Bound by Souls – Restoration

by HippoParty (OneMoreHorcrux), OneMoreHorcrux

Summary:

Half demented and entering his sixth year at Hogwarts, Harry is determined to escape the Ministry and the Order's watchful eyes and reunite with his dæmon, Tom. When an opportunity presents itself to compete in the Decadæmon tournament at Durmstrang, Harry enters, fully aware that he'll capture Lord Voldemort's undivided attention once again. AU Harry Potter inspired by His Dark Materials.

Chapter 1: No Matter the Cost

Rufus Scrimgeour strode through the murky water that pooled across the causeway between the apparition point and the entrance of Azkaban. Nala, his tabby dæmon, followed close behind. Her paws and fur already soaked and covered in the filth of the place.

The fortress towered above, casting a looming shadow and blocking what little moonlight had managed to seep through the clouds. Up ahead, two aurors and their daemons were standing guard, and a third was waiting for his arrival.

Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded as he approached. The auror's expression was grim, and his lynx daemon, Amabel prowled around restlessly at his feet.

“How many?” Scrimgeour asked.

“Last count was two dozen,” Kingsley said. “Alecto and Amycus Carrow were among them.”

Scrimgeour swore, and craned his neck back to scowl up at the impenetrable fortress.

“They were only put in last month-”

Far beneath them, waves crashed against the sculpted rock, the spray from the ocean covering the group in a damp mist. Scrimgeour pulled his robes tighter around himself.

“Come on then, better get this over with before I have to face Fudge-”

It was a long way up.

Kingsley led the way, his wand held high above his head as they entered through the wrought iron gates. Torch brackets lined the walls, the flames flickering weakly, giving off no real warmth or light.

Their route through the fortress was foul. The air grew stale and rancid, the darkness more pronounced as the pair wound through steep corridors, climbing into the depths of the prison. Here and there, other aurors were stationed, either patrolling back and forth or hurrying about with their daemons in tow, ducking in and out of side corridors and tunnels in the labyrinth like structure.

Kingsley and Scrimgeour entered a chamber that was filled with at least a dozen cells. Haunted faces pressed up against the bars and withered remains of dæmons clung into the back corners, no more than wisps of their former selves.

One cell was in a treacherous state. The iron had been ripped from where they had been magically fused with the wall. Stone lay in rubble, strewn about from the dismantled prison, the long term occupant no longer present.

Scrimgeour scowled at the sight.

“How long has Bellatrix Lestrange been gone?”

“About half an hour,” Kingsley said, jerking his head in the direction of another pile of rubble halfway down the chamber. “Dolohov and Rookwood are missing from this floor too.”

Scrimgeour cursed again, raising his wand to see further into the abyss.

There was something terribly wrong. A coldness lingered that should no longer be possible. It soaked deep into his skin and bones. Beside him, Nala slunk low to the ground and hissed. Frost clung to her fur but there was no sight of the source.

“And the dementors, when did they leave?”

“Maybe forty minutes tops,” Kingsley said. “It looks like they've finally decided to side with the Dark Lord.”

“It was only a matter of time,” Scrimgeour muttered. “I warned Fudge this would happen-”

They walked to where the next dismantled cell was located.

“It looks like they've got everyone they came for,” Kingsley said gruffly. “Every chamber has been secured, it doesn't look like they hung about-”

They were interrupted by the distant sound of a rumble, echoing above the roar of the waves. From above their heads, loose stones and dust crumbled and fell to the floor. Both their necks tilted upwards just as the floor began to shake.

“What in Merlin's name-”

The blast shook the very foundations.  Stone and rubble erupted into the chamber, cascading down in an avalanche as the ground vibrated and the walls cracked.   The force knocked Scrimgeour from his feet and he landed hard, pain erupting across his side.

Beside him, Kingsley scrambled onto his knees, throwing a shield above their heads as the roof quaked, threatening to dislodge more debris from the ceiling.

Despite the walls being sealed and resistant to most spells, magic was snapping around, resonating and breaking through every supposed protection.

“Come on,” Kingsley shouted, swiping his wand downwards in a burst of purple light. 

Nala tore across the room, dodging left and right to avoid whole stone blocks that were collapsing. A laugh resounded as she passed, a gaunt man pressed up against the bars was cackling wildly, unhinged and probably thankful for this fate.

Amabel ran after Nala, paws carrying her easily across the crumbling surroundings. Scrimgeour pushed himself to his feet, his body protesting and swaying as the floor beneath him tilted.

The whole fortress was being pulled into the sea.

He slashed his wand downwards, a prism of light encapsulating him. His feet were suddenly grounded, no longer swayed by the collapsing rock. With a satisfied grunt, he grabbed Kingsley's arm, pulling him into the protective layer. He took two tentative steps forwards to follow their daemons-

There was a flash of red, followed by a burst of icy pain splintering across Scrimgeour's chest. A moment of darkness, where all senses became disorientated and his feet were no longer touching solid ground.

He couldn't breathe or think. He grasped uselessly at his throat, his body suspended for one second too long. Then everything came crashing down.

Scrimgeour was lying in a half collapsed cell. Limbs stuck in crooked angles and deep red seeped across his robes, dripping and pooling onto the wet floor.

His wand lay uselessly out of reach. Nala was howling, scrabbling in the rubble, hunting for any sign of the thin piece of wood that was his last lifeline.

She never stood a chance.

Fire erupted, encompassing the immediate surroundings, blocking any view of where Kingsley may possibly be. Footsteps echoed rhythmically throughout the destruction.

A rising sense of dread bubbled up, unquenchable and suffocating all other emotion.

A young man stepped out between the parting flames. He was older, the spitting image of Riddle, yet was clearly not.

Tom. His presence far more solid, no longer translucent, as if a person stood before him and not a dæmon.

Tom's wand was held loosely in his palm, eyes void of all emotion.

“Wait-”

“Crucio.”

Scrimgeour screamed, writhing on the freezing cold floor. His body contorted, moving unnaturally in jagged, violent motions. The mercy did not come. Nothing could stop the pain. It was impossible to comprehend anything beyond the unrelenting hurt.

Another flash, a purple curse reverberating over him.

Several bones snapped. His head cracked against stone, speckles of light flashed in his vision.

The curse broke abruptly, leaving only the burning ache, the sharp pain of his broken body. It could only end one way.

With every ounce of remaining effort, Scrimgeour rolled onto his side, hand scratching against jagged rock as he blinked back the onslaught of impending unconsciousness.

“You've made your choice then?” he spat. Blood welled up in his mouth, the copper taste thick and acrid.

Tom tilted his head to the side. There was a sudden blaze of light, and the rock around them cracked. Through the gap in the wall the wind howled. In the distance, curses of every violent shade of colour erupted, slicing through the night air and mixing with screams, shouts and the twisted cries of death.

“I suppose I have.”

The lack of reaction was chilling. This was no longer the young boy who was once driven by fierce emotion, the desire only to protect what was his. No matter the cost.

