the
boy had entered?
Viktor was not likely to admit it, but Harry knew he wanted the world to
see that he was not just a Quidditch player, that despite his talent for the
sport, he was indeed a gifted wizard in his own right.
The dragon's roar as one of the spells hit its mark reverberated around
the stadium, and it began to thrash, just as Harry suspected it would.
The Conjunctivitis Curse was a deeply unpleasant spell to fall victim to,
even for a dragon.
Its eyes were the most vulnerable part of the creature, so it made sense
for Viktor to attack them. Evidently, however, the Bulgarian had not
considered the aftermath as deeply as he should have, and Harry could
only shake his head as the dragon crushed a few of her own eggs.
Despite this, Viktor managed to retrieve the golden one amongst the
clutch, suffering only what appeared to be minor burns to his face as the
dragon shot balls of flame in desperation.
With the egg tucked under his arm, Viktor took his leave of the stadium
to the sound of cheering and applause, and Harry followed suit, making
his way to where he had seen the erected medical tent.
Within it, he found a groaning Viktor as he was being attended to a
displeased Madame Pomfrey, yet despite the seared skin on his face, the
boy offered him a smile as he spotted Harry enter.
"I got it!" he declared happily.
"You did," Harry agreed.
"You do not agree with my method," Viktor sighed.
"I think you could have approached it differently," Harry mused aloud,
"but you did what you had to and I will not hold it against you. You have
more to lose than the others."
Viktor smiled gratefully.
"It's not as though I made it out unscathed," he snorted.
"No, but maybe the slight scarring it will leave will be a reminder of
sorts."
"A reminder of what?"
"That dragons should not be messed with."
Viktor laughed heartily as he nodded, and Madame Pomfrey covered the
orange ointment she had been smearing on his cheek with a bandage.
"It will need changing every day for the next week," the woman explained
firmly. "You may get your score," she added when Viktor nodded his
understanding.
"How do you think I did?" he asked as the duo exited the tent.
Harry shrugged.
"It depends on how the judges view your performance, approach, and
results. I imagine most will deduct a point or two for your method and
some of the eggs being damaged, but you can expect a high score from
Karkaroff."
Viktor rolled his eyes.
"I would rather be judged fairly."
"Karkaroff does not do fair, not when the reputation of the school is at
stake."
Viktor nodded his agreement.
They re-entered the stadium and the crowd began to cheer once more for
him, and though he attempted to smile, doing so was painful, the burns
he'd suffered having tightened the skin on his cheek.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WE WILL NOW REVEAL THE SCORE FOR MR
KRUM," Bagman announced. "REMEMBER, EACH CHAMPION WILL BE
SCORED ON THEIR PERFORMANCE OUT OF TEN."
Bagman began the proceedings by firing an 8 into the air, a fair score as
far as Viktor was concerned.
Crouch followed it with a seven, his judgement greeted with boos.
"He despises any magic that is deemed to be dark," Harry muttered.
Dumbledore was next, and the Hogwarts headmaster gave him an eight,
as did Madame Maxime who followed.
"I told you," Harry snorted as Karkaroff gave him a 10.
Viktor shook his head.
Harry's suspicions had indeed been correct, and though he did not
believe Viktor's performance had warranted a perfect score, he had not
comported himself poorly.
"Come on," he urged the Bulgarian, "Let's find a seat to watch the others."
Viktor nodded but scowled as he spotted a somewhat familiar figure on
the other side of the stadium.
"Isn't that your Aunt?" he questioned, pointing to where the woman was
seated.
Harry frowned. However, his mood lifted as he found Cassiopeia amongst
the crowd, her expression quite grim, but that did not prevent him from
smiling at her.
However, she gave him a subtle shake of the head as he began making
his way to her, insisting that he waited to do so for reasons known only
to her.
With his frown deepening, Harry took a seat next to Viktor just as Fleur
Delacour was announced as the next champion to complete the task.
"Well, at least you won't have another one to do until after Christmas,"
Harry chuckled, nodding towards the bandages.
"We still have the ball," Viktor sighed.
"What ball?"
The Bulgarian grinned at the younger boy, evidently knowing something
Harry didn't.
"The Yule Ball," he informed him. "It is held on Christmas Day as part of
the celebrations of the tournament. As a champion, I will have to open it
by dancing with my partner. I expect they will announce it soon."
"Your partner?"
Viktor nodded.
"You have to attend a ball with a date. That means you too, Potter."
"I'm not going," Harry scoffed.
"Oh, yes you are," Viktor countered. "Or are you too scared that you won't
be able to get a date?"
"Don't be stupid," Harry huffed. "I just don't want to go."
Viktor shook his head.
"You're not getting out of it," he said gleefully. "Karkaroff will make all of
us go."
Harry groaned as he placed his head in his hands.
"I'll just go alone then."
"No, that isn't how it works," Viktor chuckled. "You will find and escort a
date. The headmaster will insist."
"But we only brought four girls with us, and they're all with someone else
already."
"Then you'd best start thinking about options, Potter," Viktor snorted.
"What about you?" Harry returned with a frown.
"I'll ask Hermione."
Harry shook his head.
"Bloody hell," he grumbled. "Attending a ball was not part of the
agreement."
"Maybe I should have mentioned it before we came."
"No, I think I read about it somewhere, but I was focused on the tasks,"
Harry sighed as he leaned back in his chair. "Fine, if I have to go then I
will," he declared. "I'll bloody well show you up, you smug bastard."
"Is that so?" Viktor replied.
Harry nodded.
"You might be good on a broom, but I bet you're a terrible dancer."
"You will see," Viktor chuckled. "Just you worry about finding a date. I
suppose you will ask Pansy."
Harry nodded.
"I will," he confirmed. "This might just be easier than I thought."
Viktor scowled.
He had hoped Harry would be more perturbed about the ball than he
was.
Initially, he had been, but in his typical fashion, he was adapting to what
was likely something rather uncomfortable for him.
As far as Viktor knew, Harry had never even danced with a girl, but the
prospect of doing so was not bothering him now as much as the
Bulgarian had expected.
(Break)
The French contender's performance had been rather intriguing. The
charm she had used to send her dragon into a light slumber having
proven to be effective, though Cassiopeia found it to be a rather
lacklustre display.
Krum had at least made his task exciting, but the judges had seemingly
been impressed, other than Karkaroff.
The man had scored her a 6 whilst the other judges had given her a 9,
placing her above Viktor in the standings.
The Hogwarts champion had scored 38 overall, his performance the most
entertaining of the three, but he had certainly left the most injured.
The burns on his legs would take some healing.
Nonetheless, the task was not what Cassiopeia had travelled to Hogwarts
for.
No, she was merely using it as a distraction to speak with Harry; the
topic of which leaving her quite nervous to broach with the boy.
With the tasks complete, she gestured for him to join her, and she exited
the stadium where she then made her way to the treeline of the forest a
short distance away.
Harry joined her a moment later, his gaze questioning.
Seeing no reason to delay the inevitable revelation, Cassiopeia released a
deep breath.
"I found him," she said simply.
Harry's expression darkened and his nostrils flared the same way
Arcturus's did whenever he was angry.
"And?"
Cassiopeia sighed as she shook her head.
"I believe that he is innocent."
Harry merely nodded.
"He is innocent of selling them out, but he is not innocent of failing in his
duties."
"He is not," Cassiopeia agreed, "and whatever you decide to do is your
choice. I will not interfere in that, but as much as it irks me to admit it,
he seems to genuinely want to make it right with you. He asked me to
give you this."
Harry accepted the envelope and hesitated for a moment before opening
it.
Cassiopeia watched intently as he read the missive, having done so
herself as Sirius had finished penning it to the boy.
Dear Harry,
Where do I even begin?
From what Aunt Cassie has told me, an apology would mean little to you, but
I'm going to give it anyway.
I'm sorry for allowing my anger to cloud my judgement, for not prioritising
what James and Lily would have wished me to, and for leaving you when you
needed me most.
I am not asking for forgiveness because it is something I can never forgive
myself for, but I wish for us to have something meaningful, not because it is
what your parents would want, but because I remember the little boy that I
promised to protect with my life, the same little boy that broke Petunia's vase
with his training broom, and the same boy I held in my arms when his parents
asked me to be his godfather.
I know you won't remember this, but I do, and there has never been a time in
my life that I was happiest than when James and Lily asked me to be your
godfather.
For once, it felt that I had a true purpose, a reason to survive the war.
I never forgot that.
My years in Azkaban were awful, but it was knowing you were out there that
kept me going, that would not allow me to be broken.
I ask only for a chance to be a part of your life, in any way that you wish.
Sirius
P.S. The enclosed piece of parchment is something we worked on at school. I
imagine it will prove to be useful for you during your time at Hogwarts.
Simply tap it with your wand and say, 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no
good.'
When you are finished using it, tap it again and say, 'Mischief managed.'
Cassie watched as Harry stared interestedly at the worn parchment
before following the given instructions and smirked as his eyes widened
in wonder.
Her own frown, however, matched his own as it suddenly creased his
brow.
"Is this real?" he asked.
Cassiopeia nodded.
"He assures me that it still works as well as it did when they created it."
Harry hummed thoughtfully, placing a finger to his lips as he stepped
around her.
"Oh, you crafty bitch!" he exclaimed.
"Excuse me?" Cassiopeia snapped as she turned, her own anger surfacing
as she was greeted by the sight of a bespectacled woman forming in front
of her.
Immediately, her wand was in her hand, pointed at the pleading woman.
"It is not what you think!" she defended.
"It is exactly what I think!" Harry growled. "You were spying, Skeeter. I
suppose this would have made quite the scoop for you."
Cassiopeia was dumbfounded by what had occurred in the last half-
minute.
How had the woman gotten here?'
"She's an Animagus," Harry explained, his wand never leaving the
woman, "and an unregistered one at that. I wonder how many people
would be interested in learning that little piece of information? You have
made some rather powerful enemies, Miss Skeeter."
The woman was downright alarmed, and Cassie had to fight the urge to
murder her where she was.
"No, I can't go to Azkaban!" she whimpered.
"You know too much for me to let you go," Harry sighed. "It would be
easier for us if you simply vanished."
"NO!" Skeeter pleaded. "I can be useful to you. Please, don't kill me!"
Seeing the stadium beginning to empty, Harry seized the woman by the
scruff of her robes and dragged her into the forest so they would not be
seen together.
Cassie followed, pondering just what to do with the woman.
Harry was right.
Skeeter already knew too much.
"I can spy for you, get you information that they won't even print in the
prophet. I have a mountain of things already," the reporter tried.
"What things?" Cassiopeia interjected.
"Information on just about every Lord and Lady in the country, even the
key politicians."
"The Minister?"
Skeeter nodded.
"I will give you all of it, and I will keep my silence. Just don't kill me or
give me away."
Harry hummed thoughtfully.
"Alright, he agreed, "but you will provide the information, and you will
write nothing derogatory about me or the Blacks. Understood?"
Skeeter nodded readily.
"And you will also carry out any task that I see fit that suit your talent."
Once more, Skeeter nodded.
"That is the price of your life, for now," Harry continued, "but if you give
me any reason to, I will see that you vanish without a trace. Now, get out
of my sight."
Skeeter did not need telling twice, and she all but sprinted from the
forest, transforming back into her beetle form as she did so.
"Is that wise, Harry?" Cassie questioned worriedly.
"It is risky," he sighed, "but often we need to take risks. She could be
useful."
"Or she could go into hiding and print whatever she wants."
Harry shook his head as a grin tugged at his lips.
"I marked her whilst she was a beetle," he explained. "The only way she
can be rid of it is if I do it for her. She will not be able to hide from me."
Cassie grinned at the ingenuity of the boy.
She had indeed taught him well.
"And what about Sirius?"
Harry released a deep breath as he shrugged.
"I will meet with him when I am ready to do so," he decided. "I need time
to let this all sink in, but pass on my appreciation for the map. It will
certainly come in useful."
The grin he wore was full of mischief, and Cassiopeia could only imagine
what the boy would get up to with it in his possession.
Still, nothing she said would deter him.
He may love and respect her dearly, but even that was not enough to
prevent him from causing trouble.
It was in his blood to do so, and Cassie almost felt a modicum of
sympathy for those at Hogwarts.
With Harry on the loose and such an item at his disposal, she doubted
that anyone would be safe.
"Merlin," she murmured simply, shaking her head as the boys' grin only
widened.
21. The Yule Ball
The Yule Ball
A/N
Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter, FF has been playing
up for the past few days.
Happy Reading,
TBR
Fenrir says that times will soon be changing, that he can smell it in the air.
Fortune will soon favour us, my son, and soon, we will no longer be forced to
live in exile…
The ominous words his mother had penned to him had left Cain feeling
confused and concerned.
Things did not simply change for his kind, something he had accepted
long ago.
If truth be told, he did not want them to change.
Despite being looked down on by society, he was content with his lot in
life. He never went hungry, he had a roof over his head, and he was part
of the strongest pack in Europe.
Cain was safe, and he could ask for no more than that.
What these implied changes were, he knew not, and Cain found he
already did not care for them.
His gaze passed over the friends he had made whilst they ate their
breakfast, the notable absence of Harry being felt more than ever.
If he was here, Cain would speak with him.
Harry always knew what to say or do to make him feel better.
Nonetheless, he was still a werewolf, and the good of the pack would
always have to be priority.
He swallowed deeply as Summerbee offered him a smile.
"Something on your mind?" she asked.
Cain shook his head as he returned the gesture, his attention shifting to
each member of the group, and he realised something he had not even
considered until this very moment.
They too were his pack.
Along with the other werewolves he spent time with at Durmstrang, the
vampire, the half-elf, the disgraced pureblood, the son of the hag, and the
half-bloods were his pack.
He snorted lightly at his thoughts.
Even so, he may be the wolf among them, but the role of alpha was not
his to claim.
No, that honour belonged to Harry.
It was him that held them together, that looked out for them, that kept
them safe from the many threats around the school.
Even in his absence, he was ensuring they were not victimised for what
they were.
The boy would not appreciate Cain's observations, but they were
undeniable, as was the need to protect each of them that the werewolf
felt.
Whatever changes were on the horizon, they did not matter to him.
So long as his pack was safe and thriving, Cain could not find it in
himself to become excited or care for them.
(Break)
"That'll teach you for being a nosy little shit," Harry muttered as he shut
the door to the broom cupboard on Mrs Norris.
The cat had attempted to follow him as he explored the castle, something
he wouldn't have noticed unless he was consulting the map.
The caretaker's pet really was rather crafty.
With a snort of amusement, he removed his cloak from his pocket and
draped it over himself before checking the map once more, tracing the
path he had walked with his forefinger.
With Hogwarts being perhaps the most secure building in Britain, there
were a lot of secret entrances that could be used by those that knew of
them.
Harry had spent much of the past days investigating them and putting
the ones that were a serious risk out of commission.
He left the one that led to the basement of Honeydukes, casting several
detection charms and triggering charms should any other than himself
attempt to use it, but all the others his father and his friends had
discovered were no longer active.
If Wormtail did indeed attempt to enter the castle, he would find himself
trapped until Harry came to collect him.
The thought brought a grin to Harry's lips, though he frowned as he
remembered there was much that the Marauder's had not discovered,
including the Chamber of Secrets.
He knew that the entrance was located in a bathroom, and the fact that
Voldemort had possessed a girl to do his bidding a couple of years prior
would suggest it was in a girl's one.
Harry, however, had not searched them as yet.
Being found in one was not something he could explain away.
Still, he was determined to locate it, if only to ensure the monster within
the chamber posed no threat to the students here.
He may even find other useful things, though he doubted it.
What knowledge Tom Riddle had gathered throughout his life, Harry had
access to much of it, even if he did not always understand the
information he possessed.
With another shake of his head, he cleared the map and began asking his
way towards the dungeons.
Thus far, he had only attended one of the classes under Professor Snape,
and though he would rather avoid being in the man's company, Harry
could not neglect the subject for an entire year.
That simply would not do to begin with, but he had another reason be
there.
Stowing his cloak within robes along with the map, he reached the
entrance hall, his pace quickening as he spotted Pansy exiting the Great
Hall with some of her housemates, the group in deep conversation.
"Can I have a word?" he asked, startling her.
The girl offered him a bright smile as she nodded.
"I'll catch up," she said dismissively to her housemates.
They left, and Harry led the way into the courtyard where the rest of the
students were passing through to head to their respective lessons.
"What is it?" Pansy asked.
Harry released a deep sigh.
"Well, they announced the ball last night, and I was wondering if you
would go with me?"
Pansy's face fell, an expression of irritation and guilt marring her
features.
"I can't," she replied.
"Why not?"
"Because Draco already asked and I couldn't say no to him," she
explained. "You know how the politics here work. If I would have
snubbed him, it would have reflected badly on my family."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"I get it," he sighed. "It's fine."
"No, it isn't," Pansy countered, "but unless you're going to announce that
you will be the Lord Black, there's nothing that can be done."
"I won't be doing that yet," Harry muttered. "Honestly, it's okay."
Pansy scowled and shook her head.
"It's not like I want to go with him, and he doesn't want to go with me,
not really," she said heatedly.
"Then why did he ask?"
"To piss you off, Harry," Pansy grumbled. "He asked as soon as the
announcement was made. If he wasn't so petty, he would have asked
Daphne first. Not that she would have accepted."
"Wouldn't politics dictate she had to?"
Pansy snorted amusedly.
"Daphne's father could sign a contract with Lucius Malfoy for the two of
them to be married, and she would either murder him or be exiled. She
despises him, but he seems to think that she's just playing hard to get."
"Interesting," Harry mused aloud. "Draco is still a prick, and I'm sorry you
got dragged into it."
"Honestly, I would have ended up having to go with him anyway," Pansy
shrugged. "Daphne would have rejected him and he would have insisted I
go."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"Well, I'm sorry either way. I'll try to be more considerate for you in the
future, but if Draco wants to be petty, then I will beat him at his own
game. I'm not beyond pettiness you know."
Pansy rolled her eyes, though she could not hide her own mischievous
grin.
"What do you have in mind?" she asked.
Harry wagged a finger at her as he shook his head.
"I think we should head to Potions," he suggested. "All will be revealed in
due course.
"Why do I get the feeling you're going to just cause more trouble?"
"Because that's exactly what I'm going to do," Harry said with a grin as
they made their into the depths of the castle.
Entering the Potions classroom, Snape shot them a look of irritation, but
as Harry was not a student here, he could not deduct him points or give
him a detention, and he certainly wasn't going to dock points from his
own house.
"Parkinson, to your seat," the instructed. "Potter, if I am to tolerate your
presence in here, you will work with Mr Goyle."
Harry merely nodded and began unpacking his things by the burly boy
who had quite the uncanny resemblance to a troll when looked at in
certain angles.
"Today, we will be brewing a Strengthening Solution," Snape announced.
"You will find it on page 44 of your textbook. What is it, Potter?"
"I don't have a copy of the book, Professor," Harry explained.
"You will find spares in bottom drawer of the cupboard," Snape replied,
pointing towards where he stored most of is ingredients.
"But sir, this is much more advanced than anything else we have done,"
Hermione pointed out.
"It is," Snape agreed, "but you will be sitting your OWLs next year. If you
can brew this, then you can brew anything required at that level. Not
that I expect many of you to succeed. Now, get one with it. Potter, have
you gotten the book?"
Harry held up the copy of the textbook as he placed another more
interesting one he'd found in his robes.
He had no business looking at the copy of Advanced Potion Making, but it
had caught his attention, nonetheless.
He hadn't managed to look at it much before Snape had addressed him,
but it appeared to be heavily annotated.
Harry had learned since being at Durmstrang that annotated books could
provide him with some excellent pointers, or they could simply have
been tarnished by a careless owner.
Still, it was worth the risk to pocket it.
At worst, he'd added another book on potions to his collection.
"You should be slicing the slugs vertically, Goyle," Snape murmured as he
leaned over the duo only a few minutes into their brewing. "You foolish
boy," he added as whatever Goyle had done began burning through the
table.
With a wave of his wand, Snape vanished whatever concoction Goyle had
managed to create.
"Potter, move next to Zabini and Nott."
Harry did so, the former of the pair greeting him cordially with a nod.
"My sister told me to say hello to you," he sighed.
"Your sister?"
"Alessia."
"Alessia is your sister?" Harry asked, surprised by the revelation. "I
suspected you were related, but with her being at Durmstrang and you
here, I didn't want to pry."
Blaise chuckled.
"No, she just chose to go there," he explained. "She always talks about
you and the duels you have."
Harry smiled fondly.
"She's not bad," he acknowledged. "She's given me more than a few cuts
and bruises."
"She hasn't beaten you though," Blaise pointed out. "That really bothers
her, but I think she has the hots for you. Whenever someone else
mentions you at home, she blushes."
Harry shook his head.
Viktor had said the very same thing to him.
"Well, she hasn't said anything to me."
"No, she said that you're always hanging around with other girls. Is it true
you have a vampire as a friend?"
Harry nodded.
"Lucinda," he confirmed. "She's great when she's not trying to cave my
skull in or threatening to bite me."
Harry frowned as Malfoy muttered something incoherent under his
breath.
He chose to ignore it, already plotting to get under the boys' skin in a
way that would irritate him more than a verbal rebuttal.
"Sometimes I wish I went to Durmstrang," Blaise whispered, shooting
Malfoy a look of disapproval.
"If you did, you wouldn't have an expert like Professor Snape teaching
you potions," Harry replied as the potion's master passed them.
Although he did not like the man, he could not deny that he was a more
than exceptional potioneer, even if his teaching methods were lacking.
The man stood a little taller as he went on his way.
It wouldn't hurt to not have him as an enemy, no when Harry needed to
continue studying the subject.
"True," Blaise conceded, "but I wouldn't have to put up with as many
prats."
"I wouldn't be so sure," Harry muttered. "Durmstrang has more than its
fair share, but I would rather put up with them than some of the ones
you have here," he added, his gaze shifting towards Malfoy, and then to
another Slytherin as she headed towards the cupboard. "Would you
believe it," he sighed. "I need more fig leaves."
He followed the girl, checking that no one was attempting to listen in on
them before speaking.
"Greengrass," he greeted her.
"You made me jump!" the girl huffed, evidently not having heard him
approach. "What do you want?"
"Your assistance with pissing Malfoy off," Harry replied without
preamble.
"I'm listening," the girl returned interestedly. "What do you need me to
do?"
"Do you have a date for the ball?"
"No," Daphne answered with a frown. "Why, are you asking me?"
"I will, but I think a more public display would be suitable for a young
lady of your station, don't you?"
A grin of amusement tugged at her lips as she peered towards Draco, but
nonetheless, she narrowed her eyes at him.
"Fine, but there will be no funny business from you," she warned, "and
you will owe me a favour of my choosing."
"Within reason."
"Naturally," Daphne replied with a nod.
Harry offered the girl a smile.
"You won't regret it."
"I already am," Greengrass muttered as Harry returned to his table where
he continued to work on his potion.
He wanted to at least have something to submit by the end of the lesson,
even if it wouldn't meet Snape's approval.
Harry had no doubt that he could submit a flawless potion and the man
would somehow find fault in is work.
For him especially, there would be no pleasing the man.
"You should all be at the stage where your potion needs to be left to
simmer for ten minutes," Snape spoke quietly, though his voice carried to
every corner of the room. "Use this time to begin clearing down your
stations."
Harry disposed of the remains of his ingredients, and scrubbed his section
of the table down, and with a few minutes to spare, he put his plan into
action.
Walking over to Greengrass, he cleared his throat and the girl turned
towards him, raising an eyebrow in evident surprise.
"Miss Greengrass, I was hoping you would allow me the honour to escort
you to the Yule Ball," he said confidently.
Daphne's look of interested curiosity morphed into a bright smile, her
blue eyes twinkling as he nodded.
"The honour would be all mine," she replied enthusiastically.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see the watching Draco purpling
with rage, and he took no small amount of satisfaction from it.
With a smug grin, Harry took her offered hand and bowed, pressing his
lips to her knuckle.
"This is not the lonely-hearts exchange!" Snape snapped. "Potter, get back
to your station."
"I look forward to our date," Harry murmured before doing so, the frantic
whispering of most of the other students following him.
"Greengrass?" Blaise chuckled.
"Why not?" Harry questioned.
"No reason," Blaise returned with a shrug, "but Draco looks like he might
explode."
"Good," Harry declared. "Bollocks to Draco."
Blaise nodded his agreement.
"What are you up to, Potter?" he asked.
"Nothing," Harry said innocently.
Blaise hummed in disbelief.
"Whatever you say, but did you not think of asking someone else? I'm
sure Alessia would have loved to be invited here for Christmas," he added
with a wink.
Harry frowned at the thought and pondered the possibility of having
done so.
No, it would have been no good.
Perhaps he would have been able to get Eleanor approved for a visa, but
neither Lucinda nor Ana would be.
Even Summerbee would be a stretch with the reputation of her family for
being traitors.
Were it not for her being from Beauxbatons, Harry doubted Fleur
Delacour would have been granted entry into Britain either.
Alessia Zabini would have been, but the two of them had barely shared a
conversation.
Most of the time spent interacting, they had been aiming to incapacitate
one another.
"It's done now," Harry sighed, not regretting his decision.
Daphne was a nice enough, undoubtedly beautiful, but rather closed off.
She wasn't cold towards others as such, but she was certainly reserved.
"Daphne is a good choice," Blaise pointed out, "and a close friend. Make
sure she has a good time, please."
"I will," Harry assured the other boy. "We are both getting something out
of this."
Blaise's eyes shifted towards the still angry Draco, his lips quirking as he
looked upon the blonde.
"I see," he said amusedly. "Very clever, Potter. Daphne is in on this?"
"Why else would she agree to go to the ball with me if she wasn't?"
"Maybe because it makes sense," Blaise pointed out. "You're of a similar
standing, both smart and annoyingly charming in your own ways. You
suit each other quite well."
Harry frowned as he looked at the girl cleaning up the remnants of her
efforts to brew the Strengthening Solution, her honey-blonde hair tied in
an elaborate braid and showing of her delicate and high cheek bones.
It could never be said that the girl was unattractive.
If truth be told, Harry had seen very few girls that could hope to match
up with Daphne Greengrass.
Perhaps the ball wouldn't be so bad after all?
She turned to face him, her eyes trailing over his form before she met his
stare with her own, a rather mischievous grin tugging at her lips.
Had she merely agreed to go to the ball with him to irritate Draco, or was
there more to her reasoning?
Harry could not be sure, but it seemed that it was not as simple as
wishing to assist him with his plan, even if she did know of it.
(Break)
The Dark Lord looked intently upon the three men gathered before him,
only one of whom whose loyalty was not in question, though he kept his
inner thoughts to himself on the matter, for now.
He was as vulnerable as he'd ever been, and though it irked him to admit
it, he needed them.
Barty was the one whom he trusted implicitly, his loyalty not having
wavered even after he'd learned of the Dark Lord's fall.
Lucius was too intelligent, too cautious to devote himself once more to
the cause with Voldemort in his current state.
Still, he was serving as he always had, even though the doubt in his mind
was evident.
Voldemort's gaze shifted to Wormtail.
The man was undoubtedly useful, but he was a snivelling coward who
could never be fully brought into confidence.
Pettigrew was here merely because he had been found posing as a family
pet.
Why he had done so, the Dark Lord could not fathom.
He could have fled Britain long ago but had chosen to stay and live an
odd yet comfortable life as a rat.
He truly was the epitome of foolish.
Nevertheless, there were few so talented in the art of espionage, so he
would live so long as he served a purpose.
"What do you have to report?" the Dark Lord questioned.
It was Wormtail who stepped forward first, his nervous, rodent-like
mannerisms forcing Voldemort to maintain his composure, despite
wanting to inflict pain on the Animagus.
"My Lord, I have made contact with Greyback as instructed," he
explained. "He is willing to join with you once more, when the time is
right."
Voldemort nodded.
He had no doubt the werewolves would resume their alliance with him.
The opportunities to feed and add to their pack was too tempting to
ignore.
"Excellent," he declared. "Barty?"
The man frowned.
At Lucius's suggestion, the Dark Lord had kept Barty close.
Placing his father under the Imperius Curse, though beneficial was a risk
they could not take.
Barty was too impulsive, and impulsiveness was not what Voldemort
needed.
Were it not for Lucius arriving when he did, the suggestion made by
Barty to use the tournament to his advantage may have been adopted,
but as ever, the Malfoy lord was the voice of reason and had urged the
much-needed caution.
"I am continuing to brew potions, my lord," Barty replied. "I have begun
making Polyjuice to add to the healing concoctions, and any other
solutions I believe may be useful."
"Excellent," Voldemort declared.
Usually, he would only have Severus brewing potions, but the man was
currently indisposed of, perhaps permanently.
He was another that could not be fully trusted, despite the most useful
information he had been able to pass on during the war.
Snape's loyalty was something the Dark Lord would have to ponder when
it was the right time to do so.
"Lucius?"
The blonde stepped forward and offered a bow.
"I have been compiling a list of those that we will be able to use to our
advantage within the ministry, and those that will create problems," he
informed his master. "I believe our main concern is Amelia Bones. She
was an auror during the conflict, and as I am sure you remember, my
lord, she lost most of her family. She is now the Head of the Department
of Magical Law Enforcement."
The Dark Lord hummed thoughtfully.
"She will be dealt with," he decided aloud.
"I think perhaps it would be best if you were the one to do it, my lord,"
Lucius continued. "She is a talented witch, one that even Bellatrix would
struggle to dispatch on her own."
"Do your fear Madame Bones, Lucius?"
The man shook his head.
"No, but I would not risk engaging her," he said unashamedly. "She has
quite the reputation, and with good reason."
The Dark Lord appreciated the honesty.
"Fear not, I shall handle her," he sighed. "What of Moody?"
Voldemort remembered the famed auror well.
He had killed several prominent Death Eaters during the war and had
even managed to give him problems on the one occasion they had fought.
Moody had not left the fight favourably, but he had comported himself
well.
"The man is old, crippled, and insane," Lucius explained and Voldemort
shook his head.
"Can he use a wand?"
Lucius nodded.
"He is teaching at Hogwarts."
"Then he remains a threat!" the Dark Lord snapped. "However, with him
in the castle, he will be an easy enough target when it is conducive to
eliminate him. See that he remains in the post next year."
"Of course, my lord," Lucius replied with another bow. "With regards to
Hogwarts, I received a letter from Draco and he mentioned Potter."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed at the mention of the boy.
In the grand scheme of things, Harry Potter was irrelevant, a loose end he
would need to tie up for his own peace of mind.
Nonetheless, despite this, his miraculous survival from their encounter
made him exceedingly interesting.
The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord…
A sense of unease washed over Voldemort at the memory of the prophecy
that had been spoken.
Divination was not a magic he truly understood, but it was still magic,
and potentially dangerous.
He shook his head of the worry.
Potter would die.
Whether it came to a showdown between the two, the preferred method,
or if he had to have his throat slit in his sleep, it mattered not.
Potter would die.
"What of him?"
Lucius swallowed nervously.
"It appears that he is proving himself to be rather skilled, my lord," he
spoke warily, "much more so than any his age should be, and ruthless to
boot. He rather viciously attacked a seventh year Slytherin, a boy who is
not without skill."
Voldemort nodded thoughtfully.
"Have Draco continue to watch him whilst he is there," he instructed.
"Just because he is but a boy, it does not mean we should not learn all we
can from him. He is the enemy, after all."
Lucius nodded, though his expression of uneasiness remained.
"That is not all, my lord," he continued. "I have it on good authority that
he was seen in the company of Cassiopeia Black during the first task of
the tournament."
"Cassiopeia Black. Are you certain of this?"
The Dark Lord had heard of the woman and the reputation she had
carved for herself.
Until she had met him, Bellatrix had idolised her Aunt.
"I did not see it for myself," Lucius explained, his eyes darting towards
Barty, "but I am inclined to believe it. It would make sense. She and the
boy are related."
Voldemort frowned.
He had forgotten of the connection between the Potter and Black
families.
"It matters not," he said dismissively.
Bellatrix had taught him how to defend himself against the magic of her
birth family.
Even if she had been unable to teach him how to wield it, he was familiar
with its use.
Lucius offered him another bow before stepping back.
"It seems that our plans are coming together," Voldemort declared.
"Continue as you are, gentlemen, and soon enough, we can truly begin
our rise to the top once more. Now, leave me. I require my rest."
The three men immediately left the room, and the Dark Lord sank back
into the chair he was seated in, his immature body feeling fatigued from
the meeting.
After only a moment, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep under the gaze
of what appeared to be a pair of bright green eyes.
Not that he would remember such when he eventually woke.
He never remembered his dreams anymore, not since claiming this body
for himself.
Still, there was something intense about the stare he was receiving,
something rather unsettling, almost as though he was being promised
reprisals for his past actions.
The thought amused him greatly, long after the eyes had vanished.
There would be no reprisals. Only his second and triumphant coming,
and nothing could change that, especially a pair of judgemental eyes he'd
imagined.
(Break)
Although Potter had only invited her to the ball to spite Draco, Daphne
was oddly excited for the evening to come. So much so that she had
written to her mother to send her best dress for the occasion.
She had not packed it before coming to Hogwarts, not believing she
would have use of the garment.
With her father on the Wizengamot, she had been made aware of the
tournament and subsequent ball, but she had not expected she would be
attending.
Had Potter not arrived, Daphne had no doubt that Draco would have all
but tried to insist she was his partner, something she would have flatly
refused.
Having done so, she would have been partnerless.
Since they had arrived for their first year of schooling, Draco had
somewhat laid claim to her meaning that no other would have dared ask
her, even if he had chosen to take Pansy.
Perhaps foolishly, Daphne had rebuked the claim of the boy that they
would one day be married, the very thought having sickened her to the
core.
However, instead of deterring Draco, her hostility had only made him
pursue her more.
It wasn't that he truly wanted her.
No, it was that the spoilt brat had never been denied anything in his life
and he believed he had a right to whatever it was that took his fancy.
Still, Draco had asked Pansy, and none were going to ask Daphne, not
until Harry had formulated his plan.
He was certainly not intimidated by the Malfoy name.
She had been tempted to refuse his request, displeased by the idea of
being used as a pawn for whatever stupid game he and Draco were
playing but Daphne wanted to go to the ball, just not alone.
Besides, one look at Potter's mischievous grin had caught her attention,
and she found she didn't care to what end he had asked her.
Daphne shook her head.
It was not like her to be taken in by such a trivial thing, but she could not
deny that Harry Potter was handsome.
They had spoken often enough since he'd arrived with the Durmstrang
contingent.
With how close he was to Pansy, none of her Slytherin year-mates could
avoid interacting with him, not even Draco whom Harry took it upon
himself to irritate at every given opportunity.
"Are you looking forward to tonight?" Daphne asked as Pansy entered the
dormitory they shared.
The girl snorted.
"Why do you think I'm wearing this ugly dress?"
Daphne had not mentioned it out of politeness, but the light pink gown
was not flattering on her.
"I should have known."
Pansy offered her a weak smile as she took in Daphne's appearance.
"You look as beautiful as ever," she commented somewhat whimsically.
"Harry is lucky."
"Does it bother you that I'm going with him?"
Pansy shrugged.
"I'd be lying if I said it didn't, but not for the reason you think," she
replied. "Harry is my best friend, and I would have liked to have gone
with him."
Daphne's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"So, you don't like him like that?"
Pany's expression shifted to a pained one for but a second before she
deflated.
"I don't know," she answered irritably. "I think so, but I've known him
since we small children. It's confusing."
"What was he like?" Daphne asked curiously.
Pansy smiled at whatever memories surfaced at the question.
"Harry has always been sweet, and kind, and considerate," she answered.
"He really is clever, and charming," she added amusedly. "You're lucky to
be going with him."
"He only asked me to annoy Draco," Daphne pointed out.
"Maybe," Pansy conceded, "but he will make sure you have a good time,
and he will treat you with the utmost respect."
"You really think highly of him, don't you?"
Pansy nodded solemnly.
"I can't say much about what I know, but Harry will change things one
day. Maybe I won't let myself feel the way I do for him because it is not
something I can ever have. I wouldn't want anything to ruin my
friendship with him."
"What do you mean?" Daphne asked curiously.
Pansy shook her head as she smiled.
"Forget I said anything," she urged. "Just enjoy tonight. You'll know what
I do when the time is right."
Daphne frowned, but she didn't press the matter.
What information she had likely pertained to family business, something
that was not divulged.
"I will," she replied and Pansy offered her a final smile before exiting the
dormitory, leaving a thoughtful Daphne in her wake.
The blonde shifted her attention towards the mirror she was standing in
front of and made a few final adjustments to her hair and outfit before
following suit.
The common room was full of couples preparing to attend the ball, and
as the only Slytherin who was not going with someone from her house,
Daphne left them to it, wondering just what the evening would entail.
After her conversation with Pansy, she was more curious than ever about
the enigmatic Harry Potter.
Tonight, however, was the perfect opportunity to get to know him, and it
didn't hurt that she was able to irritate Draco in the process.
Daphne felt his eyes burning into her as she left the common room, and
though it made her visibly grimace, she took no small amount of
satisfaction from knowing that the boy was seething.
(Break)
"Bloody hell," Harry muttered as he took in his reflection, scowling at the
grinning Krum who was sitting on his bed.
He'd thought that his plan, although admittedly petty, had been a stroke
of genius in his efforts to annoy Malfoy, but Harry had not considered the
ramifications of what he had done until he'd written to Cassie explaining
that he was taking Daphne Greengrass as his date to the ball.
The reply he'd received had come quickly but had not been a mere
acknowledgement as he'd expected.
No, it had been one of many political lessons he'd received throughout
his life, and the reality of his actions had finally set in.
It wasn't that Cassie disapproved of his choice. On the contrary, she had
praised him for it, but with it came the reminder of the significance of
what he'd deemed to have been nothing other than a harmless jab at
Draco.
Remember, the Greengrasses are a prominent family and you will treat one of
their daughters with the respect that she should be afforded. This is your first
public outing and I expect you to follow protocol at all times.
It would not do well to bring shame upon yourself or Miss Greengrass with a
lack of decorum on your part.
Cassie's words had firmly reminded him that what he had done was no
joke, and that already he had slighted his date with only his motivation
of asking her to attend the ball with him.
"Oh, shut up, Krum," Harry huffed as Viktor laughed at him once more.
"How do I look?"
"Like the epitome of what it is to be a pureblood," Viktor replied
gleefully.
Again, Harry scowled.
"I do not."
"Yes, you do," Viktor countered as he stood. "Look at yourself. You've got
the high cheekbones, the fancy robes, and the annoying charm."
Harry deflated as he realised the truth of the words.
He did look like a pureblood, something that would serve him well in the
future, but now, he still quite despised the culture.
He'd met so few of them he truly respected let alone liked, and in his
tailored, black robes trimmed with green accents, he felt almost like one
of them for the first time.
"Did you get her a gift?" Viktor asked. "It says here that you should have,"
he added, holding up the second piece of parchment that had been
included in the reply he'd received from Cassie.
"Give that here," Harry huffed, snatching the offending piece of
parchment from the still-laughing Krum.
It had been written by Sirius.
A man he had never met giving him dating advice.
"He knows what he's talking about," Viktor pointed out.
Harry conceded the point with a nod, but it didn't make him feel any
better about the evening, even if he planned to follow the man's advice.
Harry,
I may not follow pureblood traditions or protocols, but I can say with the
utmost confidence, I know how to treat a girl on a date.
Let's just say I had more than my fair of successes with the ladies at school, if
you know what I mean.
Instead of boring you with a detailed explanation, I have written a list of
things you should and shouldn't do.
Trust me, I learnt some of these the hard way.
1. Buy her a gift – It doesn't have to be expensive, but something thoughtful at
the very least. Maybe some flowers that remind you of her eyes. Girls like
knowing that you have been thinking of them, and a thoughtful gift will show
that.
2. Compliment the way she looks – Girls spend a lot of time getting ready for a
date and acknowledging that is one of the most important things to remember.
Tell her how nice her hair is, or that how what she is wearing accentuates her
beauty. She will appreciate it.
3. Do not pay unnecessary attention to other girls during your time with her –
Friendly conversation is fine but keep it to a minimal. This evening was set
aside for your date, and your focus should be on her.
4. Take an interest in her – ask about her friends and her family, but always
have other topics of discussion on hand. Ask her about her interests, her
dreams and aspirations.
5. Escort her home/to her common room – Never leave a young lady
unattended to make her own way home, and when you get her there, thank
her for the wonderful evening you have shared.
I wanted to include other pieces of advice, but I was prevented from doing so
by a witch that shall not be named.
For everything else, you're on your own, kid.
Sirius
With the reaction from Cassie, Harry's initial plan had already backfired
and he now found himself having to navigate the political field.
"I swear if you don't stop laughing, I'm going to slap you," he warned the
Bulgarian.
Viktor shook his head amusedly.
"Come on, it's not that bad," he comforted. "You must have taken a girl on
a date before."
"No, I haven't," Harry grumbled, "and I wasn't planning on doing so
tonight until I received this," he added, holding up the letter.
"Well, you did it for yourself," Viktor sighed. "You'll be fine. Just follow
that letter and it will go smoothly. Come one, you don't want to be late.
That would not make the best impression."
Releasing a deep, calming breath, Harry followed Krum from the ship
and the duo made their way towards the castle.
"Are you not nervous?" Harry asked.
"No," Viktor answered, a smile tugging at his lips. "Hermione is not a
pureblood and we have already spent much time together. We will dance,
but other than that, it will be like any other time in the library."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Harry snorted as they entered the castle
and he spotted the very girl they were discussing waiting nervously by
the staircase.
She was wearing a dress of pale pink, and her usually untamed hair had
been styled in an elaborate fashion, something Harry suspected had taken
her quite some time, even with the assistance of magic.
"She's much too pretty for a troll like you," Harry murmured.
Viktor merely nodded in response as Hermione spotted them and made
her way over.
"Hello," she greeted them both, a slight blush forming on her cheek.
Harry shook his head at the dumbfounded Viktor.
"Well, since our Bulgarian friend here seems to have lost his voice, let me
be the first to tell you that you look amazing," he offered.
Hermione's smile widened.
"Thank you,' she replied shyly, and Harry scowled as Viktor elbowed him
in the ribs.
"Save the compliments for your own date, Potter," he chuckled, "and
remember all the advice you have been given. I expect you will need it,"
he added, nodding over Harry's shoulder.
Harry turned to where the boy was gesturing only for the nervousness
he'd felt on the ship to return.
Waiting for him by the entrance to the dungeons was Daphne Greengrass,
her green, form-fitting dress matching the accents of his robes perfectly.
Her hair had been styled into an intricate bun, and she was wearing
make-up, not so much that it was obvious, but a subtle blush and a few
other things Harry knew nothing about to accentuate her features.
"Bloody hell," he whispered, his mind drawing a blank as he tried to
desperately remember the advice Sirius had given him.
Still, he could not keep her waiting, and it would be considered rude to
continue staring as he was.
Approaching the girl, he did his best to offer her a genuine smile, and she
nervously returned it.
"You look beautiful," he complimented without thought as he reached
into his pocket and removed the gift he had purchased for her that now
somehow felt inadequate. "I got this for you."
Daphne's eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and awe at the bracelet
he revealed as he opened the box.
It was delicate enough to not draw too much attention, but the
craftmanship was exquisite.
It was wrought from gold and had small sapphires interspersed
throughout the length.
"You shouldn't have," Daphne whispered as Harry fumbled with the clasp
whilst he placed it on her wrist.
He offered her his arm as the students were shown into the Great Hall
where they would eat before the ball was officially underway.
"I really should have," he sighed, "and I owe you an apology."
"An apology?" Daphne questioned curiously.
Harry nodded.
"My initial reason for inviting you here was not acceptable, and I'm sorry
that I gave the impression it was done to suit my own needs. I made a
mistake, and I want to make it up to you."
Daphne was taken aback, but after a moment, she shook her head.
"I agreed to your reasoning," she pointed out, and it is still a good enough
reason," she added, shooting a glance towards the seething Draco.
"Maybe," Harry acknowledged, "but it shouldn't be the primary one. I'm
glad I asked you simply because I think we will enjoy each other's
company."
Daphne met his eyes as though she was trying to determine if he was
being sincere or merely offering her flowery words.
"I think we will too," she replied as Harry pulled out her chair for her
before taking his own seat at the table they had chosen.
Daphne seemed to be a little more content with their arrangement now
that Harry had clarified it, even if they were receiving some questioning
looks from some of the other Hogwarts students.
"Ignore them," Daphne sighed. "I think most are just surprised to see me
here with you. No one else would have dared asked me from fear of
Draco retaliating."
"He really is a despicable little shit, isn't he?"
Daphne nodded.
"He is awful, and can be cruel, but only to those he knows wouldn't dare
retaliate."
"A coward as well as an ass then," Harry chuckled.
Daphne's eyes suddenly lit up.
"He was turned into an ass once," she whispered.
"I know," Harry replied as he poured himself some water and slid one of
the menus towards the girl. "I arranged for it to happen."
"It was you?" Daphne questioned, grabbing him almost painfully by the
wrist.
Harry nodded and took a sip of his drink.
"Well, that is something," Daphne murmured, her smile not wavering.
"How did you do it?"
"That would be telling," Harry chuckled. "I think I'll have the salmon."
The plate before him filled with food, and Daphne followed his lead,
ordering a Dover sole for herself.
They ate in a comfortable silence with Harry feeling considerably more
relaxed than he had before arriving, and when their plates were cleared,
it was only a short wait before Dumbledore stood to address the room.
"Would the champions and their partners please take to the floor for the
opening dance," the man requested.
The three champions did so and twirled around the dance floor in a slow
waltz.
"How did you become such good friends with Krum?" Daphne asked
interestedly.
The question brought a grin to Harry's lips.
"We met during my first year," he began. "Viktor had just been signed to
play professionally and he needed people to help him out with his
training. After my first flying lesson, I was roped in to help. I've been
doing it since."
"And you really beat him to the Snitch?"
Harry nodded.
"It means nothing," he chuckled. "Viktor has beaten me to it hundreds of
times before and since."
"It's still impressive."
"What's impressive is that the prat hasn't fallen over his own feet," Harry
snorted as he watched the Bulgarian dancing with Hermione. "Shall we?"
he asked, offering his arm as the floor began to fill with other students
and even some professors.
Daphne nodded as she accepted the proffered limb and they joined the
others.
Harry fell into step with the girl with practiced ease.
Growing up with Cassiopeia Black, he had been drilled extensively in
dancing, something that was now paying dividends.
At the time, he had bemoaned the lessons, but now, he internally
thanked the woman for confiscating his broom until he had gotten a good
enough grasp on it.
"You dance really well," Daphne complimented.
"You sound surprised," Harry replied as he spun the girl and caught her in
his arms.
"I am," she admitted with a gasp as Harry dipped her.
The two shared a smile in the rather intimate moment until Harry pulled
her back to her feet, dragging his gaze away from Daphne's.
"Well, I appreciate it, even if Draco doesn't," the girl replied, nodding
subtly to where the boy was fumbling through a dance with Pansy, his
seemingly ever-present scowl fixed on Harry and Daphne.
"I thought we weren't worrying about him," Harry reminded the girl.
"We're not," Daphne assured him, "but I'm quite enjoying knowing he is
not getting what he wants for once, and that there is nothing he can do
about it. After what you did to Warrington, he wouldn't dare come for
you, not on his own, at least."
"Shame," Harry sighed. "I was looking forward to cursing him."
Daphne smirked amusedly.
"You might not be able to curse him but there are other ways to get to
him."
"How?" Harry asked curiously.
Daphne hummed as she met his gaze once more, hers taking on an edge
of nervousness.
"This would be a good start," she whispered.
Much to Harry's surprise, she pressed her lips to his in a lingering though
chaste kiss.
"That could work," he replied when she broke it, her cheeks reddening as
she did so, "but I think half a dozen photographers just captured that
moment."
Daphne shrugged uncaringly.
"It was just an innocent kiss, wasn't it?" she asked, the smile she wore
turning quite mischievous.
"Was it?" Harry pressed.
Daphne nodded, though she didn't seem so sure.
Nevertheless, they continued dancing, and Harry did his best to ignore
the photos that were being snapped of them, not that it truly mattered
anymore.
The next morning, the photos of him and Daphne kissing would be
printed across the country, and perhaps the continent.
Of course, what had happened would be blown out of proportion, but as
she continued to smile, undoubtedly aware of what she had done, Harry
found he didn't care.
He was having fun, allowing himself to just be a teenager.
Even if it was to last only a single night.
22. A Show of Character
A Show of Character
A/N
Another chapter for you guys…
Happy Reading,
TBR
"If I didn't know any better, I would swear the boy defies me
intentionally," Cassiopeia muttered to herself as she viewed the photos
printed in The Daily Prophet.
Many simply depicted those in attendance, some sharing a dance, or
conversing with others, but there were several of Harry and his date for
the evening, a few of which were not favourable.
"Oh, I'm going to throttle him," Cassie vowed as she slammed the paper
onto the kitchen table.
"Who?" Sirius questioned with a frown.
"Your godson!"
Sirius's frown deepened as he retrieved the newspaper, his eyes widening
as he read the article and saw the pictures for himself.
"Go on, Harry," he cheered.
"It is not something to be celebrated!" Cassiopeia snapped.
"I disagree," Sirius replied as he slid the paper to his werewolf friend.
"Tell me who she looks like."
The werewolf chuckled amusedly.
"That is Miss Greengrass, the daughter of Ophelia Yaxley and Jonathan
Greengrass. I remember you trying to date her, even though she was a
Slytherin."
"Looks like she married Greengrass then," Sirius grumbled.
"So, Harry has not only slighted the Greengrass's, but also the Yaxleys,"
Cassiopeia sighed.
"Neither, actually," Sirius snorted. "It says here that the girl kissed him."
"Do you think that will matter to Greengrass?" Cassiopeia snapped
irritably.
"It will matter to everyone else because there is nothing he can do about
it," Sirius pointed out. "Harry is not in the wrong. If he would have
publicly rejected the girl, it would have been worse."
Cassiopeia didn't like to admit it, but Sirius did have a point.
"Still, I told him to behave. Does this look like behaving to you?"
"Compared to what he could have done, yes," Sirius replied. "With James
as his father, I'd expect much worse from him."
Cassiopeia grimaced, remembering the various letters she had received
from Durmstrang over the years informing her of Harry's antics, his
pranks, and his run-ins with other students.
She was not especially happy with how he had conducted himself at the
ball, but it could indeed have been much worse.
"Will Greengrass attempt to cause any problems?"
Sirius shrugged uncertainly as he looked towards Lupin.
"He might," the werewolf sighed, "even if it is just for show, I expect he
will make his way to Hogwarts to have words with Snape and his
daughter."
"Snivellus," Sirius muttered unhappily.
"Then I suppose I should do the same with Harry, if only to make sure he
doesn't get himself into any more trouble," Cassie sighed as she stood,
shaking her head in frustration.
Why could Harry just never do exactly as he had been asked?
Because it was in his nature to be defiant.
She had seen it in him from when he was a baby and she had attempted
to feed him vegetables.
He had been a stubborn infant and had grown to be an even more
stubborn teenager.
Not that the memories of his formative years didn't bring a smile to her
lips.
Cassiopeia merely lamented that he had also contributed to her ever-
increasing amount of grey hairs she now sported.
(Break)
Harry woke with a groan; his sleep having been intruded upon by
something hitting him in the face. For a moment, he refused to open his
eyes as he enjoyed the moment of bliss between waking up, and clarity.
"Bloody hell," he grumbled, pulling his pillow over his face as the
memories of the previous night came flooding back.
"You made the paper," the gleeful voice of Viktor sounded from
somewhere in the room. "Come on, up you get stud."
"Piss off," Harry muttered as he pushed the pillow away, knowing he
could not simply remain in bed to avoid the questions.
"So, what happened?" Viktor asked immediately. "You both left before the
end of the ball and no one saw either of you again."
"You're like a gossiping woman," Harry huffed. "Nothing happened, well,
not much."
Flashback
They had taken their leave of the Great Hall after sharing a few dances,
the prying eyes of several others affording them no privacy, not even to
share a simple conversation.
At Daphne's suggestion, they had made their way to the lake where they
shared a walk along the edge.
"I probably shouldn't have kissed you, should I?" the girl sighed.
"Probably not," Harry agreed. "How much trouble do you think we will be
in?"
Daphne grinned in response as she nodded thoughtfully.
"Oh, my father will be furious, but my mother will set him straight. She
will think it is sweet. What about you?"
"I expect I will get quite the lecture about treating a pureblood girl in
such a way," Harry snorted. "It was worth it."
"Was it?" Daphne asked, quirking a brow at him.
Harry nodded.
"It's not every day a beautiful girl kisses me," he replied. "Usually, the
beautiful girls I know threaten me with violence."
Daphne laughed.
"I can't say I'm surprised. You do have a tendency to wind people up."
"What can I say, I'm rather good at it."
"True," Daphne acknowledged, "but from what I have seen and heard of
you so far, you're really kind and sweet too."
"Who said that?" Harry questioned with a frown.
"Pansy," the girl clarified. "She says that you pay for all the werewolves at
your school to have wolfsbane every month, and that you look out for
your friends to make sure they're not bullied."
Harry shrugged in response.
"I don't like to see people suffer needlessly."
Daphne offered him a bright smile.
"That just makes you a good person. There aren't so many of those in our
world, not ones who could truly make a difference."
"I'll make a difference," Harry declared. "When I return, I will change
things."
Daphne nodded.
"I find it really difficult to not believe you," she murmured, shivering as
an icy wind blew around the lake.
"Shit, I didn't realise it was past midnight," Harry groaned as he checked
his watch. "I'd better get you back to the dungeons before old Snape tries
to have me murdered."
"How did you know where the Slytherin common room is?" Daphne
questioned suspiciously.
"I know more about this castle than you would believe," Harry returned
with a wink.
Daphne rolled her eyes at him and threaded her arm through his, resting
her head against his shoulder as they walked back towards the castle.
"Thank you for inviting me," she said sincerely.
"You're welcome," Harry snorted. "It wasn't such a bad experience, was
it?"
Daphne shook her head.
"No, you did well, Potter."
"I'll take that," Harry mused aloud. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."
Daphne paused before they reached the steps leading into the Entrance
Hall and stepped in front of him.
"What is it?" Harry asked curiously.
Daphne said nothing, but shook her head before kissing him once more,
this time not so chastely.
"What was that for?" Harry asked when they broke apart.
"Well, we're already in trouble," she replied with a shrug. "I figured we
may as well make it really worth it."
"Was it?"
Daphne hummed thoughtfully.
"I'm not sure yet," she replied.
Harry took the hint and kissed her again, and Daphne wrapped her arms
around his neck and the two of them melted into one another.
"It was worth it," she whispered against his lips.
The two were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat
and they turned to see an unimpressed Minerva McGonagall staring
pointedly at them.
"If it is not too much trouble, Miss Greengrass should be in bed by now.
Do not worry, Mr Potter," she continued as Harry moved to escort the
girl, "I will make sure she gets there."
Harry could only nod as he and Daphne shared a grin of amusement
before she was led away.
With the evening over, Harry made his way back towards the ship,
relieved to find that his schoolmates were already sleeping, something he
felt the need of after such an eventful evening.
End Flashback
Viktor shook his head as Harry finished recounting what had happened,
an enormous smile threatening to split his face wide open.
"How much trouble do you think you're in?"
Harry shrugged.
"I don't expect my Aunt will be pleased," he sighed.
"But she did kiss you first," Viktor pointed out.
"Somehow, I don't think that will appease Lord Greengrass," Harry
deadpanned.
Viktor laughed amusedly, and Harry threw his pillow at him.
"So, what happens now?" the Bulgarian questioned. "Are you dating? Do
you want her to be your girlfriend?"
His tone had taken on a mocking edge that Harry did not appreciate, but
as he felt his irritation rise, Viktor held up a hand to placate him.
"I'm joking," he chuckled. "Honestly, it's about time you spent some time
with other girls, but you're lucky you're here. When the news breaks at
Durmstrang, there will be some very unhappy witches."
"Do you think it will make it that far?"
"Oh, I bet it will be in the morning editions all across Europe," he
snorted. "There were a lot of cameras there last night, and some
journalists I recognised."
"Bollocks," Harry muttered.
Viktor shook his head.
"It's not that big a deal," he soothed. "You kissed, and nothing else
happened. Or did it?"
"Of course not," Harry huffed. "I'm not that stupid."
"Then you have nothing to worry about," Viktor shrugged. "You can both
say that you got caught up in the moment, that it was just a mutual
gesture for a wonderful evening spent together."
"Is that what your public relations manager would say?"
Viktor nodded unashamedly.
"Exactly," he confirmed.
Harry released a deep breath as he got out of bed.
"It's not that bad?"
"it's not," Viktor assured him. "Even pureblood teenagers kiss each other,
just not usually in front of the media, their professors, and other
students."
"I get your point, you git," Harry grumbled. "Now, go away. I want to get
dressed."
"Would you like me to send for the lovely Miss Greengrass to help you?"
Viktor quipped before ducking out of the room narrowly avoiding the
curse Harry sent his way.
Alone, Harry couldn't help but wonder just how much trouble he was
truly in.
Could Lord Greengrass try to insist on a marriage contract between him
and Daphne?
Harry shook his head of the ludicrous thought.
He didn't know Lord Greengrass, but he didn't believe that any Lord
could be that expectant.
No, he would probably receive a letter of displeasure from Cassie and
may have to apologise for Lord Greengrass for his part in what happened,
but it should go no further than that.
He allowed himself to relax having thought through what would likely
come to pass, and even smiled at the memory.
"Definitely worth it," he murmured to himself.
Still, it would not do to not be prepared for any and all eventualities.
He did not know Lord Greengrass, nor could he predict the reaction of
the man.
With that in mind, he did what he knew Cassiopeia would suggest.
If someone could not be negotiated with, then there were other means
that could be explored, and for the first time since he'd received the
package, he began trawling through the contents, smirking as he found
the page he was looking for.
He nodded to himself when he was satisfied with the information he had
found and returned the slip of parchment into the stack where it
belonged.
Rita Skeeter may be a vile woman, but she was proving to be quite useful
to have on side.
Harry was pulled from his thoughts by a pounding on his door.
"Potter, you have a visitor," the voice of Professor Karkaroff spoke. "Your
Aunt would like a word with you."
"Well, the peace lasted," Harry muttered to himself. "She can come in."
The door opened immediately and a rather unimpressed Cassiopeia Black
entered the room.
"There is no need to stay, Professor Karkaroff," she said pointedly. "I will
deal with my nephew."
The man nodded before closing the door, and Cassiopeia merely stared at
Harry for a moment, clutching a copy of The Daily Prophet in her right
hand.
"I don't suppose you've come to bring me a late Christmas present, have
you?"
Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes at him, and Harry released a deep sigh.
"I know," he assured her. "It doesn't look good."
"It doesn't," Cassiopeia agreed, "but I didn't come here to give you a
lecture. It might surprise you to know, but Sirius pointed out that you are
all but in the clear if Miss Greengrass kissed you first."
"She did," Harry confirmed, "but I didn't try to prevent it, and I kissed her
later in the evening."
"Something that is not mentioned in here," Cassiopeia replied, holding up
the newspaper. "Do you know how you will handle Greengrass if he
decides to attempt to make something of it?"
Harry nodded.
"I will attempt to be polite and courteous about the situation at first,"
Harry explained. "There is no need to make enemies unnecessarily, but if
that doesn't work, I take further action."
Cassiopeia nodded approvingly.
"Good," she declared. "It will be the perfect practice for you to discuss a
point of contention with another Lord."
"You're letting me handle this?"
Cassiopeia nodded.
"It seems to be the right situation," she replied. "At worst, you'll have to
explain your future positions to placate or quell the man's foolishness,
should he display such."
"And at best, we can become amicable."
"Exactly," Cassiopeia praised. "I expect one or the other from you.
Regardless of what you do, he should not leave any conversation
believing he got the upper hand in any way."
"Of course," Harry agreed. "I will do what is necessary."
"That is all I ever ask of you," Cassie sighed as she wrapped Harry in her
arms. "Why do you have to be such a pain?"
Harry chuckled amusedly.
"It's in my nature," he answered with a grin.
(Break)
Pansy pulled the brush through her hair as she took in her reflection in
the vanity, her gaze shifting to the awful pink dress she had worn the
night before.
It truly was a hideous garment, and though she suspected it would have
been enough to deter Draco on its own, it had proven to be unnecessary.
His focus had been on only two others, and he had barely said a word to
her.
Not that Pansy was displeased by such a thing, but it had still been
embarrassing to be slighted so publicly.
She released a gentle sigh as she placed the brush down.
Draco may have slighted her, but what bothered her was how good a
time that Harry and Daphne seemed to have.
Pansy, like everyone else in the Great Hall had seen the kiss, the
undeniable chemistry between the two as they chatted and danced away
as though they had known each other for years.
It should have been Pansy.
If Draco wasn't such a jealous, petty prat, it would have been.
She didn't know how she felt about Harry and Daphne kissing.
It wasn't jealousy as such that had filled her at the sight, but she didn't
feel any sense of elation for her two friends.
Maybe it was that she was so close to Harry that seeing him so intimate
with another girl was hard to accept. Maybe it was that there was a part
of Pansy that wished it was her.
She shook her head of the thought.
Did she even see Harry that way?
It was difficult to ascertain what she felt.
The two of them had grown together from being small children, but they
had not seen one another for the past couple of years, not until he had
arrived at Hogwarts.
Pansy couldn't deny that she found him attractive, that she looked at him
differently than she once had.
Still, she could not be sure what it was she saw him as now.
"Morning," Daphne greeted her sleepily as she entered from the
bathroom.
Pansy offered the girl a weak smile.
She wasn't angry with her for what she had done.
It was not as though Pansy could blame her for being attracted to Harry,
and if she was honest with herself, they suited each other well.
"Are we okay?" Daphne asked.
Pansy deflated as she nodded.
"We are," she assured the girl.
Daphne smiled.
"I didn't plan for that to happen," she explained. "It just felt right in the
moment."
"And now?" Pansy pressed with a frown.
"It still feels right," Daphne admitted with a blush.
Pansy nodded.
"Good."
For a moment, she had thought that Daphne was going to say that what
had happened had been a mistake, and she had felt a stab of anger
towards the girl.
More than anything else, and despite how strange she found the
situation, she did not wish for Harry to be hurt or used in any way.
"You're like a protective sister," Daphne snorted.
"I care about him," Pansy replied. "More than I care for anyone else.
Harry is special, and I don't just mean to me."
"What does that even mean?"
Pansy released a deep breath.
"It's not my place to say," she sighed. "Just trust me, Daphne, there is
much more to him than you know."
"Is it bad?" the blonde asked.
Pansy shook her head.
"No. If anything they are all good things."
Daphne merely nodded in response and didn't press the matter further.
"I guess you didn't have such a great time?"
Pansy smirked to herself in the mirror.
"No, and I'm pleased for it," she declared. "Maybe now my father will
forget any notion of attempting to have me married off to him."
"Would he do that?"
Pansy shrugged.
"He's considered it."
"But not Harry even though you're already close?"
Pansy shook her head.
"I think my father would be very pleased with the match, but it is
unlikely to happen, not unless Harry himself pushed for it."
Daphne frowned confusedly, but before she could ask, the door to the
dormitory opened and a scowling Professor Snape entered.
"I have just received a message from your father, Miss Greengrass," he
informed Daphne. "Your parents will be arriving this afternoon and wish
to speak with you."
With his message given, he turned and took his leave of the room, his
cloak billowing behind him.
"Will you be in trouble?" Pansy questioned.
"Probably," Daphne answered with a shrug, "but it was worth it. I just
hope my father doesn't try to blame Harry."
Pansy chewed her lip worriedly for a moment.
Harry would not take kindly to Lord Greengrass attempting to exert
anything over him.
"You cannot let your father do that," she urged. "Whatever you do, do not
let this be blown out of proportion. It would not do your father good to
make an enemy of Harry."
"I hardly think it will come to that," Daphne huffed. "Should I be
worried?"
"You know I can't say much more, but just trust me, Daphne."
The blonde seemed to be concerned, as she should be.
If Lord Greengrass did come on strongly with Harry, it would not likely
end well for the man.
(Break)
Although not returning home for Christmas had been odd, Eleanor found
that Durmstrang was a much more pleasant place to be during the
holiday, mostly because the pureblood students weren't here.
It was Cain who had been the first to opt to stay.
Something was undoubtedly bothering the werewolf, so much so that he
didn't wish to be at home. Not that he had told any of them what had
happened.
He had merely withdrawn into himself over the weeks since the
beginning of the school year.
With Cain staying, Jonas and Hugo both decided to also, and the three
girls followed suit.
The former would unlikely share what was bothering him with the
others, but they wouldn't leave him alone here. Not when he was
seemingly struggling as he was.
If Harry was here, he would get it out of Cain, but without him, the boy
would say nothing.
Harry had a way of getting people to open up.
There was just something about him that made everyone in the group
gravitate towards him and seek his help when they needed it.
Eleanor felt that Cain needed it now, but he was too stubborn to admit it.
"Are you going to eat that?" Jonas asked, pointing towards the last
sausage on Cain's plate.
The werewolf shook his head and slid it towards the son of a hag, who
did not hesitate to bite half of it off in one mouthful.
"I've never met anyone who eats so much," Ana commented in a mixture
of admiration and disgust. "Is that a hag thing?"
Jonas shrugged as he all but inhaled the second half of the sausage.
"It might be," he answered when his mouth was empty. "My mother eats a
lot. I'm just always hungry."
Eleanor shook her head amusedly.
It was interesting to watch the eating habits of those she lived with.
Jonas would eat just about everything that was put in front of him, his
only requirement being the raw liver he needed to eat occasionally to
prevent himself falling ill.
Ana mostly lived on fish and berries but would sometimes help herself to
some dessert.
Cain preferred his meat to be bloody, particularly when the full moon
was drawing nearer.
In truth, Eleanor had never seen the boy eat anything other than meat.
Lucinda's diet, however, was the most fascinating to her.
The vampire would drink the blood that was provided to her, and
nothing more other than frequently sucking on the Blood-Pops Harry had
left for her.
Eleanor did not understand how the girl could be sustained by it, but she
was seemingly content.
Herself and Hugo were humans, so would eat the same as the purebloods
were given, as would Harry, though he had sampled the food of every
creature in the school by now.
Eleanor grinned at the memory of him eating raw liver.
He had not enjoyed that at all.
"Post is here," Jonas declared, nodding to the wizard that delivered the
mail.
With most of the students absent, the few letters and newspapers he
carried were handed out in record time before he took his leave of the
hall.
Cain was the only one of the group to receive a letter, but he did not read
it.
Instead, he pocketed the missive before frowning thoughtfully at his
empty plate.
Eleanor shared a questioning look with the other girls, but before any of
them could speak, Jonas broke out in a fit of laughter.