“You're making a mistake.” Scrimgeour coughed, his chest burnt and sight swam dangerously in and out of focus. “You'll never have Potter, never be able to return to him-”

Tom raised his wand, a haunted and twisted smile crept onto his face. Above them, the fortress shook, tipping further to the side, the crashes of stone plunged into the watery depths.

“It doesn't matter either way,” Tom said. “Harry will come to me, in the end.”

Scrimgeour braced himself. Nala lay at his side, curled against his body. She meowed, unable to seek sufficient comfort.

He gripped her fur, willing his broken legs to move.

Tom took several steps forwards. There was no hesitation, no hint of remorse or flicker of concern. He directed the wand straight at Scrimgeour's head.

And the room flashed green.

---

One month later - 1^st September 1996

Harry lent against the window, watching the world go by. Having departed from London just over an hour ago, the Hogwarts Express was now trundling past clusters of towns and through open countryside.

Lyra was perched precariously on his shoulder. Every few minutes she would scurry from one side to the other and back again, bashing her tail deliberately against his ears.

When Harry didn't move or acknowledge her, she gave up and retreated onto the rumbling carriage floor. Without any hesitation, she sunk her teeth into his trouser leg, narrowly missing the blue cylindrical band that encompassed his right ankle.

Harry shook her off and scowled down at the pine marten. Lyra stared back at him, unwavering and daring him to challenge her. His dead eye surveyed her for a moment, taking in a swirl of golden light.

“Fine,” Harry muttered, pushing himself away from the window. “Come on then.”

Lyra needed no other instruction. She skipped between his feet, barely avoiding being stood on and scampered towards the next carriage.

The front of the train was far busier. Students and dæmons were packed into compartments, spilling out into the corridor, moving through crowds to eagerly greet friends.

Harry had no trouble navigating through them. One by one, people fell silent, expressions shifting to ones of terror as they parted out of his way, their dæmons trying to make themselves as small and still as possible.

Ignoring them, Harry cast his dead eye to one of the far compartments. Amongst the barrage of dæmons, he could barely make out the golden light of a dog, an otter and a small ferret.

He debated watching them for awhile but Lyra pressed on, scampering into the next carriage without waiting for him to catch up. Not eager to put any more strain on their bond than he needed to, he followed.

She was waiting for him at the second to last compartment, her small claws scratching at the door.

Without knocking Harry opened it.

The buzz of discussion died. Daemons scattered, tearing across the wooden floor to hide underneath benches or in the gaps between trunks. Anthony Goldstein's crow flapped frantically up to the luggage racks, while Hannah Abbots shrew scurried into a crevice in the seat.

Sephronia, totally obvious to Harry's intended target, jumped forwards wagging her tail to welcome Lyra as Ron grinned and waved at him.

Hermione gathered Ramiron up into her arms, cradling the otter close to her chest.

“Harry. This is a prefects meeting-”

“I know,” Harry said, he withdrew his wand and pointed it straight at Draco Malfoy. “This won't take long.”

There was a second when no one moved. Everyone's attention was fixed on the pair, gaze darting back and forth. Hermione caught her breath, her voice coming out a frantic whisper.

“Harry, you can't. What about the Ministry-”

Harry ignored her, his dead eye hovering deliberately on Adara, who tightened her claws on Draco's shoulder.

“It's fine, Granger,” Draco said. He stood and straightened his robes as he glared at Harry. “If you would excuse us.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue.

“Leave it, Hermione,” Ron interrupted. “Harry's not going to devour him before we even get to school.”

A wicked grin crossed Harry's face.

“I might.”

Adara growled and leapt from Draco's shoulder, just as he twisted and reached into his robe pocket-

Harry was faster, incantation and a burst of red light. There was a bang, several screams, followed by another flash of light as Adara and Lyra collided, hissing and biting in a mass of teeth and claws. Harry dodged Draco's spell and took several steps forwards to shove the tip of his wand against his throat.

The two dæmons parted at once.

Draco was breathing hard, adrenaline overcoming his composure. Harry jabbed his wand harder, his decayed mouth splitting into an unpleasant smile. The taint of a soul was so fresh, so close that he almost debated giving into his instincts.

“You can all stay if you wish,” Harry said, and the room plunged several degrees, throwing each and everyone of them into their worst memories.

Anthony Goldstein stood, face pale as he waved his dæmon hurriedly down from the luggage racks. He just about managed to scowl at Harry, but otherwise didn't object as he made his hurried exit. Ernie Macmillan, Padma Patil and Hannah Abbott followed, their dæmons a boar, tiger and a shrew disappearing with them, not keen to hang about longer than they needed to.

Pansy Parkinson pulled her robes tightly around herself. She glanced briefly at Draco, and without saying a word gestured to Patamon. The black swan stretched his wings, snapped his beak towards Lyra and followed her from the compartment. Lyra watched idly, flicking her tail back and forth as she stared at the retreating dæmon with distaste.

“Harry," Hermione started. "I know you're upset but attacking Malfoy-”

Harry didn't even spare her a glance.  Fortunately, Ron didn't need telling twice, he grabbed Hermione's hand and tugged her towards the door.

"We'll catch you later, Harry."

As soon as they were across the threshold, Harry pointed his wand at the door.  It rattled shut. With another flick, the compartment windows frosted into an unnatural hue, obscuring any view and plunging the room into a semi-darkness.

Draco shoved him away hard, straightening his dishevelled robes. He was trembling from head to toe as he glared at Harry.

“That was unnecessary.”

Harry's dead eye, black and shrouded in mist fixed onto him, a half smile twitching onto his ashen lips.

“Was it?”

Before Draco could protest, Harry closed the distance between them again. Decayed fingers twisted around the others pale wrist, yanking Draco's arm forwards while pushing up his left sleeve.

“No-”

Draco's protest died in an instant, overwhelmed from the chilling cold that consumed the compartment. Adara scampered, claws scratching the wooden floor as she crammed herself into a recess under the seat. Harry spared her golden light only a flicker of any attention.

“You did it then.”

A vivid black tattoo glistened on Draco's forearm. A serpent protruding from a skull, burnt and branded deep into the skin. Even in the dim light the snake seemed alive, its body contracting and coiling. The ominous link a potential lifeline to the one thing that Harry craved.

Draco shivered.

“I said I would.”

Hot breath misted across Harry's face. It was intoxicating and the needless sense to devour rose, driven from the long summer days with no real contact with other souls.

With a restrained rattling breath, Harry instead raised a rotten finger to hover just above the blackened mark. What little temperature in their surroundings dissipated.

“Are you insane?” Draco hissed but he went complete still. Terror laced his voice and his eyes were almost rolling in his head, overcome and overwhelmed from the despair of his deepest and darkness memories. “He won't come-”

Harry fingers tightened, the itch to press the mark burning.

“Well, there's no harm in finding out then?” he whispered. The hunger was growing, the possibility that Tom could find him if only given the chance.

There was a growl, and sharp teeth plunged into Harry's ankle just above the tracker. It was the spark of light that did it, distorted and twisted in the lingering despair. Lyra was on the precipice of change, not quite there but the threat was paramount.

There would be no winners if Lyra transformed.

With an exasperated breath, Harry closed his eyes, a forced calmness descending. There was a moment when the urge to devour flickered again before it was replaced by nothingness.

Sensing his relaxed composure, Lyra withdrew slowly. She leapt up onto one of the seats and growled at him.

With a great reluctance, Harry stepped back and released his grip. Draco yanked his arm to cradle it against his chest, pulling down his sleeve to cover the dark mark while simultaneously reaching for Adara to salvage any comfort.

“I didn't become a Death Eater just for you to mess everything up already-”

“Sorry,” Harry said, pressing a finger to his decayed lips as if it would stop any flickering temptation. “I do appreciate it.”

Draco glared at him, but he couldn't stop Adara trembling against his chest.

“You could show it, if the Dark Lord ever finds out-”

Harry shrugged.

“You know our plan would work just as easily if Voldemort knows we are friends.”

The sheer terror from Draco was palpable, any colour draining to leave his face gaunt. Harry didn't need to take another breath to taste the perspiration of deep fear.

“I can't let the Dark Lord suspect me-” Draco started. “This way is better. If I try and get close to Tom and the Dark Lord knows-”

“It's okay, Draco,” Harry said. “I get it. I know I'm asking a lot and the least I can do is pretend to hate your guts.”

“That doesn't mean you can just go and attack me in front of everyone-”

Harry's lip twitched into a smile, but there wasn't any trace of humour.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“And you couldn't wait until tonight?” Draco demanded incredulously.

Harry crossed his arms and lent back on the obscured window.

“I waited a month. I didn't think you'd appreciate an owl.”

Draco opened his mouth, closed it and then opened it again.

“I don't know what you think I can tell you-”

Lyra growled and leapt forwards to bare her small teeth. Harry tilted his head, eyes narrowing as any patience disappeared. There was no way he would leave the carriage without some form of a satisfactory answer.

“Azkaban.”

“You read the papers, don't you?” Draco said. “I don't know more than that-”

Harry half expected this. Keeping his voice deliberately indifferent he sat down. Lyra prowled restlessly across his lap and he teased his fingers through her fur absently.

“I don't care if Tom killed Scrimgeour.”

Draco's eyes narrowed and he didn't immediately respond as he chose his next words.

“You should care,” Draco said carefully. “The Ministry had nothing on him. Scrimgeour's death changes everything.”

Harry didn't say anything.

For the past month, Tom's picture had appeared on the front page of the Daily Prophet with the words Wanted. Aurors ordered to kill on sight plastered underneath. It wasn't even a recent photograph, or Harry might not have minded so much just to get a glimpse of him after two years.

Either way there was no point dwelling on it. Harry couldn't change Tom's actions, which left only one way forward. Lyra pressed her head against his hand, brushing her head against his fingers.

“It doesn't matter either way,” Harry said quietly. “When I find Tom, I don't plan on coming back.”

Draco took a step forwards and now there was a hint of a plea in his voice.

“Harry, you can't run forever, not with both the Dark Lord and the Ministry hunting you, plus if Tom doesn't want to leave-”

A shadow passed over Harry's face, made all the more terrifying from his rotten skin and cracked lips. He took a rattling breath and the temperature dropped several degrees again.

“If Tom chose Voldemort, then I'm just the Ministry's puppet,” Harry hissed. Black sparks spat from the end of his wand. “Or do you think I'm Dumbledore's man?”

Adara was cowering, and the golden dust like light swirled around in such mesmerising patterns, each strand being teased under Harry's influence. She trembled, uncontrollable and desperate to escape the worst memories of her life.

“Of course not. Just if I approach Tom and you're wrong-”

Harry's anger dissipated in a single raspy breath, but no warmth returned to the room.

“Tom won't turn you over to Voldemort. He'll protect you if anything.”

Draco paced back and forth, running both hands through his hair.

“That was before Azkaban-”

“You already signed up for this,” Harry said coolly. “You swore you were ready before you got the Dark Mark etched into your skin. Are you backing out?”

Draco flushed, pausing in his step, but he kept his voice steady.

“No, but you have to see that murdering Scrimgeour changes things.”

It was hard to admit it, but Draco was right. Before, Harry only had to steal back Tom and they would have had the protection from at least the Order of the Phoenix, possibly the Ministry. Now, there were few people who would welcome back Tom in any capacity.

At least Sirius would understand. But then again, Sirius owed Tom his life.

Lyra growled, drawing his attention down to his lap. She was watching him with that expression of hers. What little light in the room had faded so her dust like light shone all the brighter.

With a steady breath, Harry sat back, releasing the surroundings from his influence.

Adara dug her claws into Draco's shirt, scrabbling up onto his shoulder. She seemed more agitated than normal, and her tail flicked back and forth as she bared her small teeth towards him.

“You keep losing your temper,” she squeaked.

Harry's mouth parting slightly. Even Draco looked taken aback as he tried to gather her back into his arms.

“Ignore her-”

Adara bit Draco's fingers, and he cursed, dropping her onto the opposite bench. Despite her small terrified form, the white ferret faced Harry again.

“Lyra agrees with me,” Adara continued, digging in her claws to hold her ground. “You're not normally this difficult to be around.”

A hollowness thrummed through Harry.

He glanced back down to Lyra, who merely growled again. He couldn't deny it. That was more than a few times he'd made the room go cold, and even the temptation to devour Draco's soul should never even have flickered in his want. He could already see the strands from both dæmons dancing unnaturally from his influence.

“Sorry,” Harry said. “I've been a little on edge recently-”

With a great effort he let his mind clear of all thought and desires. The difference was paramount. Warmth shot into the compartment and the lingering despair vanished. Both dæmons visibly relaxed, their golden light shining even more brightly to Harry's dead eye.

“Since Azkaban you mean?” Draco said tightly.

A shame flickered through Harry as he nodded and ran his hands back through Lyra's fur. He'd promised her so much more, and his failure would only result in one thing.

She would separate from him as soon as they reached the castle. Not that he could blame her. Each rattling breath only destroyed her. He had to do better, which was easier said that done, specially when he needed answers.

“I just don't understand what happened,” Harry said quietly. “Nothing makes sense any more. Tom wouldn't kill Scrimgeour for no reason...Voldemort must have offered him something.”

Draco was silent for a second, and then he sighed reluctantly.

“I'll find out what I can, Harry,” he said. “But getting close to Tom is going to be difficult in any circumstance, and I'm not sure how many opportunities I'll get while we're at school.”

Harry nodded. He knew that, but if he had any chance to find answers no matter how small the possibility he would take it. He slumped down in the chair, head spinning.

One more year.

That was how long before he has any real potential of seeing Tom again. Then his options would be even more dangerous.

“You know, the Dark Lord asked about you,” Draco said.

“That's surprising,” Harry said. He closed his eyes, his fingers massaging the bridge of his nose to stay off an on coming headache. “He's got half a dozen people watching me already.”

“Well clearly that's not enough,” Draco muttered.

Harry blinked his eyes open and tilted his head with a slightly frown.

“What could you tell him that he doesn't already know?”

All colour had drained out Draco's face and he scratched his arm over his sleeve where his Dark Mark was.