"Go on Harry!" he said encouragingly, nudging Hugo and Cain and
pointing to the newspaper he was reading.
Whatever it contained, Cain's expression brightened immediately, a wide
grin forming as he nodded.
"Of course he would get someone that looks like her, the bastard," Hugo
grumbled, though he too was undoubtedly amused.
"I'll get myself a girl like that one day," Jonas declared.
"In your dreams," Hugo scoffed. "You're an ugly shit. They don't look bad
together though," he added, pointing at the newspaper.
"Would any of you care to explain what you are talking about?" Ana
huffed.
"Harry's only gone and got himself quite the beautiful lady," Jonas
informed them as he laid the paper on the table so they could see the
article. "No wonder he didn't write to any of us today."
Although she couldn't read what had been written, the pictures were
more than enough to the tell the story.
The first few were innocent enough.
The pretty blonde Harry had been photographed with was stood beside
him, their arms linked, or they were dancing.
The last picture, however, left no doubt as to the nature of the
relationship they shared.
There in front of them was Harry kissing the mystery blonde girl, and
Eleanor felt a stab of envy.
She, as had many other girls within the school, purebloods not excluded,
had wondered what it would be like to kiss him, and here he was, kissing
an outsider, someone not even a Durmstrang student.
A part of her felt betrayed, but Eleanor knew that it was the jealousy that
made her feel that way.
She didn't think that she and Harry would ever date, had even accepted
it, but she had not been prepared to see this.
Nor had Ana judging by her own expression of displeasure, but it was
Lucinda who had the most worrying reaction.
Her face was too neutral, but her almost glowing eyes could not hide the
inner turmoil she was experiencing.
Carefully, she ran her tongue along across the width of her teeth before
she stood and left without saying a word.
"What's wrong with her?" Jonas snorted.
Despite her own feelings on the matter, Eleanor shared a look of concern
with Ana, and the two silently agreed to follow the vampire, though
neither were looking forward to dealing with her temper if she lost her
composure.
Lucinda was terrifying, but she needed them.
They found her in the common room on the seat she usually occupied
when those that needed it were sleeping, her eyes fixed on the roaring
fire.
"Are you okay?" Eleanor asked as she and Ana sat either side of her.
Lucinda nodded.
"I'm fine."
She wasn't.
Her already thick, Russian accent grew noticeably stronger whenever
something was bothering her.
However, the girl was just about the most stubborn person Eleanor had
ever met, including Harry.
It was frustrating to say the least, but as he felt her patience begin to
wane, two red tears rolled down the vampire's cheeks.
Lucinda wiped them away furiously and shook her head.
"I don't even know why I feel like this," she huffed.
"Like what?" Ana pressed.
Lucinda shrugged.
"I don't know," she sighed.
"Jealous?" Eleanor interjected.
Lucinda swallowed deeply as she shook her head.
"No, the jealousy thing I understand. I don't know why I care so much."
"Because you care about Harry," Ana pointed out.
Lucinda nodded.
"I do, but I've always done what I can to not care about him too much,"
she huffed. "He makes it so damned hard."
"He does," Eleanor agreed.
Lucinda deflated.
"It's different for me," she murmured, wiping away another tear. "We
haven't studied my kind in our creatures classes yet. What do you know
about us?"
"Other than the thirst for blood, the never sleeping, and now crying
blood? Nothing," Ana answered.
Lucinda rolled her eyes at the girl.
"There's much more to us than that," she sighed.
"Then why don't you tell us?" Eleanor urged. "If we know then we will
understand."
Lucinda fell silent for a moment, evidently considering how to voice her
thoughts.
"We are quite apathetic for the most part," she murmured. "Usually, our
bloodlust takes precedence over everything, especially where humans are
concerned. We see them only for blood, and ones we take a liking to
something as a pet at best I suppose is the best way to explain it."
Eleanor frowned as she nodded her understanding.
"But you don't see Harry that way?"
"Sometimes I do," Lucinda admitted, "but the older I am getting the less it
feels that way."
"You care about him," Ana broke in.
Lucinda grimaced as she nodded.
"For us to care for a human like that is rare in itself, but when we do, it is
intense. We become frighteningly possessive over them. I'm trying to
prevent that from happening. It is not good for me, not when I know
Harry cannot return the affection."
"Why can't he?" Eleanor pressed gently.
"Because I am a vampire," Lucinda said simply. "I am immortal, and he
will die. It would be devastating for me to experience that, and
something that I would never recover from. It would eat away at me until
my anger manifests itself into an insatiable bloodlust that will not be
satisfied by any amount of feeding. My hunger would be as eternal as my
pain."
"Well, shit," Eleanor murmured.
Lucinda smiled sadly.
"Besides, it is not something that would ever be accepted," she sighed.
"He is Harry Potter, and I'm just a creature with nothing to offer him. I do
not come from a wealthy family with titles, and I do not think I could
give him children."
"Can vampires have children?" Eleanor questioned curiously.
"Usually not in the traditional way," Lucinda snorted. "We can, but only if
the magic to create a life is strong enough to withstand the nature of the
vampiric magic. I have my witches magic too," she reminded them.
"Children born to vampires like that are rare. In the last thousand years,
there haven't even been five."
Eleanor didn't know what to say, and neither seemingly did Ana.
"Now do you understand?" Lucinda asked, chuckling humourlessly.
Eleanor offered the girl a sympathetic smile.
"Do you not think you should explain it to Harry?" she suggested.
Lucinda shook her head.
"It wouldn't change anything," she sighed. "This is just my nature, and
something that I have to deal with. My mother warned me this could
happen, but I didn't believe her, not until I met Harry. He's the most
frustrating, annoying, and irritating person I have ever met."
"But you wouldn't have him any other way."
"I wouldn't," Lucinda murmured. "The closest I have come to experiencing
warmth is when he is around. I fight it off because I know what allowing
myself to feel it would do, but it just get harder."
Eleanor shared a glance with Ana and the two of them nodded.
Both felt a level of affection for Harry, more than they certainly did any
other boy, and were even attracted to him, but what Lucinda was
experiencing went beyond a simple crush.
What was worse was that neither knew how they could help her and
judging by the expression of defeat that adorned the vampire's features,
she knew it too.
(Break)
Daphne followed in the footsteps of Professor Snape as he led her
towards his office where her parents were waiting for her. She had no
doubt that her father would be quite furious.
Her mother on the other hand would be the calmer of the two, and would
likely find amusement in the situation, or so Daphne hoped.
She had never pushed the boundaries in such a way, and with each step
she took, she only felt more nervous about the conversation to come.
"Hi," she greeted her parents brightly.
Despite the evident severity of the situation, she was pleased to see them.
"Do not hi me, young lady!" her father snapped irritably.
Daphne's mother rolled her eyes at the man and offered her daughter a
smile.
"What on Earth were you thinking, Daphne?" her father huffed. "I thought
you knew better than to conduct yourself in such a disgraceful manner.
Your mother and I did not raise like that."
Daphne allowed the man to vent.
She had learned as a child to not interrupt the man.
Doing so would only result in a longer tirade.
"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" Jonathan Greengrass
demanded.
Professor Snape too seemed interested in her answer, but all Daphne
could do was shrug.
"I only kissed him," she sighed. "It's not that big a deal."
"Not that big a deal she says," her father snorted humourlessly. "A picture
of you only kissing him is spread across every newspaper known to
wizardkind. I knew you could be rebellious, but this?"
"Calm down, Jonathan," Daphne's mother urged.
Lord Greengrass released a deep breath.
"We cannot even spin it to appear as though it was him that kissed you,"
the man groaned. "What am I supposed to say to any prospective matches
for you?"
"You mean Lucius Malfoy," Daphne grumbled, narrowing her eyes at her
father.
"Lucius has expressed an interest in marrying you to his heir," her father
admitted unashamedly.
"I would sooner be exiled!" Daphne returned heatedly. "Draco is a
monster, and I will not be subjected to his cruelty for the rest of my life!"
"A monster?" Jonathan asked, his gaze shifting towards Professor Snape.
"Draco has occasionally exhibited some troubling behaviours," the man
admitted wryly. "Nothing that maturity will not fix."
"He is an evil little shit, just like his father!" Daphne snapped. "I will not
be married to him."
"No, you will not," Ophelia Greengrass interjected firmly, shooting her
husband a glare, "but this business with Potter…"
"The boy is as arrogant as his father," Snape muttered.
"He is not arrogant," Daphne sighed. "Harry was nothing but a gentleman.
I kissed him, and he did the right thing by returning it."
Her father shook her head.
"Be that as it may, you are both very much in the wrong, and I would
have a word with the boy and whomever it is raising him," Jonathan
demanded.
"I do not think that wise," Professor Snape replied. "Potter is not
cooperative, and I expect doing so would only exacerbate the situation."
Daphne's father shook his head.
"I will not be leaving until I speak with the boy."
Professor Snape deflated.
"Very well, I will have him sent for," he conceded. "I would not expect an
apology, Lord Greengrass."
"We will see about that!" Daphne's father retorted stubbornly.
(Break)
"It has to be a language of some sort," Harry mused aloud, rubbing his
ears in an attempt to soothe the ringing the screeching of the egg had left
him with.
"Karkaroff said the same thing," Viktor muttered, "but her wouldn't give
me any other clue."
Harry frowned thoughtfully as he eyed the egg.
According to Viktor, in the month that he'd had it, he tried everything he
could think of to discern apparent, to no avail, as demonstrated by the
many dents and scratches that adorned the surface.
"Did you bite this?" Harry asked as he spotted some indentations that
appeared to have been made by human teeth.
Viktor cursed under his breath.
"I might have," he admitted sullenly.
Harry laughed as he slapped the Bulgarian on the shoulder.
"Honestly, my life would be much emptier without you in it."
"Oh, shut up," Viktor grumbled as he snatched the egg away. "I'll figure it
out."
"You will," Harry agreed. "I have good money riding on you winning this
thing."
"You're betting on me again?" Viktor groaned.
Harry nodded, a grin tugging at his lips.
"The Weasleys gave me good odds," he explained. "They seem to think
Diggory and Delacour are the favourites."
"Are they?"
Harry shook his head.
"Don't get me wrong, they're both stiff competition but they aren't as well
rounded as you. Diggory is good at Transfiguration, and Delacour is good
with Charms and Enchanting, but that's all they really have going for
them that they may be better than you at."
"How do you know this?" Viktor asked with a frown.
Harry grinned at the older boy.
"I wanted to make sure I was betting on the right person," he explained. "I
did some digging on the other champions. They're impressive, and
definitely the best that the other schools have to offer, but neither of
them know what it is like to have to dig deep to overcome adversity.
When they face it, they will crumble."
"And I will not?"
Harry shook his head.
"You won't because you were not raised with a silver spoon in your
mouth and given everything. You worked damned hard to get to where
you are and losing just isn't something you do."
Viktor offered Harry a rare smile.
"Thanks," he said sincerely. "I needed that."
"Thank me by winning, you prat," Harry sighed. "Now, let's get back to
figuring out this egg, and if you get hungry, I can get you a snack instead
of you trying to eat the bloody thing."
Once more, Viktor cursed under his breath but before the two of them
could begin speculating on the egg, a knock at the door interrupted them.
"Who is it?" Harry called.
"Potter, your presence has been requested at the castle by Lord
Greengrass," Professor Karkaroff explained as he entered the room. "Don't
worry, I'll handle this for you."
Professor Snape was standing behind the headmaster who did not look
impressed with the summoning of his student.
"It's alright, Professor," Harry replied with a smile. "I will handle the
matter myself."
"Are you sure?" Karkaroff questioned.
Harry offered the man an appreciative nod.
"I can manage."
A slight smirk tugged at Karkaroff's lips as he returned the gesture.
Greengrass had no idea what he was getting himself in for if he decided
to kick up a fuss about what happened, and even Karkaroff knew that
Harry had plans within plans to hand.
"Very well," the headmaster allowed. "You know where I am if you need
me."
With that, Karkaroff left the room and Harry followed the silent Professor
Snape towards the castle, the only sound to be heard being their footfalls
across the grounds, and then upon the stone floor as they entered the
school.
"Lord Greengrass is rather unimpressed with the way you and Miss
Greengrass conducted yourselves," the Potions master finally said as they
made their way down the stairs and into the dungeons.
"Well, I didn't expect a pat on the back and an invitation to dinner,"
Harry quipped, taking no small amount of glee from the way Snape's eye
twitched at his response.
The man said nothing else and pushed open the door to his office where
he gestured Harry to enter.
He was greeted by the sight of a fair-haired man pacing irritably back
and forth across the breadth of the room, and a blonde-haired woman
that Daphne had inherited almost all of her looks from.
Daphne herself was leaning against the fireplace and shot him an
apologetic look as he entered.
"Potter here to see you, Lord Greengrass," Snape announced before he
mingled in with the shadows in the corner of the room.
Greengrass hummed as he took in Harry's appearance, and he stood at his
full height.
"What do you have to say?" he asked.
The man's demeanour irked Harry immediately, and his bristled at the
tone he was addressed with.
"What is it you would like to hear, Lord Greengrass?" he replied.
"An apology would be a good place to start, young man."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
"Then you have my apologies if you feel that I have slighted you in some
way," he offered.
Greengrass snorted, his nostrils flaring in irritation.
"That's all? You may have jeopardised Daphne's future prospects for
finding a husband!"
Harry quirked an eyebrow in Greengrass's direction.
"I may have jeopardised her future?" he questioned. "You speak as though
I forced myself on her. You read the article, and your saw the photos."
"I told you that I kissed him!" Daphne broke in.
"You will be quiet, girl!" Greengrass demanded.
Daphne opened her mouth to speak, but a hand on her rm from her
mother quelled the urge to comment further.
"My daughter is a pureblood," Greengrass whispered. "She has a
reputation to uphold. Kissing the likes of you has sullied that."
The words spoken caused Harry's irritation to flair, and any notion he'd
had of dealing with this amicably was all but forgotten as his jaw
tightened.
"Fine," he murmured. "I offered what I believed was a suitable apology,
but if you want posture like a proud prick, then we will take that route
and I will see you fall limp."
"Excuse me?" Greengrass sputtered in disbelief.
"You heard what I said," Harry returned evenly. "You stand here talking
of sullying reputations when it was you that was caught in a broom
cupboard in this very castle with a certain Alison Fawcett, were you not?
The same Alison Fawcett who now carries the name Fudge. Tell me, Lord
Greengrass, were you aware that a contract already existed between the
girl and the young man who is now our Minister?"
Greengrass gawped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of
water.
"How did you know that?" he croaked.
"I make it my business to know all I can," Harry replied simply. "I would
be a rather poor politician if I didn't, wouldn't I?"
Greengrass said nothing, and Harry knew he had him exactly where he
wanted him.
"Potter, you will not speak to your betters in such a way in my office,"
Snape interjected angrily.
"Unless your name is Potter or Greengrass, you will keep your nose out of
our business!" Harry returned.
Snape's jaw tightened.
"It is as I said. The boy is uncooperative, just like his father."
Harry's eyes narrowed as his gaze shifted towards the man.
Up until now, he had been willing to leave the past where it was, for the
time being at least, but now that Snape had the audacity to insult James
Potter in front of him, Harry was no longer of such a mind.
"And who got the last laugh in the pathetic rivalry you and my father
shared?" he questioned dangerously. "My father is dead, and you still
cling on to the bitterness you feel that my mother chose him, but it's like
I said; who got the last laugh, Snape? I bet you wept with joy hearing of
your master murdering him, didn't you? But then you remembered who
else was there that night, and that you were the very reason he was there
in the first place. Oh, I know what you did, Snape. Born as the seventh
month dies. Those are the words you passed on to him, weren't they?"
"H-how?" Snape choked.
"I know more than you could ever imagine," Harry chuckled darkly, "and
do not think for one minute that I have forgotten of all the vile acts that
were carried out in his name, and by whom. I can promise you this,
Snape; every last one of them that served him will get exactly what they
deserve, for my mother that you claimed to care for, and my father that
died to protect his family."
Harry's glare did not waver as he spoke, and the others in the room had
fallen into a stunned silence.
"A reckoning will be coming to Britain soon, and those that wronged my
family will pay for it in blood and suffering. You can take my word for it,
and if you are foolish enough to not heed the warning, then that is your
problem. You see, Lord Greengrass," Harry continued turning towards the
shocked Lord, "it is not the snivelling cowards of the world like Lucius
Malfoy that should concern you. No, it is those that will boldly look you
in the eye when they plunge a knife into your heart. Remember my
words, because I will not be repeating them to you."
Greengrass nodded dumbly, and Harry turned his attention towards
Daphne.
"You do have my apologies for all of this," he murmured. "I did not come
here with the intention of leaving on such poor terms with your father,
but he was intent on doing so. Lady Greengrass," he added with a bow. "It
is clear to see where your daughter gets her beauty from."
The woman offered him a polite a smile, and Harry took his leave of the
room.
Perhaps he had said too much, but he didn't care.
He would not be bullied by the likes of Jonathan Greengrass, and
certainly not a man of the calibre of Severus Snape.
No, the man needed to hear the truth, and what he chose to do with that
was his business.
It mattered not to Harry who already had more enemies than he could
count. Adding Snape to the seemingly unending list meant nothing.
"I bet you'd be proud of that, Cassie," he muttered under his breath as he
left the castle, the pouring rain and chill in the air matching his own
maudlin mood.
Despite having perhaps saying too much, he'd meant every word of it.
A reckoning would be coming to Britain, and Harry would be the one to
bring his enemies to their knees.
He would bow to no one.
Neither the Blacks nor the Potters did, and he wouldn't either.
23. Into the Blue
Into the Blue
A/N
Another chapter for you guys…
I will begin updating this more frequently.
TBR
She was watching him again, her eyes glazed over as she seemingly
pondered what was proving to be quite the difficult conundrum to
unravel, but also with a hint of longing.
Daphne had said nothing of what had happened between her and Harry,
and neither had he. Pansy wouldn't have minded if both had simply
moved on from whatever had begun budding between them, but that was
not the case.
Not a meal passed where she did not catch the girl watching Harry, only
averting her eyes when the boy caught her.
It was beginning to irk Pansy and Tracey who had tried to speak with
their friend on several occasions over the past weeks.
"Are we going to Hogsmeade today, or not?" Pansy huffed as the majority
of the students began exiting the Great Hall in droves.
Daphne merely nodded, and the trio of girls were joined by the ever-quiet
Millicent Bulstrode trailing after them.
Her presence had never bothered any of the girls.
Millicent did not say much, but she listened and offered her input on
conversations from time to time.
The group remained silent in the carriage, and Pansy and Tracey shared a
look and made a silent agreement.
Today, they would get the bottom of what had happened, and with both
of them pressing her, Daphne would be unable to dismiss them.
"Where shall we go first?" Tracey asked the others.
"Honeydukes," Daphne answered with a half-smile. "I'd like some
Honeyed Pistachios."
Pansy nodded her agreement.
She needed to replenish her own stock of treats she had been depleting
since their last visit.
Exiting the carriage and making their way towards the shop, the silence
amongst them continued, and did so until they had purchased their
wares.
With each of them ladened down with their goods, they then paid a visit
to Scrivenshaft's for some ink and quills before spending some time in
Gladrags, something that usually cheered Daphne up.
This time, however, she took little interest in the dresses on offer and left
without purchasing a single item.
"The Three Broomsticks?" Millicent suggested.
It was lunchtime by the time they reached the pub where evidently,
many other students had the same idea.
"There's a table by the window," Tracey pointed out, nodding to where a
group of Hufflepuffs had just vacated their seats.
Settling into them, they waited for Madame Rosmerta to take their order,
and once more as they did whenever they ate, Daphne's eyes were
searching the room, undoubtedly seeking out only one person.
"For the love of Merlin, Daphne, what the hell is going on with you?"
Tracey huffed.
"Nothing," the blonde denied with a frown.
"You're a shit liar," Tracey sighed. "You've been like this since Boxing
Day."
"Since your father came to speak with you," Pansy broke in. "What
happened?"
Daphne deflated as she shook her head.
"My father insisted on speaking with Harry, so Snape got him."
"And it didn't end well," Pansy guessed.
"No," Daphne murmured. "He was really rude to Harry and…"
"You saw the side of Harry you don't want to see when someone pisses
him off," Pansy interjected.
Daphne nodded.
"My father was in the wrong for what he did, and Harry even offered him
an apology to begin with, but then it all just went really badly. Harry
went off on my father and even Professor Snape. I've never seen anything
like it."
"On Professor Snape?" Millicent questioned interestedly.
"You'd think it was a stupid thing to do, but Snape was so shocked that he
didn't say anything. From what I can gather, he was in love with Harry's
mother and he used to be a Death Eater."
"He did not," Tracey refuted in disbelief.
Daphne frowned as she gestured for the girl to be quiet.
"I think Harry was telling the truth," she whispered. "Why wouldn't Snape
deny if he wasn't, and why would Harry lie?"
"He wouldn't," Pansy assured the girl. "He is not stupid enough to make
baseless accusations."
"What about threats?"
Pansy frowned questioningly.
"What do you mean?"
"He told my father that there would be a reckoning when he returned to
Britain, that those that had wronged his family would suffer for it."
Pansy released a deep breath.
Harry had told her very much the same on more than one occasion, and
she had no reason to think he didn't mean every word he'd said.
"He would not make idle threats," she confirmed.
Daphne shook her head confusedly.
"I know the Potters were an influential family, but they do not hold that
much power to get away with something like that. Not even Harry with
what he did to Voldemort."
"They don't," Pansy agreed diplomatically.
"Then how can he say it? It just makes the conversation between Snape
and my father afterwards even stranger."
"What did they say?"
"Not much at first," Daphne snorted. "They were both in shock, and then
my father became rather angry…"
Flashback
"How dare he?" Jonathan whispered furiously. "The boy oversteps. He has
the gall to address me in such a way?"
"You brought it on yourself, Jonathan!" Ophelia snapped, her eyes
flashing dangerously. "The boy was not even in the wrong and had the
decency to apologise, and you threw it back in his face. Your family has
always been on reasonable terms with the Potters, but you have probably
ruined that now."
"The boy slighted me!"
"Only after you slighted him!"
Jonathan glared at his wife.
"Oh, I will have the last laugh," he declared. "I will ensure the boy regrets
what he has done."
Ophelia shook her head.
"You stupid man," she huffed. "It would be best for all of us if you accept
what has happened and move on. You can tell the other Lords that he
and Daphne had your blessing to attend the ball together and that there
is no animosity on your part for what happened, but that you have
reminded our daughter of the correct propriety. I would even go as far as
to suggest that you offer the boy an apology for your conduct. You
handled the situation very poorly."
"Whose side are you on?" Jonathan chuckled humourlessly.
"Yours," Ophelia answered, "but when you act like a fool, you know I will
not hesitate in telling you. This was foolish, and you may have made an
enemy of the boy. The Potter name may not be as lofty as the Malfoy
one, but he is Harry Potter. They will clamour to him, Jonathan, and if
you are on poor terms with him, it will reflect badly on you. Offer the
boy an olive branch, apologise, and mend the rift you have created."
"I will do no such thing," Jonathan replied stubbornly.
Ophelia shook her head at her husband but it was Professor Snape that
spoke.
"I think perhaps your wife is right in this instance," he sighed. "Potter is
but a child now, but in only a few years, he will reach his majority."
Jonathan waved off the concern dismissively.
"That is a few years from now," he pointed out. "By then, he would have
forgotten about all of this."
Snape did not seem so sure, his expression forming into a grimace as he
chose his next words carefully.
"It is between now and then that should concern you," he murmured.
"Potter's guardian is not someone you will wish to cross."
"His guardian?"
Snape nodded.
"I am unable to say much, but I must advise you against antagonising the
boy."
Jonathan frowned deeply.
"What can you tell me, Severus?"
Snape shook his head. The Potions Master was still in shock from the
vitriol that had been sent his way.
"I can tell you that Potter is right," he whispered. "It is not Lucius that
should concern you, not in the future, at least. His claims that Draco will
inherit the Black title and fortune will prove to be unfounded," he added
pointedly.
"Unfounded?" Ophelia questioned. "Much of his influence relies on that
happening."
"It does," Snape agreed.
"But if Draco will not inherit, then who?" Jonathan questioned.
Snape said nothing else but waited for the realisation to hit.
"Potter! But, how?"
"Think carefully, and the answer will come to you," Snape urged.
Jonathan did so, frowning deeply.
"Charlus," he scoffed after a moment. "He married Dorea Black, but that
would not grant Potter the Lordship."
"There is more to it," Snape explained. "I cannot say more, but it is the
truth."
"Merlin," Jonathan sighed. "Sirius Black?"
Snape shook his head.
"Remains on the run but had no hand in raising the boy."
"Then who?" Jonathan asked himself. "The only other Blacks are Lucius's
wife…"
"Who would not raise the boy who was to inherit what she believes is her
son's right," Ophelia mused aloud.
"Andromeda…"
"Was cast out of the family after marrying Ted Tonks," Ophelia finished.
"Bellatrix is in Azkaban, and most of the others died. The only one I can
think of is…"
"Does she live?" Jonathan asked worriedly.
"Now do you see why I advised against meeting with him?" Snape
grumbled.
"You can't possibly mean Cassiopeia Black?" Ophelia gasped. "Why would
she raise him?"
"Who is Cassiopeia Black?" Daphne asked curiously.
She was certain she had heard the name mentioned before, perhaps in
passing, but it was familiar to her, nonetheless.
"She was Grindelwald's most dangerous follower," her mother explained.
"When Dumbledore defeated him, she vanished and wasn't heard from
again."
"Well, bugger," her father groaned. "My grandfather told me stories about
the war on the continent, and of Cassiopeia Black. Is she really raising
him?"
"I can confirm nothing," Snape replied, though his tone and expression
told Jonathan all he needed to know.
"What do I do?" he muttered as he began pacing back and forth.
"Nothing," Ophelia urged. "If you cannot bring yourself to apologise, I
suggest you do nothing. If he is to be the Lord Black, you will not wish to
offend him more than you have, and I would not offer an apology if it
isn't sincere. It would not be well received."
Jonathan nodded his agreement.
"Severus?" he pressed.
"I believe that your wife is right," the man replied. "As much as it
displeases me to admit, Potter will become an exceedingly influential
member of society here sooner than most would like, and he will be in a
position to bring change. I do not believe that he is merely offering
empty words."
Jonathan appeared to be worried.
"And the threats?"
Snape shrugged.
"We can hope that he is showing an immaturity and that he will grow
beyond them, but I would not be so sure," he said more to himself than
anyone else. "If he is not, then things could become rather messy. He
possesses talent, that cannot be denied. Whether or not he has the follow
through is another thing entirely."
"But if he has been raised by Black…"
"Then it is possible," Snape conceded with a thoughtful frown, "or if other
influences are playing a part," he added.
"Other influences?"
Snape shook his head of whatever thoughts were plaguing him.
"I am speculating on something I have no knowledge of," he explained.
"Regardless, Potter may be insolent, but I would urge caution around
him, if only for whom you believe has raised him."
Jonathan nodded.
"Well, the meeting did not go as expected, but I have learned much
today. Daphne, you are to be careful around that boy."
"That's it?" Daphne scoffed. "You made all of this fuss, and all you have to
say is to be careful?"
Jonathan nodded.
"If he is to be the Lord Black, then he has not overstepped his boundaries.
If anything, you overstepped yours."
Daphne could only shake her head in disbelief at the turn of events.
She hadn't understood much of what had been said, but she'd absorbed
enough to know that things were not as her father had believed them to
be, and that somehow he had even almost given her permission to
continue seeing Harry.
Daphne left Professor Snape's office confused, and equally determined to
have a conversation with Harry.
End Flashback
Little did she know, that wasn't to be.
Harry had not spoken more than a few words to her since the meeting
with her father, and in truth, Daphne didn't know why.
Had she offended him in some way, or was he taking out whatever ill-
feelings he had towards her father on her?
"We just haven't spoken about it," she finished with a shrug.
"Are you angry with him for how he spoke to your father?" Pansy
questioned.
Daphne shook her head.
"No, my father deserved it for being a prat. I don't even think he has
apologised to Harry."
"Well, Harry won't hold that against you. Maybe he just doesn't want to
get you into any more trouble. You should speak with him to at least
clear the air. You can't keep wandering around being a miserable cow."
"I'm not being a miserable cow!"
"Yes, you are," Tracey broke in. "It's either that, or you're staring at him
during mealtimes. It makes me feel sick."
"And me," Millicent added with a grimace.
Daphne scowled at the three other girls.
"Fine, I will talk to him," she conceded with a huff. "Is what Snape said
about him true?"
Pansy frowned thoughtfully.
"You know I can't confirm anything, the same way I wouldn't give away
any of your secrets, but Harry is more than capable of fulfilling the
promises he has made, and not just because of what happened when he is
a baby. He is already a powerful wizard, and by the time he reaches his
majority, there won't be many who will wish to offend him, even if he is
a half-blood."
Daphne nodded her understanding and offered Madame Rosmerta a
grateful smile as she brought the girls their food.
She seemed to be somewhat happier having discussed what had
happened, but that didn't mean Pansy liked the idea of her two friends
continuing any kind of entanglement.
They suited each other well, that she couldn't deny. However, she
couldn't help but feel envious towards Daphne.
She was perhaps one of the only girls their age that many of the other
Lords and Ladies would deem to be a suitable match for what Harry
would become.
Her family was well thought of, wealthy, and on good terms with most
other families in wizarding Britain.
A match between Harry and Daphne would make sense, but one between
Harry and Pansy would not be so well received.
The Parkinson's had a spotted past at best and had always been firmly
aligned with more traditional and conservative politics.
With the power and influence that Harry would one day wield, it
wouldn't sit right with some of the neutral and the more politically
opposite to her family's values.
Still, as foolish as it was, there was a part of her that hoped things could
change, and that her father's blunt denial that such a thing would come
to pass could be proven false.
'Do not grow to love him, Pansy. It will only cause you hurt that I would never
wish upon you.'
'You wouldn't let me marry him?'
Her father offered her a sad smile.
'It would never be my choice to make. The world would not like it, and if he
truly possesses a political acumen, he will not give you a second thought. I'm
sorry, but that is the way it is.'
That had been the brief conversation on the matter she'd shared with her
father when she was twelve, and something Pansy had accepted for the
most part, though she could not fully do so, not until she knew that
despite the odds, it was indeed beyond the realm of possibility.
(Break)
"You want us to be placed in the lake, unconscious, and wait to be
rescued?" Harry questioned, not sure that he had heard the explanation
correctly.
The five judges nodded, though not all of them did so enthusiastically.
"You must all be out of your bloody minds if you think that is
happening," Harry scoffed.
"Potter," Karkaroff warned.
Harry raised an eyebrow at the man.
"Would you do it, Professor?" he asked. "Would any of you put yourselves
in such a vulnerable position? Bloody hell, Delacour's sister is a child!"
"All necessary precautions will be taken," Dumbledore assured him.
Harry remained unconvinced despite the benevolent smile the man gave
him.
"You're not taking the precaution of not doing it," he pointed out.
The Hogwarts headmaster's smile fell and Harry caught a glimpse of
Cassiopeia's smile.
She, along with the parents of the other prospective hostages had been
invited to discuss the second task, something Harry admittedly had not
considered would entail this.
When Viktor had eventually deciphered the clue, he though perhaps they
would take his Firebolt, but certainly not that they intended on placing
live hostages in the lake.
"I must agree with Mr Potter," Mr Chang interjected. "If Cho is willing to
assist Mr Diggory in the tournament, she has our blessing to do so, but I
also have my reservations about her being unconscious. What if
something was to go wrong? What assurances do we have that will not
happen?"
Harry nodded his agreement, as did Mrs Delacour.
"I will personally be casting the necessary magic," Dumbledore
responded.
"I don't care if Merlin himself crawls his arse out of whatever tomb he's in
and casts it," Harry replied. "Magic is not infallible. If something goes
wrong, it is our lives on the line."
Dumbledore released a deep sigh.
"I suppose you have a suggestion, Mr Potter?"
"I do," Harry confirmed. "I am willing to volunteer to help, but we will all
be allowed to remain conscious."
"And how will we know that you have not assisted your champion?"
Crouch questioned.
"We could take their wands," Bagman suggested.
"How many bludgers did you take to the head during your career,
Bagman?" Harry asked curiously. "The young lady here does not have a
wand, and I do not think it wise for myself and Miss Chang to surrender
ours, just in case something goes awry. I do not even think Miss Delacour
should be used as a hostage."
"I want to do it," Gabrielle piped up. "I want to help Fleur."
The girl was determined, something that Harry admired, but she truly
wouldn't know what she was getting herself into until it was too late.
With a sigh, he shook his head.
"How old are you, Gabrielle?" he asked.
"I'm eight," she answered with a bright smile.
Harry's gaze shifted towards the girl's mother and the woman deflated.
"She will not be convinced otherwise, I'm afraid. Gabrielle is a stubborn girl."
"You can say no," Harry pointed out.
"I would never hear the end of it," the woman chuckled. "I have every faith
that Fleur will be successful, but I would like it to be safer."
"Then me and Miss Chang will be keeping our wands," Harry declared.
"You can always check them before and after we have been in the lake to
ensure that we don't interfere, but I will absolutely do so if I feel that we
are in danger. Those are the terms."
"I agree with them," Mr Chang declared.
Mrs Delacour nodded.
"I agree."
The judges did not seem to be pleased by the development, but with the
task taking place the next day, they had little choice but to concede to
the concessions.
"Very well," Crouch grumbled, "but any interference will result in
disqualification for your champions. I need not explain that will severely
impact their chances of winning the tournament."
Harry shrugged.
He knew that Viktor would agree with him.
"If that is all, then perhaps we should bring the discussion to an end?"
Dumbledore suggested. "You are not to reveal your part in the task to
anyone, and you will be collected at midnight tonight to begin the
process of preparing you for your time in the lake."
The others immediately began filing out of Dumbledore's office, but
Harry remained behind, his attention now focused on the familiar bird
perched on the desk.
Cassiopeia shot him a questioning look, and Harry waved her off.
He wanted to speak with the man alone.
"Is there something I can help you with, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.
"You had my father's cloak."
Dumbledore nodded.
"It is a rather exceptional item, and he allowed me the time to study it,"
he explained. "Unfortunately, he died before I could return."
It was a reasonable explanation.
"What did you discover about it?" Harry asked curiously.
"That it cannot be replicated," Dumbledore chuckled. "The magic within
is unique and is not something that can be used fully unless it is by
someone that possesses it naturally."
"I suppose that is a good thing," Harry mused aloud. "We wouldn't want
too many people wandering around with cloaks like this."
Dumbledore frowned at the thought.
"That is quite true," he replied. "I expect you have caused more than your
fair share of trouble when using it."
Harry merely grinned in response.
"It has been most useful."
Dumbledore's beard twitched in amusement.
"I must say, I admire your fortitude," he said appraisingly. "Standing up to
us and insisting on changes to the task."
Harry shrugged.
"I don't like the idea of being defenceless, and the girl should not be put
in danger."
"None of you would have been," Dumbledore replied with certainty.
"Forgive me if I sound boastful, but I am an exceedingly accomplished
wizard, Harry."
"You are," Harry agreed, "but I would never be willing to place my life in
the hands of another. The one time that happened, I lost my parents."
Dumbledore nodded his understanding.
"They truly were wonderful people," he sighed. "You remind me of them
both in their own ways. You have the confidence of your mother, and the
bravery of your father."
"It is kind of you to say so, Headmaster, but let us not pretend that they
would approve of the life I am living. I can't think of anyone who would
want this for their children."
"Perhaps not," Dumbledore murmured, "but I believe they would be
proud of you, nonetheless."
The perched phoenix trilled gently as it took to the air and hovered
between them.
"I believe Fawkes likes you," Dumbledore chuckled. "He is not keen on
many."
Harry snorted as he reached up a hand and stroked the bird's plumage.
"I had been wondering who he belonged to," Harry explained. "How did
you meet him?"
"It is something of a family trait," Dumbledore informed him
thoughtfully. "It appears as though they are attracted to our magic and
offer themselves as companions to some of us. Fawkes came to me when I
was in my twenties and has been my companion since."
"That is an interesting magical trait," Harry acknowledged. "Maybe we
could discuss it further another time. I expect you have some very
interesting theories."
Dumbledore smiled as he nodded.
"I would like that very much," he replied. "It is not often people wish to
merely discuss magic with me. I fear it is my feats that attract those
conversationalists and not merely the study of what made them possible."
"I look forward to it," Harry replied with a bow before heading towards
the exit.
Cassiopeia had spoken with him on several occasions about Dumbledore,
how shrewd the man could be, but also how brilliant, something she had
acknowledged reluctantly.
It would be a missed opportunity to not pick the man's brain, despite his
own reservations.
Harry was not foolish enough to believe the Hogwarts headmaster was a
paragon of utter virtue as most viewed him.
No, he would need to be cautious around him, but there was much to be
gained from keeping him on friendly terms, and Harry already suspected
Dumbledore knew more about his cloak than he had revealed.
(Break)
Gellert studied the Horcrux intently, pushing away the pulses of magic
that washed over him. If he was not so well-versed in the Mind Arts, it
would have taken control of him within days of it being in his possession.
Nevertheless, he could not help but marvel at the wondrous creation in
front of him.
Lord Voldemort was quite the wizard to create such a thing, a thought
that left him as impressed as he was concerned.
Harry would truly have his work cut out for him when the time came for
them to meet.
The boy would need all the help he could get, something that Gellert had
been contributing to with only Cassie and Albus being any the wiser.
Still, there was much more to be done, and much the boy could learn
from him.
He would have to see Harry for himself in due course to truly understand
just what the Horcrux had done for him.
If his working theory was correct based on what he himself had
experienced from merely being in the presence of the locket, then even
Cassiopeia did not know the extent of what Harry was capable of.
Did Harry?
Gellert smirked to himself.
Of course he did.
From everything Cassie had told him, Harry was no fool and would be
aware of what he had been unwittingly gifted.
If he had, as Gellert suspected, received both knowledge and discernible
memories from the soul piece that had latched on to him, then the odds
of him emerging from the impending conflict were increased
exponentially.
Adding the help that Gellert could provide, Harry may just surpass his
foe.
Scratching away with his quill, he finished the final line of the reams of
parchment he had been working on for several weeks now.
Within the pages contained his own thoughts on magic, and every last
spell that he had created, none of which were known to any.
Gellert was pleased to share them with the boy, for the woman who had
been so devoted to him despite his downfall, and for the respect he had
for Harry's grandfather that had once been an impressive foe.
If there was any that needed Gellert's knowledge for what he would face,
it was Harry Potter.
Still, he would request a meeting with the boy when the time was right,
to both sate his curiosity of the magical anomaly he was, and to simply
make Harry's acquaintance after having heard so much about him.
Rolling up the pieces of parchment, he tied them together before
readying them to be delivered to a boy he had never met yet felt
something akin to affection for.
"May your enemies fall as you rise, Harry Potter," Gellert whispered. "And
may you perish painfully for all you have done," he added to the locket.
As impressed as he was with the magic Lord Voldemort had created, it
still sickened Gellert to have learned of the man's transgressions.
"If only I had my wand and was not such an old man," he mused aloud.
"It is not to be so, but you will still face the best and worst of me. I give
you my word that you will feel my wrath."
The locket trembled on the table in protest and Gellert shook his head.
"You cannot escape Death, Tom, and it is he himself that will come for
you. He may carry the name of another, but it is a Peverell you will face."
With a flourish of his quill, he added the symbol of the Hallows to the
roll of parchment, nodding satisfactorily when it was done.
All that remained was for this to be given to Harry, and the rest would be
up to him.
Gellert knew the boy had a monumental task ahead of him, but if anyone
could achieve what many would deem to be the impossible, it would
indeed be Harry Potter.
(Break)
"THE CHAMPIONS WILL HAVE ONE HOUR FROM THE SOUND OF THE
CLAXON TO RETRIEVE THEIR HOSTAGES," Dumbledore announced to
the crowd who began talking excitedly amongst themselves.
Viktor felt no such emotion.
Along with the sudden nervousness he felt, an unwavering sense of
determination set in.
Why Harry would consent to being placed under the lake, he knew not,
but Viktor knew he would never hear the end of it.
"What I'll miss the most," he grumbled to himself amusedly.
He would miss Harry, more than anyone else when he graduated
Durmstrang at the end of the year, but it wasn't like he would ever tell
the boy that.
Harry was insufferable enough already without knowing how much
Viktor appreciated everything he had done for him these past four years.
Helping with Quidditch practices was one thing, but this?
He'd have to get Harry season tickets every year he remained a
professional player.
Viktor took a deep breath as he waited for the task to begin and took a
glance at the other two champions.
Diggory appeared to be as determined as him, and if truth be told, the
Hogwarts representative needed a better showing than he had given in
the first task.
Not that he had done badly, and he had been woefully unprepared.
This time, they would all be on an even footing.
If Viktor felt somewhat nervous about what was to come, Delacour was
absolutely terrified.
From what little he had listened to; Viktor could only conclude that the
Beauxbatons champion would be attempting to rescue her little sister.
If he wasn't so focused on the task at hand, perhaps he would be inclined
to offer the girl some reassuring words, tell her that with Harry in her
company, she would come to no harm.
Despite how rather uncaring Harry could be to those he did not like; he
would never allow anything to happen to an innocent child.
He had a thing for protecting and defending those that could not do it for
themselves.
It was simply his nature.
Viktor had watched him since he'd made his acquaintance; how he
looked out for his friends, how he defended them, and how he provided
what they needed.
Harry Potter was perhaps the kindest person he'd ever met, just not to
those who got on the wrong side of him.
Many at Durmstrang had done so, and they had not fared well.
The smirk that tugged at Viktor's lips fell as the awaited claxon sounded
and he immediately drew his wand.
Setting to work with the rather uncomfortable transfiguration, he
plunged into the depths and barrelled towards the deepest, darkest part
of the lake where he had no doubt the hostages would have been taken.
Of course they would have.
The tournament organisers would be doing the champions no favours, as
demonstrated by the requirement to face off with a dragon during the
first task.
(Break)
It was an odd experience to say the least, to find himself tied to a large
effigy of a merman under the lake, but Harry was taking it in his stride as
best he could, despite the perpetual feeling of unease that was plaguing
him.
His wand had been in his hand since they had been placed here, ready to
defend himself, and the others if necessary.
Cho Chang too seemed to be calm, and though the young, French veela
had initially been excited by the assortment of curious creatures that
came to see them, that was no longer so.
The longer they spent down here, the more unsettled she had become,
and Harry had already cast several Calming Charms on the girl.
She had no business being here, and he firmly stood by his initial
assessment that an alternative should have been found.
He now regretted insisting that they all be allowed to remain conscious.
The child should have indeed been placed into an enchanted sleep with
Harry and Chang to watch over her.
Still, there was nothing that could be done now except wait for the
champions to arrive.
Harry expected that would be soon.
According to his watch, it was nearing the half-way mark of the task that
had begun at 11am.
Squeezing Gabrielle Delacour's hand comfortingly, he gave her a nod of
encouragement.
Soon enough, they would be out of here.
It was only a few moments later that Gabrielle tugged frantically on his
sleeve and pointed towards a large mass rushing towards them from the
distance.
It wasn't until the figure was only a few feet away that Harry recognised
it as Viktor, and he breathed a sigh of relief, though he was perplexed by
his appearance.
The Bulgarian had opted to transfigure himself into quite the unnerving
human/shark hybrid that had no business existing.
In truth, it was an impressive feat of magic, but one that Harry would not
be attempting himself, not when much simpler and less dangerous
alternatives existed.
Still, Viktor was compelled to impress the judges.
He attempted to gnaw through the ropes binding Harry to the statue with
his viciously sharp teeth until he held up his arms in protest and glared at
Viktor who even as a shark had the decency to look abashed.
Spotting some sharp stones on the floor, Harry nodded towards them.
Having retrieved one, Viktor began hacking away at the ropes, freeing
Harry quickly and gesturing for him to follow.
Harry attempted to do so, only to be prevented by the little veela that
clung to his hand desperately.
Turning towards her, there was no mistaking the fear she felt at the
prospect of him leaving her, and he looked towards Viktor questioningly.
Where was Delacour?
Viktor seemingly understood and shook his head, drawing a finger across
his throat.
Delacour wasn't coming.
It was then that Harry noticed the various wounds that Viktor was
sporting; a myriad of claw and teeth marks littering his body.
Fleur must have fallen victim to one of the many creatures that dwelled
here.
Knowing he couldn't leave her, Harry deflated and shot Viktor a look of
pleading.
The Bulgarian rolled his eyes, but nodded, and gestured for him to hurry.
Without hesitation, Harry cut the girl free and pulled her towards him,
frowning as something pulled back.
One of the mermen had seized her other hand and was shaking his head
at Harry, his trident levelled at him.
Harry did not appreciate the threat, and he narrowed his eyes as he
pointed his wand at the merman, all whilst Gabrielle fought frantically
against the hold of the creature.
She was panicking once more, thrashing in the water, but the merman
would not relent, his efforts doubling as the rest of his kind joined him.
Harry's nostrils flared as more tridents were pointed towards him, and he
felt his anger begin to surface.
He did not wish to harm the merpeople, but they were frightening
Gabrielle, and attempting to prevent him from taking her back to her
mother.
It was at this point that Viktor intervened, gesturing for peace between
them, but the merpeople would not relent, and Harry had already grown
tired of the fruitless attempt at diplomacy.
With a flick of his wand, the merman that was holding on to Gabrielle
recoiled, the Stinging Hex catching him on the underside of the wrist.
It was intended as nothing more than a warning, but the creatures saw it
as an outright act of hostility and they reacted immediately, charging
towards Harry with their weapons poised.
Even with the head of a shark, Harry did not miss the look of alarm that
formed on Viktor's face.
Not that he focused on it.
In one fluid movement, he pulled the little veela behind him as he
brandished his wand in a sweeping motion, buying himself some time by
banishing the creatures backwards.
Before they could compose themselves for another charge, Harry had
already begun his next spell, twirling his wand this time, warping the
water around him and Gabrielle.
Holding the girl closely, he unleashed the accumulated magic, the force
blowing the two of them backwards several feet.
It gave Harry the perfect vantage point to witness the enormous sea
snake he had created, and the comical response of Viktor as he fled from
the creature as it lunged towards the merpeople.
They dispersed, leaving the trio free to leave, though Viktor remained
transfixed on the village as they did so, his gaze switching between the
snake and Harry.
When the home of their temporary hosts was no longer visible, he shook
his head, and it was only a few moments later that they broke the surface
of the lake.
"What the hell was that?" Viktor gasped breathlessly after he had undone
his transfiguration.
Harry shrugged as he reaffirmed his grip on Gabrielle.
"Just something I thought might work," he answered.
Viktor snorted.
"Something you thought might work?" he despaired. "That could have
killed me!"
"It wouldn't have killed anyone," Harry sighed. "Its purpose was only to
keep the merpeople at bay, nothing more."
Viktor chuckled humourlessly before a deep frown marred his features.
"Hey, I'm supposed to be rescuing you," he pointed out.
"Oh, would you like me to act like a damsel in distress?" Harry snarked.
"Just, shut up," Viktor huffed amusedly. "Let's get back. How long do we
have left?"
"About fifteen minutes," Harry answered after checking his watch.
Viktor nodded, and they continued on their way to the shore.
"Where is Fleur?" Gabrielle asked worriedly.
Harry looked towards Viktor who shook his head.
"Grindylows," he muttered. "I saw her struggling with a group. I chased
them off, but she was hurt and her bubble had collapsed. The last thing I
saw was her swimming back up."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"You will see her when we are back," he assured Gabrielle.
The girl did not seem to be sure, but she said nothing else on the matter,
her grip tightening around Harry's neck as he continued swimming.
Viktor too spoke no further until they heard the cheering from the crowd
begin to fill their ears, and by the time they reached shallow enough
water to stand in, all three of them were cold, wet, and tired.
"GABRIELLE!" a frantic voice called before the little veela was pulled
from his back and into the arms of her sister.
The two of them began babbling to one another in French and were
quickly joined by their mother.
Before Harry could catch his bearings, he found himself being ushered
into a nearby tent where he was set upon by the Hogwarts healer.
The woman placed a hot blanket around his shoulders, and all but forced
a pepper-up potion down his throat.
He coughed at the intrusion, though the immediate warmth was
welcome.
"How are you feeling, Mr Potter?" the healer asked.
"I've been better," Harry chuckled. "I'm fine, but I could really do with
stretching my legs. They feel a little dull after being under the water for
so long."
The healer hummed as she eyed him speculatively.
"You can go for two minutes, but I want you back here. Do not make me
look for you."
Harry nodded and breathed a sigh of relief when he stood, the cramp in
his legs ebbing away as he stepped outside into the flurry of activity.
In the minutes that he was in the tent, Diggory had arrived with Chang,
and the duo along with Viktor were being attended to by other healers in
attendance.
"Thank you!" a relieved voice broke into his thoughts, and Harry found
himself wrapped in a tight embrace, and a pair of warm lips pressed
against his cheeks. "Thank you for looking after her. She told me what you
did for her down there."
Harry merely nodded and the French champion released him, the smile
she offered one seldom seen from the older girl.
"It was my pleasure," Harry replied. "She's a very sweet girl."
Fleur nodded and kissed his cheek once more.
"Well, that only makes it more worth it," Harry quipped, shifting his
attention to the younger sister who had also been wrapped up in a
blanket. "Are you okay?"
Gabrielle nodded, her cheeks flushing a light pink.
"Thank you, Harry Potter."
Harry snorted amusedly.
"You're very welcome."
The girl offered him a bright smile, followed by her mother who had
undoubtedly been deeply concerned when Fleur returned without her.
"I cannot put into words how grateful I am…"
Harry waved the woman off.
"I know," he assured her as he felt a sharp tap on his shoulder.
"I did say two minutes," Madame Pomfrey said firmly. "Come on, Potter.
You're still shaking."
Rolling his eyes at Gabrielle, Harry followed the healer into the tent as
the judges began their announcements, though he could not hear them
over the sound of his own steaming ears after being fed another pepper-
up potion.
"You don't seem to be as cold as you were," Madame Pomfrey observed.
"If you give me another one of those potions, I might actually combust."
Madame Pomfrey raised an eyebrow in his direction.
"Your father had the same cheek."
"I have heard that."
The corner of the woman's lips twitched.
"It was never a dull moment when James Potter found himself under my
care, even if I could have done without the additional trouble he
brought."
Harry grinned, the fondness in which the woman spoke of his father
warming him more than any blanket or potion could.
"How did you do?" he asked as Viktor entered the tent.
"I got a forty-eight," he answered proudly. "I'm in the lead."
"Good," Harry praised. "Only one more left to go."
Viktor nodded.
"Only one more left."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
He wasn't even a champion and already he'd had just about enough of the
tournament, and judging by Viktor's countenance, he too was keen for it
all to be over.
(Break)
"Barty, have you finished with your brewing?"
Crouch offered his master a bow before nodding.
"I have, My Lord."
"Then you have my permission to proceed with your plan," Voldemort
granted, "but no other is to know of it. I will excuse your absence myself."
The smile that formed on Crouch's face was nothing short of maniacal.
It had been weeks ago that Barty had approached him away from the
prying ears of Lucius and Wormtail, his plan risky, but too tempting to
dismiss.
"I will not let you down, My Lord," he vowed.
"See that you do not, Barty," Voldemort urged. "I would sooner you give
your life than be caught. Do you understand?"
"Of course, My Lord," Barty answered before taking his leave of the room,
the smile he wore not wavering despite the warning ringing in his ears.
24. An Unexpected Ally
An Unexpected Ally
A/N
Onwards we go…
TBR
"Are you sure you're ready for this?"
Harry took a deep breath and nodded.
His time at Hogwarts would be at an end in only a few short weeks, and
he had prepared as much as he possibly could for this moment.
Under the supervision of Professor McGonagall, he had been working on
completing his final transformation for months, and now, it was time for
the final product.
He was nervous, that he wouldn't deny.
The beast within him was not yet tame, and he knew it would be a
struggle to seize control of the instincts that would flood him.
That was why he had insisted on being placed in a cage, just in case he
was unable to do so.
"Will there be changes when I'm in my human form?" he asked curiously.
Professor McGonagall frowned thoughtfully before nodding.
"It is likely," she replied. "For me, my hearing and sense of smell
increased considerably, and I expect it will be the same for you, but I
used to struggle to ignore the instinct to chase things, or attack fish that
are kept in tanks."
Harry laughed amusedly.
"Do you also get the urge to lick yourself and sunbathe?"
Professor McGonagall raised a brow in his direction.
"That is enough questions, Potter," she sighed. "Get in the cage."
With a smirk, Harry did so, and the nervousness he had been feeling the
past days leading up to this evening set in once more.
When he was inside, Professor McGonagall locked the door behind him
and offered a nod of encouragement.
"You must immerse yourself. Allow the creature within to take over
before you attempt to bring it to heel."
Harry swallowed deeply as he took a seat and closed his eyes, seeking
what it was that he could feel wanting to escape the confines of his mind,
the beast he had been fighting to keep at bay as it grew stronger the
more familiar he became with it.
The rawness of the magic was what he felt first, the heavy yet pure
nature of it overwhelming his senses as he allowed it to wash over him
completely for the first time.
It was an odd sensation as the differing emotions to his own became
present, the curiosity, the hunger, the cautiousness and self-assuredness.
He was a predator, a beast that stalked the apex, an animal who
possessed few natural enemies.
The emotions became stronger as his inner beast slowly but surely
emerged into his consciousness, and Harry allowed it to do so, feeling his
body shift the more his own mind was pulled away until he felt that he
was trapped.
Now was the time for them to become one.
In a sudden attack, he flooded his mind with his own feelings, his own
emotions, and he felt a strong resistance pushing him back.
At once, he wished to both flee and fight, the conflicting instincts
resulting in a struggle for power, and the sounds of snarling and growling
filled the room.
The animal did not wish to submit to his will, yet Harry's was so
exceptionally strong.
Back and forth they went, each pushing the other to their limits until
there was a sudden calmness, the conflict ending just as quickly as it had
begun with the animal finally conceding defeat.
Harry was tired and his body ached, but he somehow managed to muster
enough energy to open his eyes where he found himself imprisoned in a
large, barred box.
He didn't like being closed in.
His kind should be free to roam, to hunt, and take some land for
themselves where they would reign supreme.
No, he should not be trapped, and he did not appreciate the way the
funny creature was watching.
Although he was exhausted, he managed a low growl of warning.
The creature was undeterred by his efforts and crouched next to the cage
and began making her own noises.
At first, he could not comprehend them, but the more she did it, the more
it began to make sense, and after a few moments, she spoke something
that resonated with him.
"Potter?"
It was a familiar sound, and upon hearing it, he felt his mind flooded
with different instincts that he did not know or understand, or did he?
He did.
Potter was his name, and although he knew he was not a human, he was
at the same time.
Acknowledging that fact only made it more real, and he found that he
remembered the woman who was speaking to him.
She had helped him escape from his inner prison and was no foe of his.
He whimpered apologetically, the woman smiled, and he felt his thick
tail beating rhythmically against the hard floor.
"Are you done?" she asked him.
He nodded and she laughed heartily.
"Congratulations, Mr Potter, you do make for a fine creature."
Harry watched as Professor McGonagall conjured a mirror and placed it
in front of the cage, and he stood to take in his reflection.
His coat was long, black, and shaggy, his bright green eyes in stark
contrast to this.
What caught his attention most, however, was the viciously sharp claws
at the end of his large paws and matching white teeth.
With them, he could tear people apart if necessary, but more than
anything else, he could hide in the shadows and never be seen.
He was surprised to learn what his form was, but having done so, it made
sense.
Harry was a leader, he did care for and look for those that were weaker
than him, and he was an alpha in his own right, something that Cain had
mentioned to him on more than one occasion.
Taking in his reflection again to marvel at his own majesty, he couldn't
have found a more apt animal within himself, though he expected
Lucinda would be irked by it.
He was a wolf, and a proud one at that.
Still, despite the elation of finally completing his transformation, he was
still depleted from his efforts, and Harry followed his instincts to sniff at
the ground before curling himself up, much to the amusement of
Professor McGonagall.
"Sleep well, Potter," she chuckled as she snuffed out the torches on the
wall, leaving only the roaring fire in the hearth to light and heat the
room.
In only a matter of moments after being left alone, Harry did indeed fall
into a deep slumber where he dreamt of running freely across a green
field where he could chase the smaller animals to his heart's content.
(Break)
"What does it say?" Sirius asked nervously.
Remus continued scanning the letter Sirius had received a few hours
prior, though he'd not found the courage to open it himself.
Instead, he had opted for the werewolf to return to do it on his behalf.
It was the missive Harry had sent him, and Sirius felt sick with the worry
it had brought.
What if Harry did not want to know him? What if the letter was nothing
but a dismissal?
Sirius knew he wouldn't be able to blame his godson for it, but more than
anything, he hoped beyond hope that it was not the case.
Remus released a deep sigh.
"Just read it," he urged. "It's not as bad as it could be."
With a trembling hand, Sirius accepted the offered parchment and
carefully read each word that had been penned.
Sirius,
I will not apologise for how long it has taken for me to write to you. For your
claims of innocence, there is still much that I must come to terms with. I do
not believe that you betrayed my parents, and as petty as it may seem, that
doesn't mean that I do not feel betrayed by your actions.
From what little I admittedly know of them; they would not have asked any
more of you than to care for me the way that you promised you would have
should the worst happen.
You chose vengeance over your responsibilities, and for that I cannot promise
that I will forgive.
However, I do understand.
I too feel the need to right the wrongs perpetrated against me, and I can assure
you that those that wronged my family or had a hand in it will not escape my
judgement.
Wormtail will suffer for what he did, as will all others I deem guilty for their
own actions.
Still, that does not mean I can fully absolve you for your own foolishness; not
yet at least, but I am willing to give you a chance.
It would be hypocritical of me to not do so, and an insult to my parents who
thought so much of you that they would entrust my care to you, even if I can't
help but think they were wrong.
For now, my only wish is that you continue your recovery from your time in
Azkaban, and should I feel ready, I will perhaps pay a visit to you during the
summer.
Do not do anything else foolish. Despite my best efforts, you are still a wanted
man, after all.
Best Wishes,
Harry
Sirius released a deep breath as he finished reading, a mixture of relief
and guilt flooding him.
Nevertheless, there was still a chance that he could form a bond with his
godson and that was what he would focus on.
"I told you," Remus's voice broke into his thoughts.
Sirius nodded as he placed the parchment back within the envelope.
"He still hasn't forgiven me."
"And maybe he won't," Remus sighed, "but that doesn't mean you
shouldn't prove yourself to him. James and Lily would expect nothing
less from you, and neither do I. If it weren't for what you did, things
would be different."
Sirius could only shrug.
"Maybe being raised by Cassiopeia has been a good thing for him," he
mused aloud. "I don't know about all the lordship stuff, and he will need
to. Besides, as much as the woman frightens the life out of me, she cares
for him, and I can't fault what she has done."
"No, you can't," Remus agreed.
Sirius chuckled as he shook his head.
"Do you think he is as troublesome as she says?"
Remus grinned in response.
"I have no doubt about it," he replied amusedly. "I can only imagine how
much worse he would be if he was raised by you."
"Bloody hell, no one would get a moment of peace with us around."
Remus grimaced at the mere thought.
"Well, with the responsibilities he will have, I don't expect life could ever
be all laughter and joy, could it?"
Sirius shook his head.
"Being the lord of one family is difficult enough, but two as prominent as
the Potter and Blacks? The kid has got his work cut out for him."
"He will manage them quite admirably," Cassiopeia declared as she
entered the room. "Harry has been preparing for it since he could walk
and talk, and I have every faith that he will make both Arcturus and
Charlus proud."
"Those are some big shoes to fill," Sirius pointed out.
"And Harry will do so," Cassiopeia said confidently. "You do not know
him the way I do. Harry will make a fine Lord for both families and will
be as diplomatic as he will ruthless when the need arises for either. Mark
my words, Sirius, that boy will go down in history as one of the greatest
men to walk among us."
The confidence the woman showed in Harry was rather astounding, but
Sirius found he believed her.
There was no doubt lacing her tone, nor did her stern gaze flicker with
any reservation.
She truly and wholeheartedly had faith in each word she had spoken.
"Now, do you have a message you would like me to pass on?" the woman
asked. "I will be meeting with Harry shortly."
Sirius nodded as he retrieved the nearby pot of ink, a sheet of parchment,
and a quill.
"Just a short note this time," he explained as he began penning his reply.
When he was finished, he handed it to Cassiopeia who read it before
offering a nod of approval.
"He will appreciate your patience," she murmured. "He is trying, Sirius,"
she added with a sigh. "It won't be easy for him, but he does not wish to
bear a grudge against you."
Sirius smiled, feeling more positive about the weeks and months to come.
It was not easy being stuck in Grimmauld Place where the unpleasant
childhood memories still haunted him, but for Harry, he would endure it,
if only for the slightest glimmer of hope that forgiveness truly was on the
horizon.
(Break)
"That is astounding, Harry!" Professor Flitwick praised.
He had been visiting the diminutive man for weeks now out of the
classroom, initially to get more of an insight on the kind of woman his
mother was, but Harry found Flitwick to be fascinating.
Not only was he just as gifted in Charms as Professor Sidorova, but he
was also a highly decorated duelling champion, one of the very best of
his era.
For the most part, the two of them had spoken of Lily Potter, her own
brilliance in the topic and the Professor's own experiences of her, but
recently, they had gotten on to the topic of magic.
"Thank you," Harry replied gratefully as his ethereal wolf bounded
around the room.
Receiving praise from a master of Flitwick's calibre was quite the feat.
"I do not believe that I have ever come across one so young able to
produce a corporeal patronus," the man commented. "Not even your
mother achieved it until her fifth year, and that surprised me equally.
When did you manage it?"
"During the middle of my third year," Harry revealed. "I'd heard and read
about the Dementors and never wanted to find myself defenceless against
them."
Flitwick shuddered at the mention of the creatures.
"They are deeply unpleasant," he murmured. "Well, I do not believe you
have anything to fear. Your patronus is as strong as any other I have
seen."
Harry nodded as he ended the spell.
"I've been meaning to ask you something, Professor," he sighed. "No one
has confirmed it to me, but would I be right in thinking that spell that
was used to hide my parents was the Fidelius Charm?"
Flitwick shook his head.
"I wouldn't know, Harry," he replied apologetically, "but the fact that they
were betrayed or given up so to speak would indeed allude to it. Your
mother would certainly have been capable of it. Unfortunately, there is
no such thing as the perfect protection. No magic is infallible, no matter
how much it may appear so. The Fidelius is an excellent form of
protection, but it is only as strong as the trust you have in your secret
keeper."
"So, it is not the magic that is the weakness, but the people used to
cement it."
"Exactly," Flitwick confirmed. "For me, I could not put such trust in
anyone. Things beyond yours or their control can take place, and that
leaves you vulnerable. It is always best to have other measures in place
or be adequate in defending yourself if the need arises."
"Much like yourself, Professor?"
Flitwick smiled as he nodded.
"Very much so," he replied with a wink, "and yourself," he added. "It is
quite the feat for a fourth year to do what you did to Cassius Warrington,
even if some believed you acted harshly. He is no slouch himself, Harry. I
expect there is much more you are capable of."
"If the need arises," Harry returned with a wink.
Flitwick chuckled amusedly.
"Far be it for me to bring our time this evening to an end, I do not think
Professor Dumbledore would appreciate it if you were caught roaming
the halls much later, but my offer stands for as long as you remain here.
You are welcome to visit me any time."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said with a respectful bow as he headed
towards the door.
"You are much more like her than you think," Flitwick called. "James was
well-known for being protective of his friends, but Lily could be just as
fierce."
"She was," Harry murmured, "until the very end."
It was quite the maudlin thought to part on, but Harry knew that he
needed to be focused on the task at hand.
Viktor had the maze to run in just a few weeks, but Harry had his own
thing to focus on.
It was by chance that he had been passing one of the girl's bathrooms on
the second floor when a first year Hogwarts girl had emerged, sodden
through to the skin and bemoaning the ghost that had soaked her.
It had taken Harry only the briefest of glimpses inside to identify the
room the redheaded girl had been visiting during his second year at
Durmstrang, and only a few minutes more to locate the snake that was
engraved into the back of one of the taps on the sink.
He had considered reporting it to Dumbledore but had dismissed the idea
as quickly as it had formed.
The man wouldn't be able to enter the chamber without his assistance
anyway, and anything that was within, Harry planned to claim for
himself.
Tom Riddle had taken everything from him, and Harry would one day
return the favour.
He would destroy everything Voldemort had ever worked for, and when
the man was finally at his mercy, he would make his last moments more
agonising than the Dark Lord could possibly imagine.
Harry's skin tingled at the very thought, the bolts of lightning crackling at
his fingertips in anticipation.
Still, there was a little more preparation he needed to make before
plunging into the depths of the castle.
Although he could not be entirely certain, he was all but convinced that
he knew what lurked in the bowels of the school.
If his thoughts were correct, such a creature could not be left unchecked,
but Harry had the advantage of knowing exactly how he could bring it on
side.
Nevertheless, he knew that he needed to be prepared for all eventualities,
and if it came to it and his efforts failed, he would have to be in a
position to kill it.
"Are you going to continue to ignore me?" a voice sounded as he was
passing through the Entrance Hall.
Harry turned to find Daphne leaning against the doors to the Great Hall,
her arms folded across her chest.
"I'm not ignoring you," Harry refuted. "I just don't know what to say."
After what had happened in Snape's office, he didn't know where they
stood, and neither had made any attempt to engage the other in
conversation.
In truth, Harry thought that Daphne was angry with him for how he had
spoken to her father, but it was not something he was going to apologise
for.
"Well, hello would be a good start," she huffed.
"Hello," he acquiesced with a grin.
The girl rolled her eyes at him as she approached.
"So, what now?" she asked.
Harry shrugged.
"I'll be heading back to Durmstrang when the tournament is finished," he
pointed out.
"Is it over now?" Daphne returned.
Harry shook his head.
"Then that is not something we need to worry about for the time being, is
it?"
"I don't suppose it is," Harry agreed with a chuckle.
Daphne released a deep sigh.
"I'm not expecting us to get married or for you to ask my father for a
contract," she explained. "I just want to enjoy your company, if that is
alright with you?"
Harry smiled as he nodded.
"I'd like that. It's not like your father would ever agree to a match
between us."
"But if that was something you would want in the future, you wouldn't let
that stop you."
"I wouldn't," Harry replied, swallowing as he felt her warm breath on his
lips.
"But it is like I said, that is not something we need to worry about,"
Daphne murmured before kissing him deeply.
Harry could only melt into it, not caring if they were caught again.
Jonathan Greengrass could do nothing to him, and if Harry wanted to
enjoy what remaining time he had with Daphne, who was he to deny
himself?