Harry sat up, startling both Lyra and Adara as his hand instinctively curled around his wand.

“Draco, what did you tell him?”

There was a moment when Harry thought he'd never find out, and then Draco took a long deep breath and exhaled, flooding the compartment with a flood of temptation.

“I told him you could be tempted to serve him if there's even a slight possibility of having a future with Tom.”

Harry sat very still, thoughts whirling.

“And he bought it?” he asked quietly.

Draco nodded, but he didn't look very happy about it.

“I was sure someone would already have told him that...I mean Tom's probably been saying the same thing for years to keep you alive...but the Dark Lord...he was very interested in that.”

Harry let out a rattling breath. The darkness pumped through his dead veins, oozing in the gaping hole where his heart used to be.

“Well that's a good thing at least. It'll help make things easier to steal Tom back-”

Despite everything, Draco looked away as if pretending that he hadn't heard. He started fidgeting with his sleeve again. There was a moments pause while the two of them sat in silence, both dæmons staying as still as they possibly could.

“Harry...you can't trick the Dark Lord,” Draco said at last. “You know that right?”

“You did,” Harry said at once. “He believed you when you told him I could be tempted to serve him.”

Draco's expression tightened at this.

“That wasn't a lie and you know it.”

Now it was Harry's turn to look away, the shroud of his dead eye swirling as he turned his attention to idly watch the dust like light from Adara and Lyra. Sirius had warned him time and time again to disregard the prophecy.

“If there was even a possibility, I would take it,” Harry said. “But Voldemort will never give me Tom...I can't pretend otherwise.”

Draco shook his head, and he slid forwards so that he was perched right on the end of the seat.

“Harry, I honestly think you really have a chance...and serving the Dark Lord isn't so bad...not really.”

Harry sighed, letting out a rattling breath.

“It's more complicated than that.”

He watched as Draco continued to fidget with his sleeve, fingers scratching at where the blackened skull on his forearm was hidden. The unpleasant memory was lingering, despite Harry's calmed state.

“Does your mother know?” Harry asked, nodding to Draco's arm.

Adara made an odd strangled yowl, and she leapt onto Draco's lap.

“She didn't,” Draco said as he clutched at her fur for comfort. “After Azkaban though-”

“Ah-” Harry said. Sirius had told him about one of the particular escapees.

“My aunt was so proud,” Draco continued. “She didn't realise that my mother might have been reluctant for me to follow in my father's footsteps so soon. I think she wanted me to finish school first.”

“You've seen your father then?” Harry asked.

“He's been away,” Draco said. “Overseas I think, persuading other witches and wizards to support the Dark Lord...”

Harry's attention slipped slightly. From the corner of his dead eye, an owl dæmon had separated from the crowds and was now flying towards their compartment.

“What task did Voldemort give you?” he asked absently, watching as the golden form approached.

“Something similar, actually,” Draco said with a smile. Even Adara's ears perked up and she let out a small excited squeak.

“What?” Harry said. “Recruiting Death Eaters?”

“Essentially, but there's more to it than that,” Draco said. “I'm pretty lucky to know that I've basically been guaranteed a place-”

There was a sharp rap of knuckles against the door causing the glass to shake in its frame.

Draco stiffened and pulled out his wand. Adara leapt back off the chair.

“It's Cho Chang,” Harry said, watching as the owl flew in a tight circle before coming to land.

“She's the new head girl,” Draco said, and then muttered under his breath. “Trust Granger to go running.”

There was a second where neither of them spoke, and then the darkness which covered the windows vanished, causing them to both blink at the sudden influx of light. The door rattled open, and Cho entered with her wand grasped between her fingers.

Harad took flight again with a loud piercing screech. Adara scurried across the floor, ducking for cover under the nearest trunk, while Lyra darted between Harry's feet. Harad soared up to land on the luggage rack, his sharp talons gripping the railings as he fixed his yellow eyes down at the two dæmons with a horrible interest.

Cho didn't even look at Draco, her attention fixed on Harry.

“Malfoy, you can go,” she said. “I'd like a word with Potter.”

Draco ducked down to gather Adara in his arms, cast one final warning glance at Harry, and without saying another word, took his leave.

The second he'd stepped across the threshold, the door rattled shut.

Harry didn't say anything, but he deliberately glanced up at her dæmon with his dead eye. To the owl's credit, he didn't even flinch. His piercing yellow eyes in turn finding Lyra's as if daring him to try it.

“Potter, why are you terrifying the sixth year prefects?”

Harry lent back in his chair, decayed lips splitting into a smile.

“For kicks and thrills.”

Cho crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. Harry half expected her to start ranting at him but instead her tone was deliberately light.

“Then perhaps I should let you know, Professor Flitwick made it very clear that I shouldn't deal with you directly, that I should report any incidents to Professor Snape. That he would be very interested to hear if you were causing any trouble...”

Harry tilted his head, smile slipping as he focused his good eye on her. Aside from on the quidditch pitch he hadn't had much dealing with the Ravenclaw seeker, and she'd been a formidable opponent then.

“So why are you here?” he asked.

Cho raised her chin, expression guarded.

“I thought we could come to some sort of agreement, it would be a shame if Gryffindor quidditch team lost their seeker after all.”

The temperature in the compartment dropped again from Harry's will alone. He watched, as she uncrossed her arms, gaze glancing up to her own dæmon briefly. Harad ruffled his feathers. It was a mistake. Her own fear saturated the air, Harry could taste it.

“You can't cast a patronus, can you?” he said.

Her silence, and the tightening of her jaw was enough of an answer.

Harry slipped off the chair and crouched down to let Lyra climb up onto his shoulder. She didn't seem to like this much more though, as she stared anxiously up at Harad's sharp beak which was suddenly a lot closer.

Harry moved passed Cho, ignoring the wand that was pointed at his face as he reached the doorway. The internal cold was growing with every moment, frost starting to cling to the windows. She didn't protest as he unlocked the door. He paused on the threshold, offering one last decayed smile.

“Perhaps you should learn.”

Chapter 2: The Decadæmon tournament

Harry was one of the last students to disembark from the Hogwarts Express. The platform at Hosgmeade had for the most part emptied and Hagrid had already led the first years down to where the boats were waiting.

Setting down Hedwig's cage, Harry knelt down to undo the latch. She nipped impatiently at his finger as the door opened, hopped out to ruffle her feathers and with one final hoot, stretched her wings and launched herself into the night sky.

Lyra circled on the ground, watching longingly as the owl soared higher and higher.

“You can join her later,” Harry muttered. Lyra's large brown eyes fixed on him. It didn't matter that she couldn't speak, he knew what she wanted.

They followed the floating lanterns lighting the path which lead to the large gathering of students and dæmons waiting for a ride up to the castle.

A short distance away, Hermione emerged from the crowd. Crookshanks was squirming in her arms, while Ramiron balanced on her shoulder. As soon as she'd broken free, she stormed up to the clearing around Harry.

“Harry, what an earth were you doing-” Hermione said.

Harry didn't answer, and stepped up to the nearest threstral. Its large bone like wings extended oddly out of its shoulders, and the collar that was fitted around its neck linked up to a wooden shaft. The group of third year Ravenclaws who had been about to board scattered.

Lyra weaved herself around Harry's feet and leapt up onto the metal step. Hermione scowled, but still climbed inside after them both.

“You know Snape's going to hear about this too.”

Harry sat down, closed his eyes and pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“What's your point?”
Ramiron jumped off Hermione's shoulder onto the squashy seat as she continued to wrestle with Crookshanks. She sniffed and pulled a face.

“Well aside from you trying to get yourself arrested, it would also be nice if Gryffindor didn't come last in the house cup for once.”

Harry shrugged and cracked his good eye open.

“Last I asked, the sorting hat would have put me in Slytherin,” Harry said. “Tell that to Snape.”

Hermione glared at him.

“You know that's not what I meant-”

The carriage door swung open and Ron clambered in with Sephronia. He spared a glance between Hermione's furious expression and Harry slumped against the chair and sighed.

“Oh, give it a rest, Hermione,” Ron said. “Malfoy had it coming.”

Hermione's glare was redirected towards Ron instead.

“That doesn't make it right,” she burst out. “Specially under the circumstances. There's no reason for Harry to take such risks-”

“Harry disarmed him,” Ron said. “We all have wands, that's nothing to do with him being demented.”

Harry opened both eyes and grinned at him.

“That doesn't matter!” Hermione said. “You know what Fudge is like. He just needs one excuse.”

The carriage door clicked open again, and they all turned surprised.

“Hey guys, mind if I join you?”

Neville was standing on the step with his head peering in. Cyrilla, his rabbit dæmon was held precariously in his arms. She squirmed and kicked her back feet out in a desperate bid to escape but Neville only held her tighter. Without waiting for an answer, he climbed in and shut the door behind him.

The threstral began to move, following the line of skeletal horses in the procession up to the castle. Hermione chewed her lip but she didn't say anything else.

Ron leapt at the opportunity.

"How was your summer, Neville?" he asked.

Neville's smile slipped and he shrugged.

“Alright, I guess.”

The dust like light around Cyrilla flickered. It wouldn't normally have mattered but it was the last thing Harry needed right now. He looked away and shut his eyes again.

He could hear Ron talking, felt Lyra jump into his lap as Harry absently weaved his fingers through her light brown fur, saving her comfort. The carriage continued to wind itself down the path, but that did little to alleviate the distraught rabbit. It was suffocating.

After a few minutes when Cyrilla's dust like light pulsed again, Harry lost all patience. Both eyes snapped open, making the three other dæmons flinch.

“Neville, what's your problem?”

There was another distortion. A ripple of light, which had the power to disrupt and throw everything into chaos. Sephronia and Ramiron exchanged tentative glances, but given Lyra merely yawned and stretched out in Harry's lap they looked somewhat calmed.

Neville jumped in his seat, a guilty look crossing his face.

“Sorry,” he said as he did little to calm his agitated dæmon. “Actually...I wanted to ask you something, Harry.”

Harry glared at him, his own fist clenching as he resisted the urge to grab his wand. Ron elbowed him hard in the side and shook his head frantically. With a reluctance, Harry took a second and forced himself to relax.

“What?”

Neville looked down, bit his lip and pulled Cyrilla tighter in his arms. She didn't seem to like this much for she thumped her back feet against him again.

“I was just wondering-” Then immediately he seemed to think better of it, his face colouring. “Never mind, it doesn't matter.”

“Just say it,” Harry said. Lyra growled, her own impatience mirroring his own.

“Right,” Neville said, he glanced out the window, his voice coming out a mumble. “Just...did Tom really murder Scrimgeour?”

Hermione flinched, and Crookshanks scampered free from her grip to leap onto the back of the carriage seat. He hissed down at Sephronia who wasn't paying the cat any attention.

Hermione looked frantically to Harry, but given that he hadn't responded to any of her letters he didn't feel the need to elaborate now.

“Tom didn't, did he?” she started. “He couldn't have-”

“Course he could,” Ron said, sitting back and crossing his arms. “After everything the Ministry has done, you can't say you were surprised when you heard?”

Harry ignored them both. That hadn't been the question Neville had wanted to ask.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt saw everything,” Harry said, still watching Neville and Cyrilla. “After he escaped St Mungo's, he came and told me personally what had happened.”

“Right.” Neville looked down at his hands, seemingly not sure what to do with himself.

Hermione was still shaking her head.

“I thought the prophet must have been mistaken...Tom wouldn't kill Scrimgeour just because You Know Who told him too-”

Harry looked out of the window, his absent heart twisting as the dim lights of Hogwarts flickered in the distance.

“I know, Hermione,” he said. “You don't need to tell me.”

A coldness was descending in the carriage. And it could no longer be blamed on the dementors which used to guard the castle, they had been removed long ago.

“Should I leave?” Neville said, his hand moved to the door. Cyrilla's light flickered and pulsed again on the precipice of change.

Harry sighed and ran his hand over his face. It was all because of Tom. Even now there was a disconnect, a fluctuation rippling across their bond which even Lyra could not stop. His emotions had never been this temperamental, ever since-

He slammed that memory back into the deepest recesses of his mind.

“No, it's fine,” Harry muttered, but then only because it was Neville and wasn't fair for Cyrilla added. “Things have been difficult recently, I'm not as in control as usual.”

Neville flinched slightly, the realisation of what he had done apparent as a look of terror crossed his face. Cyrilla had gone very still, her own response just as drastic. At least her dust was settling, mirroring that of Sephronia, Ramiron and Lyra.

“I'll say,” Ron said. “I thought you were just trying to intimidate Malfoy earlier, but well-”

He shivered, and shook his head, eyes glossing over. “It's been awhile since it felt like you were like an actual dementor.”

Harry didn't say anything, his hands digging into Lyra's fur.

“Harry, did it start after the attack on Azkaban by any chance?” Hermione asked tentatively.

Harry shot her a haunted look, but he nodded.

“But Lyra's with you?” Ron said. “That's got to count for something, right?”

The carriage trundled along, bouncing as it hit a hard stone. Harry didn't answer as his dead eye swirled.

---

The Great Hall was heaving with people and dæmons, all eager to start the feast after such a long journey. High above their heads, the floating candles drifted over the four long house tables, and even higher still the ceiling reflected a thin cloud cover over hundreds of twinkling stars.

Harry glanced up at the teachers table as he took his seat. As usual his dead eye was immediately drawn to Aragog. The giant acromantula dominated the space, the huge spider moved in jerky, angry motions. It was hard to ignore the creature, even more so when his good eye showed only the tame semi-translucent dog by Hagrid's side.

“Stop it,” Ron hissed.

“Stop what?” Harry said innocently.

“Looking at Ilaria. She's a dog, not a spider.”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night,” Harry said, before he shrugged. “Anyway, I thought Fred and George had given you the map, check it if you don't believe me.”

Ron muttered something foul and stabbed his fork into the table in the absence of any food to attack.

Harry looked back up to the top of the hall, but his own smile faltered. A few seats down from Hagrid there was a dæmon without a bond linking them to their human, which could only mean a Death Eater or-

“Itzel,” Harry cursed. “What in merlin's name is Moody doing here?”