(Break)
"Why did you really come here?" Gellert huffed.
Albus had a way of distracting even himself from any topic he wished to
broach with his flowery words and nonsense riddles.
He'd use them to unsettle even the most accomplished of politicians.
It was as impressive as it was irksome, particularly in this moment when
Gellert simply wanted him to get to the point.
"Ah, you know me too well," Albus sighed. "There is much on my mind,
the main thing being young Harry. Ever since the second task, I have had
several opportunities to speak with him."
Gellert snorted.
"You act as though you had not been observing the boy closely already.
You're right, Albus, I know you too well."
Albus did not deny the accusation.
"It is not the same as speaking with him," he pointed out. "I must say, he
is indeed a very bright young man."
"But?"
"I do have my concerns," Albus admitted. "He is very much like James
and Lily in many ways, but he is also like Tom."
"The boy is currently absorbing a soul piece of the man," Gellert
reminded him. "It is unavoidable that he will pick up some of his
characteristics."
Albus nodded thoughtfully.
"I hope so."
"The boy is not like him, Albus," Gellert said firmly. "We have been over
this."
"How can we be certain?"
"Because it has been thirteen years, Albus!" Gellert snapped. "If it was
possible for Voldemort to take over Harry's body, he would have done so
before the boy grew strong enough to resist him."
"Perhaps you are right," Albus sighed as he deflated, "but I cannot help
but see the similarities. Tom too was a brilliant boy; charming, good
looking, and gifted."
"As were you," Gellert returned evenly. "Are you forgetting the vision we
once shared, and what we were willing to do to achieve it? Get off your
high horse, Albus. Harry is nothing like Riddle, and he is nothing like we
once were."
Albus swallowed deeply, the memories of his formative years evidently
still haunting him.
"Why are you so convinced?" he questioned. "I know you just as well as
you know me. I can see you are not telling me everything, Gellert."
The former Dark Lord narrowed his eyes at the other man.
"I do not believe you are ready for the truth, old friend," he replied
darkly. "Already you wish to paint the boy as a monster waiting to be
unleashed. I believe the truth would do nothing to change that."
"Truth?" Albus pressed.
Gellert nodded as he smirked.
"For once, I believe I am much more informed than you," he said
carefully. "Should I share it with you, will you promise to hear me out
before you jump to all the wrong conclusions?"
Albus offered a solemn bow.
"You have my word that I will listen to what you have to say."
Gellert was not convinced, but he would value Albus's input now as he
always had.
When they put their minds together, there was nothing they couldn't
achieve, and now was one of those moments he needed confirmation of
his own thoughts.
Gellert retrieved the locket and held it up for Albus to see.
"Where did you get this?" the Headmaster whispered when he realised
what it was.
"Regulus Black discovered Voldemort's secret," Gellert explained. "He
retrieved it before he was killed. The family elf gave it to Cassiopeia."
Albus swallowed deeply as he reached for it.
Taking it into his hand, he shuddered.
"It is not like the diary," he murmured. "It is more…"
"Sophisticated," Gellert finished. "It is indeed a Horcrux, but not like
anything I have read about. He has somehow given it a life of sorts. It
whispers to me, Albus, tries to show me memories, and when I refuse, it
attacks my mind. I have no doubt that should I allow it in just once, I
would not be able to rid myself of its presence."
Albus eyed the locket with concern.
"If Tom managed to create them this way, how sophisticated would the
one be within Harry?" he mused aloud.
"I expect it is much like this one," Gellert answered.
"So, it has taken hold of him?"
"No," Gellert sighed. "I already said that a piece of a soul could never do
such a thing to one that is whole. It is not mathematically possible. I do
not believe that Harry can even be considered a Horcrux. His soul and
magic have taken it and is making it his own. My only question is what
memories and knowledge has the boy taken with the benefits?"
Albus appeared to be alarmed by the query.
"The soul piece that latched on to him, if it is like this, would have
contained all of Tom's magical knowledge and memories, would it not?"
Gellert shook his head.
"I do not believe so," he returned thoughtfully. "I believe there will be
much that Harry has gained from it, but I cannot see how it is possible
for a fragment of soul to contain everything. They are finite in nature,
and certainly not as able as the human mind. Still, this has taught me
much about Voldemort. He is strong, Albus. Ask yourself, even without
your knowledge of the prophecy; do you believe you could defeat him?"
Albus pondered the question for several moments before his shoulders
slumped and he shook his head.
"No, I do not," he murmured. "We fought on a number of occasions and
even with the wand, I could all but just about hold my own against him. I
do not believe I can best Tom."
"Even at my very best, I do not believe I could have either," Gellert
admitted. "He is a brilliant wizard, Albus, and one that has indeed taken
steps that no other has to make himself only more powerful. Harry will
need to be stronger than him if he is to have any chance of success. You
may be willing to put your faith in the words of a seer, but you know my
thoughts on the matter, old friend."
"We carve our own path in life, whether it is in favour or spite of fate, it
will always be our choice," Albus recited, a ghost of a smile tugging at his
lips.
"Which is why I will leave nothing to chance," Gellert declared. "Only
yesterday, I handed Cassiopeia all I could on magic and the spells I
created, along with others I gathered along the way. She has been
instructed to give it to the boy."
"Do you think that is wise?"
"Do you not?" Gellert returned evenly. "He will need all the help he can
get, Albus. I implore you to follow my example. Harry is no fool. I have
no doubt that he knows what it is he will one day face, and I would see
him do it with every confidence that he can win."
"It will mean war."
"War is already coming!" Gellert snapped irritably. "Do you expect a man
like Tom Riddle will merely return, kill the boy, and fade into obscurity?
No, he will pick up where he left off, and Britain's best bet is a Harry that
is ready to face it when the time is right. I do not know if he is aware of
the prophecy that hangs over him, but it doesn't matter. He will not let
what happened to his parents go unpunished. He will seek Tom out, just
as Tom will seek out Harry."
Albus seemed to be struggling with a conflict between his thoughts and
his emotions, but eventually, he nodded.
"I will give him all the help I can," he vowed.
Gellert smiled and nodded approvingly.
"You are doing the right thing," he replied, reaching the bars of his cell
and giving Albus's hand a squeeze. "What of the wand?"
"Will it truly make a difference?"
"In his hands, yes," Gellert whispered firmly. "Harry has something that
we do not have; the blood of the Peverells flows through his veins. I
believe it will make all the difference. He has the cloak, and with the
wand, he will have two of the Hallows."
"The power the Dark Lord knows not," Albus whispered thoughtfully. "Do
you think it could mean that Harry will unite all three?"
Gellert shrugged.
"I would not speculate on the prophecy, but I would not dismiss it
entirely either," he sighed. "There must be something about Harry that
saw him survive that not beyond what Lily Potter did. Perhaps he is
Death's chosen to right the wrongs in the world. If it is to be, then it
shall, but for now, our focus should be on the boy and how we can help
him."
Albus nodded his agreement.
"I will follow your example," he declared. "What good some of it will do
for one so young, I do not know, but I will do it. I will give Harry every
chance to live."
Gellert smiled gratefully.
He understood that it was difficult for Albus to accept that his ideas were
not always for the greater good, but Gellert believed he had indeed
managed to get through to the man.
For Harry, and indeed for the greater good.
(Break)
Cain threw the latest letter he had received from his mother into the fire
where it joined the dozen or so unopened others he had been sent over
the past weeks.
He no longer wished to read his mother's mad ramblings about a
perceived 'brighter tomorrow', nor did he intend on replying.
The letters were nothing more than her internal thoughts, and the
occasional snippet of news on the pack.
Fenrir was promising them all a better life, something most wished for,
and those that were content would simply follow through fear.
There was none amongst them who dared speak out against their alpha,
not one as ruthless and bloodthirsty as Greyback had proven to be.
Cain remembered when he had been a small boy there had been another
large male, one who refused to attack a muggle village during the
approaching full moon.
The man had been murdered in front of the entire pack, and his remains
hung from a tree until the crows had finished feasting upon it.
Cain did not wish to suffer such a fate, but he was among those that were
content with their lot.
When the time came, he would either have to follow the rest of them, or
he would be killed, just like the man had been.
"How's it going?" Jonas asked as he entered the dorm room.
Cain offered the boy a weak smile as he shrugged.
"Same old," he replied.
Jonas shook his head.
"It isn't though, is it?"
"What do you mean?"
Jonas took a seat on the edge of the bed, a deep frown marring his
features.
"It's different without Harry. You must have noticed that."
"It is," Cain agreed. "Even the girls are acting strangely."
"Ever since the article at Christmas," Jonas pointed out. "I don't think
they liked that very much. Especially the vampire."
"None of them did," Cain chuckled. "I could smell the envy."
"Is that why you have been quiet too?" Jonas asked. "Are you jealous? It's
alright if you are. It doesn't make any difference to me."
Cain was taken aback by the question until he realised what he'd been
asked.
"NO!" he denied firmly. "Nothing like that. There's just other things going
on in my life."
"Anything I can help with?"
Cain shook his head morosely.
"No, but thanks for offering," he replied appreciatively. "Anything fun
happen to Barkus today?"
Jonas grinned in response.
"The idiot tried to draw his wand on a second year and it backfired," he
snorted. "The last I heard, he's in the medical bay having his teeth
regrown and his nose fixed."
"Good," Cain declared. "You would have thought he'd have learned by
now."
"People like Barkus never do," Jonas sighed. "Anyway, will you come and
check on the girls with me?"
Cain nodded as he stood.
Despite having grown tired of the jealous behaviour from them, he had
promised Harry he would keep an eye on them when he'd asked him to in
a letter he'd received shortly after Christmas.
None of the girls had written to him for almost two weeks after the
article was published, and Harry had been confused as to why.
It was a point of amusement for the werewolf.
Harry may be good at most things, but when it came to girls, he was as
clueless as the rest of them.
Cain had the benefit of witnessing the reactions and subsequent
behaviour of Lucinda, Ana, and Eleanor, and though he found it to be
rather funny, it had bothered him that they had ignored Harry for so
long.
It wasn't as though he had done anything wrong, and yet, they had
seemingly punished him for it.
Still, they did eventually write back to him, but Cain would bet anything
he owned that they had not mentioned the beautiful Daphne Greengrass
in any of their letters.
"Lucky bastard," he muttered to himself.
"Who is?" Jonas asked confusedly.
"Potter."
The son of the hag grinned as he nodded his agreement.
"That he is, but will you think the same when he comes back and has to
face that lot?" he questioned, nodding to the trio of girls seated near the
fireplace in the common room.
Cain shivered at the thought.
"Should we warn him?"
"Would he do the same for us?"
Harry would not.
He would think it to be the most amusing thing, and with all the pranks
Cain had fallen victim to at Harry's hands, he felt even less inclined to
warn his friend.
"I say we let him handle it himself."
Jonas grinned at the thought.
"Who handle what?" Lucinda questioned.
"Nothing," Cain replied. "Nothing at all."
(Break)
"Why are we meeting here?" Harry asked curiously as he took a seat in
the drawing room at Grimmauld Place.
He had never visited the house before, and he had hoped his first time
here would not be in such a clandestine manner.
What became quickly apparent was that Cassiopeia was unusually
nervous, but as stern as he had ever seen her.
"There are things we must discuss," she replied, her pacing back and forth
across the width of the fireplace not slowing. "Things that we cannot risk
being overheard. What is said within this room stays between us. Do I
make myself clear?"
Harry's demeanour shifted immediately as he nodded.
Whatever Cassiopeia wished to discuss was of the utmost importance. She
would not insist on such secrecy for anything less.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
Cassiopeia took a deep breath before taking her seat.
"First, I have a confession to make," she sighed. "It is about the person
that gave you all the information about Durmstrang. The secret rooms,
the shortcuts, and all the other useful things."
"What about them?" Harry asked suspiciously.
Cassiopeia shook her head as she removed a thick roll of parchment from
within her robes.
"You will remain calm," she instructed.
Harry nodded and accepted the offered parchment.
It had been tied together with a piece of fraying twine, but it was not the
fastening that caught his attention.
A symbol of sorts had been carefully drawn at the edge of the fold, one
that was somewhat familiar to him.
"This is Grindelwald's symbol," he whispered.
"It is," Cassiopeia agreed.
Harry frowned as he tried to remember all he had learned during his
History lessons regarding the man.
Even at Durmstrang, he was not well thought of.
Many across Europe had lost family members during the war, the effects
and anger of which were still felt today.
"I thought he had died during his duel with Dumbledore."
Cassie chuckled.
"Has anything you have seen of the old fool given you the impression he
could kill anyone?"
"Not really," Harry admitted.
"Gellert was imprisoned, nothing more," Cassie explained. "I have made
no secret of whom I was loyal to. In a way, I am still loyal to him."
"In a way?"
Cassiopeia smiled at him.
"Gellert will always be someone I look up to for his brilliance, his
ambition, and his endeavours," she murmured, "but my loyalty is yours,
Harry."
Her words warmed him, and Harry felt himself calm upon hearing them.
"But you have remained in contact with him?"
Cassie nodded unashamedly.
"I have," she confirmed. "He has been there for me during my most
difficult of times. Even when I first took you in, I turned to him for
advice, and he has been helping me since."
"And me by the looks of things."
"He knows everything, Harry," Cassie informed him. "He knows what it is
you will face, and Gellert wishes to help you."
"He wants to help me? Why?"
"Because, despite what you may have heard about him, he is a good man,
and a very gifted and powerful wizard," Cassie answered. "Everything he
can do to help you is in that parchment; his spells, and anything else he
believed would be useful to you."
Harry unrolled the several sheets of parchment where he found page
after page of spells and other useful pieces of information he could make
excellent use of.
"He truly wants you to succeed, Harry," Cassie assured him.
Harry did not know what to believe.
He found it difficult to simply dismiss everything the man had done in
the pursuit of something so insane, nor could he forget the pain and
misery he had caused thousands across the world.
"I know it will take some time for you to accept this, but please do,"
Cassie pleaded. "He truly is one of the greatest wizards to have lived, and
it would be foolish to turn his help away."
Harry nodded as he read a few more of the spells.
Was it immoral to accept the offered help?
Was it selfish to want to accept it despite everything Grindelwald had
done?
Harry didn't know, but he was not so stupid to turn away any advantage
he could one day hold over his enemies.
"I will think about it," he promised.
"That's all I'm asking of you," Cassie returned with a smile. "When you
feel ready, Gellert would like to meet you. I promise you will find him
not to be what History has painted him."
Harry nodded as he rolled up the parchment, pausing as he caught sight
of the symbol once more.
He ran his fingers across it, an odd, faint, yet familiar feeling making
itself known to him.
"What is this symbol?" he asked.
Cassie tutted.
"Gellert used it as his own during the war," she sighed. "He said it had
once been meaningful to him."
Harry nodded his understanding, but he could not shake the feeling there
was more to it.
The magic felt much like it did when he draped his invisibility cloak
around him.
Were the two somehow connected?
Harry did not know, but he knew that feeling such similar magic in two
different things in this world usually was not coincidental.
Perhaps he needed to research the cloak to understand it?
It was something he added to his ever-growing list of things he needed to
do.
Still, despite his suspicions and the revelations of the evening, his focus
would not waver from getting Viktor through the third task of the
tournament, and his own endeavour.
For Harry, his next undertaking would be to venture into the fabled
Chamber of Secrets, to see what, if anything, he could uncover.
25. Into the Chamber
Into the Chamber
A/N
Apologies for the delay in posting. FF has been most uncooperative
over the past few days.
Enjoy,
TBR
Viktor eyed the entrance to the maze nervously, his wand already in
hand as he waited for the sound of the claxon. He would have a three-
minute lead over Diggory, and five minutes over Delacour.
The odds appeared to be in his favour, but if he had learned anything
about the tournament, nothing ever truly was so simple.
He'd prepared for this. The hours spent alone, with Karkaroff, and Harry
dedicated to learning every spell either of them could think of to see that
he could overcome whatever obstacles were place before him.
Still, Viktor was apprehensive.
There was no telling what surprises could be lurking around every corner
of the maze.
'You've got this.'
Harry had been dismissive of Viktor's concerns, his confidence in him not
wavering for even a second shortly before the champions had been put
into position.
The Bulgarian shook his head.
How Harry could believe in him so easily, he knew not, but he
appreciated it, nonetheless.
He immediately spurred into action, sprinting into the maze before the
echo of the claxon faded, but soon found himself in darkness and an eerie
silence.
Despite being told he need only signal for help should he need it; Viktor
was very much alone in here.
Continuing his run, he lit the tip of his wand, the only sound filling his
ears being his own laboured breathing as he pressed forward.
(Break)
"Are you sure about this, My Lord?" Lucius asked as he added the final
ingredients to the runic circle carved into the floor.
Voldemort nodded.
The body he was inhabiting was growing weak, and he needed to
revitalise it until he was ready to create a new one for himself.
Of course, there was no better time to do so than on the summer solstice,
other than perhaps all Hallows Eve, but he could not wait that long.
With each day that passed he could feel his powers waning, his limbs
growing weaker.
He needed to conduct the ritual to ensure it would not fail him
completely.
"Is it ready?" the Dark Lord asked impatiently.
Lucius nodded as he stepped out of the circle, taking his place by
Wormtail's side.
"This will be unpleasant, but you are not to intervene," Voldemort
instructed firmly. "Let it begin," he added to himself under his breath.
Tapping the activation rune with the tip of his wand, the Dark Lord felt a
rush of magic was over him and it felt as though his skin, muscles, and
bones were being pulled slowly apart.
The agony that tore through the weakened body was indescribable,
though nothing compared to what he felt the night he had fallen.
Nonetheless, he bit hard into his lower lip to prevent himself from crying
out.
He would allow none to hear him scream.
The Dark Lord could not comprehend how much time was passing whilst
he remained seated amongst the runes, but much to his relief, the magic
faded as quickly as it had overwhelmed him, and he allowed himself to
fall backwards where he fought to catch his breath.
"My Lord are you well?" the muffled voice of Lucius asked.
Voldemort opened his eyes to see the blurry silhouette of the man leaning
over him, and he nodded, simply revelling in the seemingly endless
amount of energy he now had.
He no longer felt fatigued, nor did he feel that at any given moment he
would fall into a slumber from exhaustion.
Undoubtedly, this was the best the Dark Lord had felt in almost thirteen
years.
"I am fine, Lucius," he murmured after a moment. "Help me to my chair."
As incredibly euphoric as he felt, it was no less demeaning having to be
carried to his seat by a man that served him.
Not that Lucius nor any other would dare comment on it.
"You look much healthier, My Lord," Lucius offered with a bow. "I would
say the ritual was a success."
"It was," the Dark Lord agreed, "but it is still not a body of my own."
"It will be," Lucius offered reassuringly.
Voldemort nodded.
"Soon," he reiterated to himself.
He did not know how many times in the past months he had done so, but
with each day that drew to a close, having a body to call his own became
closer to reality.
"My Lord, shouldn't Barty be here for this?" Lucius questioned.
"Barty is doing something of vital importance to me," the Dark Lord
answered dismissively. "Worry not, Lucius, he is under strict instruction
to not compromise us in any way."
Lucius nodded, though he did not seem to be convinced.
He did not like Barty.
Lucius believed the man was rather unhinged from his time in Azkaban
and was not to be relied upon for missions that would see him acting
independently.
The Dark Lord disagreed.
Barty's loyalty would ensure that he was successful in his venture, even if
it did cost him his life in the process.
"May I ask what it is he is doing?" Lucius pressed.
"You may not," Voldemort answered simply. "You will focus on your own
task. I have a list of ingredients I need you to acquire for me. I am sure
that I do not need to remind you to not draw attention to yourself.
Wormtail!"
"Of course, My Lord," Lucius returned as though the words were of the
deepest insult. "Some of these will be difficult to find, but I will do it," he
added, having accepted the list offered to him by Pettigrew.
"What would you have me do, My Lord?" the squat man asked.
"You will remain at my side," Voldemort instructed sharply. "I may be
quite invigorated, but I will still require your assistance, as much as it
disgusts me to admit. Was there something else, Lucius?"
"No, My Lord," the blond replied.
"Then be gone," the Dark Lord instructed, "and keep me informed of your
progress."
Lucius said nothing else but offered a respectful bow before taking his
leave of the room, and Voldemort turned his attention to Wormtail.
"Now, tell me what you have observed in Britain," he demanded.
(Break)
Viktor winced as another jolt of pain lanced through his arm. He had not
seen the Acromantula stalking him in the shadows, and before he could
react, its fangs had found their way into his left bicep.
It had been dispatched quickly, but the damage was already done.
Nonetheless, the Bulgarian would not be deterred and had not even
considered quitting, not when he could sense that he was so close to the
centre of the maze.
Thus far, despite his encounter with the enormous spider, his run had
been rather clear, the obstacles he had come up against having been dealt
with without harm to himself and efficiently.
Only one of the creatures had given him pause; an odd insect that had an
exploding tail and large pincers. Viktor had never seen nor heard of
anything like it, and he had been rather surprised by how robust it had
been.
His first four spells had simply bounced off the armour of the creature,
but it had not been resilient enough to endure a nasty Disembowelling
Curse Harry had shown him.
Still, the beast had not been easy to deal with.
Other than the creatures, his path had been impeded by a rather strange
sandstorm that he'd needed to dispel, a hole in the ground that had
opened up beneath his feet, and a flailing plant that had attempted to
throttle him.
None had manged to best him, but he was unsure of the status of the
other champions.
Only a few moments prior he'd heard a feminine scream from somewhere
to his left, but there had been no sign of any sparks so Delacour had
either managed to overcome whatever had accosted her, or she was in no
position to call for help.
Viktor shook his heads of thoughts of the latter as he rounded the corner
and found himself face to face with something he'd only ever read about.
Sphinxes were exceedingly rare creatures, and he wondered just what
one of them was doing here?
His grip tightened around his wand as he approached slowly, only to be
met by an amused smirk.
"Do not be foolish enough to believe that will help you," she said, her
voice seemingly coming from all directions, a lingering echo to it.
"Must I fight you?" Viktor asked.
The Sphynx licked her lips, exposing teeth that he would rather avoid.
"Do you wish to?"
Viktor shook his head and the creature chuckled.
"Then fear not, it is a battle of wits that I desire."
Viktor breathed a sigh of relief, only for dread to settle into his stomach
as she spoke again.
"But if you cannot best me, then perhaps I will test your physical
prowess," she warned. "Do you wish to proceed?"
Looking over his shoulder towards the path he had traversed, Viktor
nodded.
He was too close to simply turn away and he had worked too hard to get
this far only to quit at the final hurdle.
"Then let us begin, child."
(Break)
It was difficult to believe that it was only a few short years ago that
Albus raised the idea of rekindling the Triwizard Tournament with
Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, and yet, here they were now,
along with Barty and Ludo presiding over the third and final task.
Albus was proud of all three champions, each of them demonstrating
their own, unique education they had received at the institutes they
attended, and all three doing so admirably.
Overall, the entire affair had been a resounding success, and the
Hogwarts headmaster was hopeful the conclusion would follow in the
same fashion.
"They have been in there for some time," Olympe commented.
"I do not expect it will be much longer before our winner emerges," Albus
replied comfortingly, frowning as he looked towards an uncomfortable
Igor Karkaroff.
The man seemed to be rather alarmed as he rubbed the inside of his left
forearm, grimacing in apparent pain.
Igor's gaze shifted towards Severus, and Albus's followed suit, his frown
deepening as he saw the Potions Master acting oddly similar.
Severus looked at Albus pointedly, a rare expression of worry marring his
features as he nodded towards where the Dark Mark remained, a
reminder of his past mistakes.
"Are you quite alright, Severus?" Albus asked as he approached.
Without hesitation he rolled up the sleeve of his robes to show him and
Albus sighed defeatedly.
"It has been growing darker all year," Severus murmured, "but it suddenly
began burning, and now it is darker than it has been in thirteen years."
"I told you," Igor hissed. "When I spoke to you about it at Christmas, I
told you it was getting darker. What does it mean?"
"I do not know," Severus replied, "but I do not expect it is anything good."
Albus nodded his agreement, though his attention had been caught by
another figure they seemed to sense something was amiss.
In the crowd of Durmstrang students only a short distance away, Harry
had drawn his wand, his eyes darting between a piece of parchment he
held and to every part of the packed stadium.
On the surface, he seemed to be as calm as ever, but the boy was on
edge, ready to react at a moment's notice.
Albus would need to discuss it with him, to see what it was he had felt to
lead him to respond in such a way.
The boy was quite the enigma. Something that Albus had learned during
his many conversations with him, none more so than the most recent
they had shared where the headmaster had indeed followed Gellert's
plea.
It had been a difficult choice to make for the man who did not revel in
the thought of conflict, but as the incidents over the past few years had
proven, conflict was coming whether Albus wanted it to or not.
Harry already seemed to know it too, and though Albus still had his
reservations of gifting all that Gellert had urged, he knew that he needed
to have faith in both Harry and the prophecy spoken to him so many
years ago now.
Flashback
"Why are you giving me this?" Harry asked as he finished looking
through the swathes of parchment Albus had handed him.
Their conversations thus far had been carefully conducted by both,
neither raising all of what had happened that had led to the death of
James and Lily Potter.
They had discussed magic deeply, a shared interest, and even more inane
things such as the Wizengamot and how different life was in Britain
compared to other countries, but never Voldemort.
Albus eyed the boy curiously.
"Well, Harry," he sighed, "we could have a very frank conversation where
I would explain my reasoning to you and then you would perhaps be
compelled to share your own thoughts with me. Or we could both accept
that the other has secrets but have visions towards the same end."
"The death of Voldemort."
Albus nodded, though he would not pretend that the casual manner with
which Harry spoke of such a thing did not concern him.
"Indeed," he replied with a slight incline of his head. "We have not
spoken of him, but you do not seem to be surprised that he is alive."
"I didn't know until he inhabited your former Defence Against the Dark
Arts professor," Harry pointed out.
"What else do you know?" Albus asked curiously.
"More than I would like to sometimes," Harry answered quietly. "Much
more."
Albus nodded his understanding.
For all of his thoughts on Tom and the knowledge he had of all the
terrible things the man had done, he'd witnessed so little of it for himself.
Seeing the aftermath was one thing, but to live them in your own mind
was something Albus could not fathom.
If Harry truly had been subjected to witnessing such cruelty and violence,
it was nothing short of a miracle that he managed to remain sound of
mind.
Albus offered the boy a sympathetic smile.
"Well, if my reasoning to you makes no sense, then why not simply
because you are already proving to be a remarkable young man?" he
asked. "It would be a shame for my life's work to be squandered when my
time here comes to an end."
Harry nodded.
"What about Grindelwald?" he asked. "It was him that encouraged you to
share it with me."
"It was," Albus confirmed cautiously.
"Because you have your reservations."
"I do."
Albus wouldn't lie to the boy, nor would he attempt to mislead him
honeyed words.
Perhaps a little frankness between them was what was needed.
They would likely have to work together in the future when Tom
eventually returned.
"That's fair," Harry replied thoughtfully. "You don't know me so well, and
I expect that I am very little like what you envisioned when you placed
me with my muggle relatives."
"No, I wouldn't say you are," Albus chuckled. "Maybe I have unrealistic
expectations of others and the world we live in. I abhor violence, Harry.
It has brought me nothing but misery."
"Even after defeating Gellert you lost someone that meant a lot to you."
Albus nodded, appreciating Harry's candid approach on the subject.
"I did," Albus said sadly. "I need not go into details, but Gellert and I were
once very good friends before our paths diverged."
"Our experiences shape us," Harry sighed. "For as long as I can remember,
I have been haunted by the memory of my parents being murdered, by
things that I have never lived, but am forced to witness over and over
again. I do not believe I am an evil person, Professor, but I know
violence, and what must be done to stop my enemy."
Albus simply watched Harry for a moment before reluctantly nodding his
acceptance.
"I suppose my own morality will one day make a fool of me," he
chuckled.
"It might," Harry agreed. "My parents paid the ultimate price for putting
their faith in the wrong person, but I am not one of them. I do not wish
to cause harm to those that do not deserve it, and I do not seek power
beyond what I will already have. I do not possess that ambition and that
is what separates me from Voldemort."
"A difference I am pleased exists," Albus replied with a warm smile.
"With that being said," Harry continued, his expression darkening. "I will
show no mercy to my enemies. I cannot allow their transgressions to go
unpunished, and I will deal with them in a way I feel that they deserve.
War is coming, Professor, and I intend on not only living through it, but
winning at whatever cost to the other side. I do not expect anything from
you other than understanding. The fight against him will not be won in
the Wizengamot meetings. Victory will come at the price of blood."
Albus's smile fell, but the words spoken were a truth that had become
apparent during the last war.
"I will not stand in your way, Harry," he assured the boy. "As much as I
wish a resolution could be found, I'm afraid it is not to be."
"Neither me nor him will allow it," Harry snorted. "We both want each
other dead and will stop at nothing to see it done. I have to be as ruthless
and cunning to ensure that it is me that survives, so that I may finally
live in peace."
Fawkes trilled from on his perch, his song as calming as ever.
"It seems that even he agrees."
"It appears so," Albus murmured as he stroked the plumage of his
companion.
The fact that the creature had taken quite the shine to Harry certainly
helped the headmaster rid himself of any doubts he'd had about the boy.
"There is something else that I promised I would give you when the time
is right," he revealed. "With you returning to Durmstrang and the future
uncertain, I believe there is no time like the present to do so. When he
returns, I will become a target, and forgive me for seeming arrogant in
saying, but I expect he will wish me dead as soon as possible. I would not
see it fall into his hands," Albus finished grimly.
"See what fall into his hands?" Harry asked with a frown.
Albus swallowed deeply as he removed the Elder Wand, the cold magic
permeating through the length of wood never having truly been a source
of comfort for him.
In truth, it was quite the burden to carry and a part of him was relieved
that it would no longer be in his possession.
"Disarm me, and take it for yourself," he instructed.
"Disarm you?"
Albus nodded, a smirk tugging at his lips at Harry's cautious nature.
"I assure you; you will not regret doing so."
Harry hesitated for a moment before doing so, his eyes widening as he
grasped the wand that he snatched from the air.
"It is just like my cloak," he whispered.
"The very same magic was used to create both."
"And you know where this magic came from, don't you?"
Albus's grin formed into a beaming smile.
"I do, but I do not wish to ruin the surprise for you, Harry. A part of the
journey of truly appreciating what it is you possess will come from
discovering their origins, but I will give you a clue."
Harry was undoubtedly frustrated that he would not be given the
information so readily, but also amused as a grin formed and he nodded.
"What's the clue?"
"Follow your blood."
"Follow my blood?"
Albus nodded.
"You will find the answer in your own blood, Harry. That is all I will
reveal."
The boy cursed under his breath.
"Cassie was right about you," he huffed. "She said you like to speak in
annoying riddles."
"Gellert has said the very same thing to me many times over the years,"
Albus replied fondly. "Still, I stand by my offering. You will appreciate
them more working for the information yourself. Now, I would urge you
to become familiar with the wand, but under no circumstances should
you tell anyone it is in your possession. There are many that would kill to
have it for themselves, and I fear they would be much less honourable
with their intentions."
"I won't say a word," Harry promised.
"Good, now, would you like to work on some of the spells I provided you
with?"
End Flashback
Harry truly was a gifted young man. Something he had proven with how
easily he took to the various spells the two of them had worked on.
Albus had been impressed and felt somewhat easier about what was to
come knowing that Harry was doing all he could to prepare.
"I believe our winner is arriving," he declared, nodding towards the area
marked off for the champion who reached the cup first.
Now, however, with what had occurred in only the past few moments,
the tournament seemed entirely inconsequential.
Nonetheless, Albus smiled brightly as the portkey arrived and stood and
clapped with the rest of the spectators before making his declaration.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I GIVE YOU YOUR TRIWIZARD CHAMPION.
REPRESESNTING THE DURMSTRANG INSTITUE, VIKTOR KRUM!"
The boy gave a pained grimace, favouring his left arm as he waved with
his right.
Immediately, Madame Pomfrey was at his side administering some much-
needed treatment.
With his announcement given and the professor tasked with patrolling
the maze already setting to work to retrieve the other champions, Albus's
attention shifted to where Harry had been standing only a moment
before.
He was no longer there, and the Headmaster needed to not look twice to
know that he was going to be with his friend, and now the first Triwizard
Champion in centuries.
(Break)
"Humans should be looked upon as little more than pets. Countless of them
will come and go, and you should care for one no more or no less than any
other. Our nature is an unfortunate one, daughter. We become painfully
possessive of things we see as ours, but magical folk cannot even become pets.
Unlike regular mortals, they are in many ways our equals and they cannot
truly belong to us."
Perhaps Lucinda should have listened to her mother before she'd let
Harry Potter get under her skin.
Maybe even now it wasn't too late to distance herself from him, but as
she looked upon the stack of letters she had received over the past
months and the dwindling stash of Blood Pops he had left for her for
when she needed them, she found that she didn't want to.
Harry would not belong to her.
Even the strongest of her kind could not hope to tame him into an
obedient, malleable being that catered to their whims.
No. Harry Potter was no mere mortal, nor any kind of normal wizard.
There was something different about him, something she could not quite
decipher, but it was unmissable.
He could promise to set the world ablaze and Lucinda would not doubt
that he could do it.
Not that he would.
For all of his talent and ruthlessness, he possessed the most beautiful of
souls.
Lucinda released a deep breath as she read his latest letter, his words
only solidifying her thoughts about him.
Often, I find myself looking towards the moon to see how many days remain
before Cain is forced to change, and always remember that the hour of the owl
is when your hunger is at its worse.
I wish more than anything I could take it all away from you both, but I know
such a thing is not to be.
Still, I would have neither of you any other way.
Lucinda placed the letter on the pile with the others before unwrapping a
Blood Pop and placing it in her mouth, sighing as the taste of iron spread
across her tongue.
It was not the same as the blood she was given at mealtimes, but it tasted
all the better because it had been gifted by Harry.
Durmstrang was still not the same without him, and his letters were a
poor substitute for his company, but he would return.
He had promised that he would.
Placing the confection in her mouth, she checked her reflection in the
mirror as she tied her hair into a high ponytail.
It had been amusing to explain to Ana and Summerbee that only
vampires that had been muggles before being turned did not have
reflections.
If anything, their unintentional ignorance reminded her of how little
witches and wizards learned of her kind.
Not that she could blame them.
The history between magical folk and vampires was fraught with tension,
war, and secrecy.
Although relations between them had been more tolerant as of late, there
was no denying that there was no love lost between them.
Not wanting to dwell on the past further, Lucinda's attention shifted once
more to her reflection.
Her first maturity had happened quickly.
In the space of only a few weeks she had gone from resembling a typical
child, albeit with pale skin, red eyes, and elongated fangs, to a young
woman.
Her hips and bust had filled out giving her an accentuated feminine
frame, and her features had become more pronounced and pointed. She
had grown around three inches in height, changing her appearance
considerably.
All of the female vampires she had met had an almost ethereal beauty to
them, and Lucinda was no different.
Still, her alabaster skin, black hair and sharper features had no similarity
to the Greengrass girl Harry was dating.
If anything, Greengrass shared quite the resemblance to Summerbee.
Lucinda shook her head.
Not that it mattered.
She had long ago accepted that whatever fondness she felt for Harry
could not be aloud to bloom beyond merely appreciating him from afar
in such a way.
"He will die," she whispered to herself.
The thought of losing him, in what would only be the blink of an eye of
her existence, filled her with dread.
Even now, after only a few years of knowing him, she could not imagine
how she could find happiness in life without him.
Lucinda had done her best to not grow fond of him, to dismiss every act
of kindness he'd shown her, and to remind herself that he would move on
when they finished at Durmstrang.
He would return to Britain, find a suitable bride, and he would pass just
like every other mortal she had met.
Despite this, she could not help the way she felt, and she cursed her
possessive nature.
No matter how often and firmly she reiterated reality to herself, it made
no difference.
There still was and always would be a part of her that wished to claim
him for herself, even if it would only result in heartbreak and
devastation.
Her nostrils flared as she eyed the picture of Harry and Greengrass
kissing.
It was a sense of abject sadness that came every time she saw it, but she
could not ignore the envy, as much as she wished she did not feel that.
Harry nor Greengrass had done anything wrong. Nevertheless, Lucinda
could not simply overcome her nature, even if all she wanted was for the
boy to be happy despite her own feelings.
It was moments like this that she wished he was here for no other reason
than to be in his presence.
He had a way, like no other of calming her, and Lucinda truly felt that
she could be herself around him.
Would it be different when he returned?
The answer to that question terrified her more than anything else.
Harry may have a girlfriend now, but Lucinda did not wish for the
dynamic between them to change.
As much as he irked her with his teasing, she would have nothing
between them be any different.
Well, that was not the complete truth, but it was the best that she could
hope for.
(Break)
He ran his fingers across the ornate door, trailing the length of one of the
bronze serpents that adorned it.
It was so familiar, yet Harry had never been here himself. He had seen
the little redheaded girl venture into the chamber under Voldemort's
guidance, but that was his only experience of Slytherin's hidden lair.
Still, it felt as though he had been here dozens of times.
Not that such a feeling offered him any comfort.
If anything, it only made him more nervous about what he was going to
face.
Harry had already had his strong suspicions of what dwelled within, but
the finding the skin of the beast as he had reached the bottom of the
entrance left him with no doubt.
The king of serpents had called the Chamber of Secrets its home for
almost a thousand years.
A basilisk.
It was widely feared with good reason. There was no creature more
deadly that roamed the planet, though it did have its vulnerabilities.
Something Harry had prepared for if it became necessary.
Despite this, he could not shift the gut feeling that something was very
wrong indeed.
It was not often that Harry was gripped by such a strong desire to flee
from somewhere, but it was so strong now that he had to truly focus to
remain where he was.
No, he could not leave.
The Durmstrang ship would be disembarking in only two days, and
tonight was the best and perhaps only opportunity he would have to
explore the chamber.
Nonetheless, his instincts were not so easy to ignore.
For several moments he remained rooted to the spot before releasing a
deep breath to steel his resolve.
It was now or never.
"Open," he whispered.
The door yielded to his command and Harry stepped into the chamber,
the shiver crawling down his spine having little to do with coldness here.
Doing his best to ignore the growing terror, he walked towards the large
statue of Slytherin, his eyes scanning the room and ears listening for the
slightest hint of movement.
His resolve almost crumbled as he met the visage of the infamous
founder. Even in stone Harry sensed that he was not welcome here.
Were it not for Slytherin's descendant, he wouldn't be.
Not that Harry was given much time to ponder it.
His marrow all but froze in his bones as a loud, incoherent hiss sounded
from within.
The basilisk was evidently not pleased by his presence.
Still, he would not be deterred, not when he could acquire such an
invaluable asset, or deprive Voldemort of it at worst.
"Quiet!" he hissed back.
The response was another, defiant offering, almost daring him to
challenge the serpent.
Harry was not so foolish.
"Be calm," he whispered. "I do not wish for us to harm one another. We are
kin, are we not?"
The next hiss he received was a curious one, lacking the same
aggressiveness he had been greeted with.
"If I set you free, can we speak? I would like to help you."
A questioning hiss replied and Harry felt himself relax considerably.
At least the basilisk was no longer furious.
Against his better judgement and the instincts that remained begging him
to flee, Harry gave the command for the door to open, only to find
himself knocked to the ground as the impatient basilisk burst from within
its lair having struck the stonework before it had fully retracted.
"Kill…rip…tear," it spat, sniffing the air.
Quickly, Harry closed his eyes as he fumbled within his robes.
Removing the box he prepared, he enlarged it with a tap of his wand and
released the rooster within.
Removing the Silencing Charm, he gave it a sharp jab and felt a wave of
relief as it began calling loudly.
Instead of the basilisk falling, however, the beast only became angrier
and Harry cursed himself.
Of course, Slytherin or Riddle would have found a way to circumvent
such a vulnerability, and the relief he felt turned to fear once more as he
felt the snake's attention turn towards him.
Opening his eyes would result in instant death but laying here idle was
no better.
He should have followed his instincts, and as he raised his wand in vain
to defend himself, he cursed himself a final time.
Harry Potter would die here, but he would take the basilisk with him.
"FIENDFYRE!" he roared.
He had never practiced the spell.
The control it took to tame such a conjuration needed to be absolute, and
Harry had never felt quite ready to delve into it.
Now, however, he had no such reservation.
Controlling it mattered so little when his fate was already sealed.
The coldness of the chamber faded immediately as the summoned flames
burst into life, but without Harry at the helm, they had no direction and
began simply consuming everything they came into contact with.
He could hear the stone dripping as it melted around the room, and
Harry could only despair as he heard the basilisk screech in fury.
His fiendfyre seemed to be ignoring the beast, something that became
apparent as he smelled the breath of the serpent as it growled in his face.
Although he could not see it, he felt it rear up in preparation to finally
strike, and though Harry focused as much as he could in the moment on
controlling the cursed flames, they did not obey his dying command.
Instead, he braced himself for the inevitable impact, only to frown as a
loud trilling filled the air.
The basilisk screeched once more, and Harry dared to open his eyes the
smallest amount, choking as he took in the scene that had unfolded
around him.
The fiendfyre was gone, but in its place was Dumbledore's phoenix, the
immortal bird of fire darting in and out of the basilisk's range as it struck
at him, Fawkes' sharp beak stabbing frantically at the enormous snake.
Harry could not help but think the fight would not end well for the bird,
but he was proven wrong as a pained scream sounded from the basilisk.
Blood spurted from one of its deadly eyes as Fawkes punctured it and the
basilisk began to thrash as it attempted to fend off the attack.
Another scream followed shortly after as Fawkes landed another deadly
blow, and Harry opened his eyes, no longer vulnerable to the deadliest
weapon the snake possessed.
"Thank you, Fawkes," he whispered as the phoenix took to the air once
more, trilling encouragingly.
The basilisk was not in a good way.
The screaming faded into something of a whisper, and though it could no
longer see, Harry knew that it was still dangerous.
He approached carefully with his wand ready, pondering what spells he
had in his arsenal that could dispatch of it.
The skin of the basilisk was highly resistant to magic, and after the
debacle of the fiendfyre, Harry would not risk attempting it again.
But what to do?
His footsteps faltered as he pondered drawing the Elder Wand, his
hesitation proving to be a detrimental error.
The basilisk, though blind, evidently knew where he was, and before
Harry could react it struck.
It happened in the blink of an eye, and clarity only came to him as a
burning pain began lancing through his chest, spreading quickly
throughout his entire body.
He was on the ground again, this time with a crushing weight pressing
into his torso and when Harry opened his eyes, it was undoubtedly to the
very last thing he would see.
In a desperate throe, the basilisk had managed to sink one of its
enormous fangs through his sternum, and there the creature remained, its
empty sockets boring into his eyes.
The beast growled victoriously and Harry chuckled humourlessly,
realising how utterly foolish his endeavour had been.
"You got me," he choked, a spurt of blood fountaining from his mouth.
"But I got you too."
Taking the Elder Wand he had managed to draw, he stabbed it into one
of the eviscerated eye sockets, and the basilisk released him as it
screeched, the magic Harry had unleashed raw and unguided, but
proving to be fatal.
After only a few brief seconds of thrashing around, it collapsed lifelessly
to the ground next to him, and Harry felt a consolatory wave of pride.
It may have cost him his life, but he had taken the basilisk with him.
He felt his vision begin to fade as the burning worsened, the potent
venom being pumped through his veins.
Even without it, the puncture wound alone would have been enough to
kill him. The fang had penetrated his heart, and even if he could
somehow make it to the Hospital Wing, it would be of little use.
He would bleed out before any treatment could be administered.
"Thank you, Fawkes," he whispered as he felt the phoenix nudge his
cheek with its head. "Take the wand back to him, will you?"
Fawkes trilled and nudged him once more before climbing onto Harry's
stomach, causing the boy to cry out in agony.
Somehow, the pain continued to worsen, but through it, Harry managed
to ponder his own stupidity for a moment.
What would Cassie think?
She would never likely know what had happened to him, but she would
never stop trying to find him, and it was an overwhelming sense of guilt
that filled Harry before he could no longer focus on anything other than
the pain.
He cried out again, but he did not have the energy to offer even a feeble
protest against the pain. But as he began to panic, he heard a mournful
yet beautiful song fill his ears, and despite what he was enduring, he felt
himself at peace.
Death wasn't so bad, not when you had a phoenix to help you pass.
Looking down at where the bird was still perched on him, he gave
Fawkes a weak smile and was surprised to see actual tears falling,
dripping into his wound.
"It's a little late for that," Harry managed to whisper as the ability to keep
his eyes open was taken from him.
Still, the final gesture was something he appreciated, and even as he felt
his conscience slip away, he felt the healing magic of the phoenix tears
set to work on his body.
Not that it would change anything.
Already, Harry could feel that his heart had stopped beating, and not
even phoenix tears would bring him back from that.
(Break)
Fawkes prodded at the unmoving boy with his talons, and when that
didn't work he began flapping his wings frantically, urging him to wake
up.
He should wake up. He had been given the gift of life, after all.
Still, he did not move, nor did he breathe.
Despite his best efforts, the boy had died.
Fawkes unleashed a mournful screech, his song one of pleading and
sorrow.
It was not the boys' time, but he was gone, nonetheless.
The phoenix trilled once more, a sad, mournful tune as he jumped off and
nudged one of the cold hands with his beak only to screech in alarm as
he felt a powerful disturbance fill the room.
At first, he turned towards his dead adversary, believing that it had
somehow risen, but the snake remained as dead as the boy.
The phoenix took flight as a loud rumble of thunder reverberated around
the walls and it began to rain, soaking the floor in a matter of seconds.
Fawkes did not like the rain.
It went against his very nature, but he did not flee from it as he usually
would.
No, he remained, cocking his head curiously as a bolt of lightning
announced another much like himself, though very different at the same
time.
The other creature was bigger than him, its bright blue eyes and black
feathers crackling with lightning and thunder as it looked upon the boy.
It squawked in a mixture of pain and fury before firing a brilliant bolt of
lightning.
It struck the boy in the chest, moving his entire body several feet through
the still-deepening water.
Fawkes could only look on with the other bird, both of them desperately
willing the boy to wake up, both trilling joyfully as he sat.
(Break)
Harry coughed and a lungful of water mixed with blood was dispelled
from him.
Oddly, he found himself in the rain, and as he pushed himself onto his
knees, his arms trembled.
He was weak, in pain, and it took several moments before he
remembered what had happened.
He looked up to see the corpse of the basilisk and ran a hand over his
chest.
Taking a moment to prepare himself, he looked down to see that it had
indeed been sealed, but he was not unmarked.
In the middle of his sternum was a puckered, purple scar that he would
not be able to explain away to any that saw it, but it was what was in the
middle that confused him most.
A lightning bolt, not dissimilar to the one on his forehead, but where had
it come from?
It was then that he became aware of the sound of birdsong, and he
spotted Fawkes flying happily around the chamber almost in celebration.
It was not the phoenix that held Harry's attention, however.
Perched atop the statue of Salazar Slytherin was another bird, this one
glaring at him.
Harry could not tell if it was pleased to see him, but when their eyes met,
it was not difficult to discern the irritation the bird felt towards him, but
also the relief it felt.
They simply stared at one another for a few moments before the
thunderbird screeched and took to the air.
"Wait!" Harry pleaded.
Instead of complying with his wish, it vanished in a crack of lighting,
taking the storm within the chamber with it, and leaving behind a
thoroughly confused Harry.
What had happened?
As the horror began unfolding in his mind, Harry shook his head of the
thoughts.
He would have to confront it one day, but for now, he simply wanted to
get out of here.
Retrieving the Elder Wand from the eye socket of the basilisk, Harry gave
a final look around the chamber as he made his way towards the exit.
It had been foolish to come here alone.
He had overestimated what he was capable of and it had cost him his life.
Swallowing deeply at the thought, he watched as Fawkes vanished in a
burst of flames before he ran his fingers over the scar on his chest once
more.
"I died," he whispered, the reality of what had happened beginning to set
in, and yet, here he stood.
How and why, Harry knew not, but he owed his life to Fawkes and the
mysterious thunderbird that had come to him in his moment of need.
With a shake of his head and a valuable lesson learned, he took his leave
of the chamber, the lightning crackling across the tips of his fingers
stronger and brighter than he had ever seen.
26. The Changes Within
The Changes Within
A/N
Again, FF has been most uncooperative. I shall take some time to
ensure I have several chapters ready to post in anticipation of it
happening again.
Happy reading,
TBR
Daphne sighed contentedly as they broke apart, offering Harry a grin as
they did so.
"What happens now?"
It was the question they had both avoided asking as they day drew nearer
that Harry was leaving drew nearer, but with the moment Harry was
readying to board the ship back to Durmstrang having arrived, it could
no longer be ignored.
Daphne released a deep sigh.
"Does anything have to happen?" she returned. "You'll be at Durmstrang
for the next few years, and I'll be here. Anything could happen in that
time."
Harry nodded his agreement.
"I'd like to write to you."
"And I would be offended if you didn't," Daphne replied with a grin, "but
let's not make any promises about the future. If by some will of fate we
are supposed to be together, it will happen."
"Do you believe in that?"
Daphne shrugged.
"Maybe," she said thoughtfully. "Even if there is no such thing, I do
believe in magic, and if magic wishes for it to happen, it will find a way."
Harry liked her analogy, and despite the rather maudlin moment they
were sharing, he smiled.
"Then we leave it up to fate," he declared.
"To fate," Daphne echoed, placing a kiss on his cheek only for the two of
them to be interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat.
"I would appreciate it if you could unhand Miss Greengrass, Mr Potter,"
Professor Snape cut in irritably. "Should you not be making your way to
the ship?"
Harry nodded.
The man had not spoken a word to him since their rather one-sided
conversation in his office when Lord Greengrass had accosted Harry.
Not that Harry was displeased by the silence.
He had such little respect for what the man had done during the war and
how his actions had led to the death of his parents.
"You will join your housemates, Miss Greengrass," Snape instructed. "I
will ensure Potter is not distracted on his way to the ship."
Daphne gave Harry's hand a final squeeze and she smiled before doing as
she was bid.
"I suppose you quite enjoyed that," Harry snorted as Snape escorted Harry
towards the lake. "My father got the girl you wanted, so you felt
compelled to interfere in the affairs of their son. Bravo! Your pettiness
has reached new heights."
Snape's lip curled in distaste as he shot a glance at Harry.
"I merely wish to see the back of you as soon as possible," the man
responded, eliciting a chuckle from Harry who stopped walking.
"Oh, I'll be back, Snape, have no fear about that," he vowed. "After the
other night, you know as well as I do that he is still out there and that he
will return. What will you do then? Will you run to your master, lick his
boot as you once did and prostrate yourself before him like a loyal
lapdog?"
It had not passed Harry's notice that Snape and Karkaroff had both
reacted to the disturbance he had felt during the third task.
He hadn't known why he had suddenly experienced a rush of euphoric
magic, but it didn't take much deduction to realise that Voldemort was
involved.
Still, having checked the map to ensure nothing was amiss within the
school, he knew there was little that could be done.
Not until the Dark Lord surfaced once more.
Snape's eyes narrowed.
"I will do what is necessary."
"As will I," Harry assured the man as he stepped towards him. "Do not get
in my way. Believe me, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to
tear you limb from limb for what you did. The only reason you are
breathing is because you deserve to live such a miserable life for your
part in their deaths, and I would see you suffer for many more years yet.
Do be careful, Snape. I would not want to see you given a reprieve so
soon. I can find my own way to the ship," Harry added in disgust.
"Anything to be out of your company."
He left the glaring Snape standing where he was as he continued on his
way, his fingers trailing under his shirt to find the scar on his chest.
It had been a confusing few days for Harry who had spent much of it
pondering what had transpired in the chamber.
His preparations had indeed been sound, and though it humbled and
pained him to admit it, he had simply bitten off more than he could
chew.
Why he believed he could tame a basilisk, let alone defeat one was
something he could not comprehend now that he had experienced what
he had.
Harry had no doubt that he had died, that he only breathed now because
of the combined efforts of Fawkes and the thunderbird.
It had been a reckless and foolish endeavour, one that he was so very
fortunate to have survived.
Still, he was taking no chances and planned on visiting a healer when he
returned home.
For the most part, he felt as he always had, but there was something
undeniably different about him.
Perhaps it was the slight coldness that seemed to stay with him, or it was
possibly the tingle to his magic he could feel as it pulsed throughout his
body.
Maybe it was that, at times, he struggled to feel his own heart beating
even when he felt for it?
He couldn't be certain and needed to know that he was indeed truly
living, and not merely being sustained by a magic he could not hope to
understand.
Nonetheless, Harry had taken away many lessons from the night of the
third task.
Despite what many who knew his story believed, he was not invincible
and he was still prone to making foolish errors as any teenager did, but
he could not risk doing so.
He could not be a typical teenager, nor could he afford to make such
mistakes.
There were too many things that he wished to do before his time was up,
and though he had oddly accepted his fate when it seemed that all was
lost, he was not ready to die.
If it happened when he was facing Voldemort, he could accept that, but it
was not the end he sought.
No, he had indeed been foolish, too sure of himself and what he was
capable of, and it had cost him his life.
It was a lesson he wouldn't forget, nor would he forget those that had
come to his rescue when he had needed it most.
Where the thunderbird had come from, Harry couldn't even begin to
fathom, but there would not be a day that passed that he did not
appreciate what the creature had done for him.
Perhaps he would be fortunate enough to see it again one day, but if not,
it would always have his gratitude.
Regarding the chamber, he wasn't sure what he would do.
If Harry was honest with himself, the thought of returning there filled
him with trepidation, but maybe one day he would.
It was not a decision he would make now, but he took comfort in
knowing that, at the very least, the basilisk was no longer a threat to any.
"Come along, Potter, we are waiting for you," Karkaroff grumbled as he
made his way onto the ship.
Harry said nothing as he made his way towards his room where Viktor
was waiting for him. His thoughts were still very much occupied by what
had happened in the Chamber of Secrets.
It was an experience he would never forget, but something he had
equally learned much from.
(Break)
It had been a strange year, one mixed with highs and lows, and though
Pansy was pleased to be leaving Hogwarts for the summer, she knew that
she would miss Harry more than ever having had him with her every day
for so long.
Daphne too was feeling the sting of his departure, even if she wouldn't
admit it.
Thus far, she had spent the journey to London on the Hogwarts Express
staring out of the window, a sad smile tugging at her lips as she
undoubtedly reminisced about their time together.
"Cheer up, Daph," Tracey sighed. "It's not like you won't see him again."
"Who?" Daphne replied.
Tracey quirked an eyebrow at her friend and the blonde deflated.
"I just wasn't ready to say goodbye to him," she admitted.
None of the others had ever seen Daphne like this.
Since first year when Draco had declared his intentions to eventually
marry her, the girl had done all she could to be aloof towards the
opposite sex.
Not that any had attempted to even ask her on a date.
The fear of Draco's retaliation deterred them from that.
"Did you break things off?" Pansy asked curiously.
Daphne shrugged.
"I suppose we did in a way."
"In a way?" Tracey pressed.
"We agreed that if we ended up together, it would happen in the future,
but we wouldn't make any promises."
Although Pansy felt a wave of sympathy for her friend, there was a part
of her that cheered internally.
She wanted both Daphne and Harry to be happy, but she could not deny
that she was jealous of them.
Were it not for Draco being his usual self, it would have been Pansy
attending the ball with Harry and things could have been different.
She allowed herself a moment to ponder what might have been before
they were interrupted by the door sliding open and Draco entered with
Crabbe, Goyle, and Theo in tow.
"Missing your boyfriend already?" Malfoy snarked.
"I am missing the feel of his lips," Daphne replied thoughtfully.
Draco's eyes narrowed in response.
"Well, Potter won't be here anymore," he pointed out. "Maybe now you
will all remember your place."
"Our place?" Daphne asked curiously.
Draco nodded, an arrogant smirk forming.
"Without Potter's interference, things will go back to how they were," he
answered brightly.
"You mean with you being a prat and lording your father's reputation
over everyone?"
Draco's smile fell as his nostrils flared.
"You'd better watch it, Greengrass," he hissed. "Your father would not
wish to find himself in a position where mine is displeased with him."
Daphne snorted.
"There is not a thing on this planet that will make me marry you, Draco,"
she said sweetly. "I said the very same thing to my father. He knows that
I would sooner bring shame on my family name than be lumbered with
the Malfoy one."
Draco seemed to be unfazed by Daphne's words as he shrugged.
"Perhaps you are not the Greengrass I intend to pursue," he returned
dismissively. "I'm sure Astoria would relish being the next Lady of both
the Malfoy and Black families."
Daphne's jaw tightened at the mention of her sister.
"You will stay away from Astoria," she warned.
"Oh, I will," Draco chuckled, "but I can't promise she will stay away from
me. You may not be willing to play your part with me, but for your
father to refuse to even discuss the matter of your sister would reflect
very poorly on him. Don't you think?"
"I will kill you before I allow that to happen!" Daphne vowed as she
stood.
Pansy flinched as Draco slapped her.
"You dare threaten me?" he spat.
Daphne glared at him defiantly.
"Maybe my sister should be the next Lord Malfoy," she chuckled darkly.
"She certainly hits harder than you."
Draco raised his hand to strike her again, only to frown as another took
hold of his wrist.
"It is very unbecoming for a boy to physically attack a female," Blaise
warned before releasing Draco.
It was not like him to involve himself in any matter, so all of the
occupants were taken aback by his intervention.
"She insulted me!" Draco seethed.
"And now I am telling you that if you strike her again, I will be forced to
retaliate on her behalf," Blaise replied calmly. "Do you really want that,
Draco?"
For the first time since he and the others had intruded upon them, Malfoy
did not seem so certain, but he was saved from answering by Blaise who
spoke once more.
"Allow me to explain a few things to you," he sighed. "You seem to be
under the impression that Potter's influence no longer matters. Why is
that, Draco?"
"He is not here anymore, is he?" Draco pointed out.
"True," Blaise conceded, "but he will be back in only a few years when he
takes his seat on the Wizengamot. What do you think the reaction to that
will be? I will tell you. Many will clamour to Potter simply because of
what happened between him and the Dark Lord, and when he proves
himself as ruthless as he did when he arrived at Hogwarts, even more
will do so."
"My father will not allow it!"
Blaise hummed thoughtfully.
"Potter may not have as much money as your family, but he has
something else that yours lacks."
"What?" Draco asked in disbelief.
"Magical prowess," Blaise answered simply. "From everything I have
heard about and seen of him, I would bet, when he returns, just about
anything that he would mop the floor with your father and any of the
idiots who would dare use violence against him. What then, Draco? What
happens when the great Lucius Malfoy comes up against a man he cannot
intimidate, cannot blackmail, and cannot defeat?"
Draco seemed to ponder what Blaise had said, a flash of worry crossing
his features before he shook his head.
"That will not happen," he declared and Blaise sighed disappointedly. "I
will also be the Lord Black."
"A name," Blaise murmured, "one that means nothing without the
reputation of a powerful lord nor the magic to back it up. Have you even
learned the family magic? Do you have a reputation as a ruthless,
powerful lord that will stop at nothing to achieve what he desires? No,
you do not. The Black name no longer carries the reputation it once had,
not without a true Black to use it!"
"My mother was a Black!" Draco snapped.
"Was," Blaise replied firmly, "and so far out of the line of succession that
the fact you will inherit the title is nothing short of a miracle. The family
destroyed itself, and your mother carries the Malfoy name. You were
raised as a Malfoy by your father. It will be a token title for you.
Admittedly, it will give you considerably more gold than any other
family in Britain, but that is all. Without the magic and reputation, you
will never be seen as the Lord Black."
Draco swallowed deeply at the sting of the words.
They had all thought exactly what Blaise had said, but none had dared
voice it to Draco.
"Face it, Draco. When Potter returns to claim his family seat, things will
change, and when people see him for the man I believe he will be, there
won't be a thing you or your father can do to him. So, do you wish to
continue to harass those that he consider friends? I would think very
carefully about how you comport yourself from now on. I would have
thought your father would have taught you better."
Draco said nothing but chose to storm from the compartment with
Crabbe and Goyle in tow instead.
Theo hesitated for a moment before following and Blaise took a seat,
removing the sweets he had bought from the lady with the trolley.
"Bertie Bott's, anyone?" he asked.
Pansy accepted one of the beans, grimacing at the taste of earwax as she
simply stared at the boy.
"Do you really believe all of that?"
Blaise nodded resolutely.
"I do," he confirmed. "My sister would not speak so highly of someone
who was not so impressive, not after being taught how to duel and
politicise by my mother. Potter will change things here. Mark my words."
Pansy could only share a look with an equally thoughtful Daphne.
She had always believed Harry's claims that he would one day change the
world, but now that others seemed to be seeing it for themselves, it only
felt more real to her.
(Break)
It was not merely the fact that Harry seemed to be having a nightmare
that kept Viktor awake. He hadn't been sleeping well since the
tournament concluded several days prior.
His time at Durmstrang was now at an end, and though he knew he had a
Quidditch career ahead of him, the thought that he had nothing else to
keep him occupied left him feeling rather unsettled.
School had been his escape from the public eye, his safe haven from the
journalists and fans that would forever be stopping him on the street to
get his autograph or shower him with praise. Without it, he didn't know
what he would do.
Viktor shook his head sadly as Harry choked in his sleep before he
stopped breathing altogether.
He watched worriedly for almost a minute before the concern became too
much and he carefully shook the boy awake.
Harry gasped as he sat up, his expression one of panic as he clutched his
chest, taking deep, laboured breaths.
"Are you okay?"
Harry nodded as he reached for his goblet of water and drained it.
"I'm fine," he said dismissively. "Bad dreams are nothing new for me."
Viktor frowned.
"How often do you have them?"
"Almost every night."
"Are they always the same?"
Harry shook his head as he rubbed his chest absentmindedly.
"They used to be," he answered cryptically. "Why are you awake?"
Viktor deflated.
"I just can't sleep."
"Come off it, Viktor," Harry sighed. "I think I know you well enough to
see that something's bothering you."
Viktor chuckled.
"That's true," he conceded. "I don't know. Do you ever just feel like things
aren't how you imagined they would be?"
"How did you imagine things would be now?"
Viktor shrugged.
"Before Quidditch, I thought I would get a job with my father at the
Bulgarian ministry," he explained. "I didn't expect I would turn
professional so soon."
"But you did," Harry pointed out. "Is it not what you want anymore?"
"It is," Viktor clarified, "but what comes after? Even if I play for the next
twenty or thirty years, I won't be old, and I can't imagine retiring and
being idle."
"Then find something else to work towards for when you finish playing,"
Harry suggested.
"Like what?"
"That's up to you to decide," Harry answered. "If I was in your position, I
would want to make sure I have options. For you, the possibilities are
endless. If you wanted to stay in the Quidditch profession, you could
become a coach, or you could create an academy for young players. You
could even form your own team."
Viktor nodded thoughtfully.
All three seemed to be plausible paths for him to follow.
"What if I don't want that?"
"Bloody hell, is this career day?" Harry grumbled amusedly. "I don't
know, Viktor. You could become an auror, or even the Bulgarian minister
if you wanted to."
"Maybe," Viktor chuckled. "What would you do?"
Harry released a deep breath.
"Well, if it was me, I wouldn't solely rely on Quidditch. It can take only
one injury to end a career, and you know as well as I do that they come
regularly. If it was me, I would make sure I was prepared for that. I know
for a fact that you don't need to do anything for the gold, so find
something you would enjoy."
"I was thinking I might do my exams," Viktor revealed. "I know I was
exempt from them for the tournament, but it feels like everything I've
worked for at Durmstrang means nothing now without them."
"Then use that as a starting point," Harry suggested. "Focus on getting
your exams done and find something else away from Quidditch you can
either fall back on or dedicate yourself to when you've finished playing."
Viktor nodded, a grateful smile cresting his lips.
"Thanks, Harry," he offered sincerely. "Life away from Durmstrang will be
strange."
"It will be strange without you there," Harry replied. "For just about all of
my time at school, I've spent hours every week assisting you."
"What will you do with all that free time?" Viktor asked curiously.
"I always have things to do," Harry said dismissively, "but I will miss
training with you."
"There is nothing stopping us meeting up occasionally for a duel," Viktor
pointed out.
Harry chuckled.
"I'd like that."
Viktor clapped him smartly on the shoulder.
"I'll miss you, Harry," he murmured. "Even if you are an annoying little
shit."
Harry laughed heartily, only to frown as a knock on the door sounded
and Olaffson poked his head into the room.
"We will be arriving in fifteen minutes," he announced.
"It's four in the morning," Harry pointed out as he checked his watch.
"We are almost sixteen hours late," Olafsson explained. "We were held up
by the storm."
Without another word, the man slammed the door and Harry deflated.
"What's wrong?" Viktor questioned.
"If we are as late as he said, the others will have gone home already."
"You were hoping to see your friends."
Harry nodded sadly before shaking his head.
"It doesn't matter. The summer always passes quickly enough."
"Sorry."
Viktor felt terrible for the younger boy.
If it wasn't for him, Harry wouldn't have spent an entire year away from
his friends.
Still, he did not believe for one second that he wouldn't have come along
if he didn't want to.
From the moment he had met Harry Potter, there was no one who could
force him into anything, not even when Viktor became known across the
wizarding world did Harry change towards him.
He still cursed Viktor out, was often churlish and uncooperative, but
Viktor wouldn't have had him any other way.
Despite the fact that there would be no more Durmstrang, Viktor had no
doubt that his and Harry's friendship would remain as strong as it was
now and would only grow more so over the coming years.
(Break)
The ship had not come.
The delegation that had gone to Hogwarts had been due to arrive the
same day that term ended at Durmstrang, but it had not, and Lucinda had
no other choice than to leave with her mother who had come to collect
her.
"What is wrong, child?"
"Nothing. I just didn't get to see Harry before we left."
Her mother offered her a rare a look of sympathy as she placed an arm
around her shoulder.
"He has come to mean much to you, hasn't he?"
Lucinda could only nod in response and her mother sighed.
"I warned you."
"You did," Lucinda conceded, "but there is just something about him."
"Do you hunger for him?"
If it were possible, Lucinda knew she would be blushing.
"Not for his blood, no," she replied, licking her lips at the thought of Harry
surrendering to her.
She frowned deeply.
No, she did not wish to feed on him, not unless he truly wanted that.
"You are fond of him," her mother said knowingly. "I do not know what is
worse."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that I do not wish to see you suffer, Lucinda. To be fond of a human
in such a way will only cause you pain."
"What if I am willing to endure what is to come, so long as I can have him for
whatever life he will live?"
Her mother chuckled amusedly.
"Is he truly so special?"
Lucinda nodded resolutely.
"You have met him, mother. You saw how he treated others that are not of his
kind."
"Is that all you care for?"
Lucinda shook her head.
"No," she denied. "I care for him for everything he is."