He didn't get to comment further as there was a small headbutt against his leg. Lyra made to do it again, but he twisted down to stop her.

“Stay with me a little longer, please?”

He had no right to ask.

To her credit, Lyra didn't protest as she prowled around his feet. It was unfair, she knew the risks that her absence would create and Harry had done little to make her presence by his side any easier. Her light swirled under his influence as she jumped up onto the bench beside him. Harry scratched his fingers behind her ears and she flicked her tail barely appeased.

A few minutes later, Professor McGonagall led the group of nervous first years up the middle of the hall to where the scruffy old sorting hat was waiting. The dæmons among them fidgeted restlessly, and it only got worse as Professor McGonagall started to call them forwards one by one.

“Come on,” Ron muttered as Daisy McCaskill was sorted into Ravenclaw. “I swear this takes longer every year.”

Harry hadn't noticed. He'd been watching each of the new dæmons with interest. A number of them had jumped in surprise as soon as the hat placed on their person's head, which had given Harry a very exhilarating idea.

“When you got sorted could you hear Sephronia inside the sorting hat?” he asked.

“Course,” Ron said. “How come?”

The hat was currently on Matilda Montague's head. Her dæmon, a small guinea pig was sitting in her lap, and it looked like he was looking around nervously.

“I couldn't hear Lyra,” Harry said.

“Well she wasn't visible then, was she?”

"I guess."

The hat had heard her though, but more importantly Harry had been able to hear Tom. The rush of adrenaline almost made him have the urge to stand up and go and put the hat on in front of everyone.

The sorting hat opened its brim on top of Matilda Montague's head and shouted.

HUFFLEPUFF!

The was a smattering of applause as Professor McGonagall proceeded onto the next student. By the time Michael Wadley and his mouse dæmon were sorted into Gryffindor, Harry had imagined half a dozen ways to steal the hat from Dumbledore's office.

“Finally!” Ron announced as dishes of foot materialised on the four house tables.

He dived for the potatoes, and Sephronia barked happily as he threw her some chicken.

Harry didn't have an appetite. He picked at his food, occasionally glancing back up to teachers table. Dumbledore was in deep discussion with Moody which sent a prickle of fear down the back of his neck. Moody would certainly complicate things.

Lyra started pacing around at his feet, replicating his agitation. It didn't help that every few minutes she'd inch her way towards the doorway, each time only coming back when she was called.

Just when he'd decided he would probably skip pudding and head up to his tower, all the plates cleared, and Dumbledore got to his feet. The noise level that had been steadily growing ceased immediately.

“Well now, just before you start your deserts, I require your attention for a few important announcements...”

“As some as you may be aware, due to unforeseen circumstances Professor Grus Hopkirk will not be returning to his post this year. Therefore, I am pleased to introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Alastor Moody.”

There was no round of applause. Every students seemed to be staring opened mouthed at the auror's hundreds of scars that covered his face. Whereas their dæmons had a much more significant problem. Seamus' fox buried her nose into his side.

“Where's his dæmon?” Ondine whispered. “I can't see his dæmon.”

Dean Thomas' dæmon, a cat called Patroka slunk onto his shoulder to get a better look.

“I don't see one,” Patroka said. “Maybe he doesn't have one?”

Harry fixed his dead eye directly on the red kite. Itzel's was perched on the top of the top of Moody's chair. She rustled her feathers and flapped her one remaining wing, using her forked tail for balance as in turn, the dæmon fixed her beady eyes on Harry.

“She's sitting on the top of his chair,” Harry said.

Ondine and Patroka flinched, but Ramiron jumped off Hermione's lap to get a little closer.

“He does have one then?” he asked asked.

Harry nodded, and he wasn't surprised to see Moody electric blue eye wasn't spinning in its socket, it probably hadn't been since Harry had entered the room.

Dumbledore cleared his throat again. He paused when he saw that everyone was latched onto his every word and then smiled.

“I also have a very exciting announcement to make. It is my greatest pleasure to let you know that the Decadæmon tournament will be taking place at Durmstrang Institute this year.”

The silence which had been deafening from Moody's introduction broke. Nearly half the students burst into a round of excited chatter, while the other half looked just as bewildered and confused as Harry.

“He's joking, right?” Ron said.

“Doesn't sound like it,” Seamus said. “I mean I'd heard something big was being organised, but I didn't think it would be this.”

Dean lent across the table.

“What's the Decadæmon tournament?”

Before Ron or Seamus could answer, Dumbledore raised his hand again causing people to fall silent with hushed anticipation.

“For those of you who are unaware, the tournament was established seven hundred years ago as a competition between five of the largest wizarding schools at the time – Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, Ilvermorny and Mahoutokoro. Two champions, along with their dæmons, were selected to represent each school. They were each tasked with competing in a series of magical challenges which were designed to test the bonds between dæmons and push the limits of magic.”

“The tournament was hosted once every ten years, rotating between each school until there was an incident which resulted in certain schools refusing to take part.”

“I read about that-” Hermione whispered, learning forwards. “It's in Hogwarts, A History.”

“Shh-”

But Hermione wasn't the only one who had spoken. Several other groups around the room had their heads pressed together and were speaking in hushed voices.

“Due to a number of improvements and safeguards which has been implemented, this is the first time in sixty years where all the schools will be participating in the event...”

“Hogwarts will therefore, be sending a delegation of students who will go to Durmstrang in October, and the selection of the ten champions from five different schools will take place at Hallowe'en. An impartial judge will decide which students and their dæmons are most worthy to compete for the Decadæmon Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money.”

The darkness where Harry's heart used to be swirled. He wasn't the only one latched onto every word. Around the hall, people were craning over other people's heads to get a better look, and several bird dæmons had taken flight to soar in tight circles above their owners heads.

“Those students wishing to compete should inform their head of house this week,” Dumbledore continued. “We shall then make a selection and twelve students will be chosen to represent Hogwarts. Of course, this is a very dangerous and prestigious tournament, so only those students in their sixth and seventh years will be considered.”

There was a collection of gasps and groans from some of the younger students. Followed by a collection of angry mutterings.

Dumbledore turned his gaze, casting his eye over each of the house tables. To his side, Fawkes stretched his wings and let out a soft cry which reverberated around the hall.

“I will however warn each and every one of you still interested, that this tournament should not be entered into lightly. It is designed to test you and your dæmon through a series of intense challenges. Only those who have unyielding bonds will be chosen as champions and even then, you won't return the same.”

There was an uneasy silence which rippled across the hall. Dæmons fidgeted restlessly, their light all the more enticing as they wanted nothing more than to speak to each other in private. Harry pulled his attention away to refrain from drawing too deep a breath.

“Now,” Dumbledore clapped his hands together and smiled. “I'll leave you all to enjoy dessert, I would recommend the chocolate cauldron cakes which are particularly good this evening.”

No one seemed the slightest bit interested as puddings, cakes and sweets suddenly appeared, causing each of the tables to heave from the weight. Insyead the loud buzz in the hall had returned.

“Twelve students,” Hermione said. “That's very competitive. And if they have to represent Hogwarts they'll want to take only the very best.”

“Well I'm going for it,” Ron said. “Harry?”

“Anywhere that's not Hogwarts works for me,” Harry said. He would be away from the watchful eyes of the Ministry for almost an entire year. There would be no way Fudge would be able to monitor him properly at Durmstrang. Plus Harry had exhausted all options of getting out of the castle. Dumbledore had made sure to that. The headmaster and the Order wouldn't have the same freedom in another country.

Ron beamed at him, and turned back to Hermione.

“Hermione?”

“A chance to see another wizarding school is very tempting, I can't say much about the tournament itself yet though, from what I've read it was horrific what happened before-” She bit her lip and glanced sideways at Harry.

“It'll be fine now though,” Ron said, waving his hand dismissively. “I mean how bad could it have been?”

From the colour that had drained out of Hermione's face, and the fact that Ramiron had buried himself into her jumper, it was clearly bad enough.

“What happened?” Neville asked.

“Well...” Hermione chewed her lip and glanced back towards Harry. “It was awful...and had never happened before, no one could have done anything at the time-”

“Some of the champions got separated from their dæmons didn't they?” Harry said.

Everyone who had been leaning in to listen, flinched. Ondine buried her head into Seamus' side. Galian stomped several times, causing Ginny to jump up to try and calm him, and Patroka slunk under the bench so that only her wide eyes could be seen peering up. The other dæmons went very still and quiet.

Hermione stroked Ramiron in an attempt to calm him and nodded.

“It happened at Hogwarts during the final task. The champions had to navigate through a giant floating maze while being physically separated from their dæmons...three of them were fighting to get to the centre...two of their dæmons ended up falling through several layers...along with the person who's dæmon was left up top...one of the champions died instantly from shock, the other attacked the stranded dæmon and became completely demented...and the last would have be tempted to do the same if she'd not been stopped...”

Nobody wanted the specific details. Several of the listening students looked frightfully towards Harry and his ashen face and dead eye.

“That's all in Hogwarts, A History?” Ron whispered. His fingers clenched into Sephronia's fur.

Hermione nodded again. “There's been plenty of deaths before in the tournament, but that never deterred anyone before, but losing a dæmon...it's against everything the tournament stands for. Hogwarts and Ilvermorny stopped competing...and the other schools held a reduced tournament that had nothing of the same spectacle or vision that the fundamental principles of the decadæmon tournament was based...it became more like a competition for witches and wizards without the focus on dæmons. It was renamed the triwizard tournament for the last few iterations...I guess now they want to try and establish the original intent of the event...”

“Dumbledore said they'd made it safety now,” Ron said. “I mean just think, a thousand Galleons...”

“What happened to the witch who lost her dæmon?” Harry asked. “The one who didn't trigger a transformation.”

“She was one of the Hogwart's champions,” Hermione said. “So she's probably still in St Mungo's-”

Harry couldn't help it. The rattling breath caught in his throat, the draw of the nearby dæmons filling his lungs, drowning him in the one thing he craved above all else-

Cyrilla twitched and thumped her back legs against the bench. Her golden light was agitated, pulsing in rapid movements. Lyra leapt onto the bench beside her and let out a small squeak.

Neville's fists were clenched, the terror in his eyes visible.

Harry slammed his eyes closed, throwing up every ounce of control. An emptiness filled his mind, but the horror of sixty years trapped in St Mungo's could not be dispelled. The walls of the clinical prison were closing in around him, the memory all to vivid, as if he had never left and he was left with only that desperate hunger. Completely alone. Without a dæmon.

“Harry-”

It was the only warning they got. Cyrilla thumped her back foot on the bench and in one fluid movement she transformed.

The burst of light exploded in Harry's dead eye, rippling outwards. The distortion was an energy that had to be taken and devoured. And it wouldn't stop.

Cyrilla was first a cat, then a mouse, and then a crow-

Each transformation rapid and powerful. There was no time for magic, or reason, only time to devour. A delirious grin split across Harry's face as the darkness smouldered around him, so cold and encompassing.

The twinkling stars high above disappeared. The shadow swirled, consuming all surroundings as the torches on the walls flickered and died. The silence was deafening, the panic of the nearby dæmons muffled.

Harry had one leg over the bench, his movements calculated as he snatched out a decayed hand towards the dæmon. Lyra leapt forwards onto the table, snarling and biting, knocking over the pitcher of pumpkin juice. Her light although beautiful and intoxicating could not compete unless she too transformed.

There was a flash, and a severing pain ran through his outstretched fingers. Harry whirled, his own hand diving into his pocket-

Ron's wand was pointed right at him.

“Expecto Patronum.”

There was a burst of cold light overpowering all other senses. Harry recoiled, the darkness imploding inwards, held against Sephronia's intrusive form. White light radiated from her in pulses, and she leapt forwards, placing herself as an impenetrable barrier between Lyra and Cyrilla.

A red light flashed in his periphery, the curse striking him on his left temple.

The world spun, and Harry fell backwards. The thirst and hunger to devour was his only instinct with each and every dæmon his prey-

Crack.

His head slammed against the floor.

Chapter 3: A Change of Plans

Harry was lying on a cold stone surface, a throbbing pain pulsing just behind his right temple.

With a great effort he pulled himself into a sitting position, cursing as he grasped the back of his head with both hands. A sticky, unnatural substance seeped from an open wound and he blinked, groaning as light flashed rapidly in his vision.

His sight of dæmons from his dead eye was blocked.

A cold voice spoke, and there was the sound of a wand being tapped on the back of a chair.

“Sit.”

Wincing, Harry pushed himself to his feet, gripping the edge of the nearby desk for support. His legs shook as he eased himself into the chair slowly, envious that Lyra had escaped this torture.

Professor Snape loomed over him. The tip of his wand hovering just above the bridge of Harry's nose. Harry tensed but otherwise stayed completely still, his raspy breath stealing more than air from their surroundings.

There was a sharp tap on his head, and what felt like an egg being broken on it as a trickle of something hot seeped through his hair. The throbbing stopped.

“Look at me,” Snape said.

Harry tilted his head back, hating that Snape's black eyes swept over every inch of him. His instinct was to divert his gaze, to stop any advantage that could be gained from diving into his mind. Not that it would have mattered.

Snape pressed one finger to his lip, his calculating stare intrusive. Finally, after what felt like several long painstaking minutes, he lent back.

“You're getting sloppy,” Snape said. “The craving to devour is resonating in every inch of your mind.”

“My occlumency is fine,” Harry said tersely. His hands gripped the edge of the chair to stop himself from reaching for his wand. “Besides, Remus always insists I shouldn't fight what I am.”

“You know perfectly well what I think of Lupin's methods,” Snape sneered, his gaze sweeping back over the shroud which covered Harry's dead eye. “And although I agree with the end result, giving into the darkness is weak. It is required that you master perfect control, anything less on your part is a failure.”

Tipping back on his chair, Harry kept his gaze level and his tone deliberately light.

“So Voldemort's not going to be pleased?”