Her mother met her gaze before wrapping her other arm around and pulling
Lucinda into a tight embrace.
"You do know that it cannot be."
"I do, but I still wish to have him in my life, in any way I can."
"And you can cope seeing him live his own; marriage, children, and eventually
his demise?"
Lucinda nodded.
She knew that to most that it would perhaps sound pathetic, but living such a
cold existence, one learned to embrace and hold on to whatever warmth they
could find.
Lucinda had found that in Harry, and as simple as it may seem to humans
and other creatures, to a vampire, it was as invaluable as it was rare.
They were not known for feeling affection, or even fondness towards one
another, let alone one outside of their species.
Lucinda knew she was fortunate to have it, something she would likely never
find again in another.
"I almost lost my composure when I saw that he was dating another girl, a
pretty blonde at Hogwarts," she admitted.
"You must not allow that to happen," her mother warned. "You must not allow
the humans to see that side of you."
"I know, and I won't," Lucinda said firmly. "I understand that I cannot have
what it is I want, but I can have something of it, can I not?"
"So long as you understand," her mother whispered. "I would sooner spare you
from the pain that is to come, but you must make your own choices in life,
Lucinda. If this is truly what you want, then I will not speak out against it. If it
brings you a semblance of happiness, then you should perhaps grasp it with
both hands. There is often little joy in being one of us."
"I know," Lucinda murmured, "but just being around him makes me happy.
What I have now will just have to be enough."
She was pulled from her thoughts by a knock at the door, and both of her
parents entered her bedroom.
This was never a good thing, and Lucinda braced herself for the worst.
"This just arrived for you," her mother explained, handing a letter to her.
The familiar scrawl across the front warmed her instantly, and she tore
the envelope open, the faint scent of Harry bringing a smile to her lips as
a small package fell into her lap.
Princess,
I am sorry that we did not return in time.
I will make it up to you in any way I can.
Stay safe,
Harry x
PS: I have sent another package of Blood Pops for you to last the summer.
Maybe now you will not have the urge to sink your fangs into me when you
see me.
Lucinda snorted amusedly at the letter and tapped the package with her
wand.
"He gives you Blood Pops?" her mother asked as it opened.
Lucinda nodded as she opened one and placed it into her mouth.
"He made sure I had one for every day that he was away," she explained,
"and he's just sent enough to see me through the summer."
Her father raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"He did that for you?"
"He did."
Her father was taken aback by the gesture.
Humans rarely showed any kindness to their kind, something her parents
had learned when they were changed.
"Well, he certainly is an interesting boy."
"That he is," her mother agreed, "which is why we have spoken to
Draikon."
Lucinda's stomach filled with dread.
He was the leader of their clan; a ruthless and vicious vampire that
wished for nothing else than a return to their old ways of hunting
humans rather than accepting donated blood for them to feed on.
"Why?"
Her mother offered Lucinda a reassuring smile.
"He has granted permission for Harry to visit you here, so long as he
agrees to come in peace."
"Just like that?" Lucinda pressed. "He agreed to a human visiting if they
promised to come in peace?"
Her mother appeared uneasy by the questioning, so it was her father that
spoke next.
"Draikon wishes to meet him," he sighed. "He has heard of the boy that
survived the impossible and is curious about him. We have all been
invited to dine with him, should Harry accept the invitation."
"What if he attacks, Harry?" Lucinda asked worriedly.
Her father shook her head.
"He would not do such a thing. How do you think the wizarding world
would react if any harm was to come to the boy whilst he was with us?
We would be slaughtered, and Draikon is not foolish to think otherwise.
He is genuine in his desire to meet the boy."
Her father was right, but Lucinda did not like the thought of Harry being
here.
There were so many of her kind, many who despised humans.
They wouldn't act on any impulse if commanded by Draikon, but that did
little to assuage her concerns.
Still, it wasn't like she truly had a choice in the matter.
It would be expected that she extend the invitation to Harry, and she
knew for a fact that the boy was brazen enough to accept it.
If anything, the thought of meeting so many vampires at once would
excite him.
"I will write to him," she sighed, torn on whether or not she wanted him
to accept.
On the one hand, she would see him again before the beginning of the
school year, but on the other, it would be within the environment she
had grown up in; a dangerous and quite unpleasant place for any to be,
let alone a human so used to warmth and comfort.
(Break)
It was not often that Harry felt himself compelled to visit a healer. There
had been the time where he had beaten Viktor to the Snitch and had the
two of them had to be put back together, and his visits to the very
hospital he found himself in now for his immunisations when he was a
small child.
Other than those times, he had managed to avoid finding himself needing
medical care.
Since the incident in the chamber, however, something was different
within him, and for the first time in his life, he needed the opinion of a
professional.
He hadn't told Cassie that he was coming and hadn't even mentioned
what had transpired.
How could explain that he had been so foolish, getting himself killed by a
basilisk and yet had somehow been brought to life?
The story was a fantastical one, and something he would struggle to
believe if it hadn't happened to him.
"How very curious," the healer muttered to himself as he studied a
sample of Harry's blood through his thick spectacles.
Healer Galanis was the man that had given Harry his various
immunisations when he'd been just a boy, an old man who must have
seen just about every magical ailment throughout his lengthy career.
"Curious?" Harry probed.
Galanis removed his glasses and peered at Harry questioningly before
turning his attention back to the blood.
"It is clean," he declared. "Too clean. Your blood seems to have been
rather violently purged, Mr Potter. There is no sign of any of the
inoculations I administered to you. I have never seen anything like it.
Even the…"
The healer paused and shook his head, seemingly catching himself before
saying something he evidently shouldn't.
"Even the what?" Harry pressed.
Galanis released a deep sigh.
"You're no longer such a small child," he mused aloud. "When you were
first brought to me before your second birthday, I was instructed to carry
out a full medical assessment. During that assessment, I found a rather
strange anomaly in your blood."
"An anomaly?"
Galanis nodded.
"It was a protection that I suspect was bestowed upon you by your
mother," he explained. "Old magic, very old indeed. It was sacrificial in
nature; the power of a mother's love to protect her baby from a powerful
foe."
Harry frowned confusedly.
"Voldemort," he whispered.
Galanis nodded once more.
"The magic was rather exceptional, and worked as intended, as evidenced
by your surviving your encounter with him."
"My mother cast the magic?"
"It is difficult to ascertain the origin," Galanis murmured. "Regardless of
whether it was intentionally done is neither here nor there, Mr Potter.
The fact is the magic served its purpose and was very prominent within
your blood. It is no longer present. Whatever happened to cleanse your
blood has removed that protection. Now, if you could explain to me what
happened, I may be able to offer you something more substantial."
Harry was reluctant to do so, but he wanted answers.
"Nothing we discuss will go further than between us?" he asked
cautiously.
Galanis chuckled.
"I am compelled by my oaths to mention nothing you do not wish to be
disclosed," he explained.
Harry released a deep breath as he nodded.
"I died."
"You died? Might I enquire as to the nature of your death and the fact
that you are here with me now?"
Harry released a deep breath and chuckled.
"I'm not sure you would believe me."
Galanis quirked an eyebrow in Harry's direction.
"Well, if we are to understand what has happened to you, I must be made
aware of the truth regardless of how unbelievable it is."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"I was bitten by a basilisk," he revealed. "I felt the life drain out of me
from the wound and the venom. A phoenix attempted to heal me with its
tears, but that wasn't enough to save me. When I woke up, a thunderbird
was there. I believe it struck me with lightning and brought me back."
Galanis simply gaped at Harry, his mouth having fallen open dumbly.
It took a moment for the man to compose himself, and when he did, he
cursed in his native tongue.
"You are certain of this?"
Harry nodded and the man shook his head.
"I have never heard anything like it," Galanis muttered, "but I believe we
can go some way to explaining what is happening with you. I will need
to conduct a full examination. Where is the wound?"
Swallowing deeply, Harry removed his shirt.
There was no need to point to the puckered scar in the centre of his chest
with how prominent it was, and Galanis leaned forward, brushing his
fingers over the skin in fascination.
"It penetrated your heart," he deduced.
"It did."
Galanis whistled appreciatively.
"I cannot even begin to tell you how fortunate you are to be alive."
"I wouldn't be without the phoenix and thunderbird."
Galanis nodded his agreement.
"The latter has left its mark on you," he mused aloud, pointing to the
lightning bolt in the centre of the scar. "Now, that is very interesting."
"What is?" Harry asked worriedly.
Galanis peered at him as he leaned back.
"Let us ascertain what facts we have thus far," he suggested. "From there,
we can delve further into things."
"Okay," Harry agreed.
"Point one, you were bitten by a basilisk which resulted in your death. It
is quite possible that the venom is responsible for the removal of the
protection in your blood."
"So, it could be something else?"
"Indeed," Galanis acknowledged. "However, it could also be the result of
the tears of the phoenix. They are among the most powerful creatures in
existence, and their magic is pure. It is possible that the tears used to heal
also removed that magic. The tears of a phoenix are not prejudice when
it comes to healing. They will cleanse any and all magic that is not as
pure as their own. Sacrificial magic is not so pure, so it is quite possible
the phoenix tears purged you of it."
Harry hummed thoughtfully.
"Then there is the thunderbird," Galanis continued. "Again, another
powerful creature. When you were struck by its lightning, it is not so
easy to dismiss the notion that the magic used to bring you back to life
purged your blood of the venom and the tears, hence the mark it has left
you with. Thunderbirds are equally as rare and powerful in their own
right."
"What theory do you believe?" Harry asked.
Galanis shrugged.
"I can only speculate," he offered apologetically, "and I would be lying if I
gave more credence to any one of my thoughts over the others. I'm afraid
it is all but impossible to say for certain what caused the purging of your
blood. It may have been one, a combination of two, or even all three
separate elements."
"Oh," Harry replied disappointedly.
"But the matter of your blood is not what fascinates me most in this
situation, Mr Potter. It is what happened to you overall."
"What did happen?"
"I believe, that unwittingly of course, you underwent a rather significant
ritual, one of death and rebirth with the assistance of three exceedingly
powerful components."
"A ritual?"
Galanis nodded excitedly.
"If you can spare me a little more of your time, I would like to run some
tests, and perhaps then I will have more answers for you."
Harry nodded his agreement.
"Do what you need to," he sighed.
"I will not need any more of your blood," the healer assured him, "but I
will require a sample of your magic, and I would like to look you over
entirely to ascertain any physical changes you may not be aware of. We
will begin with the latter. If you could stand for me, Mr Potter."
Harry did so, and over the next hour, he was subjected to the most
rigorous medical examination likely ever conduct before Galanis seemed
to be satisfied.
"Well, I must say, you are a rather interesting specimen," he declared in
shock.
"What does that mean?" Harry sighed.
"It means that it seems as though your body has been, for lack of a better
term, born again. I can find nothing physically wrong with you, and your
organs are incredibly resilient to any and all type of stimulus. I can
categorically state, Mr Potter, that I have never seen such a healthy,
strong body."
"So, that is a good thing?"
Galanis nodded.
"It is, but I would like to monitor you regularly to see if anything
changes."
"And if it does?"
"I think you are misunderstanding me, Mr Potter," the healer chuckled. "I
would like to monitor you to see if you maintain this level of resilience. If
it remains to be a lasting effect over the next decade or so, then we can
discuss what it could mean. Until then, think nothing of it and be assured
in the knowledge that you are strong, healthy, and thriving. Now, allow
me to examine your magic. This, I am very curious about."
Harry frowned as the man fetched an odd-looking instrument in the
shape of a pyramid and placed it next to him on the examination table.
"Please, just rest your hand here," Galanis instructed, pointing to one of
the sides. "The device will do the rest."
Harry did so, and it felt as though his hand had been glued to the surface.
"Do not panic, Mr Potter," Galanis urged. "It will release you when I am
done."
Harry could only nod and looked on in fascination as puffs of smoke of
various colours and shapes were expelled from the tip of the pyramid.
Galanis said nothing for several moments as he took notes, humming
interestedly as he did so, and his expression shifted through many
emotions before he finally tapped the machine with his wand.
After spending the next the dozen or so minutes reading through his
notes, he shook his head and removed his glasses once more.
"This explains so much but also raises more questions," he sighed. "Your
magic is exceptional, Mr Potter."
"You have seen nothing like it?" Harry snorted.
"I have not," Galanis confirmed severely. "If I had any doubt of the truth
of the tale of your death, I would no longer disbelieve you. The magic of
all three creatures is within your own for me to see. It is rather
fascinating."
"What does that mean?"
Galanis frowned uncertainly.
"Again, I may only be able to offer you speculation, but I can say with
confidence that there is nothing for you to worry about. The foreign
magicks are not causing you harm. On the contrary, they seem to be
working harmoniously with your own."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
"I do have questions, however, Mr Potter," Galanis spoke once more. "Do
not feel compelled to answer me, but I believe it would be in your best
interest to be honest."
"Honest with what?"
"Are you a parselmouth?"
Harry merely nodded in response and Galanis hummed.
"I suppose that would explain why the magic of the basilisk is content in
being with your own without attacking it," he mused aloud.
"How did you know I was a parselmouth?"
"The device told me," Galanis chuckled. "I just wished to see how
forthcoming you would be if asked. If we are to monitor you moving
forward, I expect openness between us, Mr Potter."
"And you will have it so long as it remains confidential."
Galanis nodded.
"I can assure you; my word is my bond as are the vows I took upon
becoming a healer."
"Thank you," Harry said appreciatively. "Does that mean the thunderbird
magic works well with mine because I have an affinity for a magic
similar to its own?"
Galanis smiled as he nodded.
"I suspect that would explain it," he confirmed. "The phoenix, however, I
am rather stumped. I can only imagine that its administering of tears to
heal you forged a bond of sorts. It helped save your life, so it would be a
natural assumption to make."
Harry could only shrug.
In truth, he understood only the basics of what was being told to him.
"What effect will this have on my magic?" he asked worriedly.
"Nothing detrimental," Galanis assured him. "You were already a
parselmouth before the introduction of the basilisk magic and had an
affinity for lightning before the thunderbird struck. I expect that if
anything, the presence of their magic will only strengthen what similarity
you already shared with them."
"What of the phoenix?"
Galanis leaned forward in his chair and pondered his answer before
speaking.
"For the most part, I believe it will impact your use of magic very little,"
he mused aloud. "You do not have an affinity for fire, so it will do
nothing. But," he continued firmly, "I do believe it is impacting your
body. The presence of the phoenix magic could explain your physical
health and resilience. It could also mean that you are less likely to
become sick and heal quicker from injuries. We cannot be sure without
the further monitoring I mentioned."
"Do you believe that is what it is?"
Galanis nodded.
"I truly do," he answered.
Harry frowned as a pertinent question surfaced.
"How was my blood purged during what happened, but not my magic?"
Galanis grinned at the question.
"Because magic cannot simply be purged," he chuckled. "If it could,
magical maladies and diseases would not exist. If all it took was a simple
purging, my services would no longer be required."
"So, magic cannot be purged?"
"It cannot," Galanis confirmed. "It can fight off what it deems to be
dangerous to its host, and it can also absorb foreign influences that it
believes will strengthen it. You yourself being a rather exquisite example
of that. Which brings me on to another observation I have made. Can you
explain why there is a foreign influx of magic within you that your body
seems to be feeding off?"
Harry could only frown in confusion as Galanis waited for an answer, one
that Harry did not have readily.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Galanis's eyebrows almost vanished into his hairline at Harry's lack of
knowledge on the matter.
"Well, it appears as though we have another curiosity to solve, doesn't it,
Mr Potter?"
27. THe Clan
The Clan
A/N
Another chapter for you guys…
Enjoy,
TBR
It felt as though he had been waiting for this moment for a lifetime, and
though it hadn't truly been so long, looking upon the young man seated
across the table from him showed Sirius just how much had happened in
his absence.
Harry was no longer a baby to be cradled in his arms, a rambunctious
boy that would snatch at someone's nose when they least expected it.
No. He was on the cusp of manhood himself and carried and comported
himself as such.
James would likely be amused, but Sirius had no doubt that both Charlus
Potter and Sirius's own grandfather would be impressed with the boy.
"Well, you don't look the raving lunatic like you did in your Azkaban
photo," Harry commented.
Cassiopeia rolled her eyes at the boy and chided him lightly.
"Harry!" she groaned.
He beamed in response, and Sirius was immediately reminded of James.
The two looked so much alike, especially when Harry smiled.
"It was supposed to be a compliment," the boy huffed and Cassiopeia
could only shake her head.
Evidently, she was used to him being this way.
It warmed Sirius to see that being despite by the infamous woman, he
had not lost what he had gotten from his parents.
"Not the most flattering of photos," Sirius agreed, rubbing the back of his
neck sheepishly. "The photographer there has a unique talent for
capturing the worst side of you."
"Did you ever have a prison photo taken?" Harry asked Cassiopeia.
"No, I did not!" the woman gasped. "I have never been to prison."
"Not as an inmate, at least," Harry muttered, eliciting a warning look
from the woman.
Had Sirius been Harry's age and he'd received it, he would have fled and
cowered under his bed for several hours until he was certain that he was
safe from any repercussions.
Harry only chuckled amusedly and kissed Cassiopeia on the cheek.
The woman smiled at the gesture.
It wasn't a grimace or an expression of tolerance, but one of genuine
affection, and Sirius was quite taken aback.
Cassiopeia truly cared for Harry. Something he never would have
believed to see from her.
"Does he really cause you so much trouble?" Sirius asked curiously.
Cassiopeia raised a delicate brow in his direction and Harry shook his
head.
"I don't cause any problems," he declared. "I'm a good boy."
Sirius did not believe him for a moment.
He knew James Potter too well, and Harry wore the very same expression
James always had when he was trying to get himself out of trouble.
Not that it ever worked.
Everyone saw through the façade, but that never stopped James from
trying to talk his way out of being punished.
It had always been a point of amusement for Sirius to witness.
James had been particularly skilled at getting himself into trouble, but
never out of it.
"A good boy?" Cassiopeia scoffed. "I am lucky if a week passes that I do
not receive a letter from school explaining an incident that you have
been involved in."
"Allegedly involved in," Harry pointed out.
"Let us not pretend that you are ever innocent in any of these things,
Harry," Cassiopeia sighed. "Did you, or did you not, Charm a boot so that
it would kick the librarian in the backside whenever she tried to sit at her
desk?"
"That was never proven to be me," Harry replied defiantly.
"What about the incident involving the toilet that would throw waste at
any pureblood who tried to use it?"
Harry snorted at the mention of that one but sobered quickly.
"Again, never substantiated."
Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes at the boy.
"What about the tainted Butterbeer that somehow made its way into one
of the pureblood students birthday gathering?"
"I never heard of that incident," Harry denied.
Cassiopeia tutted and Sirius chuckled.
"Do not encourage him, Sirius!" the woman huffed. "Some of those
students were vomiting for three days."
"Three days?" Sirius whispered, impressed. "We could only ever manage a
few hours. How did you do it?"
Harry's eyes brightened at the question.
"Well, since I am innocent of any wrongdoing, I cannot say for certain
how it was done," he replied matter-of-factly, "but if it was me, I would
simply mix an additional basil leaf into Purging Solution to make it a
little more toxic. I expect it would make quite the difference."
Sirius's mouth fell agape.
It was so simple, yet so brilliant, and he and the other Marauders had
never even considered it.
They had always been about flashy and complex displays of brilliance
when it came to their pranks.
Now, Sirius wondered just what else they might have achieved if they
had taken a much simpler approach.
Not that it was time to focus on such things.
Harry was here, and thus far, it seemed to be going well, but Sirius did
not wish to give his nerves the opportunity to surface again.
"So, what do you have planned for you summer?" he asked the boy.
"Homework, flying, and training mostly," Harry answered. "I may get to
see some of my friends, but I'm also visiting a vampire colony soon to see
one of them."
"A vampire colony?" Sirius asked, a deep frown marring his features. "I
know things have changed since I was locked up, but is that safe?"
"For Harry it is," Cassiopeia answered. "He has been invited, and his
safety has been assured. The leader of the clan will be sending his only
daughter to me for the duration of the visit, an exchange of sorts. I was
not keen on the idea, but he convinced me of the merit of doing so," she
added, shooting Harry a look of irritation.
"You mean that he asked and you agreed?"
"That's about it," Harry piped up.
"Bloody hell, he's got you wrapped around his finger, hasn't he?" Sirius
chuckled.
"He has not!" Cassiopeia denied hotly.
Sirius merely grinned in response and Cassiopeia glared at the two of
them.
"I should have known better than to be in a room with the pair of you,"
she grumbled as she stood. "The introductions are done. You can get on
with it. Kill each other for all I care."
With that, she stormed from the room and Harry laughed.
"Is she always like that?" Sirius asked.
"Only when things get a little too emotional for her," Harry answered.
"She doesn't cope with it well, but she's sweet in her own way. If she
draws her wand, you'd better run. She's not messing around when she
does that."
"Noted," Sirius replied as he removed a sheet of parchment and began
writing the information down with a quill he removed from within his
robes.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked curiously.
"Writing it down," Sirius explained. "You'd be surprised how easily you
remember something if you do this."
"How hard is it to remember to run if she draws her wand?"
"It's not," Sirius agreed, "but I spent too long with your father when we
were kids, and I always followed his lead. James was always too thick-
headed or slow to run when he needed to, even from your mother."
"Was he often in trouble with her?"
"Not a day passed that he wasn't," Sirius snorted. "Wait, I'm sure I have
some letters and photos from them both. Would you like to see them?"
For the first time since Sirius laid eyes on the boy, he appeared to be
nothing more than the orphan he was who wanted to know more about
the parents he'd lost before he'd gotten to know them.
"I've even got some school letters from James. They are all from before
fifth year. After that, I all but lived with the Potters."
"Why?" Harry asked.
"Have you not met the portrait of my mother?"
Harry shook his head.
"I'll introduce you to her next time," Sirius chuckled. "I would quite like
you to come back, and you wouldn't if you saw the old cow. Anyway,
come with me," he instructed. "I've got a whole trunk of things from our
school days."
Harry followed excitedly.
He may not have gotten to raise the boy as he should have, but no one
could tell Harry more about James and Lily than he could, and though he
hoped for their bond to strengthen over time, it truly was an honour for
Sirius to be able to do what he could for his godson.
(Break)
Albus was no stranger to playing host to the Minister of Magic and had
done so for several over the past decades as they sought his advice on
matters he would prefer to not involve himself with.
He had seen many come and go during his tenure as Headmaster of
Hogwarts, and as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Some had
proven to be worthy leaders, devoted to the betterment of Wizarding
Britain, and others, much like Cornelius Fudge, had proven to be nothing
more than a tool to be used by those who managed to earn his favour.
Still, as Albus looked upon the man seated on the opposite side of his
desk to him, he could not find much sympathy within himself, despite
how tired Cornelius appeared to be.
Throughout his time in office, the man had done just enough to appease
the majority of the Lords and Ladies of Britain, but the Minister made no
secret of his association with some of the less savoury members of
society, one of whom had joined him this evening.
Dolores Umbridge had somehow found herself in a senior position within
Fudge's workforce. How she had managed such a feat, Albus knew not.
She had been a rather lacklustre student and seemed to possess little
talent when it came to magic, but she had always had a way with words.
People like Cornelius would easily be fooled by her loyalty, her charisma,
and even the charm she possessed on the surface.
Albus knew better, however.
Dolores Umbridge was a petty, bigoted, and deeply unpleasant woman,
embittered by her failings in life.
Nonetheless, here she was now, elevated to what many would deem to be
a privileged position that few believed she deserved.
"What is it I may assist you with, Cornelius?" Albus asked, watching as
the man fidgeted with his bowler hat.
"Well, it is not something you can help me with. The matter is very much
in hand, but I wished to bring it to your attention."
"Minister, I do not believe it is any concern of Dumbledore's," Umbridge
interjected pointedly.
"Perhaps not," Cornelius sighed, "but it is not something we can keep
hidden. His absence will be noticed."
"Absence?" Albus pressed, ignoring the look of irritation the woman gave
him.
"It's Barty," Cornelius replied unhappily. "We have had to have him
admitted to the Janice Thickey ward in St Mungo's."
"Barty?" Albus questioned, surprised by the revelation.
Cornelius nodded darkly.
"The man has gone quite mad, rambling about his dead son. It took eight
aurors to subdue him."
"I see," Albus mused aloud. "What did he say?"
"That he took him from Azkaban, that the boy managed to place him
under the Imperius Curse and is now on the loose."
"Minister!" Umbridge warned. "We do not wish to alarm anyone with this
nonsense."
"Of course," Cornelius said dismissively. "What a mess."
Umbridge may not wish to alarm anyone, but Albus certainly felt such.
Barty Crouch was not one for tales of fantasy, and he had certainly not
seemed to entirely be himself throughout the tournament.
"You're quite certain that was what he said?"
"According to Amelia," Cornelius answered tiredly. "Not that she could
question him much. The man was raving. We had no choice but to have
the healers come for him. I do not expect he will return to work soon, so
it appears as though I will have to replace him."
"As I said earlier, Minister, I believe Lord Yaxley would be an excellent
replacement for him, or even Pius Thicknesse. They have been excellent
supporters of yours over the years."
Fudge nodded.
"I will consider both, but there are others that should not be so easily
dismissed."
Umbridge did not seem to be pleased but did not comment further on the
matter.
"No, what I came to discuss with you is whom you intend on appointing
as your Defence professor for the year," Cornelius explained.
Albus frowned deeply.
"I suppose you have a suggestion on whom I should hire," he replied
carefully.
"Well, Dolores here would make a fine addition to your staff," Cornelius
offered. "Lucius has already agreed to give her full backing, and he
assures me the other governors will follow suit."
"And why would Madame Umbridge wish to be employed here when she
has such an important position with yourself?" Albus asked curiously.
"Because we feel that it is about time the Ministry took more of an
interest in the education of our children," Umbridge answered sweetly.
"Concerns have been raised that the education they are receiving is
preparing them poorly for their future careers."
"Concerns raised by whom?" Albus pressed. "I can assure you, the
educational standards here at Hogwarts have only improved. I am happy
to fully disclose reports, examination results, and anything else you need
to see to prove that."
Cornelius nodded.
"I do not doubt that you can, Albus," he replied diplomatically, "but the
concerns have still been raised."
Albus needed no more than one guess as to whom had spoken of them.
Lucius Malfoy had been attempting to make things at Hogwarts more
difficult since he became governor, and more so since his son began
attending.
"Well, it appears that I have not found it necessary to appoint a new
professor for the year," Albus revealed. "Alastor Moody has agreed to
return to the post on a full-time basis."
"Moody?" Umbridge scoffed. "The man is madder than Crouch."
"Alastor has proven himself to be a most competent educator," Albus
defended. "His student's results this past year were the best Hogwarts has
seen in quite some time. I will not be replacing him, nor any other
member of staff for that matter."
Umbridge reddened in the cheeks at the firm denial, but Cornelius
nodded his acceptance.
"Very well," he agreed readily. "I did wonder if the concerns of the school
were to be unfounded, and I am pleased to see they have."
"Indeed," Albus returned unhappily. "And do remember, Cornelius,
Hogwarts is not and never has been beholden to the will of the Ministry.
Perhaps you should remind Lucius of that when he decides to raise his
concerns with you instead of me."
"Of course," Fudge stammered as he stood, suitably cowed, though his
political acumen helped hide it well.
Umbridge on the other hand appeared to be struggling to remain her
composure, and Albus could only imagine how awful a teacher she would
be.
Being a terrible student was one thing, but he would not have the school
subjected to her again in a position of such immense responsibility.
What Lucius was trying to achieve, Albus could only speculate, but
should the man truly desire it, it would only be a matter of time before
he got what he wanted.
Lucius Malfoy had a way of achieving the unthinkable, and with his
attention seemingly on Hogwarts more than ever, Albus could not help
but feel concerned.
What was his interest?
It was a question that would irk him, but not one he would likely get an
answer to before something drastic occurred.
The headmaster released a deep breath as he watched the Minister and
his Undersecretary depart.
Something was undoubtedly amiss, and it left Albus feeling rather
unsettled about the meeting he'd just had.
(Break)
Ever since he had received the first letter from his mother, Cain had been
dreading his return to the pack, and with good reason. Having done so, it
was impossible to ignore the atmosphere, the excitement, and
nervousness that seemed to hang over them.
Living amongst werewolves, there had always been something of a
tension. Sometimes, a rivalry between two males would break out and
the other members would have to take sides, or someone may even
challenge the alpha, hoping to take his place.
None had been successful thus far, and in truth, Cain could not
comprehend the notion that such a wolf like Fenrir Greyback existed
anywhere else on the planet.
For the most part, life had been good under the alpha.
Greyback had kept them safe, made sure they had shelter and were never
hungry, but his leadership came at a price.
To be a member of the pack, or even to survive here, he demanded
unwavering loyalty.
Those who did not fulfil that did not last.
As safe and as content as any member of the pack was, Greyback led
through fear, and there had been many reminders of that throughout
Cain's life.
The man, if he could be referred to as such any longer, was as ruthless
and vicious in person, as he was when transformed.
With Cain being so young, he had never been called up to hunt with the
rest of the pack, but it was only a matter of time before he would be
taken notice of; a day he hoped upon hope would never come.
Still, it was in his nature to be bloodthirsty, to attack, maim, and kill at
the fulness of the moon.
Something he could not ignore, as much as he wished it wasn't so.
"Friends, are day of glory will soon come!" Greyback declared, pulling
Cain from his thoughts.
The man was seated in front of the fire in town square, his silhouette no
less foreboding than the yellow-toothed leer that pulled his lips over his
teeth.
He was unkempt, as wild as his nature, and with long claws at the end of
each finger, filthy, but as sharp as daggers.
His thick beard was always stained with congealed blood from where he
ate only freshly killed meat and cared nothing for hygiene.
Fenrir Greyback truly was the epitome of what many of the witches and
wizards believed all werewolves were.
Cain winced as the crowd cheered, both his mother and father included.
The woman in particular had always vocally supported their alpha, but
now, it was like she had been gripped by madness, her own teeth bared
in anticipation and blue eyes flecked liberally with the amber of her
inner wolf.
Greyback held up a hand to silence the crowd.
"For too long we have been prisoners here, outsiders to all besides
ourselves," he continued. "I gathered this pack so that we might have a
chance at a better life, one where we would not be punished for merely
following our natural urges and feeding on those beneath us."
Once more, the crowd cheered and Greyback offered them a feral grin
before silencing them again.
"The day that vision becomes a reality is coming, friends, and when it
does, we must seize the opportunity with both hands, give all that we
have so that we may live as the wolves we are."
"Do we not do that now?" a voice called. "Do we not have our share of
food, warmth, and homes to call our own? What more could we want?"
The crowd began murmuring amongst themselves, but Cain shook his
head.
Whomever had the temerity to question Greyback would likely not do so
again.
"You are right to ask," Fenrir spoke, a smile cresting his lips. "What more
could we want indeed? Come, friend, allow me to show you what it is we
have here."
He beckoned to the man who had addressed him, and even wrapped a
familiar arm around his shoulder when he reached him.
"Here, we have homes," Greyback began, pointing towards the man
houses in the small town that had been abandoned by muggles some
years prior. "We have food," he continued, pointing towards the woods in
the distance where another, larger city could be found on the other side.
"And we have safety," he finished, pointing to the large gathering of
werewolves.
There were hundreds of them in all, and Cain doubted that there was an
auror force in the world that could match their numbers.
"We do," the man agreed readily.
Greyback chuckled amusedly.
"There is something, however, that we do not have."
"What's that?" the man asked curiously.
Cain could only wince as Greyback rammed his claws into the man's
throat and began tearing chunks of flesh from his face with his teeth,
much to the delight of the crowd.
It was not the first time Cain had seen someone killed in such a way.
Living as a werewolf, murder of such a brutal nature was commonplace
and something he had grown accustomed to.
When his victim had bled out, and Greyback had eaten his fill, he turned
towards the onlookers, his smile unwavering as he tossed the corpse
aside.
"WE DO NOT HAVE FREEDOM!" he roared. "Continue to prepare
yourselves. When word is given that we are to leave this place, we will
be doing so immediately."
With that, he seized the corpse he had discarded by an ankle and began
dragging it back towards where his own home could be found, the baying
of the pack echoing off every building in the town.
Cain simply left them to it and returned home, the dread that filled him
now considerably worse than it had been at the thought of returning
here.
(Break)
Of all the places Harry expected to find himself when arriving to be the
guest of a vampire coven, a cave in the wastelands of Russia was not one
of them.
Perhaps his perception of how the creatures lived had been skewed from
reading Dracula, or simply assuming that anything immortal would have
accumulated considerable wealth for themselves over the years.
The entrance to the cave he stood before, however, did not give the
impression of great riches or even comfort.
Nonetheless, he was a guest here, and he would unwaveringly conform to
their customs.
Vampires were rather strange in their ways.
Before hunting had been outlawed across most of the wizarding world,
covens were not so common. For the most part, they had been
independent, and reclusive folk.
The latter had not changed, but with their very lives under threat, they
had banded together to form societies of their own in which humans
were rarely invited into.
Thousands of vampires had been slaughtered over the centuries, and
though Harry had indeed been invited here, he was not expecting to be
welcomed warmly by those who had long memories of what had
occurred in the past.
Releasing a deep breath, he began walking towards the cave where he
was greeted by a dozen guards led by a rather imposing woman who
bared her fangs at him much like Lucinda had done on many occasions.
She was tall, her eyes a bright piercing blue, and her hair blonde.
Her hand rested on the pommel of an ornate sword that was strapped to
her waist, those that followed her armed in the same manner.
"You must be Harry Potter," she greeted him, her eyes shifting towards
his neck.
Unlike Lucinda, who Harry felt safe around, he had no doubt this woman
would happily feed on him, if given the chance.
Harry offered the woman a shallow bow.
"I am," he confirmed. "And you are?"
The woman's smile widened almost ferally, and Harry felt his own gaze
drawn to her large fangs.
It would certainly be unpleasant to find them plunged into his flesh.
"My name is Svetlana Kuzmina. I am the leader of our defensive forces
here. We are to escort you to Draikon, who is eager to greet you."
"Then lead the way," Harry urged.
With a nod, the woman removed a necklace from within her jacket.
"You will need to wear this during your time here," she explained. "Not
all of us are so friendly, and some hunger more than others. This is
Draikon's own blessing for you to be here, so you will not be mistaken for
a fool who has wondered into our home."
Harry placed the metal talisman around his neck, and Svetlana and her
group surrounded him as they led him into the cave.
"I do not sense fear from you," she murmured as they walked down a
rocky tunnel.
"Should I be fearful?"
"No, but any other who has come before you have not been so calm,"
Svetlana snorted. "We can smell fear. It excites us."
"Then I can only apologise for not exciting you," Harry returned with a
smirk.
The woman raised an eyebrow at him.
"I can see why one of our own would wish to befriend you," she
commented. "You are an amusing boy."
"I have my moments," Harry replied, "but then I usually end up in trouble
because of them. Are all of you short-tempered and quick to threaten
violence?"
Svetlana nodded.
"It is our nature," she replied with a shrug. "We thrive on instilling fear
and conflict. Fear makes the blood all the sweeter," she added, licking her
lips hungrily.
"You have been around long enough to remember the hunt."
"I have," Svetlana confirmed, "but those days are long passed. We survive
on what is given to us, not what we can take for ourselves."
Before Harry could offer a response, they had reached the end of the
tunnel, and he was taken aback by the sight of the underground city
sprawled out below him.
"You didn't expect us to live like Neanderthals, did you?" Svetlana
questioned amusedly, slapping Harry playfully on the shoulder.
The power behind the blow almost knocked him off his feet, but Harry
was too focused on what he had been led to.
"How many of you are there?" he asked curiously.
"Around six thousand at the last count," Svetlana informed him. "Almost
every vampire in the region lives here amongst us."
"Impressive," Harry murmured as the group continued on, navigating
their way down a long slope that led them to the edge of the city.
"Draikon is waiting for you in the centre," Svetlana informed him. "Just
be respectful and you will be fine."
"Well, I wasn't planning on pulling his trousers down in front of
everyone," Harry chuckled. "I will be on my best behaviour."
Svetlana hummed, evidently not believing him.
"It seems as though you have drawn quite the crowd," she pointed out,
nodding towards the seemingly hundreds of people lining the streets to
get a glimpse at him.
Most had likely never left this place before, let alone seen a human, of
whom they had undoubtedly been told horror stories.
Most of the vampires looked at him with interest, but there were those
who did not appear to be so accommodating.
Harry would avoid those.
"We are here," Svetlana informed him some time later walking under the
scrutiny of the vampires. "Draikon is just ahead."
As the group reached a small set of stone steps, Svetlana and the other
guards fell to one knee in respect of their leader, a gesture that Harry did
not follow.
He was not beholden to Draikon, and to do so would give the impression
of submission.
It would make him appear weak. Something Harry could not afford to do
in a place like this.
"You may rise," the pale man instructed before standing from the top step
he had been seated on.
Draikon was a tall, wiry vampire, his red eyes, black hair, and sharp
features being what Harry had come to associate with the creatures, but
looking around, he realised that such an image was not so common.
"Come forward, Harry Potter and allow me to greet you," Draikon
instructed.
Harry did so, pausing only a few pace away from the man before offering
the same shallow bow he had to Svetlana.
"I am honoured to be welcomed into your home, Draikon," he spoke
confidently. "As is a fitting gesture on my part, I have brought a gift for
you and your people. May I?"
Draikon nodded and watched curiously as Harry removed a shrunken
trunk from within his robes and placed it on the floor before resizing it.
"My gift to you is five hundred gallons of the finest blood I could find, so
that you and yours may be fed for days to come."
Draikon seemed surprised by the gesture but offered Harry what he
deemed to be a warm smile.
"Your gift is truly appreciated, Harry Potter," he said sincerely. "It is as
generous as it is thoughtful. In return, you have my full hospitality and I
ask that you and those you are visiting to join me to feast this evening."
"It would be my pleasure," Harry replied with another bow.
Draikon chuckled as he offered his hand.
"You are most welcome."
Harry shook the proffered limb and fought the urge to shudder at the
coldness of the vampire's touch, but Draikon could not hide the surprise
he felt.
"Your magic is quite something," he commented thoughtfully. "Human,
and familiar for the most part. The rest is not known to me. Tell me,
Harry Potter, does the name Peverell mean anything to you?"
Harry frowned.
"It does," he answered. "If I remember correctly, Iolanthe Peverell married
into my family some centuries ago."
Draikon's eyes widened slightly as his gaze swept over Harry
speculatively.
"You do resemble him," he murmured.
"Who?"
"I met a Peverell once," Draikon revealed. "I resided in Britain for a few
decades many years ago now, long before we formed our clans. A man
named Peverell spared my life when he caught me hunting in a village he
claimed to protect. He subdued me, but he let me go with the promise
that I would become the hunted if I drank another drop of the blood of
his people. Your magic is very much like his. It has the feeling of Death."
"I can't say I would know much about it," Harry admitted. "The Peverell's
died out a long time ago."
Draikon shook his head.
"Their magic lives within you, Harry Potter," he whispered, still gripping
Harry's hand in his own. "I look forward to dining with you this evening,"
he added before releasing him.
Harry could only watch in confusion as the vampire turned and walked
away, turning back once more to take in his appearance before
disappearing with his guard.
With the greeting over, most of the crowd dispersed, but Harry did not
miss the familiar face among those that remained and he approached the
girl he had made this journey for.
"Mr Potter," Lucinda's mother greeted him, her nostrils flaring as she took
in his scent.
Harry offered the woman a grin.
"Hungry?" he asked.
"I prefer my food to be a little more aged than what you can offer," the
woman replied amusedly.
Harry chuckled and accepted her offered hand, brushing his lips across
the back of it in greeting.
"It is nice to see you again," he said genuinely.
"And you," the woman replied. "I do not believe you have met my
husband, Alexei."
"I haven't," Harry confirmed, turning towards Lucinda's father. "It is a
pleasure, Sir."
"Sir?" the man questioned. "It has been some time since I was addressed
in such a way. Well, it is nice to finally meet you, Mr Potter. My wife and
daughter have told me a lot about you."
"Oh dear," Harry muttered.
Alexei laughed and shook his head.
"I can assure you; they have both been very flattering."
"Well, at least I don't have another angry vampire to threaten me," Harry
quipped, his eyes drifting away from the stocky, tall man and coming to
rest among the last member of the group.
Lucinda seemed to be nervous, and she had either shrunk or Harry had
grown during their time apart.
They had been the same height before he had left for Hogwarts, but now,
he was a few inches taller than her.
"Hello," she greeted.
"Hello?" Harry questioned. "It's been almost a year since we saw each
other, and that is all I get? Come on, Princess, you can do better than
that."
Despite her best efforts, the girl could not stop herself from smiling as she
approached and wrapped her arms around Harry's waist.
He gladly pulled her into his embrace.
It was rare that Lucinda showed any affection.
She had explained that it was difficult for her kind to feel such a thing let
alone express it. Something that Harry understood.
Still, he wouldn't accept anything less than this.
"I've missed you," he whispered.
"I suppose I missed you too," the vampire huffed irritably.
"That will do," Harry snorted. "Now, why don't you tell me how your year
at Durmstrang was?"
(Break)
"Something has happened to that boy, Gellert," Cassiopeia sighed, "but
he's not saying anything."
"What do you mean?"
Cassiopeia shook her head.
"I don't know, but I know him. He's different."
"Unless he tells you something has happened, then there's nothing to be
done, Gellert pointed out. "He's a teenage boy now, Cassiopeia. They are
always quite secretive. Has he agreed to meet with me?"
Cassiopeia nodded.
"He has. I will bring him before he returns to Durmstrang."
"Good," Gellert declared. "So long as he is happy and healthy, that is all
that matters."
Cassiopeia reluctantly agreed, but she knew she was right. Something
had happened to Harry and she was determined to discover what it was.
(Break)
The Dark Lord threw the slip of parchment he had received from Barty
into the fire and watched as it was reduced to ash, his gaze shifting to the
flames as he pondered the short missive.
He was quite furious that the man had allowed his control over his father
to slip enough that Crouch Sr had managed to break free from it.
Much to Voldemort's relief, he had been deemed mad and placed within
St Mungo's, and though it was a loose end he could do without, it would
be remedied soon enough.
Barty Crouch would be dead before he could regain any semblance of
believable clarity.
His son, however, was another matter entirely.
Although his loyalty was not in question, his ability to keep his
composure and not do anything reckless was not so assured.
His time in Azkaban had undoubtedly taken its toll on him, and Barty
could not entirely be relied upon, and yet, he was undertaking an
exceedingly sensitive task that required his full focus.
For the first time since the Dark Lord had begun making his moves
within the shadows, he felt a sense of unease wash over him.
If he had a capable body to call his own, he would not be filled with such
trepidation, but until Lucius had gathered all he needed and the
opportune moment arrived, Lord Voldemort would have to make do with
what little comfort and ability he had.
"Wormtail!" he called irritably. "It is time for me to be fed."
What made what Barty was doing much more difficult was that no one
else knew of it, and it needed to remain that way.
It wasn't that the Dark Lord believed that either Pettigrew or Lucius
would dare question him, but he had no doubt the latter would not
approve.
It was a risky plan, but one that may pay dividends should Barty manage
to remain undetected.
"Apologies, M-my Lord," Pettigrew stammered as he entered the room,
clutching a bottle of the concoction Voldemort drank to sustain himself.
It tasted disgusting, but it was one of the necessary unpleasantries he'd
have to endure until he could obtain a stronger vessel for himself.
"Get on with it, Wormtail!" Voldemort snapped irritably, his thoughts
drifting to the day that drew closer, the day he would no longer rely on
another to feed him and he could stand on his own two feet.
It had been so long, but not much longer.
Lord Voldemort would rise again.
(Break)
Lucinda and her family had never been invited to dine with Draikon.
They were young vampires of no consequence nor importance. To find
herself here was among the greatest honours anyone in the clan could
have bestowed upon them, but beyond that, she was merely pleased to be
seated next to Harry.
They had spent the afternoon simply catching up, and Lucinda took no
small amount of glee in telling him all the things that had happened to
Barkus during his absence.
Still, she could not hope but notice the differences in Harry.
Of course, a year apart would have seen him change.
He had indeed grown taller and broader, but it was not those two things
that she noticed most.
It was his magic.
As a vampire, she had a rather acute sense for feeling it from any she
spent time with.
Cain's always had been and always would be turbulent, strong but also
came in sporadic, hot waves with the mood of his inner wolf.
Ana's felt very much like being outside amongst the trees; serene, and
much like a gentle breeze, unless she became angry. Then it changed to a
strong gale that threatened to sweep any off their feet.
Harry's had always been different to everyone else's.
His had always felt cold compared to any other Lucinda had experienced,
though to her it felt warm and comfortable.
That feeling remained, but now, there was much more to it, almost as
though his magic had matured in a way that she couldn't explain.
Within the coldness, there was a burning heat, as though a fire had been
lit, but somehow, it only made the cold more prominent.
With the heat, was the undeniable presence of what she could only
describe as a storm.
Perhaps his affinity for lighting had caused that?
Lucinda was certainly no expert on Elemental Magic or the effects it
could have on a practitioner, but it seemed logical.
What she could not speculate on, however, was the strong presence of
death she could sense. It seemed to have strengthened his colder magic,
but it was undeniably still there, swirling through the rest of what she
felt.
It was unexplainable, and Lucinda had no doubt that her parents and
even Draikon had noticed it too.
Lucinda was pulled from her thoughts as her clan leader stood and raised
a glass of the blood that Harry had brought her people.
"I wish to raise a toast to Mr Harry Potter, our guest of honour," he
declared. "It is not often we welcome humans amongst us, and it is not a
practice we will ever adopt to become a regular occurrence, but he has
been courteous and respectful of our ways, and for that, I am grateful. To
Harry Potter."
The fifty or so other members of the clan that had been invited to join
them stood, and raised their own glasses, and Lucinda rolled her eyes as
Harry did the same, grabbing a goblet of blood as he did so.
"Thank you for inviting me," he replied before taking a sip, much to the
surprise of the others who watched him with interest. "It's a little sweet
for my liking. Do you have something a little more bitter?"
Draikon laughed heartily and was quickly followed by the others as
Lucinda shook her head.
"Idiot," she muttered as Harry retook his seat.
She knew the blood would be revolting to him, and yet, he'd drunk it
anyway.
"I was proving that I had not tainted it," he explained. "Your kind are
suspicious of anything a wizard would give them, and me drinking it
showed the others it was safe. I thought you would have known that."
"He's right," her mother broke in. "He did something we all know he
would find rather abhorrent to prove himself."
"Not for the first time," Lucinda sighed amusedly. "He drank blood at
school when one of the pureblood wizards decided to try to pick on us."
"Did he?" Alexei asked, evidently impressed by the gesture.
"That was during our first year. I don't think he ever tried to bully any of
us again."
"He didn't," Harry confirmed.
"You truly are an interesting young man, Mr Potter," her mother
commented.
"He's still an idiot," Lucinda pointed out. "I hope it tasted horrible," she
added, taking a sip of her own and revelling in the flavour as it washed
over her tongue.
"Oh, it was disgusting," Harry confirmed.
"Good."
Harry grinned at her and Lucinda felt the same jolt of warmth she always
had when he did so.
As much as he seemed to have changed over the past year, he was
undoubtedly still the same Harry who had more of an effect on her than
she would ever admit to any.
"Are you going to dance with me?"
His voice shook Lucinda from her thoughts, and she looked up to see that
all of the guests had moved to the dancefloor on the other side of the
banqueting room.
"Dance?"
Harry nodded as he stood and offered her his hand.
With a smile threaten to tug at her ow lips, Lucinda accepted the
invitation, and only a moment later, she found herself being swept
around the room.
She'd not had much experiencing of dancing, but her mother had taught
her enough to get by, and though she was enjoying the experience with
Harry, she could not help but wonder if he had danced with the
Greengrass girl like this?
From what little she could garner from Harry when they'd talked earlier
in the day, the two of them had broken off whatever it was they had, and
Lucinda could not pretend that the news had not improved her mood
considerably.
She had been jealous, perhaps unrightly so, but it was as her mother had
pointed out; she could not help her nature, and being here with him now,
she felt almost a sense of what most would likely deem to be petty
victory.
Lucinda, however, did not care.
Harry was here, and she would enjoy the moment for what it was, even if
something had happened to him to change him.
What that was, she knew not, but she felt no less comforted by his
presence.
Still, she wanted to know what lied behind the haunted look he wore
when he thought that no one was watching.
Perhaps he would tell her when he was ready, or it would simply become
another of those things that made Harry Potter such a mystery.
Regardless, it was not something to discuss now, not when she was living
something that most of her kind would never get to experience.
Everything else could wait.
For once, Lucinda wished to think of nothing else but the moment she
found herself in.
28. Summer's End
Summer's End
A/N
Another chapter for you guys…
Happy reading,
TBR
It had been a rather turbulent summer for Harry, one he found he'd had
little time to reflect upon until it had come to an end and he found
himself once more returning to Durmstrang.
For much of it, he'd been busying himself with his homework and
pondering what had happened during his venture into the Chamber of
Secrets, and though Galanis had told him not to, he couldn't ignore the
changes he felt within himself.
He'd understood what the healer had told him; his logic toward the magic
of basilisk and thunderbird being sound, and seemingly correct.
Already, Harry felt a stronger connection to his Elemental Magic and
wielded it with much more ease than he ever had before.
His parselmagic also seemed much easier to access, but it had been his
thoughts on the effect of Fawkes' magic that had occupied Harry's mind.
'It could also mean that you are less likely to become sick and heal quicker
from injuries.'
Being unable to resist putting the theory to the test, Harry had done so
and had been astounded by the results.
Before going to bed only a few nights prior, he'd used his wand to cut
quite deeply into his leg and watched in fascination as the wound bled
for less than a minute before sealing up and forming a thick scab.
When he had woken up in the morning, all that remained was a faint
pink line of a scar, all but proving Galanis's thoughts on the matter.
Not that Harry would be pushing the theory to its limits.
If the small abrasions he received healed so quickly, he would be more
than content with that.
He wasn't about to purposely break his bones or wound himself further to
test the ability.
Still, despite all of this, it had been the last thing they had discussed that
had plagued him most, and something Harry still lacked answers to.
Even after the letter he'd received this very morning from Galanis, Harry
would not pretend to understand what the anomaly the healer had
discovered was.
Dear Mr Potter,
I apologise for how long it has taken me to write to you regarding my findings
during our last meeting. I wished to be able to fully explain to you what it is I
found, but unfortunately, for the first time in my long career, I am truly
stumped.
I suspect, as you yourself speculated, that the anomaly within you is indeed a
product of sorts from the night the Dark Lord attempted to murder you, but I
do not believe it is connected to the magic of your mother's protection.
No, this is indeed something else entirely.
Although I am unable to currently identify what the magic is, I will continue
my investigation with the promise that I will explore every possible avenue to
ascertain its origin.
What I can confidently and categorically assure you of is that this magic is no
danger to you. On the contrary, I strongly believe it is benefitting you, and
could perhaps be the reason you survived your unplanned ritual.
You indeed did die, but this piece of magic did not, and I am of a mind to say
with some certainty that it assisted in anchoring the magic that brought you
back.
Nonetheless, we will continue to monitor you as planned.
You have my apologies for being unable to offer you answers of clarity, but
this indeed something unprecedented.
Do feel free to write or visit with any questions you have.
Yours Sincerely,
Healer Galanis
It was frustrating to not have the answers he sought, but Harry was
grateful for the time the healer was taking to help him identify the
anomaly, though he suspected the man would not find the answer on his
own.
Harry had been considering it carefully, and even if he couldn't identify
what it was either, he strongly suspected it was the reason he'd inherited
the parseltongue ability, and even the many visions he'd seen throughout
his life.
The magic was undoubtedly an essence of Voldemort of sorts, a
realisation that made Harry equally repulsed as he was curious.
Despite the fact that the Dark Lord had murdered his parents, there was
no denying that the man was quite the wizard in his own right, and to
have something of that his own magic was feeding off, Harry was grateful
for the unintended gift.
Nevertheless, he could not allow himself to be consumed only by what
had and was happening within him.
To distract himself, he'd visited Sirius a few times over the summer, and
it appeared that the man truly was trying to make amends, something
Harry was willing to give him the opportunity to do.
Sirius was fun to be around, didn't take anything too seriously, and
wanted only to be a part of Harry's life.
Yes, he'd made mistakes and found himself in Azkaban for his
foolishness, but Harry had no doubt his godfather was indeed innocent of
the crimes he'd been imprisoned for.
He'd loved Lily and James Potter, and the pain in his eyes when he spoke
of them was not something that even the greatest of actors could fake.
No, Sirius may have been guilty of negligence and acting rashly, but
Harry believed the man when he declared that he would have given his
life for theirs.
The relationship between the two of them was still a work in progress,
but Sirius was certainly doing his all to strengthen it.
Pushing the thoughts of his once wayward godfather aside, Harry smiled
as he recounted his visit with Lucinda.
They had talked, they had danced, and Harry had evidently made quite
the impression on Draikon who had insisted he remained with them as
long as he wished.
Harry had stayed for only a few days but planned to visit longer next
time.
His hand drifted to his chest, but not the scar he often felt to remind him
of his near death, but to the pendant Svetlana had given him upon his
arrival.
'No, it is yours to keep,' Draikon insisted when Harry attempted to return it to
him. 'You are welcome here whenever you wish, Mr Potter.'
It was quite the gesture, and one that was gratefully received.
Harry had enjoyed his time amongst the vampires. However, before he
allowed his thoughts to be consumed by his time with the clan, they
inevitably shifted to the previous day, and perhaps the most interesting
meeting of all.
Gellert Grindelwald had not been what Harry had expected at all.
Flashback
Nurmengard was quite the imposing fortress and had once played host to
hundreds of prisoners during the years of Grindelwald's rise, but now, it
housed only one man.
"There's nothing to be nervous about," Cassiopeia assured Harry.
"I'm not nervous," Harry replied, gesturing for her to lead the way to
where the infamous Dark Lord was kept.
They walked in silence to the highest cell of the prison, and Harry found
it hard to associate the old, rather frail man that greeted them with one
of the most powerful wizards in recent history.
Grindelwald was thin, and what remained of his grey hair was scraggly
and limp. The gleam in his blue eyes, however, was prominent and spoke
of a man of wit and intelligence.
"You must be Harry," Grindelwald greeted him with a toothy smile,
offering a slightly trembling hand.
Harry tentatively accepted the proffered limb.
He had spoken the truth when he said he wasn't nervous, but
Grindelwald was undoubtedly someone to be cautious around.
He had plunged much of the world into war, and though he was in no
position to do so now, there was always a potential for danger where
men like him were concerned.
"I can't say I ever expected to meet you," Harry replied. "Just about
everyone believes you are dead."
Grindelwald chuckled.
"If Albus had the guts to do what he should have, I would be."
Harry nodded his agreement.
He would not be attempting to lock Voldemort up when the time came
for them to meet.
The man would suffer unspeakable agony before Harry granted him the
sweet release of death.
"Why have you been helping me?" Harry asked, seeing no reason to stand
on ceremony.
Grindelwald smiled once more.
"I respect bluntness," he mused aloud. "Albus could never speak freely
without his blasted riddles and skirting around difficult topics. Let me ask
you, Harry, why do you think I would help you?"
Harry's gaze shifted towards Cassiopeia and Grindelwald chuckled.
"Partly," he agreed. "I would help Cassiopeia with anything that is in my
limited capability to do so, but not entirely in this case. I have my own
reasons, one of them being your grandfather, Charlus."
"My grandfather?"
Grindelwald nodded.
"Oh, he was certainly no friend of mine, quite the opposite in fact,"
Grindelwald explained. "We met numerous times on the battlefield as he
opposed me, and though I will not pretend that he did not cause me
endless amounts of headaches and frustration, he earned my undying
respect. He even gave me a souvenir to remember him by," he added,
pointing to a thin, purple scar beneath his right eye. "I daresay that if
Albus had not intervened when he did, it would have been myself and
Charlus Potter that the war would have perhaps been settled on."
"I didn't know that," Harry murmured. "That's not spoken of in any book
I've read on the war.
Grindelwald snorted derisively.
"Books will only provide you with limited information," he pointed out.
"No, you should always consult the people who lived through events if
such a thing is possible. The point is, the respect I have for your
grandfather, and my fondness for Cassiopeia are the reasons I initially
agreed to help you."
"Initially?"
Grindelwald nodded.
"Despite us never meeting, Cassiopeia has kept me informed of your
progress, of the young man you are growing into, and all the ups and
downs you have experienced. For one locked away as I am with so few
visitors, it means a lot to have heard of you these past years. I do not
merely feel obligated to help you, but I want to. I wish to see you live
through what is undoubtedly coming your way, for you to thrive whilst
your enemies perish. That is why I am helping you and gave you
everything I could to see that you are successful."
"The spells and the hidden rooms at Durmstrang."
Grindelwald nodded.
"And the wand."
Harry frowned; the cold feeling of the wand Dumbledore had given
making itself known as it was mentioned.
"It belonged to you."
Grindelwald shook his head.
"No, it never belonged to me nor Albus even though he won its
allegiance," he explained. "The Elder Wand can only truly be wielded by
those it was intended for."
"The Peverells?"
Gellert seemed surprised that Harry knew that name, but he composed
himself quickly and laughed heartily.
"You are a sharp boy," he praised. "What do you know of the Peverells?"
"Not much," Harry sighed. "I know that I am related to them."
"Their blood flows through your veins," Grindelwald confirmed, "as does
their magic."
Another wave of cold washed over Harry.
"That's why Draikon said my magic is familiar to him," he whispered
thoughtfully. "He is an old vampire that told me he was caught hunting
by a Peverell in Britain, but he was spared. He seemed surprised I was
related to them."
"Because it is believed that they died out," Cassiopeia interjected.
"But they did not," Grindelwald pointed out. "The reason I say is that the
wand did not belong to me, is because it belongs to you."
"Is it truly the Elder Wand?" Cassiopeia questioned.
Grindelwald nodded.
"It is," he confirmed. "Isn't it, Harry?"
Harry removed the wand from the holster he kept it in.
He had not taken much time to familiarise himself with it as much as he
probably should have, but the way it felt when he held it spoke volumes
to how compatible it was to him.
Swallowing deeply, he nodded.
"It is," he confirmed. "I also have the cloak, but not the stone."
"You have the two that are most useful," Grindelwald pointed out, "but
uniting all three would be for the best."
"Then I'd be the Master of Death?" Harry snorted.
"Perhaps not," Grindelwald said dismissively, "but with magic like this,
we can never be certain of what will or will not be. I expect the results of
doing so will be quite extraordinary."
"Do you believe the story?" Harry asked curiously.
"Of the three brothers? I do," Grindelwald confirmed. "I have seen
wondrous things in this world, Harry, some terrible and some truly
marvellous. If there is magic that gives life, does that not mean there
must be an equal opposite? We have creatures such as phoenixes, and
dragons. Is it so hard to believe that Death exists as a sentient being?"
Harry cautiously shook his head.
"I don't think it can be dismissed," he agreed. "I'm just not certain that I
would be considered his champion if I united them."
"Something neither of us can be certain of until you do so," Grindelwald
pointed out. "Regardless, the wand and the cloak are both very real, and
can offer significant advantages to you. I urge you to familiarise yourself
with them intimately. Your blood is the key for the wand to work as it
should. Voldemort is an exceptionally dangerous man, Harry. Never
underestimate what he is capable of and willing to do to be victorious."
Harry nodded his understanding as he slid the Elder Wand back up his
sleeve.
"I won't," he said firmly. "But him and his followers should not
underestimate what I am willing to do. I am not Dumbledore. I have no
intention of capturing anyone when the time comes."
Grindelwald nodded approvingly.
"Good," he praised. "Now, whilst you are here, why don't you show me
some of the things you have been working on from what myself and
Albus provided you with?"
End Flashback
Harry had been unsure of how he felt having been unwittingly tutored by
Grindelwald since his schooling had begun. The name was mud at
Durmstrang, not only because of his uprising in Europe and the many
that had died because of it, but also because he was one of only a few
people to be expelled from the rather liberal school.
Nonetheless, Harry was pragmatic enough to understand just what an
opportunity he had.
Despite all that Grindelwald had done, there was no denying that he was
indeed an exceptional wizard. Amongst the very best of his generation.
Having spent a few hours under his tutelage during his visit with the
man, any doubts that Harry had were no longer present.
He would be a fool to not accept the offered help.
In only a few hours, he had learned so much from the Dark Lord, and
would only become better the more time he spent with him.
Not that it was something he would discuss with any other.
The revelation alone that Grindelwald still lived would likely cause an
uprising of sorts, and the man would be dragged from his cell to face the
justice of the mob.
Harry could not allow that, not when Grindelwald would be so useful to
him.
"There you are," Summerbee huffed as she peered into the cabin Harry
was occupying. "Why didn't you wait for us?"
"Sorry," Harry offered with a sigh. "I had a lot on my mind and just
wanted to board the ship."
"Is something wrong?"
Harry shook his head as the others entered, and his mood brightened
immediately.
Lucinda he had seen over the summer, but none of the others, and now
that they were here, he was able to not focus on all that had happened
and had been plaguing him over the past couple of months.
"Rough transformation, Wolfie?" he asked Cain with a frown.
The werewolf shrugged.
"Something like that," he murmured.
He looked more tired than usual, the bags under his eyes darker than
Harry had ever seen, but the boy offered him a reassuring smile.
Harry made a note to himself to talk to Cain later when they were away
from the rest of the group.
Something was bothering his friend; of that he had no doubt.
"How was your Summer, Bumblebee?"
Eleanor narrowed her eyes at him.
"You know I don't like that name!"
Lucinda snorted.
"That will only make him call you it more," she pointed out. "You get
used to it."
"Thank you, Princess," Harry replied.
Lucinda bared her fangs at him in irritation.
"It's not too soon to put you in your place."
"Promise?" Harry returned with a wink.
"Just get a room, will you," Eleanor huffed.
"I've seen her room," Harry announced. "It's cold in there."
"You've seen her room?" Cain asked curiously. "Now this I have to hear."
"I visited Princess during the summer," Harry explained with a shrug.
"You visited a vampire clan?" Cain scoffed in disbelief. "You must be out
of your mind."
"This is Harry we're talking about," Summerbee pointed out. "You didn't
visit me."
"Or me," Jonas piped up.
"Well, I wouldn't expect you to visit me," Cain chuckled. "My lot are less
friendly than any vampire clan."
"I am here!" Lucinda growled.
"So, did you finally turn him?" Ana giggled.
Lucinda rolled her eyes as she folded her arms.
"Of course not," she grumbled. "I couldn't think of anything worse than
having him around forever, even if my mother really likes him."
"Most of the others liked me," Harry interjected. "Your mother just has an
extra soft spot for me."
"Only because you flirt with her!"
"I do not," Harry denied.
"You do!"
"Do not!"
"It's like watching an immature, married couple," Cain commented. "How
the hell did you end up visiting a vampire clan? It's not like they're very
accommodating to anyone, especially humans."
Harry shrugged.
"I was invited," he answered simply.
Cain frowned as he looked towards Lucinda.
"Our clan leader was interested in meeting Harry, so he was allowed to
visit."
"And I can go back any time I like," Harry added, showing the talisman
Draikon insisted he kept. "I might ask your mother if I can move in for
the whole of next summer."
"You will not!" Lucinda warned.
"Oh? You weren't so mean when we were dancing together."
"You danced together?" Ana questioned.
Lucinda finally crumbled and hid her face in her hands.
"I'm going to kill him," she declared.
"She's a good dancer," Harry continued, undeterred by the threat.
"Honestly, I enjoyed my time there, even if most of them looked at me
like I'm a snack."
"To us, you are a snack," Lucinda reminded him.
"I forgot about that," Harry chortled.
The others shook their heads at him.
"How could you forget they see you as food?"
Harry shrugged.
"Well, she hasn't tried to bite me," he replied, nodding towards Lucinda.
"Not yet I haven't."
Harry offered the vampire a smile.
He truly had missed this whilst he'd been away at Hogwarts for the
previous year, and he was very much looking forward to returning to
Durmstrang where he would be with his friends.
"Well, when are you going to visit me away from school?" Eleanor asked.
"Is this you inviting me?"
The blonde nodded.
"Then I will come whenever you like," Harry answered.
Eleanor smiled brightly.
"My grandmother will love you."
"Watch out, Harry might just flirt with her," Lucinda warned.
"No, if I did that, your mother would be jealous."
Lucinda growled as she launched from her seat and grabbed the
chuckling Harry by his collar before wrestling him to the floor.
"Well, it's been a while since I found myself here," he sighed. "You're
really hurting my ribs."
Lucinda was gazing at his neck hungrily, her eyes flashing brightly as she
did so.
"It has been a while," she agreed breathily. "Remember, one day, I might
not be able to restrain myself."
She released him and stood, and Harry took a few deep breaths, nursing
his torso as he stood, his smile unwavering.
Yes, he had missed this, even the regular death threats from the vampire.
(Break)
Cassiopeia scowled as she spotted the beetle crawl under the door to
enter the room. As instructed, Rita Skeeter had been keeping her abreast
of the goings-on in Britain, but until now, her reports had come via post.
Rita, however, had insisted that they needed to meet to discuss
something of importance, something the journalist was not comfortable
putting in writing.
As such, Cassiopeia had rented a private room in the Hog's Head,
ensuring that none could hope to overhear anything discussed between
them.
A few privacy and security spells had seen to that, and she could not help
but notice that Skeeter looked much more nervous than usual after she
had transformed.
That could merely be attributed to the woman's position of being
beholden to herself and Harry, but Cassiopeia suspected there was more
to it.
"Thank you for seeing me," Skeeter sighed. "I have come across something
that will be of interest to you but could be dangerous to know. Fudge is
certainly doing all he can to cover it up."
Cassiopeia's curiosity was certainly piqued and she gestured for Rita to
continue.
"Barty Crouch has been admitted to St Mungo's."
Cassiopeia snorted as she shook her head.
"I do not see why this will be of interest to me."
"Usually, I would agree," Rita replied, "but it is the nature of his
admission. He is in the Janice Thickey ward. I don't know how familiar
you are with Barty. He may be many things, but he has always been of
sound mind. For him to find himself there, something significant must
have happened."
"Has it?"
Rita nodded worriedly.
"He is claiming that he has been under the Imperius Curse of his son."
Cassiopeia frowned in confusion and Rita huffed irritably.
"Crouch only ever had one son, and he died in Azkaban several years
ago," the latter explained. "It caused quite the stir when it was revealed
that he was a Death Eater."
"A Death Eater?"
The news certainly took Cassiopeia by surprise.
Rita nodded.
"At the time, Crouch was the Head of the Department of Magical Law
Enforcement."
"He locked up his own son?"
"He did," Rita confirmed. "Barty has always done everything by the book,
which makes everything that has happened only more suspicious. He is
now claiming that as a dying wish for his wife, he switched his son out of
Azkaban for her. Fudge is having none of it."
"Do you believe him?"
"I do," Rita replied severely. "I've seen him. He is unwell from his ordeal,
but he is not a raving lunatic. Fudge is keeping him guarded. No one is
allowed in other than healers."
"So, the Minister wishes to keep him quiet," Cassiopeia mused aloud.
Rita nodded her agreement.
"It gets worse," she sighed. "Earlier today, Fudge met with Lucius Malfoy.
The two are close, as you know, and the Minister saw fit to discuss the
matter with him."
"Then Crouch Sr is all but dead," Cassiopeia murmured thoughtfully.
"Both Crouch's are a loose end for him that he will wish to keep silent,
unless he was already aware of the son's status."
"He did not seem to be surprised or alarmed when Fudge told him," Rita
explained.
"Then he knows," Cassiopeia huffed. "Which means that he has either
been in contact with the son, or worse."
"Or worse?"
Cassiopeia shook her head.
"Think nothing of it for now," she insisted. "There is more danger to this
knowledge than you can possibly know. If I were you, I would mention it
to no one."
"I wasn't planning to," Rita snorted humourlessly. "I brought it to you
because I believed you would wish to know."
"I am grateful," Cassiopeia offered, pondering just how she could use the
information.
"Do you believe Malfoy will have Crouch killed?" Rita asked.
"Undoubtedly," Cassiopeia replied bluntly. "His alleged involvement with
the Dark Lord is well known. If Crouch Jr is recognised publicly and he is
apprehended, Fudge will not be able to prevent a public inquiry. It is too
risky for Lucius to risk."
Rita grimaced at the thought.
"You seem to be rather calm about this," she pointed out. "Are you not
aware of the circumstances surrounding Crouch Jr's arrest?"
Cassiopeia frowned.
"I can't say that I am."
"Then it will only become more of an interest to you as it could possibly
mean that Harry is in danger."
"How?" Cassiopeia demanded immediately, tensing at the insinuation.
"It wasn't until after the war and many of the Death Eaters had been put
on trial that he was identified," Rita began. "Bellatrix and the Lestranges
had been sent to Azkaban the week before along with the other
prominent supporters who did not manage to avoid being prosecuted."
"Someone identified Crouch as a Death Eater," Cassiopeia deduced.
"Exactly," Rita confirmed. "Almost all had refused to name any others, but
that changed during the trial of Igor Karkaroff."
"Karkaroff identified Crouch?"
Rita nodded.
"In front of the entire Wizengamot whilst being questioned by Barty Sr."
Cassiopeia cursed under her breath.
"So, he will likely go after Karkaroff."
"I would not put it past him," Rita sighed. "Crouch was identified as one
of the Death Eaters that tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom. He
admitted it and to killing several muggles along with some witches and
wizards."
"And he would have gotten away with it if it wasn't for Karkaroff," Cassie
mused aloud.
Durmstrang as a school was as safe as any place could be, but if Crouch
had broken free and made contact with Voldemort, which certainly was
not beyond the realm of possibility, Rita could very well be right.
Harry could be in grave danger.
Karkaroff was now a liability to him, and Cassiopeia could not let that
stand.
"What was Crouch's reaction when Karkaroff identified him?"
"He wailed like a child," Rita answered. "He called for his mother."
"That doesn't sound like someone capable of murder."
"It doesn't," Rita agreed. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking that the man is mentally fragile, and any time amongst the
Dementors would not have done him any favours. It is hard to imagine
he managed to hold onto much or any of his sanity."
"I would say that he was already far gone during his trial," Rita
responded darkly. "He said nothing until he was given the veritaserum,
and after the effects had worn off, he laughed openly about what he had
done. There was no remorse."
Cassiopeia hummed, tapping her finger atop the table whilst she
considered her next course of action.
"I don't suppose anyone will be looking for him."
"According to everyone other than the Minister and those in the know,
Crouch Jr is dead and buried," Rita clarified.
Cassiopeia shook her head.
Crouch being on the loose was not good.
The man was likely as unpredictable as he was dangerous and were he to
somehow gain access to Durmstrang and Karkaroff, it is likely he would
seek Harry out also.
Cassie's jaw tightened at the thought.
"It is unlikely that any of this would be believed without evidence," she
murmured. "For now, I'd like you to see what else you can dig up for me.
Look into the Crouch's and keep an eye on Fudge and St Mungo's. I do
not think the latter will yield much, but it is best to cover all basis."
Rita nodded her understanding as she should.
"What will you do?" she asked curiously.
"Whatever I deem to be necessary to keep Harry safe," Cassiopeia vowed
darkly.
Rita swallowed deeply.
"I will be in touch with anything I find," she assured Cassiopeia before
transforming into a beetle once more and crawling out of the room via
the bottom of the door.
Cassiopeia remained where she was for some minutes, mulling over
everything she had learned in the past minutes.
She could not say for certain how likely the worst-case scenario she had
considered was a plausible outcome, but where Harry was concerned, she
was taking no chances.
Taking her leave of the Hog's Head, she nodded to herself, a plan already
forming for how she could mitigate this latest, unwelcome development.
(Break)
Albus furrowed his brow as he attempted to read over the latest exam
results his received from Madame Marchbanks.
They had been on his desk for several days now, but with the recent
meeting he'd had with Cornelius still plaguing his mind, he'd not been
able to focus on them.
As he had done many times in the days since, his gaze shifted to the still
empty portrait he was awaiting the occupant's return of, and he shook his
head.
The headmaster had begun making discreet enquiries about Barty
Crouch, but he had been unable to glean any new information from what
the minister had given him.
As he had suspected, few had been made privy to what had happened.
On his behalf, Alastor had spoken with Amelia Bones who merely
believed that Barty was taking an extended leave of absence for his
health.
For the time being, Amos Diggory had indeed been placed in charge of
the Department of International Magical Cooperation as per Albus's
suggestion, a small victory on his part, but a victory, nonetheless.
Madame Umbridge would not be pleased by the appointment, but with
her newfound ambition to become a member of staff at Hogwarts, Albus
did not believe she would stew for long.
It concerned the headmaster still at how determined the woman was to
find herself within the walls of the castle, but until she managed to find a
way to do so or he believed she was close to achieving it, he would put it
to the back of his mind.
No, Madame Umbridge was not what was concerning Albus in this
moment. It was the claims that Barty had allegedly made during his
breakdown.
His attempts to speak with the man had been rebuffed by the healers at
St Mungo's, each of them claiming the man was too unwell for visitors.
Their words given in a pointed, rehearsed manner.
They were being silenced on the matter, undoubtedly by Cornelius who
was seemingly doing all he could to ensure the news of Barty was not
made known to the public.
Albus suspected that even now, the minister had regretted informing
even him.
Madame Umbridge certainly hadn't wished for it to happen.
Albus was pulled from his thoughts by a gentle cough, and once more,
his attention shifted to the portrait that was no longer unoccupied.
"What news, Dilys?" he enquired.
The former, celebrated healer and headmistress shook her head.
"Barty crouch was declared dead this afternoon, Headmaster," she
informed him. "I apologise for the delay in reporting it to you, but I
wished to establish the facts before doing so."
Albus deflated in his chair, nodding his understanding.
"It is just as I believed," he sighed. "Do you know what happened?"
"Officially, he passed after a short battle with a severe illness," Dilys
explained.
"Officially?" Albus pressed.
Dilys's jaw tightened as she nodded.
"That will be the release to the public, but he was killed by no illness,"
she added firmly. "According to a conversation one of the portraits
overheard between two of the healers treating him, Barty Crouch was
poisoned. Both inspected his body and drew the same conclusion."
"I suppose the Minister does not wish the truth to be known," Albus
murmured. "Did Cornelius attend St Mungo's?"
"His Undersecretary did so, the same woman he visited you with," Dilys
explained. "She handed the healers a note with the Minister's seal, and his
cause of death of changed immediately."
Albus frowned unhappily.
If Barty was poisoned, then it was done intentionally, but by whom?
"I was told that he was unable to receive any visitors due to his health."
"He was not supposed to," Dilys confirmed, "but according to another
portrait that sits above the ward, he did receive a visitor but they could
give no description of them. Barty Crouch was found dead less than an
hour later, his lips purple and eyes bloodshot."
Albus released a deep, laboured sigh.
"He was murdered then."
"I have no doubt that is what occurred," Dilys agreed.
"Thank you," Albus offered gratefully. "If you discover anything else, do
let me know."
The woman offered him a bow before vacating her portrait once more
and Albus rubbed his eyes tiredly.
"Is this the world we live in now?" Phineas Nigellus scoffed. "Cowards
poisoning people. In my day, we duelled to the death if we wished to
settle differences, and politicians were real men. They weren't puppets for
the scum of society."
It was not often that Albus agreed with the man, but in this instance, he
did.
The political field had always had its share of corruption and
unpleasantness, but it had only gotten worse over the past half decade or
so in Britain.
Cornelius was a terrible Minister, and several others had come before
him.
It was times like this that Albus wondered if he had made the right
decision when he had turned down the post.
He shook his head of that thought immediately.
No, being the Minister of Magic was never a position he coveted, but
something certainly had to change or the likes of Lucius Malfoy and his
ilk would continue to exploit the system for their own gain.
Worse still, they could exploit it for the gain of someone else.
Regardless, the death of Barty Crouch was only the beginning, and if
Albus was correct, which he unfortunately was most of the time, then
more would soon follow as Tom gathered his strength to resume where
he left off.
He needed to be ready, and for that he needed to gather some old friends.
"Fawkes, are you ready to deliver some notes for me?"
The phoenix trilled his agreement, and Albus removed some fresh
parchment from the stack he kept on his desk and began scratching
away, lamenting on how few of the group remained.
He would need to recruit more.
After all, the Order of the Phoenix could not function with such a paltry
offering they currently had.
(Break)
Harry offered a hand to the scowling girl, and Zabini shook her head
before accepting it.
"How do you beat me so easily?" she huffed as Harry pulled her to her
feet.
"Not easily," Harry returned. "You've gotten better."
"So have you," Zabini snorted. "I even had extra tuition over the summer."
Harry chuckled.
It had taken less than two hours that he had set foot into Durmstrang
before the girl had sought him out to challenge him to a duel.
Strictly speaking, the room was not officially open until the following
day, but Zabini had evidently not wanted to wait.
As such, they had the space to themselves.
"You've improved so much," Harry comforted.
Zabini raised an eyebrow in his direction and tucked a few errant strands
of dark hair behind her ear.
"How do you do it?" she asked curiously. "How do you become so good?"
Harry shrugged.
"Because I have to be," he answered simply.
Zabini nodded her understanding.
"Well, I feel for anyone who gets on the wrong side of you. We are only
duelling using competitive rules. I bet you could really hurt someone."
"I could," Harry confirmed shamelessly. "I've learned things that many
wouldn't believe to be possible."
It was true.
Between his own studies, the Black and Potter magic, and everything
Dumbledore and Grindelwald had provided him with, Harry wielded a
deadly arsenal.
Not to mention all he had gathered from Voldemort.
That was merely the icing on the cake.
"Then I'm glad I do not have you as an enemy," Zabini replied with a
grin, the dimples on her cheeks becoming prominent.
With the way she was looking at him, Harry was reminded of what
Viktor had told him during their time at Hogwarts.
The girl had once harboured something of an admiration for him that
went beyond their shared passion for duelling and judging by the way
she gazed at him now, it was not something that had faded.
Harry could not deny that she was beautiful.
She had wavy dark locks, olive skin, and green eyes, though hers were
much darker than his own.
At seventeen years old, she had already filled out in all the right places,
something that could not be missed despite the robes she wore.
"Well, I don't have any plans of becoming an enemy of yours," Harry
assured her amusedly. "I might win in here, but you wouldn't be holding
back either in other circumstances. I imagine you know a thing or two."
Zabini's grin widened as she nodded and moved a step closer towards
him.
"I might," she answered demurely.
She stood close enough now that Harry caught the faint odour of her
faded perfume beneath her natural scent, and he felt his head swim.
It was intoxicating, and the way she looked up at him as though she
wished to devour him only made it more difficult to ignore.
All of that came to an end as the door crashed open and the two of them
were interrupt by Professor Olaffson.
"This room is off limits until tomorrow," the enormous Icelander said
sharply.
"We were just leaving," Harry grumbled, annoyed that the man had
chosen an inopportune moment to arrive.
Olaffson glared at them until they exited the room, the moment between
them all but ruined.
"Potter?"
"Yeah."
"You need to watch out for Barkus," Zabini warned. "I don't usually
involve myself in things that don't concern me, but he's determined to get
you."
"He's always been determined to get me," Harry sighed. "Barkus doesn't
worry me."
Zabini offered him a smile before turning away to head towards her own
lodgings and seeing no reason to be out later than he already had, Harry
followed suit, cursing Olaffson under his breath.
The man was evidently no longer simply content to make Harry's life
miserable with physical labour before the sun came up, he now had to
interfere in other matters to ensure maximum satisfaction for himself.
"Bastard," Harry grumbled, though perhaps it was for the best that
Olaffson had arrived.
Harry did not know what would have happened in the heat of the
moment with Zabini, but he could not deny that he had been fully
immersed in it, with little thought for anything else.
Now that he was away from it and thinking clearly, he knew he should
be grateful they were interrupted, but there was a small part of him that
still wished they hadn't been.
29. Rebirth
Rebirth
A/N
Another chapter for you guys…
Happy Reading,
TBR
Albus looked upon those in attendance welcomingly, though he could not
help but lament on the days that the Order was much larger in scale, and
with a talent pool as deep as magical Britain had to offer.
Nonetheless, he was pleased by the turnout.
Before him were seated those that had survived the previous war who
had answered the call as though no time had passed at all, and even a
few new faces the headmaster knew he could trust.
It may not be as it was before, but this was merely the beginning, and
Albus had no doubt they would only grow in strength and numbers as he
looked to once more build a force to combat the impending darkness.
"I thank you all for joining me."
Many simply nodded in response, not needing an explanation as to why
they were here, but others did not seem so sure and offered Albus
questioning glances.
Seeing no benefit to pomp and circumstance, he addressed them without
preamble.
"I believe it would be pertinent to begin by explaining just why we are
here," he said gravely. "Those of you that know me well enough will
know that I am not prone to exaggeration nor causing alarm when it is
not due, but I fear our gathering is once more a necessity. Dark days are
indeed approaching, and we must be ready to face them."
"Dark days?" Sturgis Podmore enquired.
Albus nodded gravely.
"I have long suspected they would, but with each moment that passes,
they draw ever nearer. It appears that a resurgence is on the horizon, and
Britain will once more find itself plunged into war."
The gathered Order members began whispering amongst themselves, and
Albus allowed them to do so for a few moments before holding up a hand
to silence them.
"War, Albus?" Emmeline Vance pressed.
"Indeed," Albus confirmed. "I have had my suspicions since the supposed
demise of the Dark Lord that he was not truly gone, but the past few
years in particular have done nothing but confirm my thoughts. He is not
dead, but merely indisposed."
"Not dead?" Minerva asked worriedly.
"He yet lives in some capacity, and I believe it is only a matter of time
before he returns."
"How is that possible?" Remus broke in.
"I do not know," Albus murmured.
He did, but he did not feel it safe to share information regarding
Horcruxes and such magic. It was something he would be focusing on,
and he had others to turn to, if necessary.
"Then how can you be so sure?" Remus questioned.
Albus released a deep breath, preparing himself for the inevitable
reaction.
"Because I have personally encountered him twice in the past four years."
As expected, those gathered were shocked and many fearful at the
revelation.
"Perhaps I should explain the circumstances so that you may understand,"
he suggested.
When no one objected, Albus stood and began pacing, choosing his words
carefully before he spoke again.
"The first incident involved a former Professor," he began. "Quirinus
found himself playing host to what remained of the Dark Lord and was
doing his bidding. Fortunately, I was able to stop him before irreparable
harm could be done, but the Dark Lord escaped."
"He was possessing him?" Alastor asked.
Albus nodded.
"Quirinus was a willing vessel. His involvement with Voldemort cost him
his life."
"Bloody hell," Mundungus Fletcher gasped. "Is this real?"
"I'm afraid so," Albus confirmed. "The second incident, Molly, Arthur, and
Bill can substantiate as they witnessed the fallout."
The three Weasleys nodded, each of them sporting a grim expression.
"Our Ginny fell into his trap," Arthur explained. "He took hold of her
mind and forced her to do unspeakable things to others. Thankfully,
Albus managed to intervene, but she has not been the same since. Even
now, she refuses to return to school, so Molly is teaching her at home."
"It was awful," Bill broke in. "As a Cursebreaker, I have seen terrible
things, but seeing Ginny like that still haunts me. It was him that did it to
her. Albus speaks the truth."
If any doubt had remained amongst the old and new faces, it was all but
gone after the testimony of Bill and Arthur.
Albus offered the duo a nod of gratitude for stepping in to explain.
"Most recently, a most concerning incident has taken place, one that you
will not be aware of as it is being covered up," the headmaster informed
the group. "Barty Crouch was recently admitted to St Mungo's into the
Janice Thickey Ward. He claimed that he had been placed under the
Imperius Curse of his dead son. He said that he had switched Barty Jr
with his wife in Azkaban where she died."
"So, Barty has lost his mind?" Alastor questioned.
Albus shook his head.
"I believe he was being truthful," he sighed. "Why else would someone go
to the trouble of poisoning him to ensure he could not speak of it?"
Alastor cursed under his breath whilst the others appeared to be
unsettled.
"The Minister is hiding this from the public?" Molly asked.
Albus nodded.
"When his absence is noted, the official explanation will be that he died
after a short illness," he explained. "I have it on the utmost authority that
is not the case."
The Order members whispered amongst themselves for several moments,
discussing the most unwelcome development.
"So, what do we do?" Remus questioned.
"Much the same as we did last time," Albus explained. "We will need to
recruit more members, so if anyone believes they know people who are
trustworthy, do put their names forward and I will look into the
possibility of bringing them on board."
"What about…?" Remus asked pointedly.
"I was just going to address that very thing," Albus replied with a smile,
not needing the werewolf to elaborate. "Along with the incidents that I
have already spoken of, there are other things to support what I have told
you, and that you should be aware of. Severus, if you would be so kind."
The Potions Master scowled as he stood and reluctantly rolled up the left
sleeve of his robe, displaying the mark he had been branded with so
many years prior.
"It has been growing darker and more prominent," he explained. "After
what happened to him when he attacked the Potters, it faded almost to
nothing. The other Death Eaters will also be aware of this, most waiting
to answer the call the same way that you have. When he returns, he will
have support."
"Then he must be dealt with quickly," Molly urged.
"Indeed," Albus agreed, "but I do not believe he will do anything to draw
attention to himself until he feels he is ready to pick up where he left off.
I expect he will already be recruiting amongst his former supporters and
making other preparations to see him in a position of strength. I do not
need to remind those that remember the previous war just how terrible
things became. With how unprepared the Ministry is, I fear it will be the
same, or worse."
"Should you not discuss this with the Minister?" Sturgis replied.
"It would only serve to tip our hand," Albus sighed. "Cornelius is too
influenced by Lucius Malfoy, and he will do all he can to deny the truth.
The auror force is not adequate, and any suggestion to expand would be
fruitless. If Lucius is preparing for Voldemort's return, he will do all he
can to ensure the Ministry is weak."
"So, it will be just us?" Alastor snorted. "Just like the old days."
"Just like the old days," Albus agreed unhappily. "There is, however,
another who will be joining us, but I felt it best to discuss it with you all
before he attends."
"Who?" Bill asked curiously.
"Sirius Black."
Silence followed the declaration until Alastor, the first to recover, scoffed
in disbelief.
"Black?"
Albus nodded.
"Sirius is innocent," Remus said firmly. "It was Pettigrew that betrayed
James and Lily. Hagrid and I saw him with our own eyes a little over a
year ago. He admitted to what he'd done."
Hagrid nodded his agreement.
"Why didn't you report it?" Moody questioned.
"Fudge was there," Remus explained, "as were Malfoy and Macnair. They
let him go instead of bringing him in when I transformed. Nothing has
been mentioned about it since."
"Is this true, Albus?" Molly asked.
"It is," the headmaster confirmed. "Peter Pettigrew is very much alive and
responsible for what happened to James and Lily. Sirius made some poor
choices that night, but he did not betray them, nor did he kill those
muggles."
He chose not to mention that Pettigrew had been posing as the Weasley
family pet for more than a decade.
Molly and Arthur had enough to deal with without being privy to that
knowledge.
It would serve no purpose now, not with the current state of affairs.
"So, Fudge is allowing the world to believe that Black is still wanted?"
Moody growled.
"Idiot," Bill Weasley muttered.
"I'm afraid Cornelius will be of little use to us," Albus sighed. "Even when
the truth is staring him in the face, he will not wish to acknowledge it.
He will simply bury his head in the sand until it is too late."
"Then why don't we look to replace him?" Sturgis suggested.
"Because he has too much support," Albus answered. "At present, Lucius
has too much influence over too many members of the Wizengamot for
us to make that change."
"So, our backs are already against the wall," Arthur stated.
"Aren't they always?" Moody snorted. "I am wondering how we can hope
to win, but that doesn't mean I'm not willing to fight to the bitter end, if
necessary. What are you thinking, Albus?"
The headmaster's mind wandered to the one boy the world would look to
when Tom announced his return, and though he could not foresee the
Dark Lord waiting until Harry was ready, it would eventually come down
to the two of them to settle the conflict.
Just the thought made Albus pleased that Cassiopeia Black had taken
custody of Harry.
He was being suitably prepared to shoulder the burden of what was to
come, and having met him on many occasions now, Albus took comfort
in the knowledge that Harry was as capable as he was willing to do so.
"I am thinking that I cannot see how we will not be successful," he
answered confidently. "Dark days are indeed ahead, but there is always a
light to look towards on the horizon."
His words served only to confuse the members of the Order, and Albus
took advantage of the silence to bring the meeting to an end.
"I suggest that we meet once a fortnight to discuss any developments," he
urged. "I ask that you all listen carefully for anything that could be useful
to us. As inane or innocuous as it may seem at the time, it could prove to
be valuable. I will be in touch."
Accepting the dismissal, the group began taking turns to disperse via the
floor, and those that were to remain in the school left through door until
Albus was alone with Alastor, who was yet to leave his seat.
"I have someone I believe we should bring in," the ex-auror announced.
"She's young, but I trained her myself, and I would trust her more than
most."
"Who?" Albus asked curiously.
"Tonks."
Albus nodded thoughtfully.
She had been rather mischievous during her time here, but her talent
would certainly prove to be a credit to the Order.
"Can you speak with her discreetly?"
"I can," Moody confirmed. "I will have a word and bring her to you when
it is suitable to do so."
"Thank you," Albus offered gratefully.
Alastor nodded before making his way towards the door, pausing before
he crossed the threshold.
"Potter?" he questioned curiously.
"I believe it will be Harry who ends this war," Albus explained.
Moody nodded.
"Aye, I've seen what the lad can do already, but can we hold Voldemort
off for long enough?"
"I don't know, Alastor," Albus answered honestly, "but we have to do all
we can."
Moody said nothing else as he took his leave from the office, and the
headmaster turned towards Fawkes.
"What do you think, old friend, will it truly be him?"
The phoenix unleashed a long, harmonious trill and Albus felt himself fill
with warmth and confidence.
"You believe it so strongly?"
Fawkes nodded, his black, beady eyes seemingly knowing more than
Albus could ever hope to.
"Then we must only have faith in him," Albus mused aloud as he stroked
the red plumage of his companion. "A little faith is all we need."
(Break)
"I'm sure Sidorova is determined to kill us with extra work this year,"
Jonas huffed irritably. "A whole sheet of parchment on the Caterwauling
Charm? It's not that interesting."
"Oh, I do wish you would shut up," Lucinda grumbled as she took a sip
from her goblet, deflating in bliss at the taste of the blood within.
"And you didn't help, Potter," Jonas accused, pointing a spoon at Harry.
"Why did you have to volunteer me to demonstrate it?"
"Because you should have been able to do it," Harry replied with a smirk.
"It's not my fault you didn't practice."
Jonas narrowed his eyes at Harry as he cursed under his breath.
"She's looking at you again," Hugo commented.
It wasn't often the boy spent much the group, but he always made an
effort to join them for lunch a few times a week.
"Who is looking at who?" Eleanor questioned.
"Zabini is watching Potter," Hugo pointed out. "Is something going on
between the two of you?"
Harry shook his head.
"No, it isn't."
It was the truth.
Ever since they had been interrupted by Olaffson, they had not found
themselves alone together again, and it wasn't as though Harry had
mentioned it to anyone else.
"She's not staring," Ana whispered.
"She's too smart to stare," Hugo chuckled, "but she looks when she thinks
no one is paying attention."
Ana and the others continued with their vigil until the half-elf grinned.
"She's definitely watching you," she confirmed to Harry. "How did you
notice it?" she added to Hugo.
The boy shrugged.
"I notice a lot of things."
"Have you noticed anything else of interest?"
"I've noticed that Zabini isn't the only one watching."
"Who else?"
"Potter's biggest fan."
Ana's eyes trailed along the tables of purebloods, pausing briefly before
looking back towards Hugo.
"Barkus is always watching," she sighed.
"He is, but it is different now," Hugo replied. "He seems somehow more
arrogant."
"He'd be stupid to try anything," Ana pointed out.
Hugo chuckled humourlessly.
"When has Barkus been anything but stupid?"
It was a good question, one that caused a frown to crease Harry's brow.
They had been back at school for just shy of two months, and Barkus had
given him and the rest of the half-bloods and half-breeds as he referred to
them, a wide berth.
Either he had given up trying to be a nuisance to them, or he was
planning something.
"Still feeling unwell?" Eleanor asked Cain.
The werewolf nodded and pushed his plate of food away.
The full moon had arrived a few days prior, and Cain was still recovering
from the ordeal.
"I think I will get some rest," he announced as he stood.
"I'll let Novak know," Harry assured the boy.
Cain nodded gratefully and took his leave from the hall to get some
much-needed rest.
The others continued with their meal, preparing themselves for their next
lessons.
Harry, Lucinda, and Jonas would be going to a lesson in the Dark Arts,
and Eleanor, Ana, and Hugo had Herbology, a subject that Harry did not
miss.
"She's looking again," Hugo snorted. "Are you sure there's nothing going
on between you?"
"There is nothing going on between me and Zabini," Harry muttered, not
missing the looks sent his way by the three females.
They had been somewhat standoffish with him when they'd first arrived
back at Durmstrang, and Cain had informed him of the reaction they'd
had to finding out about him dating Daphne.
Harry would certainly not profess to be an expert on girls, far from it, but
they seemed to get over what was bothering them, eventually. That was
until he received a letter from Daphne.
Something the girls did not seem happy with.
Not that it was any of their business.
Viktor had seemingly been right with his assessment.
The girls did not appear to like any attention that Harry received from
others.
For reasons unknown to him, they were either protective, jealous, or a
combination of the two.
"Come on, we'd best head out," Jonas suggested. "Novak will probably
nail our hands to the wall if we're late. See you later," he added to the
three they would be leaving behind.
Harry and Lucinda followed the part-hag, the latter seemingly lost in
thought.
"Come along," Novak hurried them as they arrived. "We have much to
cover today."
The man stood before a large blackboard and waved his wand, revealing
a large passage of writing complete with supporting diagrams he had
drawn himself.
"Can anyone identify what this is?"
Harry looked at the board intently, trying to decipher the formulation of
letters, symbols, and numbers and attempted to correlate them with the
sketches.
"No?" Novak pressed, his red eyes alight with amusement. "It is
something of a trick question. I would be surprised if…"
"It is an incomplete set of instructions to create inferi," Harry called,
taken aback by his own knowledge.
It was not something he had studied beyond understanding what they
were, and certainly not how one would animate a corpse.
Novak too seemed caught off guard and eyed Harry questioningly.
"You can see that it is incomplete?"
Harry nodded, aware that everyone in the room was staring at him.
"There a three enchantments missing, and four of twelve required
catalysts are not there."
"And with good reason," Novak replied sternly. "To create an inferi is
illegal in all magical communities and has been for the last two centuries.
If I was to show you the complete set of instructions, I would find myself
in more trouble than you could imagine."
He continued to gaze at Harry curiously for a brief moment before
shifting his focus to the rest of the class.
"Your aim today is to identify the characteristics of an inferi, and the
strengths and weaknesses of them. You will work with those on your
tables. If there are no questions, you may proceed."
The class busied themselves with the task at hand, and Harry pondered
just how he had been able to piece together the conundrum that
remained on the board.
Many of the odd symbols and languages used for the incantations were
not things that had been covered yet, nor likely would they, even during
a Durmstrang education.
"How did you know what that is?" Jonas asked, nodding towards the
blackboard.
"I recognise some of the symbols," Harry answered truthfully. "The rest, I
took a guess at."
He didn't believe the explanation himself, but the other boy did not press
him further, though Lucinda seemingly did not accept it.
However, she did not question him and instead opened her textbook to
the page that discussed inferi.
"How would you fight one of them?" Jonas questioned, grimacing at the
description the book gave.
"Fire," Harry replied. "It is their only true weakness. They are impervious
to most other magics. Curses won't work, and neither will other physical
trauma. They are resilient and immolating them is the only way to
destroy the magic that has animated them."
"Seems logical," Jonas murmured as he noted down what Harry had said.
"What about characteristics?"
"They do not breathe, and unless the corpse used to create it was fresh, it
will bear the marks of degradation," Harry reeled off. "They are strong,
almost as strong as a werewolf or vampire, and they do not bleed.
Neither do they tire. If one of them are sent after you and you do not
know how to destroy it, you will exhaust yourself trying to escape and it
will catch you."
"Well, I don't plan on pissing someone off enough for them to send one
after me," Jonas chuckled. "Then again, a fire spell will deal with it."
"It has to be powerful enough to break the magic," Harry reminded him.
"Regular fire would likely not be enough."
Jonas shook his head as he looked towards Lucinda who shrugged.
"You'd better learn some better fire spells," she urged amusedly.
Jonas nodded his agreement and continued reading until Novak cleared
his throat to garner the classes' attention.
"That will be all for today," the man announced. "Bring your work to me
and I will mark for next lesson. Potter, remain behind for a moment."
Novak waited until the rest of the class had left before beckoning Harry
towards the desk he was seated behind, and once more, he simply stared
at him for a moment.
"If tasked to, could you fill in the blanks in the instructions?" he asked.
Harry looked towards the board before nodding.
"I think I could."
Novak chuckled darkly.
"From the first day you walked in here, you have surprised me, Potter. Do
you remember our first lesson together?"
"I do."
Novak offered him a rare smile.
"Ever since, I have had high expectations of you, and each and every
time, you have exceeded them. It is not only your seemingly unending
knowledge that impresses me, Harry, but your practical application. In all
my years of teaching, so few have managed to impress me the way you
have."
"Thank you, Professor."
"Now, that does leave me in quite quandary," Novak continued. "It is
seldom that I would offer any additional tuition, but from what I have
seen of you thus far, I would like to do just that. I believe you could go
far in the field."
"I'd like that," Harry readily agreed.
"Good. Give me a little time to consider what I would like us to delve
into, and then we shall begin in due course. Until then, I will see you for
your next class."
Harry nodded and retrieved his bag, pausing before he slung it over his
shoulder.
"Professor, do you have much knowledge of ritualistic magic?" he asked
curiously.
He had been pondering what had happened to him during the chamber,
and with no other expert available to him, he thought perhaps Professor
Novak could shed some light on what had happened.
The man narrowed his eyes at Harry suspiciously.
"Why do you ask?"
"It is nothing but curiosity," Harry assured him. "I have no desire or
intention to pursue it beyond knowledge."
Novak nodded and beckoned Harry forward once more.
"Ritualistic magics are among the most dangerous to delve into," the man
said gravely. "I myself fell afoul of them in my youth. As you can see," he
added, gesturing towards his eyes. "I was fortunate that what I attempted
was not fatal, but my practices still went too far."
"What happened?" Harry probed.
"I got it wrong," Novak said simply. "Even the most advanced
practitioners of the art have barely scratched the surface of what can be
achieved through rituals, and those that have pushed their luck have
either wound up dead or have mutilated themselves irreparably."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"What are the side effects?"
"It depends on what you are trying to achieve," Novak replied
thoughtfully, "and what runes and catalysts you use for the ritual. Now,
physically speaking, it could simply kill you, or worse. You may end up
with effects that you had not taken into account. Rituals are
unpredictable at best."
"So, even if something seems as though it could be a good thing, it could
prove to be bad?"
Novak nodded.
"Perhaps," he answered carefully, "but those who are fortunate merely
reap the benefits, though these are indeed rare cases."
"Oh," Harry murmured worriedly. "Is there any firm indication of
something going awry?"
"Well, death is the obvious answer," Novak snorted, "but it is understood
that ritualistic magic is sacrificial in nature. The greater the sacrifice, the
less likelihood there is of suffering ill-effects. Most underestimate this and
believe that a material sacrifice will be sufficient. Rituals require much
more than simple frivolities."
"What if someone died, but somehow came back to life?"
Novak frowned at the question.
"I suppose it would be dependent on the nature of the death and apparent
reason for the coming back, so to speak. If you have a specific example, I
may be able to shed some light on the matter."
Harry swallowed deeply.
He had hoped the conversation would assuage his worries, but it had in
fact had the opposite effect.
"Would you prefer if I was frank?" he asked.
Novak nodded.
"Frankness is always best when it comes to this type of magic. Every
aspect, no matter how small, is equally relevant."
"It must stay between us," Harry insisted. "I am under the care of a healer,
but he is not so knowledgeable on this."
"Unless I believe it is dangerous to yourself or any other student, it need
not go further than this room."
Harry eyed the man, wondering if he could trust him, but it was not as
though he had much choice.
The only other person he knew of who may be as familiar with the topic
was Voldemort, and he could not imagine sitting down and discussing it
with him.
Though the thought was somewhat amusing, it was sobering.
There would be no diplomacy between them.
When the time came, each would attempt to kill the other with
everything they had at their disposal.
"Something similar happened to me during my trip to Hogwarts," Harry
revealed. "It was unintentional, but it happened."
Novak appeared to be alarmed but equally curious, and he gestured for
Harry to continue.
"I was bitten by an old basilisk," Harry explained. "Its fang punctured my
heart, and the venom was injected into my body."
"Yet here you sit," Novak whispered in awe. "How is that possible?"
Harry shrugged.
"I died," he informed the man, "but the tears of a phoenix healed my
wound, even if it was not enough to bring me back. A thunderbird did
that by shocking me."
"Astounding," Novak murmured, reaching for a piece of parchment and a
quill.
He began scribbling away for several moments, scratching out some of
the things he wrote before nodding to himself.
"How old was the basilisk?"
"Around a thousand years old," Harry answered.
Novak cursed under his breath.
"How big was it?"
"Maybe sixty feet."
Novak shook his head as he began writing again.
"You have an affinity for lightning, as discovered during your Elemental
lessons," he mused aloud, "but I cannot fathom how you survived. Even
with the phoenix tears and the assistance of the thunderbird, it should
not be mathematically possible to bring you back."
"Does it matter that I am a parselmouth?"
Novak paused, his gaze shifting to meet Harry's.
"I believe it makes all the difference," he muttered before falling silent
once more and continuing with his work.
Harry watched as the man carried out a dozen or so calculations before
he was satisfied.
"What did the healer tell you?"
"That my body seems to have experienced a rebirth of sorts," Harry
explained. "My organs are much more resilient, and my magic now
contains the magic of all three creatures to some extent."
Novak chuckled humourlessly.
"You have no idea how fortunate you are to be alive, Potter," he
whispered as he read through his notes. "It is a series of coincidences,
luck, and resilience on your part that you are here."
"I know."
"Had you experienced this without being a parselmouth, you would be
dead. Were it not for your affinity for lightning, you would be dead. And
were it not for the phoenix gifting you its tears, you would be dead.
However, all three catalysts played their part perfectly, even if the entire
incident was unintentional. The biggest part of all of this is that you paid
the ultimate price. You died and magic itself deemed you worthy of
bringing back. I am truly flabbergasted."
"You're not the only one," Harry snorted.
Novak merely shook his head.
"From what I can gather, the sacrifice you unwittingly made is more than
enough that you should not experience any negative effects," he
explained. "You undoubtedly endured sheer agony as your life was slowly
drained by the wound and the venom. I can think of few greater
sacrifices that can be made."
"So, you think I will be fine?"
"I would say better than fine, Potter," Novak replied soberly. "During this
unwitting ritual you underwent, you created an unbreakable bond with
three extraordinarily powerful creatures, each of whom a part of resides
within you. The basilisk is dead?"
Harry nodded.
"And the phoenix. Do you know of its origins?"
Harry shook his head.
"He is the companion of the Hogwarts Headmaster."
"Ah, so the bird's magic simply bonded with your own," Novak mused
aloud. "Phoenixes are beholden to no human, and no human to them, but
a bond of sorts will forever exist between you. What of the thunderbird?"
Harry shrugged.
"I have never seen it before that night."
Novak hummed.
"It too has created a bond with you. A rare occurrence indeed," he
murmured. "Perhaps you will never see it again, or perhaps it will come
to you, the two of you drawn together by your common affinity for its
own element and the bond you share. That will depend solely on the
creature."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"Thank you," he offered sincerely, relieved by the professor's assurances.
Novak waved him off.
"It is what I am here for, Potter," he replied. "I may be what any would
consider an expert in the Dark Arts, but my first priority is the welfare of
all who step through my door to learn. You're a very lucky young man. I
do hope you do not plan to replicate such a feat again."
"I meant what I said," Harry chuckled as he stood. "I have no intention of
delving into ritualistic magic. I have seen what it can do to those that
do."
"Good," Novak declared. "However, I believe it will be quite interesting to
explore the effects of what happened to you. It is something we can
experiment with during our additional lessons together. Now, off you go.
You've already missed most of your next lesson."
"Olaffson is going to give me a detention, isn't he?"
Novak merely smirked in response, and Harry groaned as he left the
room, relieved by the conversation, but irritated that he would have to
now endure the wrath of the enormous Icelander.
(Break)
"Is it ready yet?" the Dark Lord demanded impatiently.
Lucius continued to mutter under his breath as he added ingredients to
the large cauldron, the fire beneath illuminating the diamonds in the
darkness of the woods they were in.
"Almost, My Lord," Lucius replied.
Voldemort's nostrils flared.
He had been patient enough, and what had remained was all but gone.
Halloween was the perfect evening for him to complete his rebirth.
It was where it had all come to an end, but now, it would be where it all
began once more.
For fourteen years he had drifted between this world and the next,
anchored only by the several pieces of his soul that were scattered
around.
It had been as painful as it was frustrating, but tonight, he would once
more have a capable vessel of his own. Tonight, a new chapter would
commence.
"I believe we are ready, My Lord," Lucius declared after another few
moments.
The potion bubbling away in the cauldron had been brewed to
perfection, and the required ingredients were laid neatly nearby.
The time had come for the Dark Lord to rise, more powerful than ever
before.
Soon enough, wizarding Britain would be firmly beneath his heel.
However, tonight was about his resurgence, a new birth for a new era of
darkness to fall upon the world.
"Then proceed," Voldemort instructed.
Lucius did so, and with one final experience of indignity of having to be
hoisted around like a baby, the Dark Lord felt himself submerged under
the potion where he held a final breath in the pitiful lungs he currently
possessed.
It felt like several minutes passed before he felt anything, but when the
magic of the ritual waned, the familiar burn of a dozen others he had
carried out during his lifetime lanced through him like hot knives.
Still, it was nothing compared to what he'd endured when he'd attempted
to kill Harry Potter.
Potter.
The boy had gotten lucky, but such luck was not destined to last.
When the time was right, the Dark Lord would right the wrongs of years
gone by, and Potter would finally perish at his hands.
It was destiny, after all.
Pain once more.
The burning intensified as Voldemort felt his limbs begin to lengthen, his
organs expand, and his magic grow as strong as it had once been.
It was exhilarating to feel it pumping through him as though no time had
passed at all, and finally expelling the air from his lungs, he stood as tall
and proudly as he'd ever been.
"Robes," he instructed simply, the cold chill of the air uncomfortable on
his newly created skin.
Lucius acquiesced with the order; the already pale man having grown
paler as he looked upon his master with a grimace.
"Am I so unbearable to look upon, Lucius?" Voldemort questioned.
The blond shook his head.
"No, My Lord," he denied.
He was lying.
Lord Voldemort could always detect dishonesty, and even easier now that
his magic was at full capacity.
"Wand."
The warmth that rushed through him as he grasped it was impossible to
describe, and the Dark Lord simply relished in the feeling of being whole
again before conjuring a small mirror with but a flick of his wand.
Such a thing would have exhausted him moments prior, but now, he felt
as though there was nothing that could tire him.
Nonetheless, he frowned as he took in his appearance.
Where his nose should have been were but two slits for him to breathe,
and his head remained hairless.
His eyes too were unrecognisable, almost serpent-like in nature, though
Voldemort did not care for frivolous aesthetics.
If anything, his unique look would serve to instil fear within those that
dared defy him.
He nodded satisfactorily to himself.
"Now, we may begin," he murmured. "Your arm, Lucius."
Malfoy reluctantly presented his prominent Dark Mark to him, and Lord
Voldemort pressed a finger to it, ignoring the whimpering of the pathetic
Wormtail.
The man deserved every ounce of pain that now plagued him.
"Let us see how deeply loyalty runs through them," the Dark Lord
whispered, watching and waiting for the arrival of his Death Eaters, a
smirk cresting his lips as they began to arrive only a moment later.
(Break)
Harry woke in a cold sweat, gasping for breath as he stood and steadied
himself on his trembling legs.
The dream had felt so real, as though it was him that had been plunged
into the boiling cauldron.
Had what he seen truly happened?
As much as he tried to deny it, he could not ignore the instincts that
screamed of the veracity of what he had seen.
Voldemort had returned.
Harry swallowed deeply at the thought, shuddering as another wave of
powerful magic washed over him.
Despite the horror of what had happened, he felt invigorated, almost as
though his magic had woken from a long rest.
It was overwhelming to say the least, but there it was, tingling just
beneath the surface of his skin, ready to be unleashed.
Still, Harry felt rather unwell from the sudden influx, both hot and cold
to the extreme.
Releasing a deep breath, he made his way to the bathroom to fetch some
water and drank greedily when he had poured himself some.
Had what he had witnessed truly happened?
He hoped that his thoughts on the matter would change with clarity, but
another burst of magic only reiterated the truth he already believed.
Yes, Voldemort has somehow returned and Harry could only shake his
head.
He was not ready to face him, not yet.
There was much more for him to learn and experience before their fated
meeting was to take place.
He was only fifteen, and though he knew the man who had murdered his
parents would not remain dormant forever, he'd been hopeful that he
would finish his schooling at the very least before the inevitable
happened.
"Shit," Harry cursed, wondering what it was he could do.
There was nothing to be done.
He simply was not ready to face his foes.
Voldemort may merely be one man, albeit and exceedingly powerful one,
but Harry's enemies did not simply amount to a single Dark Lord.
Voldemort had dozens upon dozens of followers; witches, wizards, and
all manner of creatures he had managed to bring on side.
As things were, Harry had Cassie, and perhaps Sirius and Remus.
Dumbledore would have been a useful ally, and maybe he would still
prove to be, but the man did not have what it took to do what was
necessary in times of war.
At best, Dumbledore would serve as little more than a distraction before
Harry was ready to take the fight to the Death Eaters.
Would Voldemort immediately set to work, or would he remain in the
shadows longer?
Harry sincerely hoped for the latter.
He grimaced as another pulse of magic jolted him from his thoughts and
frowned as he heard groaning coming from the dorm he shared with the
other boys in his year.
"What was that?" he muttered as he re-entered the dorm, pausing as he
caught sight of Cain standing in the middle of it.
The boy had spent the rest of the day in bed still feeling unwell, but as
Harry looked upon him now, he seemed to be fighting something, doing
his utmost to resist.
Harry's eyes widened as his friend's face began to elongate, his amber
eyes glowing in the darkness as an almighty howl was unleashed.
He had never seen Cain as a werewolf, and though he was still only a
teenager, he towered over Harry, his lean figure belying the strength he
possessed.
Harry was confused.
The full moon had come and gone for the month, and yet, here Cain was,
fully transformed and bearing down on him.
Harry's eyes shifted towards the bedside table where he placed his wands
before sleeping; a mistake he would not make again.
"What's that?" Hugo asked sleepily.
"Do not move," Harry said firmly, doing his best to remain calm despite
the feral beast before him.
"Fucking hell!" Jonas gasped as he caught sight of the werewolf.
Cain snarled before unleashing another howl, seemingly torn on which of
the three other boys he should attack.
Harry took advantage of the confusion to launch himself towards his
wands, only to have the wind knocked out of him as something collided
with his shoulder.
He could only wheeze on the ground where he landed further away from
his bed from where Cain had swatted him out of the air, the smell of his
own oozing blood filling his nose.
He hadn't simply been pawed away, but Cain's claws had torn through his
shoulder.
It was a scream of desperation that pulled Harry from his thoughts, and
he looked up to see Jonas trying to scramble under his bed before Cain
seized it, an threw it across the room with seemingly no effort on his
part.
Hugo had recovered from his own shock and took aim with his wand, the
curse hitting the werewolf only serving to anger it further.
Harry's bed was the next to be flung, and Hugo rolled to avoid it, only to
fall at Cain's feet.
"GET OFF OF HIM!" Jonas shouted, jumping on the werewolf's back, only
to be thrown against the wall with a sickening crunch.
All he could do was whimper in pain as Cain stalked towards him, and
with no idea where his wands had ended up, Harry did the only thing he
could think of doing in the moment.
He cleared the length of the room in a single bound, unleashing the wolf
within.
Harry felt himself filled with a palpable rage as he foamed at the mouth,
his jaw clamping down on the back of the attacker's neck.
Cain had been taken by surprise and screamed in a mixture of shock,
anger, and agony as he was pulled to the ground where Harry shook him
relentlessly, pulling him from one side of the room to the other, back and
forth until he felt the creature growing weak.
The werewolf attempted to put up a fight, but the fatigue eventually set
in and he howled pleadingly as Harry's jaw shifted and took him by the
throat.
Every instinct of Harry was telling him to kill the werewolf, to tear out its
windpipe for what it had done, but Harry managed to stifle the urge as
he laid his entire weight upon the creature, panting heavily from the
effort to subdue it.
He had not escaped the scuffle unscathed, and yet more wounds on his
side and muzzle were leaking blood, and the room from the walls to the
ceiling and floor were spattered with it.
Harry unleashed a rumbling growl as the werewolf whimpered once
more.
It may have submitted to him, but it was still a danger.
"What on Earth happened here?" the shocked voice of Professor Sidorova
gasped as the door opened and the room was flooded with light.
It resembled nothing short of a murder scene.
Broken furniture was strewn about the room, and Hugo and Jonas were
huddled together amongst the debris, their eyes widened fearfully.
"Potter?" Sidorova choked.
Harry growled once more, his gaze shifting to the students standing
behind the woman, each of them with their wand drawn.
"You, fetch the healers," the Charms professor instructed one of them,
flicking her wand in the direction of the exit. "Just hold still, Potter, help
is coming."
The werewolf wriggled, and Harry snarled, tightening his grip, eliciting
another squeal of agony from Cain.
The students witnessing the scene before them were visibly shaken, many
upset, and most surprised by what they were seeing.
"Is that really you, Harry?" Eleanor whispered.
"It's him," Hugo confirmed. "He turned in to a wolf and took him down.
He saved our lives."
"I can see that," Sidorova commented worriedly, her gaze sweeping over
the destruction of the room. "Can the two of you move?"
"I can," Hugo answered, "but Jonas is in a bad way."
The boy was barely coherent. A trail of blood ran down the side of his
head, and his arm was set at an unnatural angle.
Hugo seemed to be suffering only from shock, but Harry knew it could
have been so much worse, even if he had needed to resort to revealing a
secret he would rather have kept to himself.
"What is going on here?" the voice of the headmaster broke in.
He pushed his way into the room with his wand drawn, garbed in a pair
of red, fleece pyjamas.
Taking in what had happened, his eyes widened before he cleared his
throat, his gaze fixed on Harry and the werewolf he still held in his jaws.
"Everyone return to your rooms," he instructed firmly. "Dimitry, I will
need your assistance."
The Magical Creatures professor stepped forward and assessed the
situation.
"We will need to bind his legs and his muzzle," he explained
knowledgably. "He seems to have lost a lot of blood so we will need to
treat him. We cannot wait until he reverts. How did this happen?"
"I do not know," Karkaroff murmured, "but I will find out. Come on, let's
get these boys to the medical bay. When you're ready, Dimitry."
Harry only unleashed his hold on the werewolf when he was certain that
Cain had been sufficiently subdued and transformed back into his own
human form.
He was exhausted from the events of the evening.
The dream of Voldemort had been one thing, but the unnatural
transformation of his friend was what concerned him most in the
moment, and as the rest of his friends attempted to assist him to the
medical bay to have his own wounds seen to, there was only one
question he wished to be answered.
How had Cain been transformed when the full moon had already been
and gone?
Harry knew not, but there was nothing that would stop him from
discovering the truth.
30. Propositions
Propositions
A/N
Onwards we go…
Enjoy,
TBR
Harry could only look on as the unconscious Cain continued to tremble
throughout his disturbed slumber. The boy was sweating profusely
having been taken by a fever and had yet to wake even for a moment in
the past couple of days.
Everything possible was being done for him, but Harry refused to leave
his side until he could see for himself that his friend would be okay.
He grimaced at the sight of the wounds along Cain's neck.
They had been treated, and the fractured bones from their tussle had
been repaired, but the werewolf was still gravely ill.
"Any change?" Cassiopeia asked as she returned to the medical bay.
Harry shook his head.
She along with Jonas's and Cain's parents had been sent for after the
incident, but the latter of those invited had not arrived to check on their
son.
"No, not yet."
Cassiopeia rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.
"You were all very lucky," she sighed, "even him," she added, nodding
towards Cain. "If you hadn't managed to subdue him, there would have
been little choice but to kill him."
"I know," Harry murmured. "That just makes what happened even more
severe, doesn't it?"
"Do they still not know how it happened?"
Harry shrugged, wiping the perspiration off Cain's brow with a damp
cloth.
"Not yet, but it wasn't an accident, was it? Someone did this
intentionally."
"Which reminds me, there are things we must discuss as soon as possible."
Harry nodded.
"There are," he agreed, "more than you know."
"How is he?" the healer asked as she stepped through the curtains that
isolated Cain away from the rest of the medical bay.
"The same," Harry answered.
"Well, I do have some news," the healer sighed. "A considerable amount
of a foreign substance was found in his blood."
"Foreign substance?" Cassiopeia pressed.
The healer nodded.
"Unless he took it willingly, which is highly unlikely, he was spiked with
Lunar Essence."
"Lunar Essence?" Harry asked.
"It is a supplement used for plants that thrive during the peak of the
moon phase. It is used to trick the flowers into continuing to grow so that
they may be harvested quickly."
"Could that have triggered his transformation?"
"Usually, it would not, but Cain was already feeling rather weak," the
healer explained. "Lunar Essence is highly poisonous to humans, and I
expect the intention of whomever gave it to him was to trigger a
transformation."
"Well, it worked," Harry pointed out.
"But not as I believe they intended," the healer replied. "I believe the
intent was indeed to trigger a transformation, but what happened was
that Cain was almost fatally poisoned. I think being on the cusp of death
is what spurred the change."
"So, someone tried to kill him?"
"Or they got very unlucky and lucky at the same time," Cassiopeia broke
in darkly.
"Exactly," the healer agreed. "I do not believe murder was the motive, but
it came dangerously close, for several of you."
It had been close, and none within the room had escaped unscathed,
though much to the healer's and Harry's surprise, his wounds had been
healed within less than a day without the need of her assistance.
Much to his relief, she had been too distracted with the state of Cain to
question him on it.
Not that Harry had an answer for her beyond the speculation he'd
received from Novak and Galanis.
"They're either very knowledgeable in Herbology, or just generally a
moron," he mused aloud. "They either got it very wrong, or very right."
The healer nodded her agreement.
"The good news is that he will be fine," she declared. "I expect he will be
unwell for some time, but he will recover. He is now over the worst of
the poisoning."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief as his gaze shifted to the werewolf.
Cain would feel awful when he woke and wouldn't take it well when he
learned of what had happened.
Still, Harry's mind drifted to whom could have been responsible, but with
the odd circumstances and outcome, it was difficult to be certain of
anything.
Barkus had been the first he'd considered, and still was if truth be told.
He frowned at the thought.
Would Barkus stoop so low?
Did the boy believe Lunar Essence would transform Cain, or kill him?
Harry didn't know which was worse.
If Barkus was simply as stupid as to attempt to poison someone, he had
gone about it in a foolish way.
There were much easier and cleaner ways to kill someone using that
method, and if that was his intention, then why would he have chosen
Cain to be his victim?
It made no sense and only added credence to the less likely, yet more
concerning alternative; whomever had poisoned Cain knew exactly what
would happen by using Lunar Essence.
The thought was not a comforting one, but Harry could not imagine
Barkus being so knowledgeable, though it was always possible that he
had been given insight by another.
Regardless, the attempt had almost seen him and the rest of his
roommates dead, and perhaps others if Cain had managed to run
rampant.
"What are you thinking, Harry?" Cassie questioned as the healer left them
to their vigil.
"I don't know," Harry replied thoughtfully. "Without any understanding of
what the purpose was, we won't learn who it was, and without knowing
who it is, we won't understand the purpose."
"You have spent too much time with Albus," Cassiopeia muttered.
"Speaking of which, we must have a discussion, now."
Waving her wand, she cast a series of privacy charms to ensure they
would not be overheard.
"Karkaroff is in danger," she revealed without preamble. "One of the men
he gave up during his Death Eater trial is at large, and it is likely he will
come after him."
"What man?"
"Barty Crouch Jr," Cassiopeia whispered.
"I thought he was dead."
Cassiopeia shook her head.
"It turns out that his father broke him out of Azkaban and kept him under
the Imperius Curse for several years until the boy broke it. Crouch Sr is in
St Mungo's after managing to do the same, but I wouldn't expect him to
live much longer. Malfoy is aware of his current state, and Crouch has
been trying to tell the truth to any who will listen."
"He's as good as dead then," Harry sighed, the dream he'd had before the
werewolf incident beginning to make more sense now.
"I know you will not like this, but I want you to consider finishing your
schooling at home," she pleaded. "It could become dangerous here."
Harry shook his head as he held up a hand.
"Where Voldemort is concerned, no matter where I go or what I do, I will
always be in danger from him, even more so now," he added, much to the
confusion of the woman. "He's back. He has a body of his own, and I
expect it was Crouch and likely Lucius who has been helping him. Maybe
Wormtail too."
"He's back?" Cassie questioned worriedly. "Are you sure about this?"
Harry nodded darkly.
"I saw it happen. He underwent a ritual to get a body back and was
successful. It's only a matter of time before things begin happening, and it
won't matter if I am here or at home. One day, he will come for me, or if
I am ready before, I will find him."
Cassiopeia had paled considerably as he had spoken.
"No, we must keep you safe, Harry."
He offered the woman a smile as he pulled her into his arms.
"I'm as safe here as I would be anywhere else, and I will not have my life
dictated by him. But you must find a way to tell Dumbledore. Voldemort
will not wait before beginning his resurgence."
"And what about you?" Cassie asked.
Harry shrugged.
"I continue preparing as long as I can, until I'm ready or I am no longer
given a choice in what happens," he answered. "We knew this day would
come."
"But not so soon," Cassie whispered.
"Not so soon," Harry sighed, "but it could be much worse. With me here,
he will not focus on getting to me so much, not when the task will be
easier when I graduate. That gives me the best part of a few years. It will
be Britain that suffers in that time. How much depends on how long the
Ministry will ignore the problem, and with the prat Fudge as Minister,
and Malfoy pulling his strings, nothing will be done to prevent it before it
is too late. I don't suppose we will be getting the return we hoped for,
well not as such."
"I dreamed of the day you would walk into the Ministry and accept both
of your titles," Cassie murmured.
"Oh, I will still be doing that," Harry assured her, "but when the time
comes for me to do so, I don't expect my presence will be so welcomed by
most."
"You have that look of mischief, Harry," Cassiopeia sighed.
"Mischief? Now, why would I do something mischievous?"
"Because that is just how you do things."
"Not when it comes to anything to do with him," Harry said dismissively.
"To some, my intention may appear to be mischievous, but towards Tom
and those that have chosen to follow him, my intent will always be one
of malice and destruction. This no game. Each of them will suffer every
misery I can inflict upon them."
Cassiopeia nodded.
"I will inform Albus of what has happened," she assured him. "Are you
sure you will be okay?"
Harry nodded.
"As long as he is," he replied, nodding towards the slowly stirring Cain.
Cassiopeia offered him a smile and pressed her lips against his cheek
before bidding him farewell.
Both had much to think about and knew that the news that each had
broken would mean only changes from here on out.
What changes they would be, neither could be sure, but change was
coming, and it remained to be seen just what was to come.
(Break)
The Dark Lord marvelled at his pale, bony hand. It was nothing like how
it had once appeared. His fingers were now longer, and thinner, but that
did not prevent him from wielding his wand with the same practised
ease.
The ritual had been a resounding success.
He'd had his concerns that perhaps all of the work he had put into
becoming far beyond the norm in terms of magical power and ability
would have been absent upon his return.
Those concerns, however, had been for naught.
He felt as powerful as ever, his wand work as fast, crisp, and devastating
as it had been before Halloween of 1981.
Once more, he felt invincible, that he could take on the world and
emerge victorious.
That he would do.
For now, he remained in Albania, but soon, he would be ready to make
his triumph return to Britain.
He could not wait to see the faces of those that believed him dead, to
revel in the fear that would grip when they saw him again, risen from the
dead.
The thought brought an anticipatory grin to his lips.
"What do you have to report?" he asked his gathered Death Eaters.
They had come when called, but even behind their masks, they could not
hide the guilt and unease they felt in Lord Voldemort's presence.
It was not as though they had anything to fear any longer.
Those that had denounced him in the past had been punished thoroughly,
and the thought of doing so again would not dare cross their minds.
"My Lord, Azkaban is as poorly guarded as Lucius suspected," Macnair
answered. "You could free the others any time you wish."
Voldemort nodded.
"Something I will do soon," he declared.
"My Lord, I would urge you to wait," Lucius broke in. "I know that they
are important, and I like that you look forward to having those
imprisoned amongst our ranks once more, but I do not believe now is the
right time. We must take things cautiously until we are certain of who
are allies, who can be swayed to comply, and those that must be dealt
with. I have already begun the process and ask you for time to complete
it."
Voldemort nodded thoughtfully.
Diplomacy was something he often felt was a weakness, but Lucius was
the most politically astute man he knew, and despite not wanting to wait
any longer than necessary, he would grant the request.
As much as the Dark Lord despised the thought, he would still require a
functioning government when he took power.
One made up of like-minded individuals of course.
"Very well," he agreed reluctantly, "but be quick about it, Lucius. My
patience is not endless."
"Of course, My Lord," Lucius replied with a bow.
Voldemort nodded satisfactorily.
"And what of the Minister? You have spent much time with him over the
years."
"Fudge is weak," Lucius answered simply. "He is easily influenced, and
our best option until you are ready to appoint someone else. If anything
were to happen to Fudge, any of his possible replacements would present
problems for us."
"Who would the replacements likely be?"
"Rufus Scrimgeour would be a favourite," Lucius replied thoughtfully. "He
is well-respected, a talented former auror, and would quickly bring about
the same laws Bagnold eventually introduced to combat us. That must be
avoided."
Voldemort nodded his agreement.
It had been fortunate that he and his Death Eaters had already paved the
way for a great victory before he had unexpectedly made his grave error
in Godric's Hollow.
With the powers granted to the aurors to use lethal force, the tide could
have been turned had they been introduced earlier in the conflict.
No, it would not do for his followers to be killed during their raids.
"Any other?" the Dark Lord pressed.
"Amelia Bones," Lucius answered severely. "She is the Head of the
Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and with good reason. She is a
dangerous witch, My Lord. Perhaps only yourself, and Bellatrix would be
capable of defeating her alone."
"I remember her well," Voldemort mused aloud. "She and Moody were
quite the thorn in my side. Perhaps she should be delt with quickly."
"I would urge it, My Lord," Lucius returned, the other Death Eaters
nodding their collective agreement.
It was certainly something to ponder, and Voldemort would do so soon
enough.
Until then, however, there were other things to discuss with his
followers.
Turning to another of them, he allowed his gaze to roam over the man.
Severus, even without a mask, was unreadable.
His self-control, even in the presence of his master had never wavered,
despite having the most questionable loyalty.
No, Severus was loyal to only one, and that was himself.
Still, with his brilliance in potions and is undeniable talent with a wand,
he was much more use alive than dead.
Although, whether or not he continued to breathe depended solely on
how useful he remained.
The Dark Lord would not hesitate in killing the man if he believed it to
be necessary.
"What of the old fool, Severus?" Voldemort asked.
"As you say, My Lord, he is an old fool, one who has only tired," Snape
replied carefully. "He never truly posed a threat to you and is even less of
one now."
Voldemort's lips curled into a slight grin.
"He will die," he declared simply. "He will be the first."
"How, My Lord?" Severus pressed.
"It would be simple enough to have you do it," Voldemort mused aloud,
his eyes narrowing as the merest flicker of concern crossed Snape's
returned gaze. "No, you are of more use to me in the castle than out of it.
Even when Dumbledore dies, we will need someone inside Hogwarts."
He showed no sign of it, but the Dark Lord expected that Severus was
feeling a wave of immense relief.
"That leaves only one other," he continued. "Harry Potter."
At the mention of the boy, a sudden tension filled the room.
The one blemish that stained his reputation was evidently still a point of
worry for the Death Eaters who looked to one another questioningly.
"You would have interacted with him during his time at the school,
Severus. Tell me, what impression did he leave on you?"
"He attended only a handful of my lessons, My Lord," Snape explained.
"During my observations of him, he was quiet but confident. Still, he is
no one truly of consequence."
"Of course," the Dark Lord replied, though he could not dismiss the
prophecy that had almost caused his downfall.
"If I may speak, My Lord?" another requested.
"You may, Warrington," Voldemort allowed with a frown.
He did not like being interrupted in such a way, but the boy was new
here.
He would learn his place soon enough.
"Potter used to eat with us," Warrington revealed. "On his first night at
Hogwarts, he threatened us."
"Threatened you?"
Warrington nodded.
"He said that it would not be a good idea to hold a grudge against him,
that he was willing to leave the past where it was."
"How very interesting," the Dark Lord hissed gently. "And did you?"
Warrington shook his head.
"Draco did not take kindly to being threatened."
Voldemort's gaze shifted towards Lucius.
"He wrote often about Potter, My Lord," the blond sighed. "Potter holds
no respect for those above his station, and Draco wished to know how to
deal with him."
"And what advice did you give?"
"To do nothing foolish," Lucius answered. "From my own brief interaction
with the boy, as I already explained to you, he came across as confident
and willing to question myself and Fudge. He even managed to convince
the Minister to discontinue searching for Black in light of Wormtail's re-
emergence."
"Did Draco take your advice?"
Lucius shook his head disappointedly.
"He did not," Warrington broke in. "He tried to find a way to get back at
him. Something that came at my expense."
"Your expense?"
"Draco goaded Potter, and when I stepped in to defend him, Potter
attacked me. He seems to be talented, My Lord, but not on your level, of
course."
Voldemort hummed thoughtfully.
The more he learned about Potter, the more interesting the boy became.
"What will you do about the boy, My Lord?" Lucius questioned curiously.
"We will meet when the time is right," the Dark Lord answered
cryptically. "For now, he is of no concern. He is at Durmstrang and will
remain there for the next few years."
"Would it not be best to have him eliminated quietly?"
Voldemort shook his head.
"No. There is to be no harm brought upon him," he said firmly. "He is
mine to kill, and mine alone. Durmstrang is likely as secure as Hogwarts,
and in such a harsh climate, it is unlikely any will be able to get in, let
alone navigate the building effectively enough to get to the boy. No, he is
not as important as securing Britain. Our time to meet will come. It is
inevitable."
The Dark Lord fell silent for a moment.
If he had his way, Potter would be dealt with soon, but he could not
prioritise his vengeance over the rest of his legacy.
Harry Potter could never hope to amount to him, and if the prophecy
truly held any credence, their fates would align eventually.
"That is all," Voldemort announced dismissively. "Continue as you are,
and report anything of substance to me."
He watched as the Death Eaters filed out of the room and turned to the
one cloaked figure that remained.
"Your pack is to remain where it is, for the time being," he decided. "It
would not do to draw so much attention to such a large gathering of
werewolves crossing the continent."
"That is your final word on the matter?" Greyback growled as he stood.
Voldemort nodded.
"Your time to feed will come, old friend," he assured the hulking creature.
"For now, we must exercise patience. I can assure you the feast will be
worth it."
Greyback was not pleased, but he knew better than to question further or
press his luck.
"Fine," agreed before stomping from the room, leaving the Dark Lord
alone with his many thoughts.
(Break)
His eyes fluttered open, but the stark whiteness of his surroundings
forced them to snap shut. And then, the pain and nausea made
themselves known. It took all the effort he could muster to not vomit,
and as he took some deep, calming breaths, the fractured memories of
what had happened came flooding back.
Cain groaned as he felt a hand close over his own and he shook his head.
"Water," he croaked.
A glass was given to him and he drank thirstily, draining it in only a few
gulps.
When he opened his eyes again, the light no longer burned, but his body
still ached, and the soreness remained.
"What happened?" he asked.
He heard a deep sigh being released.
"Do you want the unpleasant truth, or a complete lie?" Harry asked.
Cain chuckled humourlessly.
"It's not like you to lie."
"The truth it is then."
Cain felt himself filled with utter horror as Harry explained the events
that led to him being there, though by the time he was done, he felt only
guilt.
How he was still alive, he didn't know, but he knew he had Harry to
thank for it.
As guilty as he felt, a sense of shame overcame him too.
It was no secret that he was a werewolf, but he never wanted his friends
to see that side of him, and now, he couldn't even bring himself to look at
Harry who was still somehow holding his hand.
"Feeling guilty won't change anything."
"I could have killed you, or anyone else."
"True," Harry conceded, "but you didn't."
"You could have killed me," Cain pointed out. "No one would have
blamed you if you did."
"I would have," Harry sighed. "You don't deserve death for what you are
or the actions of others, and no one else thinks you do either."
"Not even Jonas or Hugo?"
"They were shaken up by the whole thing," Harry admitted, "but they're
both fine. They just want you to get better. They're all worried about you,
even Lucinda."
Cain snorted humourlessly.
"I bet she wanted to kill me."
"You have no idea," Harry snorted, "but when she realised what had
happened, she even came to visit you. Don't worry, I made sure she didn't
bite you. I even got to meet Jonas's Mum."
"Is she really a hag?" Cain asked curiously.
Harry nodded.
"Honestly, I've never seen someone so hairy and disgusting, not even you
when you transformed. I don't know how his Dad…well, you know."
Cain grimaced at the thought.
"Have my parents visited?"
When Harry did not answer, Cain finally turned to look at him.
"They have not."
Cain merely shrugged.
In truth, he wouldn't expect his mother or father to leave the pack, not
with how much effort both were going to in an attempt to ingratiate
themselves with Greyback.
"It doesn't matter."
"It does," Harry countered irritably. "You almost died and they didn't
bother coming. Bloody hell, if Jonas's hag mother can be here, why can't
your parents?"
Cain did not know what to say.
How could he explain the complexity and transition that was happening
within his home?
The pack was different now, the promise of a better future having
consumed them, his parents included.
"Do you remember when I said you were like a wolf?" Cain asked,
changing the subject. "Well, I was right, wasn't I?"
"You were," Harry agreed with a frown.
It seemed that he wished to press further, but much to Cain's relief, he
thought better of it.
"Is there anything I can get you?"
Cain shook his head.
"No, I just need more rest."
Harry nodded his understanding as he stood.
"I'll let the others know how you're doing, and then I'll be back."
"You don't have to spend all of your time here," Cain grumbled.
"I do," Harry returned evenly. "Whatever was done to you was no
accident. I can promise, I will find out who was behind it, and when I do,
I will ensure their stay in the medical bay is much longer, and less
comfortable than yours has been."
"Harry, no…"
The boy held up a hand to silence him, and immediately, any protest
Cain felt like making died on his tongue.
There would be no changing Harry's mind.
He was as stubborn as anyone Cain had met, but also much more caring.
Besides, he was a wolf too, and one that had proven he was the leader of
their own little pack within Durmstrang.
Cain was no alpha, so it was his place not to argue.
"Thank you," he replied simply. "And thank you for not killing me."
"Well, I did think about it," Harry said with a grin. "Maybe next time."
"I hope there is no next time."
"Me too," Harry chuckled. "Fighting a werewolf without a wand is not
fun."
With that, Harry took his leave from the room, and though Cain was
tired, he didn't feel much like sleeping. Instead, he pulled the duvet over
his head, unable to ignore the flashes of memories of what happened.
Inevitably, his thoughts shifted to his parents.
Harry was right.
He had almost been killed and they had not come, nor had they even sent
a message of any kind.
They were supposed to be his pack, but it didn't feel like that anymore.
Cain's pack truly was here, with Harry and the others. If they still wanted
him, of course.
Being a werewolf, he was used to being seen as an outcast, and it was
something he had always lived with.
However, he did not wish to be such among the only ones that had
accepted him for what he was.
Without a pack, he was nothing.
"The lone wolf dies," he murmured.
Was he a lone wolf now?
No, Harry would never allow that to happen.
Despite everything that had happened, Harry would always be there to
look out for him.
Of that, Cain had no doubt.
(Break)
"We must assume the worst and that Harry is right," Gellert sighed, the
news he'd received not welcome, but something he had expected to occur
sooner or later.
"He's not ready, Gellert."
"He's not," Gellert agreed, "but when the time comes for them to face one
another, he will be."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because Harry is no fool. He will not seek him out until he is ready to do
so. If when he finishes school he chooses to return to Britain, do you truly
expect him to simply confront Voldemort?"
Cassiopeia frowned at the thought.
"No," Gellert continued. "The conflict that is to come will not simply be a
meeting between them. Harry will want to rid Britain of his followers
first. He told me that himself."
"It doesn't make me feel any better that he is going to go after other
dangerous people," Cassie groaned.
Gellert chuckled.
"Is this not what you have been preparing him for?" he asked.
"Forgive me for not wanting him to be harmed," Cassiopeia returned
dryly.
Gellert released a deep breath.
"You love him, and it is understandable that you worry, but Harry is
going to get hurt. When he returns to Britain, it will be to war. As much
as Albus wishes he can fend off Voldemort and his followers, he does not
have the guts to do what is necessary for that to happen."
"So, it will be up to Harry to clean up his mess?"
"Yes," Gellert answered simply, "and you now as well as I do that Harry
will not be satisfied with anything less. He is a kind boy, compassionate
and caring to those he holds dear, and for that, we should both be
eternally grateful. However, you know better than any the anger and
pain that he harbours. Bringing Voldemort and those that follow him to
justice is the only thing that will rid him of that. Only then will he truly
be able to let go of what happened to his parents. Yes, he must endure
more suffering along the way, as is the nature of war, but it will
strengthen him and steel his resolve."
Gellert's words did nothing to assuage Cassiopeia's worries.
"And what if he dies?"
"Then he will do so pursuing his righteous vengeance, and no one, not
even you has the right to deny him that."
Cassiopeia snorted humourlessly.
"You know, it's easy to forget that you were once such a feared man, but
when you speak of what it is that Harry must do, I'm reminded of how
callous and blunt you can be."
Gellert's expression softened.
"I care for him too," he murmured, "but I also understand the path he
must tread and what he must do. For him to ever feel any semblance of
peace and happiness, he must experience and create misery of his own.
This is the way of life for people like him. It is not fair, but fate never is."
"Fate?" Cassiopeia scoffed.
Gellert nodded.
"There is greatness in him, Cass, and with all great men, fate has its part
to play. I do not believe Harry will perish in his efforts. Suffer? Yes, but I
believe in him so wholeheartedly that I do not worry for him. He will
succeed where all others fail, and he will be cemented in History as a
giant among men."
"He will be," Cassie murmured. "Did you know that he has already
achieved a full Animagus transformation?"
"Has he indeed?" Gellert asked amusedly.
Cassiopeia rolled her eyes.
"It was how he subdued the werewolf. He did not have his wand, so
fought with it until it submitted to him."
Gellert chuckled as he shook his head.
"I don't believe there is much he could do that would surprise me," he
sighed. "It is quite the feat, don't you think?"
"It is," Cassie agreed reluctantly, "but I wish he would not do these things
without discussing them with me."
"And if he had, would you have given permission?"
"Absolutely not!"
"Therein lie the answer as to why he did not speak with you," Gellert
pointed out. "He does not have time to be coddled, Cass. Now more than
ever, he must be ready. It is our job to guide and educate him. He will
make mistakes, but so long as he learns from them, he will be a better
man."
Once more, Cassiopeia reluctantly agreed.
"I asked him to leave Durmstrang," she revealed. "In light of Crouch being
on the loose and what happened with his friend…"
Gellert held up a hand to silence her.
"Durmstrang is one of the most secure locations in the magical world," he
said firmly. "Despite what happened with his friend, it is the safest place
for him. Voldemort cannot get to him there."
"What if he does?"
Gellert released a deep breath before reaching for a piece of parchment
and quill.
For a few moments, he scratched away whilst Cassiopeia looked on
curiously.
"Give him this," he instructed as he handed the note over. "It is
instructions on two emergency exits I found during my time there. I
doubt he will need to use them, but if it sets your mind at ease, he at
least has a way out of the school should he need to depart suddenly."
"Thank you," Cassie said gratefully as she pocketed the parchment, "but
what of Karkaroff?"
"Did you see him when you visited?"
Cassiopeia nodded.
"To keep Harry safe, he either needs to leave the school or be dealt with
on a more permanent basis."
"You would need for him to leave the school to achieve the latter," Gellert
replied gravely. "The security measures to protect the Headmaster are
second to none. Attempting to kill him whilst he is in Durmstrang would
be foolish. So long as Karkaroff is safe behind the walls, Harry is equally
protected."
Cassiopeia was not appeased, but she would take Gellert's word for it.
There was likely no other alive who knew the school as well as him.
"So, I just leave things as they are?"
Gellert nodded.
"Unless anything changes, it is for the best. Now, what form is it that
young Harry has taken?"
(Break)
'Levicorpus,' Harry recited internally, flicking his wand towards the training
dummy across the room from him.
He watched in fascination as it was hoisted into the air and dangled upside
down.
A grin tugged at his lips.
This spell would provide him with hours of entertainment.
Perhaps Jones should be his first victim?
Flicking through more pages of the book he had taken from Snape's cupboard;
he came across another spell that piqued his curiosity.
"For my enemies," Harry murmured, reading the accompanying note aloud.
There was no description of the effects, and with a shrug, he levelled his wand
towards the dummy once more.
"Sectumsempra!"
His eyes widened as the spell tore through his unmoving foe, the three gashes
that appeared across the torso being long and deep enough that if the dummy
had been a real person, he would likely be able to reach in and remove the
heart with his bare hands.
Harry had many cutting and slashing curses in his arsenal already, but this
was seemingly a spell that the self-styled Half-Blood Prince had created
themselves.
That meant very few were likely to know of its existence, making it an
exceptionally useful spell, and one that would undoubtedly be fatal.
As Harry reflected on the memory of putting the book to use, it was
difficult not to draw his wand and cast it at the smugly grinning Barkus.
Word of what had happened had gotten around quickly, though the
details seemed to have been skewed and exaggerated.
Some believed that Cain had found a way to transform at will, and that
he had done so intentionally to murder his roommates so that he would
have the space to himself.
Others believed that Harry too had become a werewolf, and the two of
them had fought for dominance.
Thus far, none had questioned him on the events, and those that had
attempted to press Jonas and Hugo had been met with silence.
With all the exaggeration and speculation, the truth had seemingly been
lost.
None believed Harry had turned into a wolf. Something he was grateful
for.
"If looks could kill, Barkus would be dead," Jonas sniggered as he took a
seat next to Harry in the Main Hall.
"My looks might not, but my wand could do it quite easily."
Harry frowned as the other boy placed a hand on his wrist to prevent him
from drawing it.
"Let him think he has gotten away with it," Jonas urged. "Don't do
anything stupid to get yourself in trouble. It's what you would be telling
any of us to do."
"He's not wrong," Eleanor chimed in. "Barkus is a shit, and he will get
what is coming to him, just at the right time."
"Why do you have to ruin my fun with logic?" Harry grumbled.
"Because you can be a reckless moron at times," Lucinda huffed, sliding
him closer to her effortlessly. "Now, if mummy Lucinda has to sit you
next to her to stop you being an idiot, then you'd best get used to my
alluring scent."
"Ah, so you're a veela now, are you?" Jonas snorted.
Lucinda bared her fangs at the boy.
"Oh, you stupid son of a hag, I'm much more dangerous," she whispered.
"A veela may ensnare or burn you, but I can give you an eternity of
misery if I sink my fangs into your neck. Isn't that right, Harry?"
Harry shuddered at the closeness of the girl.
He'd never met anyone who could have such an effect on him.
Lucinda frightened and teased him in equal proportions, but she was
right about many things.
Her own scent was unique; a musky, yet powerfully feminine aroma that
seemed to grow stronger with each passing year.
He merely nodded in response; his mouth having gone dry under the
intensity of her gaze.
"I wish the two of you would get a damned room," Jonas grumbled.
"Maybe when Cain comes back, she can come into ours," Harry snorted.
"Would you like to see me wrestle with a wolf, Harry?" Lucinda asked
innocently before leaning in closer once more. "You could always
transform and have a go yourself."
Again, Harry shuddered.
Lucinda seemed to take his Animagus form as a personal insult to her.
Vampires and wolves did not typically get along, and neither she nor
Cain had made any secret that when they graduated from Durmstrang,
they would likely not see one another again.
"Why bother transforming?" Harry asked, composing himself. "I'll wrestle
you like this. I'd be thrown around like a dog toy, but I'd give it a go."
The others laughed whilst Lucinda raised an eyebrow at him.
"Me, throw you around?" she giggled. "Oh, you mean this."
Without another word, she seized him by the front of the robes with one
hand and lifted him out of his seat.
Harry could only dangle helplessly as the girl grinned at him.
"I am rather strong," she declared. "Do remember that, Harry."
"How could I forget?" Harry muttered after Lucinda released him. "You've
spent the better part of four years pinning me down. It's very
emasculating you know."
"Well, I could always let you pin me down, if you'd like?" Lucinda
returned sultrily.
Harry could only shake his head in response.
The vampire truly had an effect on him that no other did. It was as
amusing as it was worrying, but he knew Lucinda well enough to know
that she meant him no harm.
After everything he had gotten away with in the past, if she truly wished
that upon him, it would have happened by now.
"How is the werewolf?"
"Awake," Harry answered. "It will take him some time to get over this, so
take it easy on him."
Lucinda nodded.
"Tell him I said I'm glad he's not dead."
Harry chuckled.
That was about as sentimental as any could expect from her.
"Why don't you tell him yourself?" Harry asked. "You should all visit. It
would mean a lot to him."
"We will go now," Eleanor declared, her tone leaving no room for
argument. "Come on."
Having finished their lunches, the group took their leave of the Great
Hall, but as Harry stood to join them, Eleanor offered him a pointed look.
"Not you," she insisted. "You need to get some rest. He will understand."
Harry nodded gratefully.
He had barely slept in days, and though he didn't need much of it to get
him through when needed, he was drained and barely able to think
coherently, as demonstrated by his almost cursing of Barkus.
There wasn't even any proof that he was involved, but if he was, Harry
would learn of it.
"Thank you," he said gratefully, and the blonde offered him a bright smile
before following the others.
With an amused shake of his head, Harry decided to take her advice and
began making his way back towards their Common Room.
At least he would not be woken by Cain's snoring, or Jonas's habit of
talking in his sleep.
Was that a hag thing?
He made a note to ask the boy.
"Potter!" a voice whispered harshly as he passed one of the rarely used
Charms classes.
Harry turned to see Zabini gesturing for him to enter, and when he did
so, the door was closed behind.
"So, I finally manage to get you alone," the girl said with a mixture of
frustration and amusement. "Have you been avoiding me?"
"No," Harry denied immediately. "We've still been duelling, haven't we?"
"You know what I mean, Potter."
Harry shook his head.
"I haven't been avoiding you, but after what happened…"
Zabini quirked an eyebrow in his direction.
"Look, I'm not trying to marry you. No offense, but I have no intention of
being married to a stuffy, British Lord. I'll end up being married off to
someone eventually, but it won't be you. For now, I just want to enjoy
myself, and I would like that to be with you."
"With me?"
Zabini nodded as she stepped closer to him.
"No commitments, no problems, and no one has to know," she all but
insisted. "Just some memories of days gone by to warm the cold lonely
nights we will probably both have when we end up with someone for the
sake of politics."
"That won't be me," Harry denied.
"Then you're lucky," Zabini sighed, "but that is my future. All I'm asking is
that you make it a little brighter."
"Is it just because I'm Harry Potter?"
"Partly," Zabini admitted unashamedly, "but mostly everything else.
You're a handsome, powerful wizard. Maybe I would like to occasionally
pick up a newspaper in the future, see your face, and revel in some better
times than I might find myself in. Just think about it, at least. Unless I've
been reading the signals wrong?"
Harry swallowed deeply.
Her eyes were burning with something he had not seen before, though he
could not deny that he was probably looking at the girl in a similar
fashion.
There was chemistry between them, a friendship of sorts from all the
hours spent duelling together, but it was not affection that gripped them.
It was lust, and Harry knew he would be lying if he tried to deny that the
feeling was mutual.
"No, you haven't," he replied.
Zabini smiled seductively before stepping past him.
"Then find a way for us to communicate," she urged, "and do be quick
about it. We only have a matter of months to create those memories,
Harry Potter."
With that, she was gone, and Harry needed to take a few moments to
compose himself once more.
The effect Zabini had on him was like nothing else.
Any other female that had piqued his curiosity did so in a way that
elicited feelings of affection, along with the lust.
With Zabini, it was nothing but an intense passion, and though he knew
he should do his best to ignore it, Harry wasn't certain that he would be
able to.
(Break)
The revelation had silenced the room, just as it had Albus when
Cassiopeia Black had visited him to break the news. At first, he had
wished to not believe it, but he could see the truth immediately.
Lord Voldemort had indeed returned.
"Can you shine some light on this, Severus?" he asked gently.
"It is precisely what I was going to report this evening," the Potions
Master replied. "He is back, but he does seem to be taking a cautious
approach. He is listening more to what we have to tell him, particularly
Lucius."
Albus frowned thoughtfully.
"He is nervous."
Severus nodded his agreement.
"He does not wish to fail," he added. "What happened between him and
Potter is not something that can be repeated. He would lose all faith from
the others."
"So, we have time?"
Severus shook his head.
"Already, plans are being put into motion," he explained. "He will not
simply march into the Ministry to attempt a coup, but he is eager to
establish power. I expect that in the coming months, you will begin to
notice the changes. I will of course try to keep you as informed as best as
I can, but he is already suspicious of me."
"Thank you," Albus replied gratefully as he turned to the rest of the
group. "Now, you see why it is that we are gathered here. We are to fight
the same evil that plagued us once before."
"Can we stop him, Albus?" Arthur asked worriedly.
"I believe that in the end, it will not be Lord Voldemort claiming victory,"
the headmaster answered. "Change is coming, some for the worse and
others for the better, but rest assured that when all is said and done,
wizarding Britain will not be the same."
31. Yuletide Dreams
Yuletide Dreams
A/N
Apologies for the delay in posting this.
As most of you will know, FF has been really temperamental
recently.
Anyway, here's another chapter for you guys.
TBR
"You know you don't have to go back, if you don't want to," Harry
reminded Cain for the dozenth time.
The werewolf offered him a wan smile as he continued packing his trunk.
The Christmas holidays had finally arrived at Durmstrang, and as ever,
most had opted to return home for the duration of the festive period,
Cain included.
"I do," he sighed. "I need to know why they didn't come, Harry."
Harry patted him on the shoulder as he nodded his understanding.
"Well, my offer always stands," he said sincerely. "If you need a way out
of there, you'll always have a place with me."
After everything that had happened and what Cain had almost done to all
three of his roommates, he was so incredibly touched by the sentiment.
None had held it against him and had even protected him from the
backlash of the rest of the school who demanded to know every detail
which led to him transforming outside of the full moon.
As ever, it had been Harry who had gotten him through the difficulty he
had faced, who had protected him as his own parents should have.
It wasn't always easy being friends with Harry Potter. He tended to
overshadow you without much effort on his part but living in his shadow
and under his protection was not such a bad place to be.
"So, when were you going to tell us about you and Zabini?"
Harry choked on his response, and Cain grinned at the other boy.
"I have no idea what you are talking about," Harry denied.
Cain released a deep sigh and shook his head disappointedly.
"I'm a werewolf," he pointed. "I can smell her all over you. You've been
rutting like animals in heat for weeks now."
Evidently, Harry saw no way to deny it any longer.
"Bloody hell, do the others know?"
Cain shrugged.
"I've not said a word, but I bet the elf and the vampire do," he replied
with a shrug. "Ana will be able to sense Zabini all over you, and Lucinda,
well, she has a keen sense of smell too, doesn't she?"
Harry frowned as his cheeks reddened slightly and Cain clapped him on
the shoulder.
"Maybe try showering when you're done," he suggested. "I love you,
Harry, but I don't need to know what you and she have been getting up
to."
Harry placed his lowered his embarrassment.
"Why didn't you say anything before now?" he groaned.
"It was funny that you thought you had a secret," Cain snorted. "Anyway,
for what it is it worth, you're a lucky bastard. Zabini is, well, you know."
Harry could only shake his head.
"What do I say to the others?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, if they ask, what do I tell them?"
"To mind their own business," Cain answered simply. "It's got nothing to
do with them what you do and who with. It's like when they found out
about you and the Greengrass girl, they all acted like you'd spurned
them. It was quite pathetic really. You can't not enjoy yourself because it
might hurt someone's feelings, especially people who are supposed to be
your friends. Have any of them told you that they're interested in you like
that?"
Harry shook his head.
"Then you have no reason to feel bad or hide what you are doing," Cain
huffed. "If they want a piece of you, isn't up to them to make that clear?"
"You make it sound so seedy," Harry muttered.
Cain smirked in response.
"I'm a wolf, Harry," he pointed out. "Yes, I may find a mate at some point,
but monogamy is not really in my nature. It's different for those that were
marred before being turned. They somehow retain that level of
commitment. Me, I will probably never develop feelings that deeply."
"So, you will spend your life rutting like a wolf, as you so elegantly put
it?"
"Maybe," Cain answered with a shrug. "Anyway, all three of the girls act
as though you belong to them in their own way."
"Viktor said something similar," Harry replied with a frown.
"He's not wrong," Cain sighed. "There are plenty of girls here interested in
you, they're just too scared to speak with you, let alone anything else."
"Come off it," Harry snorted.
Cain offered him a pointed look.
"Listen, I've heard some of the comments made about you, especially in
the duelling room when people think they can't be overheard. Even the
purebloods girls. Honestly, if you knew what was said by some of
them…"
"Bloody hell," Harry muttered to himself.
Cain chuckled amusedly.
"I'll leave you with that," he declared. "Have a good Christmas."
"You too," Harry returned as he began packing his own trunk, his
thoughts now consumed by the conversation he'd shared with Cain.
He had been feeling bad for sneaking off with Alessia, and not
mentioning it to the others, but Cain and Viktor were right. In truth, it
was no one else's business what he did and with whom.
With that in mind, he finished his packing and readied himself for some
much-needed time away from the school.
As much as he would miss his friends, it had been two years since he'd
had Christmas with Cassie, and it would be the first one he was going to
be sharing with Sirius.
His godfather had been a man of his word.
Throughout the year thus far, Harry had received several letters from
Sirius, and even a few from Remus with them, and he had come to look
forward to hearing from the two men.
They were both funny in their own way, and always had stories to share
about their time at Hogwarts with his parents.
Somehow, even though he barely remembered James and Lily Potter,
hearing about them and what they were like at his age made him feel
closer to them, like he was now accumulating more memories of the
parents he had never gotten to know.
Harry appreciated it more than he could express, and he was looking
forward to hearing his godfather and the werewolf recount more tales
over the duration of the holidays.
(Break)
"He's been with her again," Lucinda muttered as she closed her trunk.
"Zabini?" Eleanor whispered.
Lucinda's nostrils flared as she nodded.
Eleanor offered her a sympathetic smile.
"It's hard enough for me to see it. I can't imagine how difficult it is for
you."
"For you?" Lucinda questioned.
Eleanor shrugged, a playful grin tugging at her lips.
"I can't say that I would complain if Harry wanted to give me that kind of
attention."
Lucinda grimaced before releasing a deep sigh.
"I don't know if it would be worse being you or her."
"I'd be worse than Zabini?"
"I didn't mean it like that," Lucinda assured the other girl. "It's just that
Zabini will be gone by the end of the year, and you'll still be here. It
would be hard to see you like that with him."
"Then I won't tell you if it happens," Eleanor responded with a smirk,
ducking as a laughing Lucinda threw a pillow at her.
"I think I'd rather it was you," the vampire decided. "At least you wouldn't
try to take him from me, even if we will only ever be friends."
"Is that what worries you about any other girl?"
Lucinda nodded.
"How many girls do you think would let Harry be friends with a vampire,
let alone one who has such complicated feelings about him?"
"True," Eleanor conceded, "but the thing you should be asking is that
would Harry be with someone who would take his friends away?"
Lucinda smiled sadly.
"He adores you," Eleanor sighed. "If you could see it how the rest of us
do, you'd understand."
"Oh, I know he does," Lucinda snorted. "I can smell his hormones reacting
to me whenever I'm close and I'm not too stupid to see how attentive he
is to me, but will it last? Is it that he just wants me physically even if he
doesn't realise it yet?"
Eleanor shook her head.
"Why don't you talk to him about it?"
"Because I'm terrified," Lucinda admitted, "and I want him to figure it out
for himself. I don't want to push anything and then it goes wrong. I can
wait for whatever might happen between us. I have all the time in the
world for that."
"What about him being with other girls, even just physically?"
"I don't like it," Lucinda replied irritably, "but no human woman could
ever compare to a vampire in that way. If and when I get my chance with
him, no mortal will measure up."
"I don't know if I should be intrigued or disgusted," Eleanor replied. "I
suppose I'd best get there first then."
"Well, I could always go into details, if you wish?" Lucinda offered.
Eleanor shook her head.
"No, thank you," she answered firmly.
Lucinda shrugged in response.
"Your loss."
"What's her loss?" Harry asked as he joined them.
"Nothing," Lucinda answered airily. "Nothing at all."
(Break)
They were looking at him with varying degrees of suspicion, many
evidently believing that he was indeed innocent of the crimes he had
been imprisoned for. For Sirius, this was the first time in many years he
had seen most of these people, or any people in fact.
Azkaban had been a lonely, miserable experience, and though he was no
longer a prisoner within the island fortress, he had still all but traded one
cell for another.
Grimmauld Place held too many unpleasant memories for him, and if it
weren't for Voldemort's impending rise to prominence, he would perhaps
have accepted Cassiopeia's offer of inhabiting one of the other Black
properties on the continent.
That was not to be, however.
He was needed here, for Harry, and to play his part in righting the
wrongs of the past.
Sirius wanted Wormtail.
More than anything else, he wanted to get the rat and make him pay for
what he had done.
He had dreamed of it for over a decade now, of having Wormtail at his
mercy, pleading for his pathetic life.
There would be no reprieve, not for him.
"Sirius, do you have anything you wish to add?" Dumbledore questioned.
He shook his head in response.
"No."
"Then that will be all for this evening," Dumbledore announced. "Elphias,
if you hear of Lucius attempting to pressure anyone else, do inform as
quickly as you can."
"Of course," Doge acquiesced.
"I will call for you all again," Dumbledore said dismissively.
Sirius stood with the others and accompanied Remus to the fireplace
where they waited their turn to use the floo network.
When they arrived back in Grimmauld Place, it was not to the empty
study they had left only an hour prior.
Cassiopeia was waiting for them, her expression one he remembered only
too well from his childhood.
Even in her advancing years, the woman cut quite the terrifying figure,
and her gaze could still freeze any in their tracks.
"How was your meeting?" she asked.
"Meeting?" Sirius asked.
Cassiopeia nodded.
"You're a part of Dumbledore's not-so-secret-club, aren't you? Do not lie
to me, Sirius. I know all about The Order of the Phoenix."
"Are you a member?"
Sirius felt Remus roll his eyes at him.
"If she was a member, she would have been there, you idiot."
"Good point," Sirius conceded, falling silent as he caught sight of
Cassiopeia's glare.
"By all means, work with Dumbledore, if you must, but your loyalty is to
Harry. Do not forget that, boy."
"Of course my loyalty is Harry's!"
"And mine," Remus added.
Cassiopeia hummed.
"Good, because he will have so few allies by the time he returns. He will
need some that he can rely on."
Sirius nodded his understanding.
"He will have us," he assured her sincerely. "No matter what."
Cassiopeia merely nodded.
"Why don't you join the Order?" Remus asked.
Cassiopeia giggled, the very notion of doing so evidently proving to be
hilarious to the woman.
"The Order is not what will win the war, not with Dumbledore running
it," she replied frustratedly. "He is unwilling to do what is necessary, and
soon enough, you will find yourselves in a similar or worse state than you
were the last time around. Stunning spells and taking prisoners is useless
when you are facing an enemy that is trying to kill you. It is an uneven
battlefield and that will end in only one way; lots of death of those you
choose to fight with. Dumbledore clings on to his morals, and all they
have done is get others killed. Tell me, how many of Voldemort's lot were
eliminated during the last war."
Sirius shrugged, a frown creasing his brow.
"Not many," he admitted.
"And how many Order members gave their lives?"
"Too many," Remus sighed worriedly.
"And that is why you can't win this war," Cassiopeia sighed. "Harry will
win it though. He is willing to do what is needed, and more than that, he
wants to. He will not shy away from putting an end to his enemies, and
he will make them suffer for everything he has endured because of them."
"You don't really expect him to fight in a war, do you?"
Cassiopeia shook her head.
"No. All I expect from him is that he will be a good lord for both the
Potter and Black families, but Harry expects it from himself. For fifteen
years he has carried what happened to his parents with him, and he will
not be satisfied, unless he puts an end to Voldemort personally."
"That is not what James and Lily would want," Sirius grumbled.
"James and Lily are dead," Cassiopeia said bluntly, "and believe me, if I
had my way, I would keep Harry as far from all of this as possible, but I
have no right to do that. When the time comes, he will make his way
here, and Merlin help Voldemort and his followers. They do not know it
yet, but their fates are already sealed. He will do to them what they have
done; he will hunt them down, and he will make an example of them."
"You sound almost proud of that," Remus muttered.
Cassiopeia nodded unashamedly.
"I am proud of the man I know my Harry will be," she declared. "He will
be as just as Charlus, but as ruthless as Arcturus with all the magical
ability both possessed, and so much more. His enemies will fall, and he
will rise. Mark my words, the name Harry Potter will be remembered as
one of the greatest to walk among us."
Sirius shared a look with Remus.
After such an impassioned speech, he found it all but impossible to
disbelieve.
"Better than Grindelwald?" he asked.
Cassiopeia's nostrils flared at his temerity, but she nodded without
hesitation.
"Harry will surpass both Gellert and Dumbledore."
The woman wore a knowing smirk, almost as though she had knowledge
that no other possessed.
That would not surprise Sirius.
Cassiopeia always seemed to know more than anyone else around her.
"Harry will have my loyalty and my wand," he reiterated. "I shirked my
responsibility once, and that won't happen again. If necessary, I will go to
hell and back to make sure that kid comes out of this alright."
His words were sincere, his tone unwavering, and he met the penetrating
gaze of Cassiopeia as hers bored into his.
After a moment, she nodded satisfactorily.
"I believe you," she replied simply before taking her leave of the room.
Both Sirius and Remus remained silent for several moments before the
werewolf broke it with a deep sigh.
"Bloody hell, that was intense."
"It was," Sirius agreed.
However, he understood why, and though he had questioned her
motivation for taking Harry in when she had so little to gain from doing
so, Sirius had no doubt that she loved Harry more than she had anyone
else.
She had raised him, cared for him, and undoubtedly taught him much of
what he knew.
Cassiopeia Black had become something she had never intended to; a
parent, and though it had not changed her much as a person on the
surface, it had indeed changed her where it mattered most.
Harry was her priority, and she wanted nothing more than to see him
thrive and to live a life that had been taken from him before he was truly
able to appreciate it.
"Come on," Sirius murmured.
"To where?"
"To the library first, and then to the basement," he explained as he left
the study with Remus following suit. "If we are really going to war, we
need to be prepared. Dumbledore won't like it, but this could be Harry's
life weighing in the balance. I never thought I would say it, but
Cassiopeia is right."
Remus nodded his agreement.
"For Harry."
"And for James and Lily," Sirius added as he pushed the door open to the
library.
There would be little of use to the werewolf, and Sirius had avoided this
place for his entire life, but if there was ever a time to be here, it was
now when he would likely need it most.
He was a Black, after all, so perhaps it was time he truly lived up to the
name that he carried.
For Harry, he could do that.
(Break)
He'd been back with the pack for but a day but already, Cain could feel
the mixture of emotion and tension amongst them. Both were palpable
and many were in a state of frenzy seldom seen in places like this.
It was almost though there was a sense of hope in the air, though not in a
way that boded well for any.
It was the worst kept secret that Greyback planned to move them on from
their home, and Cain was no fool.
To move a pack as large as this would garner much attention, and none
of it good.
He regretted returning here. Wishing he had taken Harry up on his offer,
he reminded himself of why he had come.
He wanted answers.
He wanted to know why when he was on his deathbed, his parents had
not come to him.
Did he mean so little to his own mother and father now?
Not that he had been presented with an opportunity to speak with them.
They had not been home when he'd arrived, and he simply could not
bring himself to look for them amongst the other emotional werewolves.
Even from the house, he could hear the baying of the pack, the inevitable
fights that broke out, and the screams of those that dared speak out
against the evident plans as they were torn to shreds by either Fenrir or
the others.
It was not a good place to be, but here he was.
Cain needed answers and if truth be told, despite Harry's offer, a wolf
needed to belong to a pack.
Lone wolves did not fare well in a world that despised them.
"There you are," his mother admonished as she entered his room.
"Here I am," Cain echoed.
His mother frown at him.
"Why are you not with the rest of us?"
Cain snorted humourlessly.
"You mean watching them tear each other apart? No thanks, I'd much
rather stay out of it."
His mother was not pleased by the answer, her eyes flashing a dangerous
amber colour.
"Are you not a member of this pack?"
"You tell me," Cain chuckled darkly. "Aren't we supposed to look out for
one another?"
"Of course," his mother answered irritably.
"Then who was looking out for me when I was fucking dying?" Cain spat,
the days of anger and frustration he'd felt bubbling to the surface.
"Dying?" his mother asked amusedly. "We were assured that you were
fine."
"Fine? I was poisoned and was so close to dying that I transformed in a
room full of other students. I could have killed them, or them me! What
then? Would you say that it was fine?"
His mother narrowed her wolfish eyes at him.
Cain knew he had crossed the line with her, but he didn't care.
For her to be so dismissive of what had happened hurt him as much as it
infuriated him.
"You will watch your tone, boy," she growled. "You're no longer a cub."
Cain nodded his understanding.
"Fine," he returned evenly. "If there is nothing else, I have work to be
getting on with."
He turned from her, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat.
He knew that werewolves were not so maternal for the most part, but he
had hoped when she knew just how gravely ill he had been that there
would be something akin to care from the woman.
There had been nothing.
All she seemed to care for was Greyback's grand plan and all but
worshipping the ground their alpha walked on.
'Fenrir wishes to speak with you," his mother announced.
Cain's attention snapped back towards the woman.
"Why me?" he asked suspiciously.
"He wishes to check on you for himself," his mother answered with a
shrug. "So much for the pack not caring about you."
With that, she turned and left the room.
"He will arrive in an hour," she called from the foot of the stairs.
Cain could only frown thoughtfully.
Greyback wasn't merely coming to check on him.
The alpha wanted something from him, of that he was certain.
But what could that be?
Cain was a student and had nothing to offer the pack. Still, he did not
believe for one moment Fenrir Greyback wished to check on his
wellbeing. No, something else was the catalyst of the impending visit.
Whilst he waited, he played over every possible scenario in his mind, but
even as he heard the heavy footfalls of the alpha draw closer as he
climbed the stairs, Cain was at a loss.
Nevertheless, an involuntary shudder worked its way down his spine as
the enormous man entered his room bringing the heady aroma of blood,
sweat, and death with him.
Despite this, the look he gave Cain appeared to be one of concern as he
took a seat on the edge of the bed.
"Your mother has been worried about you," Greyback sighed. "What's
been happening, kid?"
Cain shrugged.
"I don't know," he answered. "Everything here just feels different, and
with what happened at school…"
He broke off.
"What did happen? Your mother mentioned that someone poisoned you
and that it made you transform."
Cain nodded.
"They did and I did," he murmured. "They wouldn't tell me what
happened though."
He wasn't going to pass on that information to Greyback.
There was no doubt in Cain's mind that he was sick enough to poison
members of the pack in an attempt to replicate it.
A scowl crossed the older werewolf's features, but he schooled his
expression quickly.
"But you are okay?"
"I am," Cain confirmed.
"Good," Greyback declared. "I would have been devastated to lose you."
He rubbed Cain's shoulder comfortingly, and even through his clothes, he
could feel the rough skin of his hands and the sharp nails at the end of
Greyback's fingers.
"What of your friends? I bet they were worried."
"The other werewolves were," Cain replied carefully. "My other friend,
Jonas, he's a son of a hag, he was worried too."
"Your other friend? Is he the only other you have?"
Cain felt a sense of dread fill him.
Fenrir wasn't here out of concern nor to check that he had indeed
recovered.
He wanted information.
"None of the purebloods speak to me, and the half-bloods don't want
much to do with the creatures," he explained.
"That is the world we live in, unfortunately," Greyback sighed. "What are
the other students like?"
Cain shrugged in response as he pondered his reply carefully.
"They don't bully us, not really," he answered. "We're mostly left alone,
but some of the pureblood ones try to when they are bored. They don't
get very far though. There are a lot of us there, and we all look out for
one another, even if we aren't pack outside of school."
Greyback, his lips pulled over his yellow teeth as he nodded.
"That is good," he declared. "What of Harry Potter? I understand he is a
student there."
And there it was.
Greyback had guided the conversation to precisely this, and once more,
Cain's stomach filled with a deeper sense of dread.
What interest could Fenrir possibly have in Harry?
"He is," Cain confirmed.
It was no good to deny it, not when it was now common knowledge.
"He mostly keeps himself to himself," he continued. "He doesn't cause
anyone any problems, but he doesn't have any friends other than a few
pureblood students. He doesn't mix with the likes of us."
Greyback scowled once more.
"What have you noticed about him?"
"Not much," Cain replied with a thoughtful frown. "He likes to play
pranks on people sometimes, and they say that he is good at
Transfiguration and Charms. I've not paid much attention to him really."
Greyback nodded as he stood.
"I'd like you to observe him," he instructed. "Learn as much as you can
about him and report it back to me. Do you think you could do that, for
the pack?"
Cain swallowed deeply as he nodded.
"I can," he confirmed. "I won't let you down."
Greyback smiled, though it came across as more of a leer than anything
else.
"Good," he growled gently. "The pack will only benefit from it."
Cain listened as Greyback's footsteps receded down the staircase and out
of the house before he dared breathe again.
For reasons unknown to him, the pack had now taken an interest in
Harry and instead of playing his part as he would be expected to do,
there was only one thing on his mind.
He needed to tell his friend, to warn Harry of the danger he might be in.
Here, these wolves might call him pack, but none of them looked out for
him, no longer cared for him, not like Harry always had.
Not a day passed that his friend did not make sure that he was okay, that
he had everything he needed, and that his transformations were bearable
when the full moon came.
Cain owed Harry his life for everything he had done, and though he
might indeed find himself as a lone wolf or even a dead one for doing so,
he would not stab Harry in the back.
Not for the pack, not for his parents, and certainly not for Fenrir
Greyback.
Fear filled every fibre of him as he pondered just why Greyback was
interested in his friend, but Cain quickly realised that the reasoning did
not matter.
Fenrir only took an interest in humans for two things, food or torture.
Cain would never see Harry become either for the monster, not that it
would likely come to pass.
Greyback was an infamous killer, perhaps the most prolific werewolf to
ever live, but Harry was Harry.
He certainly would not submit to any, and Cain had no doubt that
Greyback would be biting off more than he could chew should he take
too much of an interest in his friend.
(Break)
"Most impressive, Harry," Gellert praised as he watched the boy casting
the spells he himself had painstakingly created.
It was quite the sight to behold, and though the former Dark Lord had
provided the knowledge, the hard work of utilising it was all Harry's.
It filled the old man with pride to see someone so dedicated, so driven to
succeed, and as ruthless as he had once been.
Gellert still and always would harbour his ambition to see the world
moulded in his perfect image of it. That would never come to be but
knowing there were those like Harry that could bring some needed
changes made his wholly unsatisfying existence just that more tolerable.
"Does it tire you out using them?" Gellert asked.
Harry shook his head.
"They did at first, but not anymore," he explained. "I got used to them
quickly. I suppose the Elder Wand helps."
Gellert nodded thoughtfully.
"Well, whatever you are doing is undoubtedly working. Keep up the
work, Harry, and there will be very little you cannot achieve if you put
your mind to it."
The boy smiled, reminding Gellert that he was still just that.
For all of his ability and potential, Harry was still a child in many ways,
but not so in others.
He was indeed on the cusp of manhood, and a fine one he would make.
"I brought you a present," Harry declared as he removed his trunk and
resized it. "I know there isn't much you are allowed in here, but I
checked, and this is fine."
He reached in and produced an ornate box that he handed to Gellert who
accepted it with a curious quirk of his eyebrow.
Within, he found a pensieve and he chuckled to himself.
"You might not be able to take over the world now, but you can revisit
your attempt at it," Harry snorted. "I'm sure there are other memories you
would wish to see again."
Gellert smiled warmly at the boy.
It was the most thoughtful gift he could have given him.
For as detached as he could be towards others at times, deep down,
Harry truly was a very kind person.
Cassiopeia had indeed done a fine job raising him.
"It is the most wonderful gift I have ever received," Gellert replied
sincerely. "Now, it is Christmas morning. Should you not be with the
others?"
Harry nodded.
"I'm going, but I wanted to make sure you got your gift too," he explained
as he shrunk his trunk and placed it back within his robes. "Oh, there's
something else too."
He removed a box from his pocket and placed it on the floor on Gellert's
side of the cell. Tapping it with his wand, it increased in size
considerably and the most enticing smells filled the entire corridor.
"I can't imagine the food you get in here is great, so I had Elgar make a
few things for you. It is Christmas," Harry said with a shrug.
Gellert opened the box to find it filled with an array of foods, roasted
meats, potatoes, and too many sweet treats to count.
"Merry Christmas, Gellert," Harry offered, waving as he made his way
towards the exit.
"Merry Christmas, Harry," Gellert whispered in response, his eyes fixed
on the hamper of food he'd been given. "Merry Christmas."
(Break)
"This won't end well for you," Cassiopeia warned amusedly.
Sirius growled in response from his hiding place behind the kitchen door.
Harry had yet to meet his dog form and Christmas Day was the perfect
time to introduce his godson to his other side.
Cassiopeia didn't know what she was talking about.
Sirius would pin the boy down.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Cassiopeia sighed.
Sirius ignored the woman, his ears perking up as he heard the front door
open and he squatted down on his haunches, ready to leap at the
unsuspecting Harry.
His tail began to wag as the footsteps drew nearer, and before Harry had
even fully entered the room, Sirius pounced.
What happened next was as confusing as it was surprising for the
Animagus.
One moment, he was airborne, his tongue lolling out of the side of his
mouth as he flew towards his godson. The next, he found himself in a
tangle of his own limbs and the many branches of the Christmas tree.
He whimpered helplessly as the laughter of his Aunt could be heard.
It was a thoroughly embarrassing situation he found himself in, and it
only got worse as he finally managed to free himself.
Instead of being greeted by the sight of the laughing woman or even an
admonishing glare from Remus, he found himself staring into the eyes of
a snarling wolf.
Sirius was filled with terror, and without thought, his tail was tucked
between his legs as he bolted from his own kitchen.
Much to his dismay, the wolf gave chase, and a yelp escaped him as a
chunk of fur was pulled from one of his hind legs.
The wolf was faster than him, and there was seemingly no escape.
Sirius howled pleadingly as he found himself pinned to the floor, the
slobbering wolf dribbling as it took the dominant position.
"Alright, that's enough, Harry," he heard Cassiopeia huff.
The wolf looked towards the woman before allowing Sirius to stand, and
it was then the former Azkaban prisoner realised that the wolf was Harry
and not a creature he had conjured.
Reverting back to his human form, he felt a mixture of pride,
embarrassment, and irritation.
He had not comported himself well in the face of the beast, much to his
shame.
"You're a bloody wolf?" he groaned.
Harry grinned smugly in response.
"Better than a mangy dog."
"I do not have mange!"
"That's enough from both of you," Cassiopeia grumbled. "Come on,
Kreacher will have dinner ready soon."
Sirius cursed under his breath as he and Harry followed the woman back
to the kitchen where Remus was attempting to repair the damage to the
tree.
"Did you know about this?" Sirius demanded.
Remus held his hands up innocently.
"I had no idea," the werewolf assured him amusedly.
Sirius hummed disbelievingly.
Remus had known, and judging by the expression he wore, he found the
entire situation hilarious.
"It's not funny," Sirius mumbled.
"But it would have been if you got me?" Harry asked.
Sirius nodded.
"It would have made my Christmas."
Both Harry and Remus shook their heads.
"Has he always been so petty?" Harry questioned.
"You have no idea," the werewolf replied. "He once tried to prank your
dad but wasn't so subtle about it. James heard everything and Sirius
ended up bald for two weeks before Lily took pity on him and fixed it."
"I never did get the git back for that," Sirius broke in sadly.
"So, you're going to try to take it out on me?"
Sirius grinned as he nodded.
"I'll get you, Harry. It's just a matter of time."
Harry quirked a challenging eyebrow in return.
"We'll see."
"We will," Sirius agreed.
"Come on, dinner is ready," Cassiopeia announced. "The two of you can
sit on opposite sides of the table. Neither of you can be trusted."
"You mean Sirius can't be trusted," Harry snorted.
"You can't be trusted!" Sirius fired back petulantly.
"Merlin help me," Cassiopeia groaned. "It's like having two children. Are
you planning on spending the night here, Harry?"
"I don't see why not," Harry answered. "I've finished my homework and
sent all my presents to everyone."
"You mean to your girlfriend," Sirius teased.
"I don't have a girlfriend."
"What happened to the Greengrass girl?"
Harry shrugged.
"Nothing, but we both agreed that having a relationship when we are so
far apart just wouldn't work."
"That's very mature," Remus commented.
"So, there isn't anyone else?" Sirius probed.
"Maybe," Harry answered cryptically, "but not anything serious."
"Don't," Remus warned as Sirius opened his mouth to reply. "Just don't."
Sirius scowled at his friend as he took his seat at the table where
Kreacher began serving them their meals.
"Do you really have a vampire for a friend?" the werewolf asked
curiously.
Harry nodded as he removed a photo from within his robes.
"Lucinda," he confirmed. "That's her there," he added, pointing to a pale,
dark-haired girl amongst a group of teenagers. "The others are the rest of
my friends."
"James would be so proud," Sirius chuckled. "Three pretty girls, Harry?"
"They're my friends," Harry sighed. "Nothing has happened with any of
them."
"But you are interested in another girl? I bet they don't like that much."
"Not really," Harry answered, "but that's my business."
Sirius nodded his agreement.
"I do hope you are not disrespecting these young women," Cassiopeia
interjected.
"If he is, then he doesn't take after James," Sirius pointed out. "Lily was
the only girl for him from the moment he saw her. It was quite pathetic."
"Pathetic because he wasn't caught in a broom cupboard with someone
new every week?" Remus asked.
Sirius smirked unashamedly.
"Hey, I'm not complaining. He just left more girls for me."
"That's enough of that talk!" Cassiopeia snapped. "Harry does not need
your encouragement to become a lout like you. He is doing a fine job of
that himself."
"I'm nothing like him!" Harry defended.
Cassiopeia hummed disbelievingly.
"Next time, do not leave the notes that Alessia gives you in your robes,"
she advised.
Harry's eyes widened in realisation.
"You didn't read that, did you?"
"No, but Elgar did," Cassiopeia explained. "Just don't get the girl
pregnant. If you do, you will be marrying her."
"Good luck trying to make that happen," Harry muttered.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing," Harry answered quickly, shooting a glare at the guffawing
Sirius and Remus.
(Break)
He had not experienced such excitement for so long that he had almost
forgotten what it felt like, and now that he had been reminded, he was more
eager than ever to press forward with his plans.
He watched the blaze in the distance, the smell of burning timber and the items
that were within the manor as they were reduced to nothing but ash, a smile
cresting his lips.
Perhaps he should not have returned so soon, even if it was just for a single
excursion, but his patience was not boundless, and the urge to come here and
rid himself of a powerful enemy had been too strong to ignore.
Still, he had already been gone too long, and as he witnessed the arrival of the
aurors, Lord Voldemort vanished, leaving no trace of his presence behind.
(Break)
Harry woke in a cold sweat, his breathing laboured as he sat up and
poured himself a glass of water with a trembling hand.
It had been some time since he'd had such a vivid dream, so long that he
had felt the euphoria from the misery of others.
He had come to know where these visions were from, and if Voldemort
was feeling such happiness, it meant that someone else was suffering.
But whom?
With Voldemort, it could be anyone, but somehow, the Dark Lord felt
close, much closer than Harry had felt him before.
It was not a comforting thought, and cautiously, he moved the corner of
the curtain just enough that he could see into the street outside where he
expected to find a shadowy figure waiting for him.
The square outside Grimmauld Place was empty, but Voldemort had not
been far away.
Releasing a deep breath, he drew the Elder Wand and held it as he
climbed back into bed.
How he would fare in a fight against the man that had murdered his
parents, Harry knew not, but he was not foolish enough to believe that he
was ready, not yet.
He yearned for the day that he would be, that he could sleep peacefully
without bearing witness to the atrocities of his foe. But that day was still
far into the future.
Until then, he would do what he always had.
He would endure and he would learn.
There was little else to be done until Voldemort was truly dead.
32. Parting Ways
Parting Ways
A/N
Again, you have my apologies for the delay in posting. FF has
continued to be very useless recently, but since it seems to be
working, I will be posting five chapters for you to enjoy, with this
being the first.
Happy reading,
TBR
Bones Manor Burns!
By Rita Skeeter
In what can only be described as a shocking incident, the evening of Christmas
Day saw the home of one of Britain's oldest and most respected pureblood
families razed to the ground.
Bones Manor has been the ancestral seat of the family for several centuries
and has overseen many generations come and go throughout its existence.
Sadly, that will no longer be the case.
At around midnight on Christmas evening, aurors responded to a report of a
blaze at the property and arrived to find that most of it had been destroyed by
the fire.
Thankfully, Madam Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical
Law Enforcement and her niece, Susan, were not home at the time.
The former was unavailable to comment on the incident, but Minister of
Magic, Cornelius Fudge had this to say.
"This is a most unfortunate incident, and one that has been thoroughly
investigated by a team of Senior Aurors," he explained. "From what little
evidence that has been gathered, it appears that the blaze was accidental in
nature. We are grateful that Madam Bones nor her niece were not present at
the time, and the Ministry is at their disposal for any assistance they require."
An accident such as this seems to be quite unlikely.
The manor has stood proudly for centuries, and Madam Bones is certainly not
a careless woman.
Is there something that our Minister is not telling us?
Until further information is given, we can merely speculate, but this reporter
has her doubts to the veracity of this claim.
It had been a little over six months ago now that Harry had unwittingly
watched as the home of the Bones family had been burned to the ground,
and the subsequent article released by Rita informing the public of what
had happened.
Harry did not know how a thorough investigation was carried out by the
aurors, but it was clear something had gone amiss during it. He knew the
truth of the matter, and he could not help but think that Fudge had a
hand in covering up what had happened.
Perhaps the Minister did not wish to panic the public, or maybe Amelia
Bones herself had wanted the nature of the fire to remain unknown,
though Harry had his doubts of the latter.
He did not know the Head of the Department of Magical Law
Enforcement, but it made little sense for her to conceal it.
Regardless, although Voldemort had succeeded in destroying the manor,
his endeavour had certainly not born the fruit he had desired.
Amelia yet lived, and those he had spoken with of the women were all of
the same mind.
Amelia Bones was beyond corruption and would not simply allow
Voldemort to exert his will over magical Britain.
During the last war, she had lost much of her family to the man; her
brothers, her parents, and even Susan's mother, all of whom having
resisted the efforts of the Death Eaters to their own detriment.
No, the woman would not be compromised.
Nonetheless, as talented as she was said to be, it would be Voldemort she
was defying, and when the Dark Lord decided you had been a nuisance
for long enough, you seldom lived much longer.
"Have you finished packing?" Cain asked, breaking into Harry's thoughts.
He nodded as he placed the copy of the article on top of his belongings
before closing the lid and shrinking it.
Placing it in the pocket of his robes, he turned to be greeted by the
nervous visage of his friend.
"I do wish you would do as you're bloody told," Harry muttered irritably.
Cain smirked at him in response, though there was little behind the
gesture.
"We've been through this," he pointed out. "I need to go back. I need to
see what else I can find out about what is happening."
Harry shook his head.
"It doesn't matter, Cain," he huffed. "Your pack will join up with him. It
doesn't matter when, we both know it will happen. I'm trying to save
your life!"
"You already have," Cain replied with a sincere smile. "Now it's my turn
to help you."
The sentiment was undeniable, and it warmed Harry to know that the
other boy was willing to risk it all to help him, despite how fearful he
was, and with good reason.
Greyback was one of the monsters that parents warned their children of,
and though Cain had never hidden the fact that he was a part of the
notorious wolf's pack, it had never been an issue between them until
now.
Flashback
For the most part, his time away from Durmstrang for the Christmas
break had been enjoyable. He'd spent much of his time with Cassie,
Sirius, and Remus, and had even ventured to Godric's Hollow to visit his
parent's grave.
Still, the holiday had come to an end, sooner than her would have liked,
and Harry once more found himself in his dormitory after spending
several hours on the school ship.
"Harry, are you awake?" Cain whispered through the darkness.
It had long past midnight, and it was odd for the werewolf to be awake
beyond it, but Cain had been distracted for the entire return journey to
school and had barely spoken to the others all evening.
Harry thought that perhaps he was still feeling the effects from his latest
transformation, but even at his worst, he was never this subdued.
No, something was evidently bothering his friend.
"What do you need?" Harry asked.
Cain released a deep breath, seemingly pondering how to broach the
subject he wished to discuss.
It was a moment later that the werewolf came into view and sat at the
end of Harry's bed, his posture slumped, an expression of dismay marring
his features.
"Can you think of any reason why Greyback would be interested in you?"
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
Cain shrugged.
"He asked me about you," he revealed. "He wants me to find out any
information I can. I didn't tell him anything," he added quickly.
Harry held up a hand to calm the other boy.
"The only reason he would be asking after me is because of Voldemort."
"Voldemort?" Cain whispered worriedly.
Harry nodded.
"I expect he has made contact with Greyback," he sighed. "He supported
him during the last war."
"But Voldemort is dead."
"No, he isn't," Harry murmured. "He's still alive. He's just biding his time
before he comes back. Greyback will be one of the allies he wishes to
reconnect with."
"Shit," Cain groaned. "That's what he keeps going on about."
Harry shot him a question look, and Cain deflated.
"He's been rallying the pack, promising us that we will be moving on to
have a better life. He means that he's going to take them to join up with
Voldemort, doesn't he?"
"Yes," Harry answered bluntly.
There was no use in lying to the boy, nor was there any point in
attempting to soften the blow.
Cain swallowed deeply as he shook his head.
"I won't do it. I will not serve the man that killed your parents."
Harry felt for the boy.
Cain was his best friend and he was being torn in to two opposing
directions. Whichever one he chose to follow, he would be betraying the
other, but Harry perhaps had a solution to that.
"You don't have to go against your pack," he pointed out. "When
Voldemort returns, it will be my war to fight. I can't promise that I won't
find myself fighting against them too, Cain."
"I know," the werewolf replied sadly.
"You don't have to go back. I can keep you out of it."
Cain shook his head.
"Who else is going to be in a better position to pass information you will
need on to you."
"Don't be stupid," Harry huffed. "That's too dangerous. I won't let you do
that."
Cain offered him a smile.
"I love my parents, Harry. Despite everything, I still hope that I can get
them out of this mess. I might be stupid for thinking it, but if helping you
can help them, then I'll gladly do it. It might be your war, but it involves
me now too."
Harry could only curse under his breath in response.
End Flashback
"It doesn't work that way," Harry sighed. "Why do you have to be such a
stubborn shit?"
"Why do you have to try to shoulder all the responsibility in the world?"
Cain returned. "If there is a war coming, you can't fight it alone."
"I know," Harry murmured, "but forgive me for wanting to keep my
friends safe from it. You don't have to go back. You can spend the
summer with me. We can figure everything else out afterwards."
Cain chuckled.
"They would find me eventually," he pointed out. "You don't just walk
away from the pack."
Harry could only shake his head in response.
"Fine, but the moment you sense that you are in any danger, you get a
message to me and I will find you. Deal?"
"If it gets you to shut up, then deal," Cain agreed.
It was the best that Harry would get out of the boy, and though he did
not like it, there was little else that he could say or do to deter him.
He understood.
Cain wished to save his parents, and the best way of doing that was to be
with them, but even knowing that did little to assuage his worries.
"Come on, instead of trying to find a way of changing my mind, let's get
some dinner. It will be our last one here for a while," Cain reminded him.
Reluctantly conceding to the other boy, Harry could only shake his head
as he followed him from the room.
They would be returning home for the summer in the morning, and he
wished to enjoy his final evening of his fifth year here without such a
dark cloud hanging over him.
(Break)
During Tom's last rise to prominence, any time there was a lull in activity
or an apparent period of peace was upon them, it unsettled Albus deeply.
On the surface, it may seem that the Dark Lord was taking a reprieve for
himself and his followers, but the headmaster knew the man better.
Tom never rested, and when he wasn't carrying out attacks, there was no
doubt that something else was afoot.
Why he had decided to suddenly attack the home of Madame Bones was
rather baffling, especially considering that the woman was not there.
Tom had always been rather reckless and unequivocally arrogant, but to
not check that his target would be caught up on his destruction had been
an error on his part, and not a mistake Albus expected he would make
again.
Cornelius may have been content to deem the incident little more than an
unfortunate accident, but Madame Bones had not been fooled, an opinion
she had expressed to Albus when he had met with her shortly before the
students returned from their Christmas holiday away from the castle.
Flashback
It had not been the peaceful break that Albus had anticipated, and
though what happened to the home of Amelia Bones could certainly have
yielded much worse results, it was still a disaster, nonetheless.
For the past couple of days, the headmaster had been exceedingly busy
learning what he could about what had transpired, and even without the
expertise of advanced auror training, it was not so difficult to draw his
conclusions.
Now, he merely needed to share them with the very woman that would
be joining him momentarily.
It was only a minute later that the fireplace flared into life, and without
preamble, Albus admitted Amelia into his office.
She removed the dust from her robes with a wave of her wand before
stepping forward, the bags under her eyes deep and prominent, though
she remained as sharp as ever.
"It is perhaps an insensitive question, but how are you?" Albus asked.
Amelia's nostrils flared slightly as she took the seat opposite him.
"Given the circumstances, things could be better," she sighed.
Albus offered her a sympathetic smile.
"Was it truly an accident?"
Amelia raised an eyebrow in his direction, a gesture gave Albus all the
answer he needed.
"Cornelius believes that making it public knowledge that it was
intentional will only embolden the attacker to act rashly and try again.
We both know that is crap. Dawlish told me exactly how the fire
happened."
Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully.
He had strongly suspected a differing version of events having been
provided to the public at large.
"Perhaps I can shed a little more light on the matter for you."
"What do you mean?" Amelia asked suspiciously. "I have not even been
allowed to return there yet, so if you know something, Albus…"
Albus held up a hand to calm the woman.
"You have my apologies for interfering, but I visited your property myself
to confirm my own thoughts as to what happened," he explained.
"What did you find?" Amelia pressed, a deep frown creasing her brow.
"The fire was undoubtedly started intentionally," Albus revealed.
"By whom?"
Albus released a deep breath.
By whom?
That was the question indeed, one with an answer likely stun the usually
unshakeable woman.
"I expect it is rather difficult to believe, but you know me well enough to
know that I am not one for dramatics or speaking such things if I was not
confident in my findings."
Amelia huffed irritably.
"Please, just get on with it," she urged. "Who burned down my home?"
"Voldemort."
Much to her credit, Amelia did not flinch at the mention of the infamous
Dark Lord like most others would. However, when she realised what
Albus said, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Voldemort?" she scoffed. "Then I expect you will be able to explain to me
how a man that has been dead for close to fifteen years now was able to
destroy my family home."
Albus nodded in response.
"I will do just that," he assured her. "He is not dead, Amelia. He did not
die when we believed it so, and he has been quietly planning his return,
well not so quietly in some cases. You are not his first victim."
Amelia frowned questioningly at Albus.
"Who?" she pressed.
"Barty."
Amelia shook her head.
"This is all very farfetched, Albus," she pointed.
"It is," the headmaster agreed, "but if you grant me a few moments of
your time, I have much proof that I can offer."
Amelia eyed him sternly, evidently deciding whether or not Albus had
completely lost his mind.
"Very well," she decided. "I will hear you out."
Albus nodded gratefully as he gestured towards the pensieve behind him.
"If you would join me for a brief trip down memory lane, I believe it will
put your most understandable doubts to rest."
Somewhat reluctantly, Amelia stood and Albus drew the two memories
he wished to share with her before placing them into the stone basin and
swirling them around.
"After you," he offered courteously when he was finished preparing.
Offering Albus a final look of scepticism, the redhead plunged her face
into the bowl and the headmaster followed suit to relive two of his most
recent, unpleasant memories.
When they re-emerged several moments later, Amelia said nothing as she
returned to her seat, her expression unreadable.
"This is no joke?" she whispered severely.
Albus shook his head.
"I wish that it were," he sighed. "He truly did possess a former professor
and Miss Weasley the following year."
"And you have seen nor heard anything of him since?"
"Not until Severus confirmed that he has indeed returned," Albus
explained. "At great risk to himself, he will continue to serve the Dark
Lord as a vital asset to ourselves."
Amelia pursed her lips in displeasure.
"And I expect that you and your group will also be resuming the same
work you did previously?"
Albus offered the woman an innocent smile and rubbed her eyes tiredly.
"This is not good," she murmured. "The Ministry is in such a pitiful state,
and Cornelius will never believe this."
"Which is why I have not discussed it with him," Albus replied. "Those
that surround him…"
"Are those that were able to avoid prosecution the last time around,"
Amelia finished. "The auror department in particular is not in great
shape. Most are older and past their best, and the younger one lack the
needed experience to cope with war, Albus. We certainly do not have the
funds to strengthen what we have, and Cornelius will never grant
additional gold."
Albus nodded his understanding.
"What the hell can we do?" Amelia sighed, the first hint of concern
breaking through in the tone of her voice.
"We prepare as best we can," Albus answered. "For all eventualities."
Amelia grimaced at the thought, her already tired expression taking on
the added stress immediately.
End Flashback
Albus had not expected anything less from Amelia Bones than to take the
revelation of Tom's return in her stride, and though her resources were
limited, she had indeed been doing all she could to face the impending
war.
According to Kingsley and Nymphadora, she had been training the aurors
harder, ensuring that they had the best fighting chance possible to endure
what was to come.
It would likely be for naught, but Amelia was not one to simply give up
in the face of adversity.
No, she would fight until her final breath, something Albus hoped would
not come for many years.
Wizarding Britain needed people like Amelia now more than ever, even if
her efforts would be little more than enough to hinder Tom's progress.
The war itself would not be concluded by the aurors, the Death Eaters, or
even Albus and the Order.
It would be decided between Harry and Tom, and the headmaster could
only hope that the cost of the victory he believed so wholeheartedly in
would not be too high.
The likelihood of such, however, was slim.
People would die on both sides, and though he wished he could prevent
the unnecessary loss of life, he was not so naïve to believe that it could
be so.
It was a maudlin thought.
Death in such circumstances was always so morbid, so needless, but it
would come no matter what action he took.
Absentmindedly, he began stroking Fawkes' plumage as he helped
himself to a sherbet lemon.
Now, it was little more than a matter of time before the war would truly
begin, and when it did, an oppressive shadow would once more descend
over Britain until it could be lifted for good.
(Break)
It had been a strange year at Durmstrang.
As happy as she was to have Harry back, his return had been marred by
his something of a relationship he had delved into with the Zabini girl.
Was it a relationship?
Lucinda didn't know how to define what had been going on between the
two.
They were never seen in public together beyond duelling in the evenings,
and even then, there was no indication of any affection between the two.
Had she not been able to smell them on one another whenever she was in
close proximity to them, she would have been none the wiser to whatever
it was they got up to behind closed doors.
Still, it would come to an end soon.
It was Zabini's last evening as a student here, and come September, Harry
would be back without the older girl.
The thought brought a sense of relief to the vampire.
Lucinda didn't despise feeling jealous, it was simply a part of her nature,
after all, she merely detested admitting it to anyone other than herself.
Nevertheless, there would be no need for such feelings any longer.
A rare smile graced her lips as she entered the library to return the last of
the books she had borrowed throughout the year.
Things would return to normal after tonight.
Placing them on the trolley under the glare of the librarian, she turned to
leave, only to gasp as she found someone in her personal space, much
closer than she allowed anyone to be to her.
Lucinda scowled at the smiling Zabini as she fought the urge to curse the
girl.
Zabini did not miss her fingers twitching toward her wand and she
quirked an eyebrow at her.
"How tempted have you been to curse me all year?" she whispered
interestedly.
Lucinda rolled her eyes in response.
"Don't flatter yourself," she huffed.
Zabini laughed as she held up her hands.
"I come in peace," she assured the wary Lucinda. "I just wanted to speak
with you."
"Why?"
Zabini offered her a curious smile as her gaze drifted over her leaving
Lucinda feeling rather violated.
"I just wanted to know what it is that makes you so special," she
answered after a moment.
"What do you mean?"
Zabini laughed once more and gestured for Lucinda to follow her.
With her curiosity getting the better of her, she reluctantly did so, and
found herself wandering the shelves with the soon-to-be ex-student.
"You want him for yourself."
"Excuse me?" Lucinda choked.
"Harry. You want him. Don't deny it, I've seen the way you look at me as
though I've stolen something that belongs to you."
Zabini wasn't angry. If anything, she seemed to be rather amused.
"What are you going to do about it?" the older girl pressed.
"I don't see how this is any of your business."
"It's not," Zabini returned with a shrug. "But if you think I'm going to be
the only beautiful girl interested in him, you have another thing coming.
Harry and I got into what we have knowing it would be nothing but some
harmless fun, but it may not be the same with others."
"Harmless fun?" Lucinda pressed.
Zabini nodded unashamedly.
"I like him, even more now that I've spent so much time with him this
year. I had not even entertained the notion that I might start to fall for
him, and there is a part of me that is glad that I am leaving to escape it,
and another part that is heartbroken. But our agreement was our
agreement. I will move on with my life, and maybe if I am lucky I will
find myself married to someone who is even a fraction of what Harry
Potter will be."
"You love him."
"How can I not?" Zabini chuckled humourlessly, "and I know that there is
a part of him that will hold on to what we had, but this is all that it was
meant to be. We got to share something incredible, and neither of us will
forget it."
"But you don't want anything more? You used him!" Lucinda accused.
"No, I did not use him," Zabini corrected. "We both knew what this was,
and besides, Harry feels the same as I do. He hasn't said it in as many
words, but he doesn't need to. There is that part of me that wishes I could
approach my father and demand he negotiates a contract for us."
"Then why don't you?"
"Because Harry Potter does not belong to me," Zabini answered simply. "I
never thought I would envy another girl, let alone a vampire, but here I
am."
"Me?"
Zabini nodded soberly.
"I had him for this year, and there may be other girls that have the
privilege of some time with him, but you will always get in the way of
them."
"I didn't do anything to get in between the two of you!" Lucinda hissed.
"You didn't," Zabini agreed, "but Harry cares for you more than he does
anyone else. I don't know if it is a sisterly affection, or that he has
feelings for you that he hasn't recognised, but he would never do
anything that would intentionally hurt you. You're the one person he
speaks of more than anyone else, and he does it with such fondness and
care. I don't think even you would believe it. My only question is, do you
care for him as much, or do you just not want anyone else to have him?"
"I let you have him, didn't I?"
Zabini grinned triumphantly before her expression softened and she took
Lucinda by the hands, shuddering at the coldness of the touch.
"Maybe at first I wanted to use him for my own enjoyment," she
admitted. "I didn't count on coming to care for him the way I do, but it
happened. A piece of my heart will always be his, and maybe I will keep
a little of Harry's for myself, but I think that even if he is too dense to see
it right now, he is already set on someone else."
"Me?"
Zabini nodded.
"Maybe it will never come to anything, or maybe the differences between
the two of you will prove to be too much to overcome, but despite what
happens or what he does, don't forget how much he cares for you. Any
idiot can see it, but I suppose Harry is a special kind of idiot."
Lucinda snorted amusedly and Zabini squeezed her hands.
"No matter what happens, take care of him for me," she almost pleaded.
"He deserves to be cared for as much as he cares for others, don't you
think?"
Lucinda nodded before she laughed to herself.
"I spent this entire year wishing something horrible would happen to
you," she sighed. "Now I feel bad for thinking it. You're not so bad. Thank
you for this."
Zabini offered her a sincere smile.
"I did it for him," she explained. "If it is you that will make him happy
then so be it. I am curious about something though."
"What?" Lucinda questioned.
"Is every part of you as cold as your hands?" Zabini asked pointedly.
Lucinda quirked an eyebrow at the girl.
She'd never been asked such a personal question so brazenly.
Not that she was embarrassed by it. On the contrary, she found the
question to be quite understandable and humorous.
"I can assure you I can provide all the warmth needed," Lucinda replied.
Zabini shuddered once more as Lucinda pushed a wave of heat through
her hands.
"Now that is interesting," she commented.
"Anything else you wish to know?"
Zabini shook her head, a grin tugging at her lips.
"No, that was everything," she sighed. "Take care of him for me. He's a lot
more sensitive than most would believe."
"I will," Lucinda assured her.
With that, Zabini gave her a final smile, her eyes watery as she turned
and took her leave of the library.
Lucinda stood rooted to the spot for several moments as she replayed the
conversation over in her mind.
She had despised the girl, but now, she felt that she understood her more.
Zabini didn't want to take Harry from her, she merely wanted a little of
him to herself, and in truth, Lucinda could not hate her for that.
Oddly, it helped knowing that what the two of them had shared wasn't
entirely empty and meaningless.
Zabini cared for Harry and it somehow brought some comfort to the
vampire.
It brought a sad smile to her lips.
In a way, she felt sorry for the other girl, but was equally grateful.
Although she had not planned on developing feelings when she and
Harry had begun their dalliance, it had happened nonetheless, and yet,
there was no bitterness from her towards Lucinda.
It had been an unexpected conversation, but one that the vampire
appreciated for what it was.
Zabini was looking out for Harry, and as something of a final gesture of
care and affection towards him, she had taken steps to ensure that he
would be cared for now that she wouldn't be around.
He would be.
No matter what happened, Lucinda would care for him, even if he was a
frustrating, irritating idiot that did his best to provoke certain reactions
from her.
She shook her head as she too left the library.
Despite his ability to wind her up, she wouldn't have him any other way.
Well, she would, but that would perhaps have to wait until both of them
were ready to face what it was they felt for one another, if of course their
affections did indeed go further than the platonic displays they had
shown thus far.
For now, Lucinda was content to see what would happen.
As much as she knew that she wanted him for herself, she would rather
have him as she did now than not at all, and if she were to admit her
feelings now, it could serve to only push him away.
That, she could not comprehend facing, and though Zabini had offered
her more assurances than she could have asked for, the doubts she felt
still lingered at the back of her mind.
(Break)
His attempt to draw first blood against Britain had ultimately failed.
Something that irked the Dark Lord more than he cared to admit. Failure
was not something that was familiar to him, and to experience it so early
on was not the beginning to his resurgence he had desired.
Still, he would not be deterred by such a minor inconvenience.
Bones would die, as would all others that opposed him.
It was merely a matter of time.
"What news do you bring me, Lucius?" Voldemort questioned irritably.
The Dark Lord was becoming restless, his already short temper taking
little to provoke recently.
He longed to truly get the war underway, to fulfil the destiny that had
been almost snatched away from him more than a decade ago.
"I bring much news, My Lord," Lucius replied with a bow.
Were it not for the blond and his insistence on being patient, perhaps the
war would be well on the way to being concluded by now. But the Dark
Lord knew that despite how much it infuriated him to wait, Lucius
understood the current state of the country better than him.
Fifteen years was a long time to be absent.
"Well?" Voldemort snapped.
Lucius hurriedly flicked through the pages of parchment he held before
handing a sheet to him.
"Those are the names of the families that will oppose us without
hesitation," he explained. "They will not be bribed, blackmailed, or
intimidated."
Voldemort nodded thoughtfully as he read through them, each name
familiar to him as old foes.
"And how would you suggest we handle them?"
"All bar one has an heir, so killing the Lord or Lady of the family would
not eliminate the line. However, I would recommend taking hostages, My
Lord. People tend to cooperate when it is their loved ones' lives on the
line."
"It would be easier to kill them," Voldemort grumbled.
"In the short term, yes," Lucius replied carefully, "but if entire families are
being wiped out, it will only strengthen the resistance against us. For the
time being at least, until your position is secured, we must present a front
of cooperation as to not arouse too much suspicion. You must be willing
to appoint representatives to work on your behalf, for public image
purposes, of course."
Voldemort hummed unhappily.
"Fine," he agreed. "I suppose this will take time to implement?"
"It will, My Lord," Lucius confirmed, "but I have information that will be
immediately more welcome to you."
Voldemort frowned and gestured for the man to continue.
"Azkaban is ready whenever you are to free the others."
The Dark Lord felt a surge of excitement before he narrowed his eyes at
the man.
"You have been very vocal in your efforts to prevent me from freeing
them. Why now?"
"Because I have the perfect scapegoat to ensure none will suspect the
truth behind the breakout," Lucius explained confidently. "Leave it with
me, My Lord. I will handle the fallout."
Voldemort nodded appreciatively.
"Then let us not stand on ceremony," he whispered excitedly, the
sibilance in his words drawing out in anticipation.
Without preamble, he stood from the seat he had been occupying and
vanished in a plume, of thick, dark smoke.
His efforts at Christmas may not have proven to be fruitful, but this
would undoubtedly be different.
(Break)
"I must say, Potter, you have certainly exceeded my expectations
already," Novak declared proudly. "We will continue when you return in
September where we will move on to some truly advanced magic. Be on
your way and enjoy your summer."
"You too, Professor," Harry returned, placing his wand in its holster
before taking his leave of the room.
The additional lessons with the man had been a boon to him, and Harry
was looking forward to resuming them.
Novak's knowledge of the Dark Arts was exceptional and Harry was
grateful to have it at his disposal.
It would be most useful to him in the coming years when he would be
faced with those who had studied them extensively.
However, no one, other than Voldemort, would have dedicated
themselves to it the same way Harry had.
His dedication to magic as a whole would be one of the few advantages
he held over most of his enemies.
Thinking of what was to come only added to his already maudlin
thoughts.
He and Alessia had spent a final evening together, had enjoyed each
other's company as they had been doing for much of the year, and had
said their goodbyes.
Harry had not expected it to be so hard to do, nor did he expect there to
be a lingering sting in his chest at the thought of not seeing her again.
Despite the agreement they had made, he had indeed come to care for
the girl more than he knew he should have allowed himself to.
He would miss her deeply.
He already did.
Nevertheless, he entered the Main Hall for breakfast, his expression
giving nothing away to how he was truly feeling.
"There he is," Cain announced as Harry approached their table. "Where
have you been?"
"With Novak," Harry answered as he took a seat next to the werewolf.
"Not all of us are scratching our fleas in bed until breakfast time. For a
wolf, you're such a lazy shit."
"He's right," Jonas snorted.
"Maybe," Cain conceded with a shrug, "but I don't have fleas. Wait, do
hags get fleas with all the hair they have?"
Jonas shrugged.
"I've not gotten close enough to my mother to find out," he explained.
"They're not exactly the most maternal creatures. My dad took care of me
when I was a baby."
"So, you've never hugged your mother?" Ana asked curiously.
Jonas shook his head.
"Would you want to hug a hag?"
"I can't say that I would," Ana grimaced.
"Exactly," Jonas chuckled, a frown creasing his brow as he glanced
towards the door where Barkus and his usual group of lackeys had just
entered through. "I'm glad we will finally be rid of him."
Harry nodded his agreement, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"What have you done?" Lucinda sighed.
"Me? I have done nothing," Harry denied, "well, not yet."
"Harry?" Cain pressed.
"You always have to ruin my fun," Harry huffed dramatically. "Just
watch, and you will be in for a treat."
The group watched Barkus and his friends intently as they helped
themselves to their final breakfast as Durmstrang students.
It was a moment later that Barkus stood, a sudden discomfort seemingly
having taken hold of him.
Without warning, he vomited across the width of the table, covering
some of his friends.
Before the boy could compose himself however, he was suddenly hoisted
into the air where he dangled helplessly by his ankle and he screamed.
"Is he wearing women's underwear?" Hugo gasped.
He was.
It was a final addition Harry had decided to include as a final touch of
humiliation for Barkus, though it wasn't quite over with yet.
A collective groan of disgust sounded as the boy lost control of his bowels
and excrement was sprayed over him and the table below.
The students that were seated there ran from the hall, followed by the
rest as the stench wafted throughout with many trying to not follow suit
in vomiting.
"That wasn't a treat, you bastard," Jonas gagged.
Harry merely laughed in response as the others glared at him.
He may not have been able to prove Barkus's involvement with what had
happened to Cain, and perhaps he wasn't involved at all, but Barkus was
still one of the most unpleasant people he'd had the displeasure of
meeting and he couldn't simply let him leave Durmstrang without a
parting gift.
"It was for me," Harry replied as they made it into the courtyard and
away from the awful stink Barkus had created. "Personally, I can't think
of a better way to end the year for him. A lot of shit, for a shit," he added
with a chuckle.
The others did not seem to agree, but it served to cheer Harry up
somewhat, even if it would not lift his mood for long.
Catching sight of Alessia on the other side of the courtyard, he felt what
little joy he'd managed to create for himself dwindle.
With Daphne, he'd been able to simply move on.
Maybe it was that they had not made everything so final when they had
parted?
With Alessia, he knew what they had was at an end, and despite not
regretting a single moment he'd spent with her, he could do without the
heartache.
33. The Order of the Phoenix
The Order of the Phoenix
It wasn't often that Cassiopeia regretted teaching Harry Occlumency from
when he had been but a boy, and she was proud that he was able remain
composed despite what inner turmoil he was facing. However, just like
now when something was bothering him, she wished he had not excelled
in the Mind Arts so quickly.
The news of the Azkaban breakout had disturbed the boy, but as he
always did when anything pertaining to Voldemort occurred, he had
seemingly taken it in his stride.
Still, he was not himself, and had not been since he'd returned from
school.
The change within him was not such an obvious one that many would
pick up on it, but Cassie knew Harry better than any and he could not
hide it from her, despite his best efforts.
"Good," Gellert praised as Harry demonstrated some of the spells he'd
managed to put the finishing touches to since they'd last met. "You have
such a proclivity towards magic. It truly astounds me."
Harry offered the man a smile.
Cassie was pleased to see them getting on so well, especially with just
who Gellert was.
Perhaps Harry found it difficult to associate the somewhat feeble man
trapped in a cell with the strongly built, magical powerhouse Cassie
remembered.
Nonetheless, they worked well together, and Harry was undoubtedly
learning much from Gellert.
"I did hear a most amusing development from Cassiopeia," Gellert said
curiously. "You are an Animagus?"
Harry nodded and transformed seamlessly into the wolf Cassie had seen
only one other time.
Gellert chuckled as he clapped.
"That is indeed quite the feat," he declared. "Has it had any effect on your
human form?"
Harry nodded after he had reverted back.
"My hearing is stronger, and my sense of smell."
"Both quite useful additions," Gellert observed thoughtfully. "What of
your physical strength?"
"I think I'm stronger, and fitter," Harry replied, "but I've always been
active so I don't know if that is just from my usual work."
Gellert hummed.
"It could be just that," he acknowledged. "Still, completing an Animagus
transformation is an excellent achievement for any."
"My dad did it too, and without any help," Harry revealed. "He was a
stag. He even taught two of his friends how to do it, and one of them is
mostly useless at everything."
"Then he must have been an exceptional practitioner of Transfiguration."
"He was," the voice of Dumbledore sounded from the entrance to the row
of cells. "The only person I could even consider comparing him to in
terms of his most excellent ability is Minerva, and she has often said that
James would have outperformed her. Sadly, that is something we will
never see. It is good to meet you again, Harry."
Cassiopeia was going to respond on his behalf but was beaten to it by the
boy himself.
"And you, Professor," he replied in kind. "Are we really going to pretend
that you being here at the same time as me is a coincidence?"
Albus chuckled as he shook his head.
"No, I would not insult your intelligence by attempting to do so. I would
like to speak with you on a few matters, and I would be reluctant to do
so through mail. I'm sure you understand."
"I do," Harry murmured, the mood of both shifting from a rather jovial
greeting to one more subdued. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, I discussed the idea with Sirius, and he rightly suggested that I
speak with you regarding using Grimmauld Place as a base of operations
for the Order," Albus explained. "It is a secure building in a convenient
location and I would like your permission to host meetings there."
Cassie's thoughts on the matter were simple.
She did not want Dumbledore and his little group running rampant
through the house, but ultimately, it was Harry's decision to make.
He frowned thoughtfully for several moments before answering.
"I will allow it, but there are stipulations that are non-negotiable," he
replied firmly.
"What are your terms?" Albus requested.
"The Order will be limited to the first floor of the house only," Harry
began. "The library especially is off limits, and any other room other than
the kitchen, and the living room is to only be accessed by any other than
Sirius and Remus without my express permission."
"That is fair," Albus agreed readily. "Anything else?"
"No one is to touch anything in the house," Harry continued. "Many of the
items are exceedingly dangerous and are to be left where they are."
"Of course."
"Good," Harry declared. "That just about sums it up for now, but I reserve
the right to revisit this conversation, if I feel it is necessary."
"Thank you, Harry," Albus returned gratefully. "It is most gracious of you
to allow us to use it."
Harry merely nodded in response.
"I don't suppose you have spoken to Fudge about his pathetic accusation
of Sirius being responsible for the escape of the Death Eaters?"
Albus deflated as he shook his head.
"I have requested meetings with him, but I'm afraid Cornelius does not
wish to discuss the matter."
Harry snorted.
"Of course, he doesn't," he sighed. "Still, what choice did he have? Using
Sirius as his scapegoat was his only option. It isn't as though he is going
to look any deeper into it than necessary, is it?"
"I'm afraid not," Albus murmured. "He is…"
"A shit Minister who would prefer to have his tongue rammed up
Malfoy's arse than actually do his job?"
"Harry!" Cassie chided, scowling at Gellert as he laughed heartily at
Harry's assessment.
The boy smirked as he shrugged.
"Tell me I'm wrong," he challenged.
"I wouldn't have put it in such a manner myself, but I suspect it was
Lucius who would have suggested such an explanation," Albus concurred.
"Well, Fudge certainly didn't come up with it," Harry grumbled. "He
couldn't find his own tackle with both hands. He is going to be useless,
isn't he?"
Albus nodded darkly.
"Cornelius is not a leader for such difficult times," he explained, "and with
his closeness to Lucius and other unsavoury individuals, he will remain
ignorant of what is happening until it is too late."
"You mean until he is on his knees in front of Voldemort and his life is
about to be snuffed out," Harry chuckled. "You may as well just let
Voldemort take Britain for all the good Fudge will do."
Albus grimaced, but he offered no argument to the contrary.
"I fear that difficult days do indeed lay ahead," the man sighed. "The task
of ending the war will seem insurmountable at times. Not enough people
will have the courage to resist what is to come, so it will be down to the
few who refuse to accept it to keep fighting."
"He won't win," Harry declared. "He may think he has when he does
inevitably take control of Britain, but that will be nothing more than a
token victory. We both know what the future holds, and when the time
comes for us to meet, I will destroy everything he has worked for and I
will send every single one of his followers to hell with him. There won't
be any forgiveness this time. It has to be definitive."
Albus did not seem to like Harry's thoughts on the matter, but he did not
comment on them.
The man was weak when it came to doing what was necessary, but Harry
wasn't.
He would not shy away from dirtying his hands in a way that Albus
never could.
"Good lad," Gellert declared proudly.
Cassiopeia nodded her agreement.
"There is one other thing I wish to discuss," Albus announced, changing
the subject. "I believe I am close to discovering the whereabouts of
another of the items. I will keep you informed of my progress."
"That is good news," Gellert acknowledged.
"Indeed," Albus returned with a bow. "And just one final thing, if you
would be so kind, Harry. I would like you to attend a meeting of the
Order so that you may be introduced to the members. I believe yourself
and Madam Bones should be acquainted at the very least as she will be
leading the fighting aurors when it is necessary to do so."
"You convinced Amelia Bones to join the Order?" Harry asked.
"Not as such," Albus chuckled. "She is willing to work with us, but her
loyalty is to her position. However, the two of you will need to have a
strong relationship in the future, and I believe the sooner you meet, the
better it will be for you."
"Fine," Harry agreed, "I will meet with the Order, and with Bones. She
will be a useful contact to have at least."
Albus nodded his agreement.
"Then I will be in touch shortly to make the arrangements," he declared.
"Again, thank you for allowing us the use of Grimmauld Place. It will
truly make a difference to our efforts. Until next time."
With that, the headmaster took his leave and Cassiopeia narrowed her
eyes at his retreating form.
"He's got some nerve asking to use the house," she muttered.
"It will be more to my advantage than his," Harry pointed out with a
shrug. "Dumbledore isn't the most forthcoming of people, but if he wishes
to hold his meetings at Grimmauld Place, then I will make sure that the
walls have ears. I will know of everything they discuss in there."
Cassiopeia smiled proudly at the boy.
It was a move worthy of her own brother.
"Anyway, I should be leaving," Harry sighed. "I have letters to write and
homework to get on with. Are you coming?"
Cassie shook her head.
"No, I will catch you up shortly," she explained.
Harry nodded before turning his attention towards Gellert.
"Is there anything you would suggest I work on?"
"Keep doing what you are, Harry," Gellert urged, "and come and see me
again before you return to school."
"I will," Harry assured him before offering the pair a wave and taking his
leave of Nurmengard.
"Something is wrong with him," Cassie murmured. "Even before they
announced the Azkaban breakout, he wasn't himself."
Gellert chuckled amusedly.
"What's funny?" Cassie demanded. "Do you know something I don't?"
"My dear, I know many things that you don't," Gellert snorted, "but with
this, I will be of little use to Harry. I believe is having a problem
pertaining to the opposite sex."
"A girl?" Cassie asked with a frown.
Gellert nodded.
"He has that faraway look in his eyes that can only mean one thing. His
mind is occupied by another. Have you by chance discussed such things
with him?"
Cassie's frown deepened.
"No," she answered.
"He is almost sixteen," Gellert pointed out. "Do you not think it is long
overdue?"
Cassiopeia grimaced.
"I don't need to explain, well, you know, to him, do I?"
Gellert guffawed.
"No, I imagine that he has figured that out for himself by now," he sighed
lightly. "I mean things like relationships and how they work."
"I'm hardly an expert," Cassiopeia huffed, "and what do you mean he's
probably figured that out for himself?"
Gellert held up a hand to placate the woman.
"Harry is a good-looking, well-known young man," he reminded her. "I
expect he has several would-be suitors interested in him. You can't
possibly think that a boy of his age would not have shown an interest by
now."
"Bugger," Cassie groaned. "You don't think he has been…?"
Gellert shrugged.
"If he has, then you should take comfort in the fact that you have taught
him well and that he would not take any foolish risks. My concern is that
Harry may not understand the emotional repercussions of involving
himself in those activities."
Cassie nodded thoughtfully.
It wasn't something she understood either, but she knew someone who
did and would relish the opportunity to have something he could help
Harry with.
"Leave it with me," she sighed. "I think this is a job for someone who
certainly isn't lacking experience with girls."
(Break)
The liberation of the followers that did not denounce him when they had
been captured had been much easier than the Dark Lord had anticipated.
Azkaban was quite the impressive fortress, but the fault in its design was
that it was intended to keep prisoners in and not others who wished to
enter out.
Not that many would be so keen to venture there.
The Dementors were enough of a deterrent for most.
To Lord Voldemort, however, they were allies, ones he had easily
convinced to re-join his ranks.
In all, his ten most loyal followers had been returned to their rightful
place among his inner circle, though it would be some time before they
would be of use to him.
Fifteen years in Azkaban had taken its toll on each of them, and they
would need extensive rehabilitation in the coming months.
Already, the Dark Lord had instructed Severus to begin brewing and
providing his strongest healing potions so that the treatment could get
underway.
"My Lord, she is still demanding to see you," Lucius informed him as he
peered his head around the door.
Until the prisoners were healthy enough to travel, they would be saying
at Malfoy Manor, and after spending several days under the roof here
already, the Dark Lord could not wait to take his leave of the place.
"Send her in, Lucius," he instructed.
Voldemort did not need to hazard a guest at who was so insistent on
seeing him.
Bellatrix had been making the demand since she'd arrived.
It was a moment later that she walked in, draped in robes that were
much too big for her skeletal frame, and though she had taken a bath
since she'd arrived here, the dank smell of the prison clung to her.
Bellatrix smiled brightly at him; the teeth that had been blackened by
years of neglect having been restored to a brilliant white.
Still, her years under the care of the Dementors was apparent.
Her thick, curly hair was streaked liberally with grey, and she had aged
considerably during her incarceration.
The once vibrant violet eyes she possessed were dull, and the bags and
wrinkles around them deep and prominent.
"My Lord," she greeted him with a curtsey. "Thank you for seeing me."
"You are supposed to be focusing on your health, Bella," Voldemort
chided.
"I am as strong as ever," the woman replied.
The Dark Lord chuckled amusedly.
"It pleases me to see you so eager to return to my side, but you are no
good to me in your current state. I need you at your very best for what is
to come."
Bellatrix pouted petulantly.
"It is boring, My Lord," she huffed. "The others are weak, and my sister
has been reduced to a simpering broodmare for Lucius. The boy is as
pathetic as his father."
"Draco will prove himself in time," Voldemort assured her.
Bellatrix giggled.
"He is mediocre," she declared. "According to Cissy he is in line to be the
next Lord Black. He is not worthy of the title."
"Then ensure that he is," Voldemort urged. "Your task from me if you are
so unwilling to rest is to prepare him. Train him so that he is not such a
disappointment to you."
Bellatrix frowned before offering him a bow.
"If that is your wish, My Lord, I will do what I can."
"Thank you, Bella," Voldemort offered gratefully. "I am sure your efforts
will not be in vain. Now, eat and rest. If your task is as monumental as
you believe, you will need much of both."
Bellatrix nodded, her scowl firmly in place as she left the room, leaving
the Dark Lord to breathe a sigh of relief.
At least now she would not be bothering him at every moment of the
day.
Her assessment of Lucius's boy was indeed correct.
Draco was a spoiled braggart, but he possessed a cruelty that could
perhaps be put to use, if he proved himself somewhat capable in the
coming weeks under his Aunt's tutelage.
(Break)
"I can't believe you're here!" Pansy whispered as she squeezed the air
from Harry's lungs, only releasing him when she realised he couldn't
breathe properly. "Sorry," she added sheepishly.
Harry waved her off as he offered her a smile.
"I told you I'd come."
Pansy nodded as she took him by the hand and began leading him
through Diagon Alley.
"Why are you here?" she asked curiously.
"I have some things to do," Harry answered, a frown marring his features,
"but I wanted to see you more than anything else. How was school this
year?"
Pansy shrugged.
"Quieter than the last. Draco was a little less of a prat, but that won't
last."
Harry hummed.
"Well, Draco can always be dealt with if he gets too big for his tiny
boots," he replied. "What about Daphne?"
"She's the same as ever," Pansy snorted. "You've been writing to each
other, haven't you?"
"Here and there," Harry answered. "Not as much I write to you."
Pansy smiled.
"She still talks about you," she revealed, "but she did start seeing Blaise a
few months ago."
Harry chuckled as he shook his head.
"That's quite ironic since I was seeing his sister for a while."
"Oh?"
"It just kind of happened, but she's done with school now and we agreed
it wouldn't be anything serious."
"So, you won't see her again?"
"No. I think I'll keep out of the dating scene for a while."
Harry seemed rather down about it but before Pansy could press him
further, he pulled her towards a stall that was being manned by two
familiar redheads, both smiling brightly as they approached.
"Ah, now here comes a young man of fine taste," of the Weasley twins
declared. "Step this way, Harry, and browse our wares for yourself."
"What is all this?" Harry asked curiously.
"Only the finest assortment of pranking goods," the other twin broke in.
Harry nodded appreciatively, and Pansy got the impression the students
of Durmstrang would soon be introduced to some of the Weasley's very
best items.
"Skiving Snackboxes?"
"For the procrastinators among us," one of the twins explained. "You
simply eat one end of the confection, and the effect will take hold in a
matter of seconds. When the desired result is achieved, simply eat the
other and you will be no worse for wear."
"Do these actually work?"
"Do these work?" the twin scoffed. "We would not get very far in our line
of business if our products did not do as advertised."
"These things are amazing," Harry murmured thoughtfully as he
continued inspecting the goods on offer. "You should open a shop."
"That is the plan," one of the Weasleys replied. "A prank store
extraordinaire for every practical joke need."
"How many products do you have?"
"Around a thousand. We have been inventing them since before we
started school."
Harry nodded, evidently impressed by their dedication to their craft.
"How much do you need to get a shop?" he asked. "You couple of clowns
are going to make a fortune from this lot."
The twins beamed.
"We have already saved two hundred galleons. We need another three
hundred to buy a lease for a shop big enough."
Harry frowned thoughtfully.
"So, if I gave you a thousand galleons, that would be more than enough
to get this going?"
"Give us?" one of the twins choked.
Harry nodded.
"I'd like to see this become real," he explained.
"Why?" the other twin asked cautiously.
"Because maybe this is something that I may have wanted to do myself if
things were different," Harry answered. "Besides, my Dad would have
loved this stuff. I can't think of a better way to honour his memory than
invest in something like this."
"Are you serious or are you pulling our legs?"
"I am very serious," Harry assured them. "You two are bloody brilliant,
and the world could always do with more laughs. It will be an
anonymous gift to the two of you to get the shop started, no strings
attached. What do you say?"
"We'd be pretty stupid to say no, wouldn't we?"
"And you don't strike me as idiots," Harry chuckled.
The twins shared a look of utter disbelief.
"If you really mean it, then of course we will accept."
"Good," Harry declared as he offered each of them his hand in turn. "I
will have the bank draft drawn up and sent to you. I look forward to
seeing the shop when it is ready."
With that, Harry left the two dumbstruck twins in his wake as he walked
towards Florean Forescue's with Pansy following closely.
"Do you have any idea of the hell you have just unleashed on Britain?"
she asked.
Harry nodded, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
"I know exactly what I have done," he said unashamedly. "I can't wait to
see the results."
Pansy could only shake her head.
Hogwarts would be a nightmare to navigate when the Weasley's shop was
opened, but she couldn't find it in herself to be irritated with Harry.
His interaction with the twins had cheered him up considerably, so
whatever was to come because of his investment would be worth it.
Knowing that he had a hand in every prank courtesy of a Weasley
product would only make him enjoy it all the more too.
"Oh dear," Pansy murmured amusedly, releasing a deep sigh as Harry
simply grinned at her.
(Break)
It was odd to see the members of the Order filing into the kitchen of his
childhood home. Even when the Black family was at its biggest, it was a
rare sight to see any part of the house so full, and especially with those
that did not carry the name or who wasn't a pureblood.
Neither Sirius's father nor grandfather would entertain even the thought
of allowing any other than other purebloods into Grimmauld Place.
The thought that he was once more somehow defying both men filled
him with a petty sense of joy.
"What are you smirking at?" Remus asked, breaking into Sirius's thoughts.
"Nothing," he denied. "Nothing at all."
It was only a moment later that Dumbledore entered the room and took a
seat at the head of the table where he smiled at the assembled members
in turn before clearing his throat.
"We will begin shortly," he declared. "We are waiting for two others to
join us for this meeting."
Whispers of curiosity broke out at the announcement, each person
speculating just who it was who would be attending.
The first of the guests arrived and Sirius felt a jolt of worry at the sight of
the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Amelia Bones was the last person he needed to see him, and the flaring of
her nostrils as she spotted him at the large table left no doubt that she
was not pleased by his presence.
Her glare only hardened as she also noticed two of her serving aurors
seated only a short distance away from Sirius, and both Kingsley and
Tonks appeared to be more nervous than him.
"I will pretend that I did not see you here," the redhead said sharply to
her subordinates, "and you are fortunate that Albus had the foresight to
explain your status to me, Black."
Sirius nodded his understanding, and yet, the nervousness he felt
remained.
Amelia Bones was not a woman to cross, and though he was indeed
innocent of the crimes he had been imprisoned for, she had a way of
making you feel guilty with little more than a stare.
"Thank you for joining us Madame Bones," Albus said appreciatively.
She merely nodded in response before taking a seat next to Moody who
was undoubtedly amused by the effect she'd had on the others who had
been surprised to see her.
The response to Bones entering the room however, paled in comparison
to the reactions of the Order members when Harry followed suit a few
moments later.
At first, all were silent until it was broken by Dumbledore as he stood
and offered Harry the seat he had been occupying.
"Thank you for joining us, Harry," the headmaster greeted the teen. "I
assume my message reached you?"
Harry nodded.
"It did," he confirmed, his gaze sweeping over the other occupants of the
room, all of whom, with the exception of Sirius and Remus, still sitting in
shocked silence.
"Now that our guests have arrived, perhaps we should begin with some
introductions," Dumbledore suggested. "For those of you who are not
familiar, this is Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical
Law Enforcement."
The introduction to the woman was elementary.
There wasn't a person in wizarding Britain who did not know of or
couldn't recognise Amelia Bones.
Bones simply nodded at the group at large.
"And of course, we are also joined by Harry Potter," Dumbledore
continued.
Another unnecessary introduction, in truth, and Sirius suspected the
headmaster only followed through in an attempt to break the ice.
Harry was one of the most famous wizards in recent memory, and his
likeness to James would leave no doubt whom he was in any circle up
and down the country.
"Might I enquire as to why Mr Potter is here?" Sturgis Podmore
questioned. "The Order is no place for a child."
Many of the other members nodded and murmured their agreement, but
before Dumbledore could answer, Harry did so on his own behalf.
"I would argue that war is no place for those not willing to fight it," he
countered sharply. "Make no mistake, what is coming is not going to be a
political struggle for power. Voldemort isn't here to push through
agendas on the Wizengamot, he is here to seize control of the country,
and I'm sure many of you will remember how he went about that last
time. If you think that was unpleasant, it will be worse this time. He will
murder those that he cannot control, and he will bribe and blackmail
those too cowardly to resist. When he takes control of Britain which is
inevitable, there will be only one way to deal with him and his
followers."
"You speak as though he already runs the country," Elphias Doge scoffed.
"The moment he chooses to, he will," Harry replied with a shrug. "What
do we have in place to stop him? The Department of Magical Law
Enforcement is not prepared for a war of the magnitude that is coming.
When Voldemort takes control of the Ministry, those who resist will be
killed, and those that don't will be in no position to not follow orders.
Many of the aurors have spouses and children that will be used against
them, isn't that right, Auror Shacklebolt?"
The dark-skinned man nodded.
"And who can blame them for not wanting to put them at risk?" Harry
continued. "They will comply if only to keep their loved ones safe."
"And what will your role be in all of this?" Bill Weasley asked curiously.
Harry's expression darkened.
"My role will be to put an end to it," he answered simply. "Voldemort and
his Death Eaters rely and feed on the fear of their victims. I will be what
is it they fear, and I will eliminate each and every one of them."
"You will kill them?" Elphias Doge gasped.
"That is usually what happens in war," Harry snorted. "What, did you
expect that Voldemort would simply allow himself to be arrested and left
to rot in Azkaban? No, he will fight until his last breath, and it will be me
that tears it from his lungs. It has to be different from last time. The war
was all but lost until the night he killed my parents, or have you all
forgotten at how close to defeat you were?"
"We haven't forgotten, lad," Moody piped up.
"Then you understand what has to be done," Harry sighed. "You may be
willing to fight the good fight and defend those who cannot or are
unwilling to defend themselves, but it won't be enough. The solution has
to be permanent or you may as well all go home now and just wait for
him to take over because whether you want to accept it or not, it is going
to happen. All we can do is mitigate the fallout and fight back with
everything we have."
"You speak so easily of killing," Shacklebolt broke in. "It is not so easy to
take a life."
"On the contrary, it is the easiest thing in the world when you have been
preparing for it your whole life," Harry pointed out, "when every day you
are reminded of the monsters that have the blood of your loved ones on
their hands. I watched my mother being murdered in front of me whilst
the man that did it laughed as she pleaded for my life. I will show him
and his followers the same mercy they have shown everyone else. You
may not like it, but when they take control, someone will need to step up
to do what is necessary. Even Dumbledore understands that this war
won't be won by attempting to capture them, and by the time it is
needed, the Ministry will be in no position to give the aurors those
powers."
Sirius swallowed deeply.
It was one thing knowing that Harry would be the one to throw himself
into the heat of war but hearing him speak of what Britain would soon
become was chilling in itself.
As much as he wished to believe that his godson was wrong, he could
comprehend no scenario that it would be different from what he was
predicting.
Now, it only felt more real.
Already things were happening to support what Harry was saying and
though he wished he could remain ignorant of it unfolding around him, it
was not something that could be ignored.
To attempt to do so would be foolish, and he could see amongst the other
members the very same reality he was facing was beginning to set in.
"He is right," Madame Bones spoke as she eyed Harry critically. "The
Ministry is not in a strong position to resist him, and the Minister has
surrounded himself with those that manipulate him too easily. A storm is
coming and we must prepare as best we can to weather it. Not that I am
in a position to support Mr Potter's future intentions. However, it is all
but inevitable that they will be necessary. What good will locking up his
followers do when he can simply break them out again?"
Sirius nodded his agreement, as did a visibly reluctant Dumbledore.
"Does that mean Potter is now a member of the Order?" Arthur asked.
"No," Harry answered firmly. "You will do whatever it is the Headmaster
requires, and I will follow my own path. Maybe ours will cross in the
future, but I will not formally become a member of the Order."
"Whyever not?" Arthur pressed.
"Because my goal is not to disrupt and impede him and his followers,"
Harry answered. "My job is to put an end to them."
"Why?" Bill questioned. "Why is it your job to put an end to him?"
"Because only I can," Harry answered cryptically before standing. "I do
not know what it is Dumbledore has told you all, but I'm sure he can
confirm that for you."
The members of the Order looked towards their leader who merely
nodded.
"It is Harry that will end this war," he sighed sadly. "I can say no more on
the matter, but I ask that you trust me as many of you have for many
years now."
Most of the gathered members nodded without hesitation, though they
seemed to be rather unsettled by the turn the conversation had taken.
The prospect of killing Death Eaters was not something that had been
discussed amongst them, and with good reason.
Only a few at the table had likely taken a life in their line of work, and
the others had probably not even considered such a thing.
Without another word, Harry left the kitchen and was quickly followed
by Amelia Bones leaving the Order of the Phoenix to discuss the
conversation that had just taken place.
"Are we really relying on him to kill Voldemort?" Tonks questioned the
others. "He's just a bloody kid."
Moody chuckled darkly as he shook his head.
"I've seen some of what the lad is capable of," he declared. "Believe me,
he's got more than enough in him to put the shits up anyone. Don't
underestimate Potter. He's a vicious little bugger that you wouldn't want
to find yourself on the wrong side of. Isn't that right, Albus?"
Dumbledore nodded severely.
"He is an exceptional young man, more so than any of you would
believe," he answered cryptically. "We will need him in the coming years,
and I have no doubt that when he returns to Britain, he will be ready to
face what is necessary for us to win the war."
Many of the members of the Order did not appear to be convinced, but
Sirius had every faith in Harry, even if the thought of knowing what he
had to terrified the man.
Nevertheless, he couldn't be any prouder of his godson.
There were so few who would have the necessary gumption to do what
he would need to, but Harry had not flinched once during the meeting,
and Sirius did not expect his resolve would waver in the future.
Harry was not like any of the others here, and he would need to be
different.
He would need to be willing to take the lives of those that would see him
dead in the blink of an eye, and though there would always be a part of
Sirius that wished Harry would simply stay out of it and live his life far
away from Britain, no one had the right to do so.
Still, that didn't stop him hoping that Harry's assessment of what was to
come was indeed wrong, but deep down, he knew the boy was right.
(Break)
"You made quite the impression in there," the voice of Amelia Bones
sounded from the end of the hallway.
Harry paused as he was about to begin climbing the stairs to the second
floor of Grimmauld Place.
"It wasn't my intention to make an impression. They all just needed to
hear the truth."
"Some won't like the truth."
Harry shrugged.
"Is it better to live in blissful ignorance?"
Bones shook her head as she eyed him speculatively.
"No, but the truth is difficult for most to face."
"And what about you, Madame Bones?"
"I prefer reality to the security of a lie," she replied. "I lost most of my
family to him during the last war, and very nearly fell victim to him
myself only recently. My niece…"
The woman swallowed deeply.
"Is a sweet girl who would not have deserved such a fate," Harry finished.
"I met Susan during my time at Hogwarts. She is a credit to you and your
family."
Amelia nodded.
"Professionally speaking, I should be condemning you for your
intentions."
"But you have lost more than most and understand what needs to be
done," Harry pointed out. "Why else do you think I would be so confident
to declare my intentions in front of the Head of the Department of
Magical Law Enforcement? First and foremost, keeping Susan safe is your
priority, even more so than putting effort in to stopping me when I am
one of the few who will be doing what is necessary."
Bones once more eyed him thoughtfully.
"It was still a risk."
"A minimal one in comparison to what we face," Harry sighed. "When
people start vanishing and attacks are taking place, who will they all look
towards to fix it?"
"You," Amelia answered bluntly. "The same person that put an end to it
before."
"And I will not be able to do that by follow Dumbledore's example,"
Harry returned. "He cannot bring himself to do what is needed. It is like I
said in here, the same mistakes cannot be made, and forgiveness cannot
be an option. Those who carry his mark do so proudly, and too many
were simply let off for their crimes. Each of them have the blood of the
innocent on their hands. I will treat them all exactly as they deserve,
even if that means taking on the might of the Ministry."
Amelia chuckled amusedly.
"If any other was speaking the way you are, I would think them to have
taken leave of their senses, but for some reason, I find it difficult to
disbelieve. I have been around dangerous men most of my life, and I have
an ear for picking out the ones who make empty threats."
"Then you know that my words are truthful."
Bones nodded.
"I do," she agreed. "As much as I wish none of this was happening, I am
not one to choose blissful ignorance. I choose life for Susan, and for those
in our world that are good people. Officially, I can offer little to you,
Potter, but personally, you need only reach out if needed and I will do all
I can to ensure your success."
Harry offered the woman an appreciative bow.
Amelia Bones would be a most useful ally to him.
"Thank you," he replied. "I cannot promise that I will not make a mess,
but war is never cleanly waged. Unfortunately for us, we understand how
much it can destroy lives. This time around, it will be those that deserve
it who will suffer."
"Let us hope so, Potter," Bones sighed as she turned to make her way
towards the front door.
She offered him a final look and nod of encouragement before taking her
leave, and Harry made his way towards the study on the second floor; a
room he would be spending much time in over the next decades of his
life, should he defy the odds and emerge victorious from the impending
conflict.
34. Under the Mark
Under the Mark
For as much as he had enjoyed his summer break for the most part, Harry
could not deny that it had felt different from previous years. Yes, he had
spent his time doing much the same as he normally would; training,
flying, and visiting with those he did not see during school months, but
there was an undeniable added tension and pressure to everything he did.
It was as though there was an oppressive force skirting around the very
edge of his conscious, a shadowy tendril prodding at his very being.
Voldemort.
There was no ignoring that the man was out there, and as much as Harry
wished his presence in the world did not or would not affect him until
necessary, he simply did.
Harry could not push away the knowledge that the man who had killed
his parents was indeed out there, thriving, consolidating his power, and
biding his time before his intended resurgence.
"Come one, Harry," Cassie's voice broke into his thoughts, "it's time to get
on the boat."
The woman, though she would seldom admit it, never became any less
sad when it came to him returning to school.
She would always declare that she could not wait to have the house to
herself, and that she craved peace from Harry's antics but there had never
been any truth to her words.
It had become something of a running joke between the two of them.
Offering her a smile, Harry wrapped his arms around the woman that had
raised him, uncaring of all the onlookers who were here to drop off their
own children.
"Put me down!" Cassie hissed, her cheeks reddening.
Harry did so as he grinned at her.
"If only your enemies could see you now," he sighed teasingly. "The great
Cassiopeia Black, hugged by her teenage nephew."
"Don't think that I am beyond taking a swing at you," Cassie grumbled
before placing a kiss on his cheek. "Go on, away with you, and do be
careful, Harry."
Harry offered her a solemn nod before making his way onto the ship
where he quickly found a cabin for himself, and his friends when they
would arrive.
He wasn't kept waiting long.
Only a few moments after he had settled in, the door opened, and a tired
but seemingly relieved Cain entered and took a seat opposite.
"How're things?" Harry asked.
To ensure the closeness of their friendship was not discovered by anyone
in the pack, the two had agreed to minimal contact over the summer.
It was one of the things that had been playing on Harry's mind, and to
see Cain was quite the relief to him too.
The werewolf shook his head.
"Tense," he sighed. "Greyback is in a foul mood. He killed six others over
the summer for questioning when he would deliver on his promise of a
better life."
"That means he has been told to stay put for the time being," Harry
mused aloud. "I expect it won't be long before he is given the go ahead.
Voldemort is not known for his patience."
Cain nodded as an expression of worry formed.
"Are you sure about this, Harry?" he whispered worriedly. "Could you not
just stay on the continent?"
Harry offered the boy a sad smile.
"You know I can't do that. My whole life has led to what is coming. If I
don't kill him, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. After what he did to
me, it can't be any other way."
"What can't be any other way?" Lucinda questioned as she entered with
the others.
"Nothing," Harry replied quickly.
He and Cain shared a look of understanding, one that was not missed by
the vampire.
"You two have been acting weird since you came back from the
Christmas break," she pointed out. "What is going on?"
Cain looked at Harry almost pleadingly.
"You can't keep it from them forever," he murmured.
"Keep what from us?" Eleanor demanded.
It was not often that she was assertive with the others.
For the most part, she took everything in her stride and never pushed any
to talk of things that made them uncomfortable.
"Voldemort," Harry huffed. "He's back."
The revelation was met by a moment of silence before Lucinda scoffed.
"Back? He died the night he tried to kill you. Didn't he?"
Harry shook his head.
"No, he didn't. He wasn't in a good way for some time, but he's back. He
broke his followers out of prison, and he's preparing to pick up where he
left off."
"So, he will be coming after you?" Ana deduced quickly.
Harry shrugged.
"Probably," he acknowledged, "but I will be hunting him and his
followers too. All of them."
"Wait, so you're going to go looking for the man that murdered your
parents?" Eleanor questioned.
"Of course he is," Jonas spoke up. "I'd do the same if I was in his
position."
Eleanor frowned disapprovingly at the boy.
"Harry's not as idiotic as you," she muttered irritably. "I've read about
what he did. If even half of it is true, Harry…"
She stopped speaking as Harry's nostrils flared.
"I know exactly what he is capable of!" he snapped. "I remember exactly
what he did to my parents, and everyone else he decided to kill. I know
exactly what I am getting myself into."
Eleanor shook her head as she looked towards the others for support.
"What if you die too?" Ana pressed.
"Maybe I will," Harry sighed. "I accepted long ago that could happen."
Silence fell once more for several moments.
"What about us?" Eleanor asked. "Do you not think we would care if
anything happened to you."
Harry released a deep breath.
"It's not as simple as just saying I won't go after him," he murmured. "Not
only do I want to, but I have to. I will never be able to live my life until I
take his from him."
"But you're better than that!" Ana interjected once more.
Harry shook his head.
"No, I'm not," he disagreed. "I have been preparing for this for as long as I
can remember. He will destroy Britain if no one stops him, and it has to
be me for several reasons. It's not just about what he did to my parents.
You acknowledged yourself that he will come looking for me. I choose to
be the hunter rather than the prey."
None of the girls seemed happy with his explanation.
"And what does he have to do with it?" Lucinda asked, nodding towards
Cain.
"My pack supported him during the last war," Cain explained. "Greyback
has already been asking me about Harry."
"What did you tell him?"
"Nothing!" Cain denied hotly. "I would never sell Harry out."
Lucinda nodded approvingly before her gaze shifted towards Harry.
"So, he has the support of the werewolves?"
"And Dementors, and who knows what bloody else," Harry chuckled
humourlessly. "He had giants last time."
Lucinda shook her head.
"I don't suppose anything anyone will say will change your mind?"
"No," Harry said firmly. "By the time I am done with school, it will
probably be time for me to go home and face whatever mess the country
is in."
Again, none looked pleased by his intentions, but they did not comment
further on the matter.
Lucinda simply took a seat next to him, took his hand on her own and
gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"Idiot," she muttered sadly.
"You wouldn't have me any other way," Harry snorted.
"I'd rather have you alive."
Harry opened his mouth to offer a witty, flirty response, but paused as he
remembered the conversation he'd shared with Sirius during the summer.
His godfather had sought him out after the meeting of The Order of the
Phoenix, evidently at the behest of Cassiopeia.
Having explained his rather downtrodden mood after he and Alessia had
parted ways, Sirius had some rather useful, sage advice for him.
'Well, you could always do what I did to get over breaking up with a girl,'
Sirius suggested. 'Instead of dealing with the heartache, I would move on to
the next one to forget about the other.'
'Did that work?'
'I thought it did, but you only ever end up in a vicious circle of starting
something new as something ends, and you just end up avoiding your feelings.'
Harry nodded his understanding.
'Or?'
'Or you handle it the correct way,' Sirius had offered with a shrug. 'You wait
until you have processed your feelings and are ready to move on.'
'The correct course of action,' Remus had interjected.
Although it had been a topic he would not have chosen to discuss with
any, Harry was grateful for his godfather's intervention.
He had been stuck in a rut over the summer months and opening up to
Sirius had helped him more than he would have thought possible.
Instead of following in the man's rather poor example of simply moving
on, Harry had decided to take a break from dating, and it was this that
had curbed his tongue when readying a reply to Lucinda.
Choosing not to offer the rebuttal, he simply fell silent for a moment
whilst the girl looked at him expectantly.
When she realised nothing was forthcoming, she frowned questioningly,
but Harry did not know what to say.
This was Lucinda.
They had always flirted in their own way, but now, he just didn't much
feel like it.
"I can't believe we only have two years left at Durmstrang," Harry offered
lamely.
"I know," Cain sighed. "At least we don't have to worry about Arse-kiss
anymore though."
Harry nodded his agreement.
Without the older boy at the school, things would certainly be different,
and if truth be told, he was looking forward to returning to school, if only
to use it as an escape from the fate that awaited him on the outside.
(Break)
The Dark Lord observed those around, scrutinising each member of his
inner circle as he assessed their readiness for what was to come. The time
to act was now. It had been almost a year that he had been returned to a
body he could call his own, and there was no longer any reason to be so
cautious.
He had made overtures to those he had once considered his allies, and all
had returned to the fold as expected.
Currently, Macnair was escorting a contingent of giants to Britain, the
Dementors and Greyback were simply awaiting further instructions from
him.
All that remined was for his campaign to begin, and then he would be
ready to recruit more to his cause.
Yes, he had been idle long enough, but that would no longer be the case.
"Bella," he spoke in little more than a whisper. "You shall be granted your
wish. You are to take the others and lead them as you once did. Do my
bidding and remind those beneath us why we should be feared."
The woman's expression brightened immediately, the beaming smile of
gratitude she offered promising nothing but misery for her victims.
The others followed suit, offering words of gratitude for the task they had
been given.
They were ready.
In the months that had passed since they had been freed, they had grown
stronger.
His Death Eaters were no longer emaciated, tired, and physically broken.
No, they were strong and ready to serve their purpose as they had so
many years prior, and evidently eager to do so.
"Of course, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered excitedly.
Voldemort offered her an anticipatory smile.
He had always looked forward to whatever Bellatrix could produce on
the raids she led, and she never failed to provide a detailed account of
those that had pleaded for mercy at the tip of her wand.
"Lucius," the Dark Lord continued, addressing the more reserved blond.
"Your work is to continue, but I wish for you to begin making strides in
bringing our more prominent foes to heel. Allow Bellatrix some time to
re-establish our reputation for those that may have foolishly forgotten,
and then remind those that would resist us why they should not."
"I will, My Lord," Lucius assured him. "May I ask something, My Lord?"
Voldemort nodded.
"Might I enquire to as to the whereabouts of Barty?" he pressed gently.
"He has not been seen amongst us since the others were liberated."
"Barty is exactly where I wish for him to be," the Dark Lord answered
cryptically. "More information will be provided when it is necessary.
Worry not, Lucius, I have not forgotten him."
Lucius did not appear to be appeased b the explanation, but he knew
better than to push further than he already had.
"Yes, My Lord," the man replied with a bow.
"If there are no other questions, you will proceed with your tasks,"
Voldemort instructed. "Do not let me down," he added firmly. "You are to
take no foolish risks that will result in your capture. Am I clear?"
"Yes, My Lord," the Death Eaters echoed, and Voldemort dismissed them
with a wave.
Once they had taken their leave of the room, his thoughts turned to the
very person that Lucius had mentioned.
Barty had not remained in contact with any consistency.
Azkaban had undoubtedly left its mark on him as it had with the others,
and though the Dark Lord was not overly concerned by his silence, Barty
should have kept him informed of his findings and progress.
Voldemort frowned to himself as he sent a summons to the man.
He understood that Barty's position was somewhat delicate, but there was
no excuse for his lack of contact.
The Dark Lord wanted results, and with the rest of his Death Eaters about
to be unleashed upon the world, he wanted progress on all fronts.
Having summoned his wayward follower, he took a seat behind the desk
that he did not intend to occupy for much longer.
He had returned to Albania shortly after releasing his followers from
Azkaban, but it was not here he needed to be.
No, he would be needed at home where he could begin cementing his
legacy and elevating himself to the position he longed for.
He had not been born into privilege like Lucius and the others, but the
blood that flowed through his veins was of a much richer stock, of the
greatest magical family that had existed in Britain.
The Slytherin line may have fallen from grace through generations of
squandering wealth and refusing to expand the bloodline, but it had led
to him being born.
The Dark Lord may not be pure of blood, but the noble blood he
possessed was stronger than any other and deserving to be held in the
highest esteem, and to achieve that, he needed the world to remember
just why Salazar Slytherin was considered one of the greatest wizards to
have ever lived.
Lord Voldemort, however, would be better.
In the generations to come, it would not be Slytherin himself the people
spoke of.
No, the name that crossed their lips would be Lord Voldemort, the last
remaining Slytherin who brought about a resurgence for the ages, who
restored the traditions that had been lost to time as those who were
inferior had been allowed to run roughshod and unchecked.
As things were, it would take only a few braver mudbloods to realise that
they were the ones who truly held the power in magical Britain, that if
they chose to, they could subvert control to themselves.
That could not be allowed.
The Dark Lord was pulled from his thoughts as the door opened, and a
rather tired Barty Crouch entered.
"Ah, Barty," he greeted the man. "What news do you have to share?"
Barty did frown frustratedly.
"Very little of use, My Lord," he huffed, "but I have a plan to change that."
Voldemort released a deep breath.
"You have been at your post for months," he pointed out.
"I know, My Lord, but it has not been as easy as you would think," Barty
explained. "Without cooperation, it is much more difficult, and I cannot
force it."
Voldemort nodded his understanding.
"Then tell me of your plan," he instructed.
Barty grinned as he did so, and the more he spoke, the more the Dark
Lord found himself agreeing with the idea.
(Break)
He had missed this.
Duelling at Durmstrang had always presented an escape from anything
that was plaguing his mind and worked equally well for Harry to
experiment with different types of magic and see how he would fare
using them in combat situations.
However, despite having been looking forward to partaking once more,
the calibre of opponents on offer had certainly dwindled over the years.
Even facing off with three seventh year students at the same time had not
presented enough of a challenge to push him to even break a sweat.
If for no other reason, he would miss Alessia for her ability here.
Even though she had never managed to best him, she had always proven
to be tough competition.
"Why do you not try your luck against one of the Professors?" Novak
suggested from the side-lines.
"I believe that is an excellent idea," Karkaroff declared curiously.
"Professor Sidorova, would you do the honours?"
The Veela nodded, a bright smile cresting her lips as she stepped onto the
duelling platform and drew her wand.
Harry looked towards his friends who, like the other gathered students,
were whispering excitedly amongst themselves.
"There is no need to hold back, Potter," Sidorova called. "I can assure you
I am well-versed in the art of duelling."
Suddenly, Harry felt the pressure of the moment settle on his shoulders.
He had never tested himself against any of the Professors of the school.
They simply came here to supervise the students, but evidently, the
Charms professor was willing to break that tradition.
In his duels with Cassie, Harry managed to hold his own for the most
part, but the woman was crafty and the magic she wielded as dangerous
as any he would likely ever face.
He did not know how he would fare against Professor Sidorova, but the
thought of pushing himself with a new, much more advanced opponent
was as exciting as it was nerve-wracking.
There would be no room for error, and as Professor Karkaroff stepped
between them to begin the impromptu contest, the nerves faded and
Harry focused only on the task at hand.
"BEGIN!"
Most opponents he faced would usually attempt to overwhelm him from
the very start, hoping to seize an early advantage, but Sidorova did not
take this approach.
Instead, she waited, studying his stance, her gaze shifting between his
wand and any movement he made.
She was being much more calculated and was seemingly confident in her
ability to last long enough to figure out his approach.
With a shrug, Harry engaged her, probing her defences with a few minor
curses and jinxes to see how she would react.
Her defensive technique proved to be flawless, and she flicked the spells
aside as though they were little more than an inconvenience to her.
Nodding to himself, Harry knew he was about to endure perhaps one of
the toughest duels of his life.
Having dealt with his offering, Sidorova took it upon herself to return the
favour, and it was Harry's turn to be on the defensive as she fired a
plethora of speels towards him, much quicker than he had been
anticipating.
Nonetheless, he nullified them before any could pass his stance and he
offered the woman an appreciative nod.
She certainly knew a thing or two about magical combat.
Once more, it was Sidorova who pressed the action, sending forth a few
tricky charms and hexes to test Harry's ability to overcome adversity
when faced with different types of spells.
Judging by the smile it elicited from the woman, she was impressed with
how he had done so, his wand having been used to sweep them aside or
absorb them into a hastily conjured shield.
Sidorova, Harry was quickly beginning to realise, was merely beginning
to find her flow. Something that only became more apparent as she
upped the pace, increasing the speed in which she cast her spells and
managed to avoid falling victim to the returning myriad of curses and
transfiguration Harry had employed.
She was indeed well-versed in the art of duelling, and as Harry began
matching her pace, he knew he had quite the duel on his hands as both
were only still very much in the feeling out stage of the contest.
Nodding to himself, Harry decided it was his turn to truly test the
woman, and with an emphatic flick of his wand, one of the spells he had
learned courtesy of Dumbledore careened towards the Charms professor.
Her eyes widened as the canon blast reverberated off the walls, and she
shrouded herself in a golden flame to negate the effects, though she was
sent several feet back by the force of the spell.
Fortunately for Sidorova, she managed to prevent herself falling from the
platform, but her eyes narrowed challengingly as she retook her position
and began twirling her wand between her fingers.
With a sudden jabbing motion, she launched a purple ball of fire towards
Harry, manipulating it whilst it was airborne so that it curved outwards
and wrapped around him, hiding his opponent from view as the
temperature increased dramatically.
It was a sweating Harry that dropped to the floor in the nick of time to
avoid the follow up spells sent his way, and with some quick work of his
own, he incorporated his own magic into the flames before banishing
them back towards Sidorova.
A loud explosion rent the air as she diverted it into the platform between
them, sending large pieces of wood and debris in all directions.
The woman acknowledged Harry's effort with a nod, but she was no
longer smiling and she did not remain idle.
With a wave of her wand, she conjured a trio of eagles that dived
towards Harry whilst she busied herself with her next spell.
Harry immediately recognised the birds for the distraction they were, and
a powerful gust of wind knocked them off course, leaving him enough
time to defend himself against the first of several balls of fire sent his
way.
Sidorova was rather adept with the element.
She was a creature of air and fire and though Harry managed to avoid
being severely burned by the flames, they became ever-increasingly
difficult to banish or shield from and he could smell his robes beginning
to burn with how close each one came.
Sidorova only increased the frequency with which she conjured them,
sensing that a breakthrough of Harry's defences was imminent, but as
ever when he found himself under pressure, the teen fought back.
Stepping out of the path of one of the fireballs, he cut deeply into his
own palm until the blood flowed freely and he snatched the next
projectile out of the air.
The blood mixing with the fire caused a loud hiss, and Harry grit his
teeth as he fought to take control of the magic, throwing the now green
ball of flame back towards Sidorova when he did so.
Those within the room gasped as it took the form of a phoenix, and it
was only a plume of her own fire that prevented the professor from being
horribly burned by it.
The phoenix exploded in a shower of sparks, the effort to defend herself
from Harry's creation leaving the veela rather breathless.
Still, she remained undeterred, her golden eyes narrowed with
determination as her face began to elongate and a large pair of wings
spread from her back.
Harry had never seen a veela transformation, and as the professor took to
the air and hovered above the smouldering platform, he found himself
rather impressed.
It was intimidating to say the least, and he felt her glare bore into him as
though he was little more than a meal for her to devour.
Harry, however, was no mere rat, nor anything else any bird would feast
on.
Nodding to himself, he already knew what he needed to do.
Sidorova was of air and fire, but even the hardiest of avian fled from a
storm.
Whipping his wand in an upward motion, he sent a trio of concussion
hexes towards the woman in a bid to buy himself enough time.
With the professor suitably distracted, he focused on the magic he had
been working tirelessly on to master, and when he felt the power
building within his palm, he blew into it and unleashed his own element
upon the room.
The dark cloud that formed crackled and rumbled in a mix of thunder
and lightning, and the pouring rain soaked everything within the room.
For the first time, an expression of concern became apparent across the
avian features of the professor, but she remained undeterred.
Creating another ball of molten fire, she hurled it towards Harry, but he
had been prepared for such a reaction.
With a flick of his wand, he sent it into the cloud, and the thunder and
lightning increased in intensity, the wind of the storm forcing Sidorova to
flap her wings harder to avoid being blown away.
Now, Harry knew he had her where he wanted her, and with a sweeping
motion of his wand, he began to manipulate the storm he had created.
With a loud screech, the cloud shifted, coalescing into the shape of the
creature that Harry had woken up to in the Chamber of Secrets and the
thunderbird swooped towards the shocked Charms professor.
To her credit, she did not balk nor hesitate to fight back, and Harry could
only look on with the other spectators as the woman was engulfed in fire
and she engaged the shadowy cloud, the two of them wrestling in mid-
air.
Lightning crackled, and thunder sounded as the airborne battle
commenced, and much to Harry's surprise, Sidorova seemed to get the
upper hand, shoving the cloud backwards before it too burst into flames.
The woman eyed warring elements cautiously as the burning mass
hovered between her and Harry, neither seemingly knowing what to do
in the moment.
The magics at play were volatile, as proven only a moment later when
both combatants found themselves sent sprawling, landing painfully on
what remained of the platform as the combination of elements exploded.
Harry had been winded, and he groaned as he fought to inhale air into
his lungs.
When he did manage to sit up a moment or so later, it was to find
Professor Sidorova in a similar state, though she had reverted back to her
human form.
"Draw?" Harry wheezed.
Despite her own difficulty in breathing, the woman smiled as she nodded
and Harry returned the gesture.
It was perhaps the most difficult duel he had ever contested, and
although he found himself aching and sore in more places than he could
count, he had enjoyed the experience immensely.
The sound of clapping broke into his thoughts, and for the first time since
he and Sidorova had engaged one another, he looked around the room to
see a sodden gathering of students and professors alike showing their
shocked appreciation for what they had witnessed.
"A damned good show," Karkaroff declared as he shook his head. "I think
you should both head to the Medical Bay, don't you? I don't think the
room is in any fit state for any more duels this evening."
The students laughed and Harry managed to push himself to his feet and
navigate his way out of the sheer destruction he and the Charms
professor had wrought over the past moments.
"Are you alright?" Cain questioned as he reached his rather subdued
friends.
Harry nodded.
"A few broken bones and burns," he grimaced, "but nothing too
damaging."
Cain snorted as he took on some of Harry's weight, wrapping an arm
around his shoulders.
"That was brilliant," the werewolf declared as the group left the duelling
room.
"It was," Ana agreed, "and you almost won."
Harry chuckled, wincing as a sharp pain lanced through his ribs.
"I'm happy with the draw," he murmured sincerely. "It just goes to show
that there are levels to this."
"But you held your own," Jonas pointed out.
"I did," Harry agreed, "but I have to be better."
"Could you have done better?" Cain questioned curiously.
Harry frowned before he nodded.
"I could have," he decided, "but I did not want to hurt or kill her, and she
wouldn't have wanted the same for me. It was a good duel."
"Well, I certainly won't be messing with either of you," Cain replied with
a grin.
"Nor me," Jonas laughed.
Harry could only grunt in response as they continued on their way
towards the Medical Bay.
He was in pain that was only becoming worse with each passing moment,
and despite how much he had enjoyed the duel, he wanted nothing more
now than to be healed, and have a comfortable bed to rest in so that he
could recover from the injuries he had sustained.
(Break)
She all but skipped down the secluded street in the West Country city
they had arrived in only a few moments prior, listening to the symphony
of screams and agonised pleading from the muggles she had set the other
Death Eaters upon.
After so long having been locked away in Azkaban, it truly was music to
her ears.
Bellatrix knew that the day would come that her master would free her,
that she would stand at her rightful place by his side once more.
It was that thought alone that helped her cling to her clarity during her
years in cold and miserable solitude, and now, she was serving him
again, reminding the filth of their place in the world.
"Crucio!" she screeched gleefully, levelling her wand at a man trying to
flee from one of her cohorts.
The muggle collapsed to the ground, his own screams adding to the
others already filling the air.
Bellatrix held him under the curse until the screaming stopped and he
was nothing more than a dribbling, unmoving heap upon the ground.
She shivered at the thrill it elicited within her, and her eyes scanned the
area for her next victim.
"Oh, no you don't," she giggled, felling another with a tripping jinx before
subjecting the woman to the same treatment as the man, cackling
gleefully at the look of confusion and terror etched into her fingers.
Bellatrix pouted as her latest victim fell limp.
She had offered almost no resistance and hadn't even had the decency to
beg for her wretched life.
No matter.
There were many others just waiting for her ministrations.
"Bella!" the voice of Rodolphus called. "This one is a witch."
Bellatrix quirked an eyebrow at the fool and the little girl he had seized
by the hair, and she smiled as the girl kicked him in the groin.
Rodolphus doubled over in pain, and Bellatrix took no small amount of
glee in it.
Her husband, though he had his uses at times, was pathetic compared to
their master.
All men were when measured against the Dark Lord.
Bellatrix rolled her eyes as the little girl ran, only making it a dozen or so
feet before she tripped over her nightdress.
She didn't even bother to attempt to get back up and simply remained on
the floor, trembling and cowering in fear.
"You will leave her!" Bellatrix snapped as Rodolphus approached her.
Her husband scowled in response but knew better than to argue with her.
With little more than a grunt, he wandered off to find another victim and
Bellatrix crouched down next to the girl.
"What is your name?" she asked gently.
"C-Celestine," the girl stammered.
Bellatrix offered the girl a bright smile as she cupped her cheek.
"Oh, my poor child," she cooed. "You found yourself in the wrong place at
the wrong time, didn't you?"
Celestine nodded, her lower lip trembling in fear as tears spilled down
her cheek.
"Don't worry," Bellatrix sighed as she wiped them away with her thumb.
"It will all be over soon enough. Would you like to see something really
special?"
Celestine said nothing.
"Of course you do," Bella chuckled, paying no mind to the lack of answer
from the girl. "Look up towards the sky."
Reluctantly, Celestine did so.
"Morsmordre!"
In only a matter of seconds, the Dark Mark shone brightly above them,
the green light of the spell illuminating the street below.
"I told you it was special, didn't I?" Bellatrix whispered reverently as she
pointed her wand at the girl. "It is quite the honour that it will be the last
thing that you see, but just for you, I will make this painless. It will be
like falling asleep."
Before the girl could protest, Bellatrix placed a hand over her mouth and
shushed her, a grin tugging at her own lips.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The little witch, Celestine, fell limp immediately, her still open eyes
devoid of any life, and Bella nodded satisfactorily to herself as she simply
stood and continued skipping down the street already seeking out her
next victim under the light of the Dark Mark that hung prominently
above her.
(Break)
It was feeling of someone's weight settling on the end of his bed that
woke Harry from his slumber, and as he opened his eyes, it was to be
greeted by the sight of the Charms professor he had duelled only hours
before.
Sidorova's hair had not ben styled, and she wore a hospital gown with
one of her arms having been strapped tightly to her chest.
Several minor cuts and bruises littered the skin Harry could see, but the
woman was smiling, nonetheless.
"How are you, Potter?" she asked.
Harry stretched before shrugging once he had sat up.
"I feel fine," he answered the woman.
She frowned curiously, her gaze roaming over him as she seemingly
looked for any lingering injuries and she shook her head.
"You can't be fine already," she sighed.
"I heal quickly," Harry returned, moving his own arms to demonstrate
nothing was hindering his movement.
"You had a broken arm," Sidorova reminded him, "and several cuts,
bruises, and a partially collapsed lung. You couldn't have healed so
quickly, even with magic."
"Well, I did," Harry chuckled, thanking whatever healing ability had been
gifted to him by Fawkes during the unwitting ritual he had completed in
the Chamber of Secrets.
"That is rather…astounding," Sidorova replied curiously. "Anyway, I
wished to apologise to you for my conduct. We veela are prideful
creatures, and I took the duel too far."
Harry shook his head as he chuckled.
"That was the most competitive and enjoyable duel I have had other than
with my Aunt," he explained. "There is nothing to apologise for. It is good
to be pushed."
"It is," Sidorova agreed, "but not too much too soon. I must say, I am
exceedingly impressed with you. From the moment you arrived here you
have dedicated yourself to your studies. Even Professor Karkaroff often
praises your efforts, and the results speak for themselves."
Harry offered the woman an appreciative nod, shooting his friends a
questioning look as they entered the Medical Bay, each of them sporting
a rather grim expression.
"Your paper arrived," Cain informed him, handing over the copy of The
Daily Prophet he had brought.
Harry frowned as he accepted it, his stomach filling with dread at the
image below the bold headline.
Thirty-One Found Dead Under the Dark Mark!
By Rita Skeeter
Harry swallowed deeply as he read the article, his anger and frustration
only growing as he did so.
Minister Fudge has vowed to double his efforts to find Sirius Black whom he
believes is leading the escaped Death Eaters.
'It is clear that Black is responsible for this,' the Minister declared. 'Rest
assured, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will not rest until Black
and the rest of the Death Eaters are back in Azkaban where they belong! I
urge the public to be vigilant, and under no circumstances are any of these
individuals to be approached. Any sightings should be reported immediately to
the Auror Department.'
Harry's grip around the newspaper tightened as he digested just how
much of a fool Fudge was proving to be.
Once more, it was clear that Malfoy was pulling the Minister's strings,
and so long as he did so, the man would choose to remain woefully
ignorant of what was unfolding around him.
"Harry?" Lucinda pressed gently.
Harry said nothing.
The cold fury he felt threatened to spill over, and as had become
customary when his anger began to get the better of him, bolts of
lightning began to crackle at his fingertips.
The newspaper smouldered within his grip, crumbling to ash as he
continued to stare at where it had been long after it had disintegrated.
Already he knew he had quite the monumental task ahead of him, but
with men like Fudge in control, it would only make things harder.
It was less than a year now that he could claim his seats on the
Wizengamot, but between now and then, anything could happen and
Harry did not hold out much hope that this would be the last Britain
would hear from the Death Eaters.
They had finally struck a blow, and there was no doubt in Harry's mind
that it was merely the first of many.
35. Tidings
Tidings
The Dark Lord's gaze swept over his gathered followers; their numbers
having swelled over the past weeks with the recruitment effort that had
been made. Soon enough, there would not a gathered force that could
hope to withstand them; not the aurors and certainly not Dumbledore's
pathetic group, despite their best attempts over the intervening weeks
since he had unleashed his Death Eaters upon Britain.
All around, Voldemort was pleased with the progress he had seen.
Raids had been conducted and were increasing in frequency under Bella's
leadership, and as ever, Lucius was continuing with his own, unseen
work, ensuring that the Minister continued to remain ignorant of what
was truly happening.
Using Black as a scapegoat had been quite the stroke of genius, and the
Dark Lord would continue to do so until it was no longer a viable option.
"You are all dismissed," Voldemort declared. "Not you, Lucius. Augustus,
you will also stay."
Bellatrix shot the duo a look of envy before departing.
She did not like any other having his attention.
"My Lord?" Lucius questioned curiously when the room had emptied.
"How are you progressing with the other Lords and Ladies?"
"Most seem to understand what is happening," Lucius answered, "and I
have made it quite clear to those that would resist that they should not.
Your return is now the worst kept secret in the Wizengamot, but none are
brave enough to discuss it publicly."
Voldemort nodded satisfactorily.
"Good," he murmured. "Perhaps you should make an example of one or
two of them to ensure they remain unvocal."
"Of course, My Lord," Lucius complied with a bow. "Do you have any
preference?"
The Dark Lord leaned back in his chair and scratched his hairless chin
thoughtfully.
"I will leave that to your discretion," he decided. "I want it to make a
statement, but I do not wish to draw too much attention to us yet. We
must continue to break them first before we eliminate anyone of true
prominence."
Lucius nodded his understanding.
"I will not let you down, My Lord."
"See that you don't, Lucius," Voldemort warned, "and rein your son in. I
am receiving reports of his conduct and he is drawing unwanted
attention to himself. He acts as though I have accepted him among us
and that I will do his bidding for him if he makes an enemy he cannot
measure up to. Fix it, Lucius, or I will."
Lucius swallowed deeply as he bowed.
"I will, My Lord. At once."
"Good," Voldemort declared. "Leave us."
Without preamble, the blond hurried from the room and the Dark Lord
flared his nostrils in irritation.
Severus had raised the issue of Draco.
The boy had become belligerent, and somehow more cocksure of himself
than his father.
With a shake of his head, Voldemort turned his attention to the waiting
Augustus Rookwood.
The man was amongst his most valued Death Eaters.
Augustus had been gifted enough to be offered employment in the
Department of Mysteries upon graduating from Hogwarts.
He truly was an exceptional talent, but it was not his many gifts the Dark
Lord wished to put to use or discuss with the man.
"I require information regarding your former place of employment,"
Voldemort requested.
"The Department of Mysteries?" Rookwood sighed. "What is it you wish to
know, My Lord?"
Voldemort eyed the man curiously.
"Our conversation is to go no further until it is necessary," he said firmly.
"I wish to know about the room that contains prophecies."
Rookwood could not hide his surprise at the revelation, and the man
nodded to himself thoughtfully.
"It is deep within the department," he explained. "As I am sure you are
aware, My Lord, it contains all of the recorded prophecies dating back
centuries, both fulfilled and unfulfilled alike."
"And what are the security measures in place?"
"It may have changed in my absence," Rookwood pointed out. "It has
been fifteen years since I was last there."
"Is it likely they have changed?"
Rookwood shook his head.
"No, My Lord," he murmured. "Accessing the room is not difficult, and
even when you enter, you can roam quite freely. The security is around
the prophecy orbs, each one individually protected so that they cannot be
tampered with."
The Dark Lord gestured for the man to continue.
"We Were explicitly instructed not to attempt to remove any from the
shelves," Augustus explained. "Only the people that the prophecy refers to
can do so, as can the seer that spoke it, and the individual that heard it."
"And if any other was to attempt it, what would happen?"
Augustus released a deep breath.
"I cannot be certain, My Lord, but I would expect the repercussions to be
quite dire. The department is very protective of the prophecies. It is a
branch of magic they wish to get a better understanding of."
Voldemort nodded his understanding.
"Do you believe in them?" he asked curiously.
Augustus frowned for a moment before nodding.
"I am a logical man by nature, but I have seen things in the department
that defy logic," he mused aloud. "I wouldn't say I am a strong believer of
traditional Divination, but there is magic in the spoken word. If magic
can grant us the wondrous things it does, is it so farfetched to believe
that it can guide us towards a point of destiny?"
"My thoughts exactly," the Dark Lord replied. "Thank you, Augustus. You
have given me much to consider."
"Do you wish for me to see if I can still access the hall, My Lord?"
Voldemort considered the offer for a moment.
"I do," he confirmed.
It would not do well to not have an insight into the workings of the
department, and Augustus was his most able follower for the task.
"Then it shall be done as quickly as I can manage without being
detected," Rookwood declared as he stood.
"Thank you, Augustus, and do tell Wormtail that I wish to see him next,"
Voldemort instructed. "He has skulked around at my feet for long enough.
It is time that he puts what limited ability he has to use."
"Of course, My Lord."
With that, Augustus took his leave of the room, and the Dark Lord
absentmindedly ran his fingers across the top of Nagini's head whilst he
waited for the rat to answer his summons.
(Break)
"You're going to Britain, aren't you?" Cain asked as Harry pocketed his
shrunken trunk.
Barely a week had passed since the first attack had taken place that
another hadn't followed. The death toll of the muggles caught up in a war
they didn't even know existed only growing with the attacks.
Harry felt useless here, and though Sirius and Cassie had both written to
him numerous times assuring him the Order was doing all they could to
prevent them, it simply wasn't enough.
Voldemort was having all the success he could hope for, and still the
Ministry were seemingly doing nothing about it.
Fudge offered platitudes to the public, often declared his intention to find
Sirius and put an end to the attacks, but the fool was looking in the
wrong place despite the truth being right in front of him.
"I am," Harry confirmed. "I need to see it for myself."
Cain deflated as he shook his head.
"Do you think it is a good idea?" he pressed. "They will be looking out for
you, won't they?"
"Probably," Harry snorted, "but even if I am seen, Voldemort will have to
come and get me himself. When he does, everyone will know he is back."
"I don't think he would be that stupid, Harry," Cain sighed. "Everything is
going well for him with everyone thinking Sirius is behind what the
Death Eaters are doing. Why would he risk exposing himself, even if it
was for the chance to get to you?"
He made a good point, but Harry would not be deterred.
"Then I have nothing to worry about, do I?" he returned stubbornly.
Cain muttered incoherently under his breath.
"It's not like you're going to listen to me, or anyone," he huffed irritably.
"Just be careful. I don't want to see your name plastered across the
headlines announcing your death."
Harry offered the boy an appreciative smile.
"I will be," he promised. "I just have to see it for myself. I need to know
what I will be getting myself into."
"War," Cain chuckled humourlessly. "You'll be getting yourself into a
war."
"Something I've been preparing for all my life," Harry reminded him.
"You might not like it, but that is the hand I have been dealt. Eventually,
Tom and I will meet, and it will be the end for one of us."
Cain chose to ignore the last part of the statement.
He had attempted to get an explanation from Harry several times of why
he was so sure it would culminate in a fight between the two of them.
"I still don't get how the purebloods allow themselves to be led by a half-
blood," he grumbled.
"Because they either don't know his origins, or they don't care," Harry
replied with a shrug. "He is a powerful wizard that they can follow to
their own ends. They will choose to remain ignorant so long as it serves
them."
"Just like your Ministry," Cain snorted.
Harry nodded his agreement.
"It seems that ignorance works for most," he sighed, "but not for me.
There is no ignoring what is to come, and if I have to put an end to it
myself, then so be it."
Cain said nothing else on the matter but offered Harry a firm clap on the
shoulder.
"You'll win," he said confidently before taking his leave of the dormitory,
followed by Harry.
The rest of the group were waiting for them in the Common Room, each
of them having packed to return home for the Christmas holidays.
The mood amongst them had been sombre since news of the first attack
had been published in The Daily Prophet. To them, the war in Britain was
a world away and something none of them had been affected by.
Harry believed they found it difficult to understand why he was so
invested in it other than what had happened to his parents when he had
been a baby, but it went far beyond the murders of James and Lily
Potter.
Harry simply did not know how to explain it to them in a way they
would understand.
Ana was the first to approach him, wrapping her arms tightly around his
waist and resting her head on his chest.
"Don't do anything stupid," she pleaded.
Evidently, it was no secret that he would be going to Britain for the
holidays. Something his friends had subsequently been discussing.
"I'm not planning to," Harry replied.
He wasn't, but he could not deny the possibility that trouble might just
find him when he was there.
Ana offered him a smile and Jonas punched him on the shoulder.
"That's for just being you," he snorted, offering him a grin.
Harry frowned at the boy, but he was pleased to at least see him smile. It
had become a rare sight to see it from any of his friends.
Lucinda merely offered him a sad smile.
With Harry's mood having become rather less jovial in recent weeks, she
had been the one to struggle with it most and the dynamic between them
had shifted.
It was not something that Harry had intended, and he found that he
missed the back and forth the two of them often shared.
There was no longer any flirting between them, nor the impromptu
wrestling matches where she would quickly put him in his place. It was
as though she was distancing himself from him, and Harry did not like it,
though he knew it was his own demeanour that was the cause.
With a shake of his head, he pulled her into a tight embrace and the girl
hesitated for only a brief second before melting into it.
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered.
Lucinda hummed and narrowed her eyes at him as they broke apart.
"Sorry might not be enough this time," she said airily. "If you want my
forgiveness, you have to work for it," she added, prodding him smartly in
the chest.
Harry snorted amusedly.
"Yes, Princess," he sighed.
Lucinda scowled at him, but the ghost of a smirk tugged at her lips as she
nodded.
"That's better," she declared. "Don't get yourself killed. We already know
you can't be trusted to not do something idiotic. Just be careful," she
finished worriedly.
"I will be," Harry promised. "Come on, if we hang round here any longer
we will miss Christmas completely."
It was almost as though none of them wished for him to be out of their
sight as they followed him out of the Common Room and for the duration
of the short walk to the courtyard where their parents were waiting for
them.
As ever, Cassiopeia was standing to one side, away from the others.
She had never made any attempt to engage them in conversation. Her
reputation from the war and who she had supported was well
documented, after all.
"My Grandmother is here!" Eleanor whispered excitedly. "You have to
meet her!"
Before Harry could even spot the Summerbee family, he was being all but
dragged towards them by the girl and he soon found himself standing
before her familiar mother and father, whom he had met previously, but
also another, older woman he had yet to make the acquaintance of.
"Grandmother!" Eleanor gushed as she threw herself into the elderly
woman's arm.
"Look at you," the woman wheezed, barely able to breathe due to how
tight she was being held. "All grown up. You look just like me when I was
your age. Now, who is your…"
She broke off as her gaze shifted towards Harry, her mouth falling agape
as she stared at him dumbly.
"Grandmother?" Eleanor questioned worriedly as the woman stepped
towards Harry.
"It can't be," she whispered. "The resemblance is uncanny."
Harry was confused and thought perhaps the woman was having an
episode of sorts but he did not flinch as she cupped his cheek with a
wrinkled, trembling hand, looking at him almost longingly.
"I'm sorry, I think you are mistaking me for someone else," he said gently.
The woman nodded as her look of wonder faded.
"I am," she said sadly.
"Who do I remind you of?" Harry asked curiously.
"Just a man I knew a lifetime ago now."
"What happened to him?"
The woman shrugged.
"I don't know. I suppose it will always be a mystery as to what happened
to Harry Evans."
"Harry Evans?"
"Is the name familiar?"
Harry shook his head.
"No, but my mother's maiden name was Evans. She married my father,
James Potter."
"Is that so?" the woman questioned with something akin to a knowing
grin. "Well, I don't believe much in coincidences, Harry. As to what
happened to the Hit-Wizard I met, I will likely never uncover the truth,
but you remind me of him so much, down to those brilliant green eyes of
yours."
Harry was taken aback as the woman kissed him gently on the cheek and
smiled at him the same way Eleanor often did.
It was one of fondness, and though the situation he currently found
himself in was strange to say the least, he found that he quite liked the
woman.
"Do come and see me some time," she requested. "I'd quite like to speak
with you more."
"I will," Harry assured her with a smile of his own.
The woman gave his hand a firm squeeze before turning away.
"Say goodbye to your friend, Eleanor," she instructed as she walked
steadily back to her son and daughter-in-law.
Harry watched her for a moment, perplexed by what had just happened.
"What was that all about?" he asked an equally confused Eleanor.
"My grandmother told me about Harry Evans once," she explained. "He
was a Hit-Wizard that arrested her, and then broke her out of jail during
the Grindelwald war. He vanished soon after. She told me she believed
he survived the war and that his death would have been made known by
Grindelwald. She says that she thinks he had a different calling, that he
was needed somewhere else."
"How strange," Harry commented thoughtfully.
Eleanor nodded her agreement.
"I think she was in love with him," she whispered amusedly. "Anyway,
remember to be careful. I don't want you to become my Harry Evans."
She followed her grandmother's example and kissed him on the cheek
before leaving the school grounds with her parents and grandmother who
shot Harry a final sad smile as they departed.
Harry could only frown as he made his way towards Cassiopeia, his mind
momentarily occupied by the odd exchange.
However, his own reality weighed heavily on him once more as he
reached his Aunt.
"Sirius is waiting for you," she explained as she withdrew a portkey from
within her robes.
Harry merely nodded as he took hold of it and felt himself pulled across
the continent where he was deposited into the study in Grimmauld Place
only a moment later.
It wasn't until he entered the kitchen that he found his godfather, seated
at the table and nursing a cup of coffee between his hands.
Despite how exhausted Sirius looked, his expression brightened as he
looked up to see who had arrived, and he stood to pull Harry into a tight
embrace.
"How are you?" the man asked fondly.
"Better than you, obviously," Harry snorted. "What's been happening?"
It had been too risky to disclose too much in any letters between them,
and as useful as it was to receive The Daily Prophet, the articles were still
lacking in relevant information.
"Nothing good," Sirius sighed. "We've not seen a single one of the Death
Eaters. They vanish long before we get there. It's just like last time, but
we have less useful people on our side. Honestly, I'm almost grateful they
flee before we make it to an attack. Most of the Order wouldn't be much
use in a fight."
Harry nodded his agreement.
Having met them himself, he was of a similar mind.
The Aurors would fare well enough, and perhaps Bill Weasley along with
Sirius and Remus, but the others were little more than paper pushers in
the Ministry, or far beyond their best years.
"What was the Order like before?" Harry asked curiously.
The question brought grin to Sirius's lips.
"Well, there was me, your father and Remus," he began thoughtfully. "We
had only just graduated from school when we joined with your mother,
but we knew how to handle ourselves. James and Lily really were
brilliant at what they did, and Remus is just about the best at Defence
Against the Dark Arts I know, other than Moody and Dumbledore."
He paused for a moment, evidently reminiscing about the times he had
shared with his friends before shaking himself from his thoughts.
"Our best fighter was Dorcas Meadows, have you heard of her?"
"I can't say that I have," Harry responded with a frown.
He wasn't familiar with the members of the Order from the prior war.
"She was a brilliant witch, Harry. As fierce as they came and with the
talent to back it up," Sirius explained. "There wasn't a Death Eater among
them who could go toe-to-toe with Dorcas."
"She was killed by Voldemort."
Sirius nodded sadly.
"He attacked her in the dead of night and caught her unprepared, but she
still put up a hell of a fight judging by the state of the scene. He did the
same to Benji Fenwick."
"Benji Fenwick?"
"A larger-than-life Irishman," Sirius chuckled. "He was huge and scared
the crap out of most of us. I once watched him duel six Death Eaters by
himself and he killed three of them before the others ran. Between Benji
and Dorcas, they didn't want to stick around and fight us much."
"And now we don't have anyone like them."
"Other than Moody, no," Sirius murmured. "He is cut from the same cloth
as them, but he's not what he once was. Between the injuries and the
paranoia, he is a shadow of what he used to be."
"But still the best we have."
"Other than Dumbledore," Sirius pointed out. "Albus is one of the most
brilliant wizards born in the last few centuries, but he is not a fighter. He
can handle himself, but he lacks the killer instinct to fight a war. He was
like that the first time around too, and the likes of Malfoy walked free."
"Malfoy?"
"It was Dumbledore that arrested him at the end of the war. If he would
have killed him, the country wouldn't be in the state it is now."
Harry nodded his agreement.
Without Lucius Malfoy around, Britain would certainly be all the better
for it.
"Anyway, let's not waste what time we have ruining what little festive
spirit we can feel," Sirius urged. "Is there anything you would like to do?"
"We could always set up a prank for the werewolf," Harry suggested.
Sirius grinned as he nodded, rubbing his hands together with
anticipation.
Between the two of them, Remus would not know what had hit him.
(Break)
"This is unacceptable, Minister!" Lord Boot scolded. "It is taking too long
for the Aurors to respond to these attacks. How is it that our
infrastructure in place to detect magic being cast around muggles is
proving to be so useless?"
He received only half-hearted murmurs of agreement from some of his
peers, with many continuing to simply look at the floor to void drawing
attention to themselves.
Albus had not felt such tension in the Wizengamot chambers since
Voldemort's last raise, and it appeared as though History was repeating
itself.
The Lord and Ladies that were usually much more outspoken against the
radical traditionalist block were remaining silent, even those of a
typically neutral stance.
They were fearful of reprisals, and with how events were currently
unfolding, Albus could not blame.
Very few possessed the needed audaciousness to speak out, with Lord
Boot being one of them.
The others, Albus suspected, had already been cowed. And with them
refusing to oppose Tom's supporters, things would only get worse from
here-on-out.
It had taken weeks for the meeting to be called by Cornelius, days that
had been taken advantage of by the likes of Lucius Malfoy and his allies.
Now all that remained was to see what direction this session would take.
"What would you have the Ministry do, Lord Boot?" Lucius questioned.
"The Aurors are already working around the clock and responding as
quickly as they can to these most heinous acts. I am keen to hear what
suggestions you have. Our infrastructure cannot simply be improved. It
would cost thousands of galleons and weeks of manpower to achieve.
Now is not the time to make such an investment in resources and gold."
Cornelius offered Lucius an appreciative nod.
The man was tired, weary, and yet still ignorant of what was happening
around him.
Cornelius was not typically so foolish, but when it came to conflict, or
opposing those who so steadfastly supported him, he demonstrated only
reluctance to speak his own mind.
Instead, he seemed to be hoping that the Death Eaters would be rounded
up by the Aurors, and that he need not do anything some would deem to
be drastic and lose the support of those he couldn't possibly not suspect
of being involved.
"That is not my job to decide," Boot fired back irritably. "The Ministry is
failing to protect our muggle counterparts, and even our own when it
comes to these attacks. Nine prospective witches and wizards have been
killed already. How many is too many before something is done?"
Again, the man received only silent murmurs of agreement from a few.
Boot shot his peers a look of disgust.
He had always been one of the more outspoken members of the
Wizengamot, and unafraid of making enemies, if necessary.
Either he did not feel concerned about what was happening, or he too
was ignorant of the truth.
Albus did not know what was worse.
Regardless, Lord Boot was undoubtedly irking the likes of Lucius Malfoy
who was openly glaring at the man.
"I have a suggestion, Minister," Lord Nott spoke up.
Cornelius's expression morphed into one of relief as he eagerly gestured
for the man to speak.
"Lord Boot is correct," Nott sighed. "Not enough is being done for the
muggleborns that are being caught up in these attacks. Might I suggest
something that may seem a little over the top but I believe is necessary?"
"Go ahead, Lord Nott," Cornelius urged.
Nott offered the Minister a bow.
"I believe that if we could keep tabs on those that live within the muggle
world, we can be better prepared to protect them, and at the same time
take an accurate account of our current population. What I am suggesting
is a census of sorts where every magical person in Britain is to sign a
register stating their blood status, their place of residence, and any
children they have."
"To what end?" Cornelius asked with a frown.
"So that the Aurors know which areas to focus their attention on," Nott
explained. "If the infrastructure cannot be improved, then is this not the
next best thing?"
Cornelius nodded thoughtfully.
"That in itself is quite the task to arrange," he sighed.
"But a much simpler and cost-effective solution than the alternative," Nott
pointed out.
Cornelius hummed as he pondered the idea, and even Lord Boot seemed
to be contemplating it.
"It is not something that can be decided immediately," Cornelius sighed.
"A detailed plan for doing such a thing must be created before we can
even consider it."
"I volunteer my services to create the plan," Dolores Umbridge offered.
Cornelius smiled at the woman.
"Thank you, Dolores," he said gratefully. "The idea certainly has merit,
and if it will assist in keeping the public safe, then I am sure we can find
common ground to see it done."
Albus frowned unhappily at the smiling Umbridge.
This was not good.
What Nott had suggested was simply a way that muggleborns, both
adults and children, could be watched closely and targeted when the
Death Eaters chose to.
They didn't care about the insufficient Auror force that opposed them,
and should Nott get his way, it would only present more opportunities to
ambush them when they were patrolling in their standardised pairs.
No, this was not good at all.
Albus would need to discuss the matter with Cornelius in the hope of
making him see sense, though the headmaster doubted his words would
be taken on board.
Already, Britain was reflecting what it once had during the previous war,
and Albus could not help but feel that in only a matter of months, things
would only have gotten worse.
(Break)
Harry could only stare at the brightly coloured building he stood before
in Diagon Alley, shaking his head in amusement at how stark it stood out
compared to the others.
"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," he snorted.
He had ventured to the alley to complete some last minute Christmas
shopping and had spotted the shop that was only a short walk from
Gringotts from the other end of the alley.
The Weasley twins had certainly been busy.
Entering the shop, every one of his senses was assaulted by odd noises,
smells, and too many objects of interest to take in with a single glance.
"Ah, Harry!" one of the twins greeted him enthusiastically. "What do you
think of our humble shop?"
"Humble?" Harry questioned with a quirked brow. "It is brilliant."
The twin smiled brightly, gesturing to all of the customers around them.
"And business is booming," he declared happily. "Thanks to you, of
course."
"It's your products that have brought them here," Harry pointed out. "I
just made it happen a little quicker than it would have."
"Well, either way, George and I will always be grateful," Fred whispered.
"Whatever you want is on us, always."
Harry nodded appreciatively as he peered, pausing as he caught sight of a
familiar figure skulking past the main window.
"I'll be back," he assured the redhead. "There's something I have to do."
Fred frowned curiously at him but said nothing as Harry stepped out of
the shop and ducked into a nearby alleyway where he covered himself
with his cloak.
It took only a few moments to catch up with Draco who had entered
Knockturn Alley, pausing to look around before making his way into
Borgin and Burke's.
Harry waited; his eyes fixed on the door as he pondered one of the very
few letters he'd received from Pansy since September.
Draco is worse than ever!
No one will stand up to him, and he's already hurt some of the younger
students.
Snape won't do anything about it either and I don't know what to do.
He hasn't hurt me yet, but he has threatened both me and Daphne.
It's only a matter of time before he follows through.
Harry's jaw clenched, the same anger he had felt whilst reading the letter
for the first time surfacing once more.
Draco needed to be reminded of just how significant he was, and if no
one else was willing to do it, who was Harry to not take advantage of the
opportunity presented to him?
It was several moments later that the boy emerged from the shop,
stowing away whatever it was he had purchased within his robes before
he skulked back towards Diagon Alley.
It was when he was passing through the isolated archway that separated
the two alleys that Harry struck.
Draco did not have time to react before one of the lids of a nearby bin
smashed into his face, sending him sprawling to the ground.
He attempted to draw his wand, only for Harry to ram his heel into the
sensitive flesh of his forearm.
Draco cried out in pain as his wand clattered to the floor and Harry
removed his cloak, revealing himself to the fearful boy.
"I've been meaning to have a little talk with you, Draco," Harry growled,
seizing the other boy by the throat. "I thought today would be perfect.
What, you don't think us being here at the same time is purely a
coincidence, do you?"
It was, but Draco didn't need to know that.
"Now, I've seen what you have been doing," Harry continued, "and I'm
telling you now that it will stop. I know everything, Malfoy. I even know
how infrequently you change your skiddy pants. This is your first and
only warning, do you understand?"
The boy was beginning to purple from the tightness of Harry's grip, so he
loosened it slightly so that he could breathe.
"My father…"
He was cut off by Harry's fist ploughing into his already bloody nose.
"Your father is nothing to me!" Harry spat. "He will die soon enough, and
his master will not be able to prevent that. Voldemort cannot protect you
from anything. I'm coming for them all, Draco. Every single person that
carries the mark, and you can tell them that from me when you run home
crying to your mother. As a matter of fact, I might kill her first."
Draco's eyes widened.
"She isn't one of them," he protested.
Harry shrugged uncaringly.
"Maybe not," he chuckled darkly, "but wouldn't it be quite some justice to
make your father suffer for all the misery he has caused others? I imagine
he is fond of your mother in his own way, and to find her corpse in their
marriage bed would be quite something, wouldn't it?"
"You wouldn't," Draco choked.
"Just keep telling yourself that, Draco," Harry snorted. "Believe me, I have
no problem with taking lives. When you witness your own mother being
murdered, doing so means very little. Why don't you ask Thorfin Rowle
or Titus Yaxley? I met them during the aftermath of the World Cup, and
it didn't end well for them, did it?"
"You k-killed them?" Draco stammered.
"I did," Harry confirmed, "and they were only the first of many. Now, if
you do not want your mother to be pushed to the top of my list, I suggest
you change your ways. I can get to her any time I wish. Maybe when she
visits the apothecary to get her potions ingredients, or on a Thursday
afternoon when she leaves the florist she likes at the bottom of Diagon
Alley."
Draco swallowed deeply.
"Leave my mother out of this, Potter!"
"Whether I do or don't is on you, Draco," Harry reminded him. "If you
behave, she may remain safe, but if you do not, I will make her suffer
unspeakable agony and misery before I end her. Understood?"
Harry's gaze bore unwaveringly into Draco's, leaving the boy with no
doubt to the truth of his words.
He received only a nod in response and Harry stood before turning to
take his leave, pausing momentarily to speak once more.
"Oh, and Draco? Tell Voldemort when you see him that every riddle has a
solution. He will know what I mean."
With that, Harry headed back into Diagon Alley, leaving a bloodied and
confused Draco Malfoy in his wake.
(Break)
"It is done, My Lord," Lucius declared proudly as he entered the parlour
the Dark Lord was being hosted in.
Voldemort simply nodded, and Lucius frowned evidently having expected
a more gratuitous response.
"Is something wrong, My Lord?" Lucius pressed.
Narcissa said nothing as she sipped her tea.
She was deeply uncomfortable in the man's presence and found it best to
not draw attention to herself.
It was how she had avoided being marked during the first war, and she
wished for her skin to remain unblemished.
Bellatrix had often bemoaned the fact that Narcissa had not pledged
herself to her master the way the others had, and though she supported
the movement, she had seen the discomfort the Dark Mark could elicit
within the Death Eaters should they find themselves in the bad graces of
their lord.
"Nothing is wrong, Lucius," Voldemort responded. "I am merely
pondering how we should move forward. Nott's suggestion to the
Ministry should bear fruit, but it is only the beginning."
Before Lucius could respond, the door to the parlour slammed open and
Narcissa gasped as a bloodied and fearful Draco rushed into the room.
She ran to him immediately, cupping his cheeks in her hand as she
surveyed the damage.
His nose was broken quite badly, and both of his eyes were almost
swollen shut.
"What happened, Draco?" Narcissa whispered worriedly.
Her son was trembling from head to toe and it took him a moment to
compose himself.
"P-Potter," he stammered.
"Potter?" the Dark Lord interjected as he stood.
Draco nodded, his gaze shifting towards the floor as Voldemort
approached.
"H-he attacked me in the alley," he explained. "He made some threats
against us, and you, My Lord."
Voldemort narrowed his red eyes.
"What threats?" he demanded.
Draco swallowed deeply and Narcissa looked towards her irate husband.
"He s-said that he is going to kill my father, and me," Draco choked, "but
that he would kill my mother first to make us suffer more."
Narcissa felt her blood run cold at the revelation.
There had been something rather unsettling about Potter when she had
met him briefly at the World Cup.
He had shown no fear of her husband nor the Minister despite the
influence they carried between them.
Was he truly capable of killing her?
Narcissa could not be certain, but the threat left her feeling rather
disturbed.
"He threatened me?" Lucius growled, stomping towards Draco.
The boy nodded.
"He killed Rowle and Yaxley. He told me himself."
Lucius paused, looking towards the Dark Lord who seemed to be
impressed rather than angry as Narcissa expected.
"Is that so?" he questioned amusedly. "Well, there is more to Potter than I
expected."
"Allow me to kill him, My Lord," Lucius all but demanded. "He has
threatened my family and attacked my son."
Voldemort held up a hand as he shook his head.
"Potter is mine," he said firmly.
Lucius appeared ready to protest, but a single glare from his master
changed his mind.
"Did he say anything else?"
Draco nodded, finally looking up from the ground.
"He told me to tell you that every riddle has a solution."
Narcissa frowned, and Lucius appeared to be as confused as she and
Draco were, but the words evidently meant something to the Dark Lord
whose eyes had narrowed in fury.
"Get out," he whispered dangerously.
"My Lord?" Lucius questioned.
"GET OUT!"
Narcissa dragged Draco from the room, the door slamming behind them
and Lucius just in time as a guttural roar sounded.
The entire lower level of the house shook as the Dark Lord unleashed his
anger, but it wasn't the damage the man would do to her home that
occupied Narcissa's mind.
She had never been threatened in such a way, and though she did not
doubt that Lucius could protect her, she could not ignore the feeling that
if he truly wished to, that Potter would find a way to follow through with
his words.
(Break)
"Oh, cheer up, Moony," Sirius sighed, unable to prevent the bout of
laughter that followed.
"I'm not talking to either of you!" the werewolf returned sulkily as he
pawed the ground.
"If it is any consolation, you do make for a good reindeer," Harry broke
in, chuckling unashamedly. "Would you like a carrot?"
The prank had gone better than either Harry or Sirius could have hoped
for.
They had initially intended to give the man antlers, and perhaps a red
nose, but between them, they had managed to create a full
transformation.
It wasn't a permanent change, but it should last for the duration of
Christmas day.
"Yes," Remus muttered grumpily.
Sirius laughed once more at the sight of Harry feeding Remus a carrot,
and even more so as he patted the head of the reindeer.
"Who's a good boy?" Harry cooed.
Remus pawed the ground again in irritation.
"Don't bloody push it!"
"Do you think we could find a way to keep him like this?" Sirius asked
excitedly. "I think I prefer him as a reindeer."
"Bugger off!" Remus growled as Harry shook his head.
"I wouldn't risk it. I couldn't imagine what would happen during the full
moon. I don't think a reindeer/werewolf hybrid would be pleasant."
"True," Sirius conceded, frowning as a sombre Cassiopeia entered the
kitchen, pausing as she eyed the reindeer.
"I don't think I want to know what on Earth the three of you are up to,"
she sighed, "but you need to see this."
She handed Harry a copy of The Daily Prophet, and any joviality he had
felt vanished immediately.
"He killed the Boot family?" he whispered. "Why would he do that?"
"To send a message," Cassiopeia explained. "Dumbledore said that Boot
was one of the few that has been speaking out against Malfoy and his ilk
during the Wizengamot meetings. I don't think anyone else will be
following his example after this."
"Bloody hell," Sirius muttered as he took the newspaper from Harry. "He
killed all of them."
"To send a message," Harry echoed Cassiopeia's words. "If the Lords and
Ladies know that not even their children are safe, they will offer no
resistance. Voldemort has all but taken over the Wizengamot."
Cassiopeia nodded gravely.
"I expect things will only get much worse from now."
As much as he wished to disagree with his Aunt, Sirius knew she was
right.
Voldemort would be getting his way with just about everything he did
now, and there seemed to be no silver lining on the horizon.
It would be worse than before, and even then, they had come so close to
being defeated.
That was until the Dark Lord had attacked James, Lily, and Harry, but
there would be no miracle to save Britain this time.
All that stood between Voldemort and the victory he failed to clinch a
little over fifteen years ago was a depleted auror force and the lacking
efforts of The Order of the Phoenix."
'And Harry,' the voice at the back of Sirius's mind added.
He shook his head of that thought.
'Not Harry!' he protested internally.
Still, as he looked upon his godson, it was not fear of what was to come
that he saw, but determination, and though Sirius wished the boy would
stay out of it, he knew that it was out of the question.
Harry would, just like his parents, and Charlus before them, would go to
war.
There was nothing that Sirius could envision coming to pass that would
stop that.
36. An Unwitting Accomplice
An Unwitting Accomplice
Months had passed since the Dark Lord had set Augustus his task, and
were it many other of his followers, he would be questioning the man's
effort and dedication to what he had been instructed to do.
Not Rookwood, however.
Augustus had long ago proven his loyalty and willingness to serve in
whatever way was seen fit, so Voldemort had no doubt that the former
Unspeakable was merely being as careful and meticulous as ever.
Still, it was a matter of urgency, and the Dark Lord needed answers.
He watched as the tired man entered the study he was making use of in
the Malfoy home, the bow he received as unwavering as ever.
"What have you discovered, Augustus?"
"Many things, My Lord," Rookwood answered. "Firstly, you have my
apologies for the delay. The prophecy itself took much time to locate."
"But it does indeed exist?"
Rookwood nodded.
"A prophecy pertaining to yourself and Harry James Potter as spoken by
Sybil Trelawney and heard by Dumbledore."
The Dark Lord's nostrils flared at the mention of Potter and Dumbledore.
"And you are still of the belief that only one of us named on it can
retrieve it."
"Undoubtedly, My Lord," Augustus sighed. "It would be foolish for any
other to attempt it."
The Dark Lord nodded his understanding as he pondered the matter.
"The department itself, is it difficult to access?"
"No. But navigating it will take weeks for any that are not familiar with
it," Rookwood explained. "The security measures in place throughout are
second to none, My Lord. The real challenge will be obtaining the
prophecy. Without any of the named people to do so, it is impossible. The
magic surrounding them is ancient, and even if it could be broken or
manipulated, it would be a highly dangerous task."
"What of the Unspeakables, can they retrieve them?"
"No, My Lord," Rookwood sighed. "I had considered it, and even have one
of them placed under the Imperius Curse, but it will not work. Any other
will meet a most terrible end if they are not one of the named
individuals."
"You have an Unspeakable under the Imperius Curse?"
"Broderick Bode, My Lord. We worked together once, and for as gifted
and intelligent as he is, his mind has always been weak. I have been
using him to lead me through the department to circumvent the security.
Without him, it is likely I would have been caught."
"Then you have done well," Voldemort praised.
"There is something else I have observed," Rookwood replied warily.
"There are people there that should not be. I think they are members of
Dumbledore's Order, but I cannot be certain. They are under an
invisibility cloak and I thought it best not to interfere without discussing
it with you first."
Voldemort's jaw clenched.
Of course, the old fool would have the department watched.
"Then we must be cautious," he mused aloud. "Could we use Bode to gain
entry?"
"We could," Augustus confirmed. "What are you thinking, My Lord?"
"I haven't decided yet," Voldemort murmured thoughtfully. "We cannot
use Dumbledore, and I am loath to risk exposing myself should anything
go awry."
"The seer then?"
"She is within Hogwarts," Voldemort pointed out. "Getting to her whilst
she is under Dumbledore's nose will not be easy. I expect he will be
watching her as closely as he is the department. No, it is unlikely either
will work. Leave it with me, Augustus, I need to decide our best course of
action."
"Of course, My Lord," Rookwood replied as he stood. "Would you like me
to continue with what I have been doing?"
Voldemort shook his head.
"No, just check in from time to time to ensure there are no changes
within the department," he instructed. "There is no use risking yourself
being caught when we have all the information we need. Thank you,
Augustus. Your efforts are most appreciated."
Rookwood offered him a final bow before taking his leave of the room
and the Dark Lord mulled over what he had been told.
The seer would be the easiest to force to comply if only she could be
accessed.
If he had not proven himself such a cowardly fool, Lucius's son could
have perhaps been instructed to fetch her, but the boy could not be
trusted with such an important task.
No. His next step needed to be considered carefully, but several ideas
were already forming.
The Dark Lord merely needed to decide which was the most feasible.
(Break)
It was as though he was watching Britain collapse in on itself through a
looking glass. The already fragile pillars that held up what it had been
since Voldemort's fall slowly but surely crumbling to dust and so close to
no longer being able to bear the load weighing down on it.
Worst of all was that there was nothing that could seemingly prop it up
until it could be fixed, and it was only a matter of time before there was
nothing left to salvage.
It was with reluctance that Harry had returned to Durmstrang and had
only done so at the realisation that there was little that he too could do.
For all of Dumbledore and the Order's efforts, there was nothing to show
but an exhausted and insufficient resistance for what was happening.
As things were, Harry was still a child in the eyes of the law, and though
he carried influence from his unwitting feat as a child, it was not nearly
enough to make a difference.
He had not been a presence in Britain either.
To most, he was nothing but a distant memory of when times had been
unfavourable and he had somehow achieved the unthinkable.
Ever since, other than his brief stint at Hogwarts, Harry Potter had been
absent.
No, he was currently as useless as the Order.
If there was to be any hope of defeating Voldemort and his followers, he
needed the influence of his titles on the Wizengamot.
With the current power structure, he knew that he could not simply
return to Britain and take the fight to the Death Eaters.
If he did, he would likely find himself wanted under the guise of
murdering a pureblood who was 'not acting of their own accord.'
It was the defence the likes of Malfoy had used before, and to great
effect.
Harry had no doubt it would be used again, and Fudge and his cohorts
would lap it up to avoid admitting the truth of what was unfolding.
Harry had to be smarter than that.
He needed to give Britain hope, but he needed to do it in the right way.
In only a matter of weeks, he would have his titles, and he could use the
favourable system the purebloods had built for themselves against them.
As of now, the name Harry Potter was not at the forefront of any mind,
but it soon would be.
Harry would make sure of that, by hook and by crook.
Although he knew he would need every ounce of political acumen he
possessed, it would not be enough.
There was only one language the Death Eaters and Voldemort
understood, and unfortunately for them, Harry was fluent in it.
Politics aside, Harry was under no illusion that he would be entering
anything short of a war. And though the fools like Fudge wished to either
ignore it or were too stupid to see it for what it was, Harry would not
allow it to continue.
"Magical Registration Act," he muttered as he read the latest update on
the awful legislation that had been passed in the Ministry.
It had been done under the guise of protecting the magical population of
Britain, but Harry knew better.
It was a movement to have every magical person in Britain tracked and
registered, and as expected, the Lord and Ladies of the Wizengamot had
already found a loophole so that they need not register.
For the rest of the country, however, it was now mandatory to present
yourself to the Ministry and submit your name, and a myriad of other
personal information.
At first, it had merely been encouraged, but when so few did so, further
legislation had been past, making it compulsory.
For the past weeks, swathes of people had been arriving at the Ministry
of Magic to comply, and those that did not, were sought out and arrested.
Harry shook his head in disgust as he slammed the paper down next to
his untouched breakfast.
"Do you think it is a good idea to keep reading it?" Ana asked. "It's
making you miserable."
"I have to," Harry sighed. "I need to know what I am getting myself into."
The others shared a look amongst themselves.
They were worried about him.
Harry would admit that he had not been feeling particularly happy since
returning to school.
If anything, he knew he was simply waiting until he could act, until he
could make a difference, but doing so was deeply frustrating and it had
not had a positive influence on him.
When he wasn't in class, he was either duelling or training, and sleeping
very little with it.
Lucinda had all but forced him to take a measure of Dreamless Sleep on
more than one occasion.
Harry had not wished to, but he knew the girl was looking out for him.
Not once had she, unlike the others, tried to talk him out of returning to
Britain.
If anything, she was supportive despite her obvious feelings on the
matter.
His friends too had read the article, and each of them believed, though
they had not said it aloud, that Britain was a lost cause, that Voldemort
had already won.
Harry refused to believe it.
Although he had not spent much time there over the years, Britain was
his home, and the titles he had inherited meant that he was responsible
for it.
From what he knew of his Grandfather, and Arcturus Black, they would
both fight until the bitter end for what they believed in, and Harry would
do the same.
He would need to be the best and worst of the former lords, and he
would be just that.
Harry Potter would be the difference in the blossoming war; the thorns
between the roses of the seeds that Voldemort had planted.
He offered Lucinda a reassuring smile as she squeezed his thigh under the
table before a grin tugged at his lips.
"Any higher and it won't be my leg you're touching," he snorted.
Lucinda quirked an eyebrow at him.
"Then it seems as though my aim was inaccurate," she quipped.
Cain grimaced in disgust as Harry laughed.
"Why don't you two just jump into bed and get it over with?" the
werewolf huffed. "The scent coming from you both is sickening."
"Maybe we will," Lucinda replied with a shrug, "but I'm not sure Potter
deserves me with how he has been. He has a lot of ground to cover
before he gets anywhere near me."
Cain groaned and placed his head in his hands as Harry and Lucinda
stared at each other quite intently.
"I have," Harry agreed with a sigh.
Although he had made considerable effort to not let what was happening
get to him so much, it had and it had been his relationship with his
friends that had suffered.
He hadn't meant it to, but he had been stuck in his own mind for much of
the year.
"What is going on, Harry?" Ana pressed gently. "This isn't just the war, is
it? You've not quite been yourself since you came back from Hogwarts."
"I know," Harry murmured. "Things happened, some I'd rather not talk
about, but if anyone deserves some kind of explanation, then it is all of
you. Tonight before dinner," he promised.
He didn't know how much he would tell them, but he knew he could not
keep them in the dark any longer.
All of them had been there for him as much as he had for them since
they'd arrived at Durmstrang and he trusted them all implicitly.
They deserved some insight to what was happened and had already come
to pass at the very least.
Ana nodded as she reached across the table and squeezed his hand
gently.
"You're not alone in this, Harry," she whispered.
The others nodded their agreement, and the sentiment warmed Harry's
heart more than he could express.
He truly had gathered an odd, but valuable group of friends and despite
how distracted and sometimes difficult to be around he had been, their
loyalty to him had never wavered.
"Thank you," he returned gratefully. "Come on, we'd best get to
Transfiguration."
Taking their leave of the table, it was strange just how at ease he
suddenly felt as he made his way towards their lesson.
Things were not easy to cope with as they were and being so distant from
everyone had only made Harry feel as though he was truly alone, but
that wasn't the case.
The war may well hinge on him and what he would do to combat it, and
there was no promise that he would even survive the conflict.
However, the outcome was so far from his mind right now.
There was much he needed to do before he and Tom would clash for a
final confrontation, something that seemed so far away but no less close
than it ever was as now.
(Break)
Cassie made a point to spend as little time in Britain as she could. The
country was in a deplorable state under the current, foolish regime that
were, on the surface, in charge, and she had not thought of it as home
since she had been a teenager.
Nonetheless, she was intrigued by the perhaps not so unexpected letter
she had received and had spent the past few days here watching the
place she had agreed to meet the woman that had reached out to her.
Cassiopeia Black was no fool.
She would not risk being ambushed.
The months that had gone by since Christmas had been frustrating to say
the least.
She wished more than anything that she could put an end to the war,
that she could relieve Harry of all the burdens he carried, but it was not
to be.
As Harry had pointed out, this was his war to fight, and though she had
argued that there was much she could do to assist him, he had been
adamant that she not act on her impulses.
Much to her chagrin, she could not find fault in his logic.
Cassiopeia Black was not a popular woman here, was loathed by most for
her part in Gellert's rising and subsequent campaign, and it would take
little for her to be locked away in Azkaban where she and Harry had no
doubt she would be dealt with silently.
Her advanced years would be to her detriment under the influence of the
Dementors, and there would be nothing stopping the likes of Lucius
Malfoy getting to her whilst she was unarmed.
She needed to be cautious and exercise patience, something she'd never
had in abundance.
Perhaps Harry was right.
It would serve no purpose to take matters into her own hands whilst
Malfoy had the ear of the Minister and the Dark Lord remained within
the shadows.
Still, it was frustrating to feel so utterly useless, and it did not help that
Gellert seemed to agree with Harry wholeheartedly.
'It would not do Harry any favours if you were to come to harm or you
created political difficulty for him before he has even claimed his titles.
Patience is the key here, Cassie. I know you wish only to protect the boy, but
he is on the cusp of manhood and he will need you when he returns to Britain.'
Cassie shook her head of her thoughts as she watched the cloaked figure
approaching The Hog's Head from one of the quieter lanes in Hogsmeade
and waited for a few moments to ensure she had not been followed
before entering the dank, musty pub.
Placing a Galleon on the bar to pay for the private room she had
requested days before, she found it on the second floor.
Drawing her wand, she cast a myriad of privacy and detection charms
around the hallway before entering, startling the still cloaked figure
seated by the fire.
"Narcissa," she greeted the woman.
Her great niece removed her hood, her eyes roaming over the older
woman, evidently reassuring herself that it was indeed Cassiopeia Black
that stood before.
"Aunt Cassie," Narcissa replied reservedly.
The woman looked tired.
Her skin had always been pale, but it looked waxy in the light of the fire
and the bags under her eyes were thick and dark making her look older
than she was.
"What is it you want, girl?" Cassiopeia huffed.
Narcissa swallowed deeply.
"I…I don't know," she answered with a shake of her head.
"Then there is nothing we have to discuss."
Cassie turned to leave, irritated that her time had been wasted.
"Wait!" Narcissa pleaded. "I didn't know you were alive, not until Potter
told me at the World Cup."
"And why would you?" Cassie returned. "I left Britain and then the family
fell to pieces. You married Lucius, Bellatrix married Lestrange, and
Andromeda ran away with a filthy mudblood! I had such high hopes for
all of you, and I can only say how disappointed I am. Sirius was an
insolent whelp and Regulus was a simpering buffoon who spent too much
time trying to please Walburga. The less said about the rest, the better.
The Blacks truly fell from grace and I am disgusted by what the family
became. Arcturus was too lax, and your own father wasn't fit to wipe his
arse. Orion was a pampered disgrace, and look what happened. You all
decided to follow the Dark Lord. Where are the Blacks now, Narcissa?"
The woman opened her mouth to speak, but Cassie cut her off.
"Dead!" she snapped.
"Bella isn't."
Cassie laughed humourlessly.
"I suppose she is staying with you," she snorted. "Bella was the one I had
the most faith in, but she proved to be the biggest disappointment of you
all. Licking the boots of a man that murders women and children before
following his lead. She will meet a most unpleasant end, that I can
promise you."
"You would kill her?"
"Without a second of hesitation," Cassiopeia vowed.
Narcissa was taken aback by the declaration and deflated in her chair.
"Why Potter?" she asked. "Why did you raise him?"
"Because he is family, or did you forget that? He is Dorea's grandson!"
Narcissa shook her head.
"He attacked my son in Diagon Alley," she revealed, "and he threatened
to kill me just to get to Draco and Lucius."
"Did he?" Cassie chuckled. "Well, you had best hope your son and
husband do not give him reason to act on that threat."
"He would kill me?"
"My Harry does not make threats he does not keep," Cassie replied
simply. "You made your bed, Narcissa, and now you and your sister have
to lie in it. You have no idea what storm is coming. Your husband is
already dead, and your son will undoubtedly follow soon enough.
Voldemort will not win, not against Harry."
"You have no idea what he is capable of," Narcissa whispered.
"I know more than you could ever imagine, girl," Cassie bit back. "It is
your master that does not know what it is he is facing."
"He is not my master!" Narcissa growled, rolling up her sleeves to show
her bare forearms.
"You are married to Malfoy and you share a spawn together," Cassie
pointed out. "To me and to Harry, you are just as much an enemy.
Perhaps I should kill you now."
"You wouldn't," Narcissa choked.
"I would," Cassie countered sincerely. "You may not run around in a mask
murdering innocent people, but you know exactly what your husband
does. He murders, he rapes, and he tortures people for his own
enjoyment. The fact that you think that you can sit there and deny any
guilt is baffling. Your inaction makes you guilty. You are harbouring
these people, and that makes you just as guilty as them in my eyes. The
Malfoy name suits you, Narcissa. You are just as cowardly as your
husband. You are not a true Black, and the only reason I will allow you
to leave is because I want you to witness your world falling apart around
you. Lucius is not as untouchable as you believe, and you are going to
learn the hard way what misery life can provide."
Narcissa could only look at her fearfully, and Cassiopeia offered her a
smirk before taking her leave of the room.
The woman had not come because she felt any remorse or sorrow for
what was happening.
She had come to fish for information and to see how credible the threat
against her family was.
Cassie did not know that Harry had attacked the Malfoy boy nor that he
had threatened Narcissa, and in truth, she did not care.
Narcissa was a Malfoy through and through and the Wizarding world
would be much better off without them in it.
(Break)
The Dark Lord stared into the roaring fire, the crackling of the flames the
only sound to be heard in the study. He had been locked in here for the
best part of two days as he weighed up his options, eventually deciding
he was unable to ignore the one that would bring him the most pleasure.
"You sent for me, My Lord?" the voice of Barty pulled him from his
thoughts.
Voldemort nodded and took a moment pondering his options a final time
before leaning back in his chair.
"It is time, Barty," he answered simply.
The man grinned malevolently in response.
"When?"
"Tonight."
"It shall be done, My Lord."
"Excellent, now you must follow my instructions to the very letter," the
Dark Lord said firmly. "We cannot risk anything going awry. Take a seat.
There is much for us to discuss."
(Break)
It was a nervous Harry that waited for his friends to arrive on the
secluded sixth floor corridor, a place he had come to often so that he
could study and practice away from prying eyes.
He still did not know what he would tell them all, but he would not
break his promise to them.
Tonight, they would know much of the truth of what had led him to
where he was now, and why the war in Britain was important to him
beyond seeking his vengeance against Voldemort.
Was it more important?
It was difficult at times to see the bigger picture of what he had to do,
and he could not deny that more than anything in life, he wanted Riddle
and his followers to suffer immeasurably for all they had done, but his
purpose was indeed more than vengeance, even if it was that he chose to
focus on to fuel the fire within him.
Britain had suffered under the incompetent Fudge, and those that he
chose to surround himself with.
It was a dreary country and was only growing more so with none having
a backbone to truly fight back.
Harry would not hesitate to do so.
He had been prepared and groomed for it his entire life by Cassie, but the
betterment of Britain was never going to come down to simply entering
the political field and gathering support.
No. Voldemort had always been on the horizon, and Harry knew that the
man and his followers would have to be dealt with permanently if he
wished to see the country thrive.
"We're here," Cain announced as Harry's friends rounded the corner. "It's
not very private, is it?"
Harry snorted as he tapped a series of bricks, revealing a hidden door
that his friends gawped at.
"Are you coming or not?" Harry chuckled as he pushed it open.
Silently, they followed him inside the room.
"I didn't know that this was here," Ana whispered as she looked around.
Within, there was a large desk piled with books that Harry had
accumulated and a space where he could practice his magic.
"No one does," he replied with a shrug. "There are lots of rooms like this
around the school."
"How many?" Ana pressed.
"Dozens."
Realising that Harry wasn't going to provide any more information, the
girl frowned at him.
"Anyway, the secrets of Durmstrang isn't why we are here," Eleanor
pointed out.
"It's not," Harry sighed. "Honestly, I don't really know where to begin.
Everything is just so complicated."
"Well, you could start by telling us why you need to fight in a war for a
country you haven't lived in since you were a baby," Jonas urged. "It's not
just because of what happened to your parents, is it?"
Harry shook his head.
"No," he confirmed. "Partly it is because of who I am. My Grandfather
was a war hero, and from what little I know about my family, many of
them have been over the centuries. He fought against Grindelwald, and I
suppose I feel like I have to prove myself to an extent. I'd want him to be
proud of me."
"Even if it costs you your life?" Ana asked.
"It's not as simple as that," Harry chuckled dryly. "The Potter title is not
the only one I have inherited."
"You're going to be the Lord of two families?" Eleanor whispered.
As the only pureblood amongst them, albeit having been born to a
disgraced family, she understood the magnitude of what that meant.
Harry nodded.
"I will be the next Lord Black."
Eleanor's eyes widened, and even though the others may not have
understood the significance of him taking the mantle of two prominent
families, they had heard of the Blacks.
There were few across the magical world that had not.
"Shit," Cain whispered.
"That still doesn't explain why you have to fight in the war," Lucinda
pointed out. "Fighting for family pride is not a good enough reason, not
when the stakes are so high. You don't have any heirs if anything
happens to you."
"It's not a good enough reason," Harry agreed. "I wish it was, but there is
magic at play here; magic that I won't even begin to pretend to
understand. I suppose it all started even before I was born and the night
Voldemort killed my parents. It wasn't them that he came for," Harry
revealed.
"It was you," Lucinda whispered.
"It was."
"Why would he come after you? You were only a baby."
"There's a prophecy."
The group were silent for a moment before Cain burst out laughing.
"Come on, Harry, you can't possibly believe in that?"
"You should not mock things you know nothing of!" Ana snapped
irritably. "Prophetic magical is real. We have sages that live amongst us."
"Really?" Cain asked curiously.
Ana nodded.
"It can be woefully inaccurate magic, and dangerous if it is interpreted
incorrectly, but it is very real. There are many stories of elves and others
that have fallen victim to it. If there really is a prophecy at play, it should
not be ignored."
"What do you know about the magic?" Harry asked Ana.
"Not much," she admitted apologetically, "but the sages I have met have
always warned me not to mess with it. What does the prophecy say?"
"I only know a part of it," Harry sighed irritably. "The one with the power
to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied
him…born as the seventh month dies…"
"That's it?" Cain scoffed. "How do you know it pertains to you? You were
born in July, but so were dozens of other babies."
Harry shrugged.
"You need to hear the rest of it," Ana said gravely. "Cain is right. It's too
vague for you to risk your life over."
"I know, but it's as though I can feel the magic pulling us together," Harry
explained. "I'm working on getting the rest of it, but it's not so simple. A
copy of it exists in the Department of Mysteries in the British Ministry."
"Then why don't you request to hear it?"
"Because I cannot trust the Ministry or anyone that works there," Harry
explained. "Voldemort had an unspeakable working for him the last time,
and he was one of the Death Eaters he broke out of Azkaban."
"Unspeakable?" Jonas questioned.
"They work in the Department."
"So, they can't be trusted."
Harry shook his head.
"I've visited a couple of times to see if I can find where it is kept," he
admitted.
"And?"
"Nothing," Harry grumbled. "The department is off limits, and even when
I managed to get in there, I couldn't find the room. It's difficult to
navigate."
"So, what will you do?"
"I don't know," Harry murmured. "I could ask Dumbledore, but then he
will question how I know of its existence."
"How do you know of it?" Ana asked.
"That is even more complicated than anything else I've told you," Harry
snorted humourlessly.
"Try us," the half-elf urged.
Harry gaze shifted over to each of his friends, all of them as curious as
the other, though none were absent of the same look of concern.
He relented by releasing a deep breath.
"The night he tried to kill me, something happened that I can't explain,"
he began, pacing back and forth as he pondered the same thing he had
many times over the years, never reaching a satisfactory conclusion.
"You survived the killing curse," Eleanor acknowledged.
"Not just that," Harry murmured with a frown. "There's more to it than
that. When he tried to kill me, it created a connection of sorts between
us. Sometimes I can feel what he feels, and I see things in my dreams that
he has done. Terrible things."
"Him murdering people?" Cain gasped.
Harry nodded.
"That, and other memories of his," he explained. "Not full memories, but
glimpses of things I've learned a tonne of magic from what I have seen,
and he somehow passed other things to me."
"Other things?" Lucinda broke in.
Harry released a deep breath as he conjured a large python and the
others took a cautious step backwards.
"Come here," Harry instructed.
The serpent did so, and the two of them shared a brief conversation
before Harry vanished it.
"You're a parselmouth," Cain whispered dumbly.
"I'm not related to Slytherin," Harry assured his friends. "The only reason
I can speak to snakes is because he can."
"I've never heard anything like it," Eleanor mused aloud. "You can't just
pass on magical abilities like that. If that was possible, people would
have found a way to steal other's magic."
"I know," Harry huffed. "It doesn't make sense, but not very much does
when it comes to what happened between me and him."
"You really need to hear the prophecy," Ana reiterated. "Regardless of
anything else that may have happened that night, I think it will go a long
way in explaining everything, or at least give you a better idea."
Harry nodded his agreement.
"I'm working on it," he assured the girl. "Anyway, that's all I've got to say
right now."
There was much more he could tell them, but they were already
overwhelmed by what they had learned, and if truth be told, Harry was
not ready to explain his somewhat apprenticeship under Grindelwald,
and certainly not the Elder Wand.
"Come on," Lucinda urged, nudging him with her shoulder, "Let's eat
before you wipe the floor with half the school again in the duelling
room."
Harry snorted as he followed his friends from the room and sealed it
behind him.
Although he had seemingly achieved nothing by revealing what he had to
them, he somehow felt less burdened by all that was weighing him down,
and as they reached the Main Hall to eat their dinner, he was simply
grateful that they had listened to him.
"Who are you duelling tonight, Harry?" Jonas asked excitedly as they
were finishing up.
"It might be you," Harry replied thoughtfully.
The other boy shook his head.
"No thanks," he chuckled. "I'd rather not spend the evening in the Medical
Bay having things pulled from my skin. Fight the vampire."
Lucinda bared her fangs at Harry, resting her lips on his ear.
"I will not be going to the medical bay to have things removed from me.
You will have to do it yourself, Potter," she whispered.
Harry shuddered as her cold breath ran down his neck.
"The two of you sicken me," Cain grumbled. "Are we going to duel or
what?"
"We're coming," Lucinda declared as she stood and pulled Harry to his
feet. "I think I'll keep hold of you. That way, you can't run away from
me."
"Why would I run?" Harry returned challengingly, cupping her cheek.
Lucinda narrowed her eyes at him as she bit her lower lip and a droplet
of blood spilled onto her chin.
"Look what you made me do," she huffed.
With a shrug, Harry wiped it away with his thumb.
"Better?"
The girl hummed and pushed him ahead of her into the duelling room as
they reached it.
"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Harry asked.
"I'm not afraid of you, Harry," Lucinda replied with a grin as she drew her
wand. "Then again, we could always forego magic and have a vampire's
duel."
"I'm not falling for that one again," Harry muttered.
A vampire's duel was little more than a fight without magic, and Harry
knew he had no chance of winning that.
He had made the mistake of accepting the challenge only once before,
and Lucinda had thrown him around the common room with very little
effort on her part until he had admitted defeat.
"Shame," Lucinda sighed wistfully. "I was looking forward to getting my
hands on you."
Before Harry could respond, he felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked
up to see Professor Karkaroff offering his own challenging look.
"What do you say, Potter?" he asked. "Are you ready to face me again?"
He had only squared off with the headmaster on one occasion and the
two of them had destroyed the duelling room worse than when Harry
and Professor Sidorova had pit themselves against one another.
Many people he had met had their opinion of Karkaroff, but there was no
denying that he was indeed a talented wizard in his own right.
"Sounds good to me," Harry accepted with a respectful bow.
Karkaroff chuckled as he wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulder and
led him on to the platform, the students within the room whispering
excitedly amongst themselves in anticipation of the impending show.
"Same rules as before," Karkaroff declared. "Nothing immediately fatal
and nothing that would see you missing any of your exams next week."
Harry nodded his agreement and took a stance that was mirrored by the
headmaster.
"BEGIN!" the man instructed.
The two began trading spells, neither committing to a full-frontal attack
as both were wary of one another.
Harry had certainly proven himself a worthy opponent during their last
outing, and Igor Karkaroff was an exceptionally crafty duellist.
His ability to disguise what he was casting until he did so was second to
none and something Harry knew he had to be cautious of.
He had almost been caught out several times in their last bout.
Karkaroff remained content with the back-and-forth pace they had set
and with studying how Harry was reacting to his offerings.
Still, such a thing could not last if either wished to emerge victorious.
It was Harry that upped the ante only a moment later, firing a trio of
curses towards the headmaster who conjured a shield to absorb them,
acknowledging the effort with a nod before returning the gesture.
The spells came at a blistering pace, and Harry managed to parry them
away in only the nick of time.
He frowned as he looked down at his wand.
He had made a point to continue practicing with it despite having
obtained the Elder Wand, but something did not quite feel right with it.
It took only a few more exchanges with Karkaroff to realise that it wasn't
the wand that was failing to perform for him, there was something amiss
with him.
His arms had begun to feel heavy, and his movements laborious and
more tiring than he was used to.
The duo had only been duelling for a matter of minutes, but Harry felt as
though he had not slept in days and that he had been put through his
paces continuously.
No, something wasn't right, and as he mustered a considerable effort to
bat another spell aside, he took a deep breath and attempted to steady
his shaking legs.
(Break)
"Is he alright?" Cain asked the others worriedly. "Was he hit with
something we didn't see?"
Lucinda watched as Harry swayed, his posture and movements sluggish
and wand work nothing short of sloppy.
Still, he managed to continue to defend himself, even if he could offer no
offense.
"He must have been," she replied, though she could not think of when
anything may have slipped past his defences.
Harry looked terribly pale and his eyes were becoming rather glazed
over.
Nonetheless, he continued to fight until he was sent sprawling by a spell
that did slip through his rather paltry shield and even Professor Karkaroff
seemed to be concerned now as he approached the downed Harry.
"Stand back!" the man commanded sharply as he checked him over,
frowning as he placed a hand on his forehead and conjured a stretcher.
"Professor, what is wrong with him?" Lucinda questioned worriedly.
"I'm not sure," Karkaroff replied apologetically as he levitated the
unconscious Harry in front of him. "He must be taken to the Medical Bay
to be checked over."
Lucinda and the rest of the group followed as the other students
whispered amongst themselves in shock.
None had ever seen Harry be felled like that, nor had they seen him
perform so terribly.
Something was undoubtedly wrong with him, but how?
He had been himself only a few moments before the duel had started,
and even at the beginning of the contest, he had seemed as sharp as ever.
Lucinda could only wonder what happened in between.
"I'm afraid you will have to wait outside whilst he is assessed," Karkaroff
said apologetically as they reached the Medical Bay. "I will bring news as
soon as I can."
Although none of the group were pleased, they understood and took up
vigil outside.
"What do you think happened?" Ana asked.
Lucinda shrugged in response, and no answer was forthcoming from the
rest.
Instead, they remained silent until Professor Karkaroff returned around
half an hour later, his expression one of relief.
"He will be fine," he assured them. "It seems as though he had a rather
unpleasant reaction to something yet to be identified, but the healer
assures me he needs only rest and a few potions."
"Can we see him?" Lucinda requested.
The headmaster shook his head.
"Not tonight, but I expect he will be well enough come the morning. He
needs to sleep now. You should return to your quarters. Mr Potter won't
be going anywhere tonight."
It was reluctantly that the group did so, relieved that Harry would be
okay, but no closer to understanding what had left him in such a state.
(Break)
He felt as though he was floating, but he was also aware of the soft,
warm mattress he was laying upon. Harry couldn't remember how he got
here, and when he tried to think, his thoughts became nothing but a
jumbled, incoherent mess.
He tried to move, only to huff in frustration at his inability to do so, and
his head swam making him feel nauseous.
Unable to even think with any clarity, he allowed himself to drift into the
restless sleep that threatened to overcome him.
When his eyes fluttered open once more, it was to the sound of muffled
voices that he could not make out the words to, and again, he fell into a
restless slumber.
It was a different voice that woke him an inordinate amount of time
later, only this time, he caught snatches of the conversation being shared.
"What do you think you are doing?"
That was the healer that Harry had become all too familiar with since
he'd arrived at Durmstrang.
He clamped his eyes shut in protest as a bright light flashed around him,
and he did not open them again, the sleep carrying him far away from
what was happening around him.
There were several voices talking when he found clarity in his thoughts
again, but there was no warm mattress below him and he shuddered
from the cold, hard surface against his back.
"Be quiet, he is waking up," one of the voices said harshly.
That voice was another one he had heard before, but not one he knew
well.
Harry kept his eyes closed as he tried to make the link, but to no avail.
"Are you sure he will be quite helpless?" another asked.
"Barty assures me he is quite defenceless," the first replied confidently.
"He personally took his wand from him."
Who was Barty?
Carefully, Harry opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of several
cloaked figures peering at him, each sporting a bone-white mask.
"Ah, he's awake," one of them declared.
Now that he could see just whom he was being surrounded by, he could
identify the owner of the voice, despite his sporadic thoughts.
Lucius Malfoy.
"Welcome to the Department of Mysteries, Potter," the man goaded.
"Come now, we have a most important task for you. Imperio."
Harry felt the spell wash over him, and to be free from whatever was
ailing him was nothing short of bliss.
However, the moment the foreign magic met his own, something primal
erupted within his chest, and he no longer felt content being under the
influence of another.
He may be weakened, but Harry was not one to submit to any. And as he
allowed himself to be led down the aisles of glass orbs on shelves higher
than he could see, he began to ponder just how he could turn the tide of
the situation he found himself facing.
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