“The Dark Lord,” Snape hissed. “Has the highest expectations of you. You should strive to achieve whatever he desires.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at this, daring to push the topic.

“Which is what exactly?”

“The Dark Lord does not share his plans with anyone,” Snape said, with a very unpleasant sneer.

But Harry knew what Voldemort wanted in some capacity. Sirius' warning from two years ago still haunted his thoughts. Riddle had let that slip.

Restoring dæmons.

Whatever that meant.

Snape circled around him, his own wand resting lightly in his palm. Harry released his grip, relaxing and pushing away his lingering anger and resentment.

“Legilimens.”

An invasion, far more potent than Snape had tried before, slammed into his mind. Yet, Harry could still see Snape and their immediate surroundings, the barrage of memories were flicking faint and fast, too obscure and hidden to grasp any real substance from them.

Snape twisted his wand, and Harry closed his eyes. A specific memory had been latched hold off, and was being pulled violently to the forefront of his mind. With a single exhale, Harry dispelled all thoughts and desires. The memory faded to nothing, slipping away before any detail could be extracted.

“Good,” Snape said as he took a step back and lowered his wand. He didn't look as angry as before, but a clear look of annoyance crossed his face.

“You should be in perfect control when your dæmon is present,” he demanded. “What has happened?”

Harry gritted his teeth and pushed himself back in the seat.

“It's none of your business.”

Lyra had always been so stable, provided everything he required, and yet it all came down to Tom. Tom who had always been there for him in any capacity he desired. But that had changed.

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze probing as he towered over him, but Harry didn't have an opportunity to protest. The wand came striking down, pushing straight into his temple.

“Legilimens.”

It was more focused, pinpointed to the exact time and place of Harry's darkest memories. Snape was pulling on scraps of emotions and terror, bringing them to the surface so that Harry had no means of resisting.

He was eleven and locked in the guillotine, separated from Tom and the blade was rising higher and higher...he was twelve and was in his room in St Mungo's, volatile darkness swirled around him...and then Riddle was there and was pulling him in front of the cauldron, and his arm was dripping with blood...his skin was rotting, flesh dropping from his body and a coldness ran like ice through his veins...it was two years ago and Tom had been taken...and there was nothing that he could do...

The memories flashed thick and fast. And Harry was left unable to dispel the worst moments of his existence.

The next one followed before he could even draw breath.

It was summer and Harry was back in Grimmauld place...he was in his bedroom and Lyra was downstairs in the kitchen, apparently helping Sirius with his birthday cake...Harry chucked the quidditch magazine he'd been reading back onto the side cabinet...knowing that he should have been working on his charms homework instead...

There was no reason to suspect what would happen next.

Harry's scream was guttural, ripped from his throat as all strength left him...he collapsed to his knees...his anchor to Tom was severed...and Lyra was just out of reach.

Ripples of cold undulated over Harry's skin. The patches of decay spreading, creeping and carving into his flesh, tearing down across his left arm to seek and destroy what little healthy skin remained.

It was made worse by his complete lucidness. Harry gripped his wrist, arm held out before him, watching helplessly...to know that his fall into shadow was inevitable...that he was a slave to his deteriorating body as darkness swarmed him...

For two years, ever since they had been forced apart, Tom's support had never wavered. Harry had been stable, had never given into own desires, his temptations. He had mastered every part of being demented, knew without a doubt that he would never again be reduced to a defenceless, dæmonless child....and now, within those few seconds, his reality had come crashing down and there was nothing he could do...

And then Lyra was there...was in his arms. Harry clutched at her, fingers digging into her fur as if it was the first time he'd held her...he sobbed, his body shaking as he wished for death.  The decay across his torso and down his arm had stopped, was no longer cutting into his flesh...Lyra had seen to that...

The curse broke, and Harry was thrown abruptly back into Snape's office. All the torch brackets had been extinguished and a thick layer of frost coated the chair and the stone floor of his immediate surroundings, countered by Snape's protective curse.

Harry slumped forwards, grasping his arm to his chest. Deep, rattling breaths consumed the room, but with no dæmons present Snape was spared any torment.

“Show me your arm.”

It was not a request Harry could refuse.

Snape's spidery fingers crept around Harry's left wrist, pushing up the sleeve and twisting it, so the markings were clear underneath the candle light.

Fresh patches of decay clung to his skin, superficial on the surface but running rotten all the way through the bone. They extended past his elbow, with strands shooting off to wrap around his wrist.

It had been terrifying quick, as rapid as Harry's initial transformation.

“Your condition will only deteriorate if you do not have a solid bond to a dæmon,” Snape muttered. He pressed the tip of his wand into the dead flesh. It flashed yellow briefly before dimming and absorbing in a sickish glow.

Harry scowled at him, and yanked his arm out of Snape's grip.

“How often has the decay spread?” Snape pressed.

“Just the once,” Harry said, still cradling his arm.

“And after the initial disruption, Tom's influence is continuing to ripple across your bond and destabilise you even when you have your dæmon present?” Snape said. He was eyeing Harry's decayed arm again as if he wanted to examine it further.

Harry nodded, throat tight.

“You should have told me immediately, Potter,” Snape said. “The Dark Lord has no desire for you to deteriorate further.”

Harry let out a rattling breath.

“So Tom didn't do it on purpose?”

He felt childish and foolish for even asking.

Snape didn't answer. Instead, he flicked his wand towards the shelf where bottles of all shapes and sizes were organised. One by one they started to rattle and shake, as the whole wall began to sink into the floor. The hidden room beyond was small and lit only by a blue glowing orb of light.

Dozens of ingredients were laid out on a table, and a cauldron was simmering in the corner. The liquid contents were solely black, and an odd smoke oozed from within, seeping out onto the floor.

A mixture of death and rotting smell flooded into the room, and still there was the flickers of golden particles captured from within. Dæmons.

Snape withdrew a single bottle, and using his wand filled some of the potion into it. He passed it across to Harry.

Despite the fact the liquid had been bubbling away, the bottle felt ice cold in Harry's grip.

“It's a higher concentration than I would usually give you,” Snape said. “However, your current situation is dangerous. You should not leave your dæmons side until I have spoken to the Dark Lord.”

Harry nodded, but getting Lyra to agree was another matter, specially after what she'd been subjected to all summer.

The liquid ran burning down his throat, and yet at the same time brought a near completeness that he savoured. The sudden stillness was apparent as his mind cleared.

Harry rolled the bottle gently between his fingers, staring at the glass.

“Have you seen Tom?” he asked quietly.

Harry expected another sneer, for Snape to go into one of his rants about the dangers of being a spy and how he wasn't Harry's personal owl.

It didn't come.

“What?” Harry said, stomach twisting. A sense of unknown dread was building.

Snape raised himself to his full height, a clear look of irritation on his face.

“I have been asked to deliver a message,” he said.

If Harry had a heart it would have been racing. He only ever received messages from Tom when Voldemort allowed it. He wetted his lips, desperately not trying to let his fluctuation emotions be apparent to Snape.

“Tom says that you are not to enter the Decadæmon tournament.”

A rush of disappointment and indignation flooded through Harry.

“Why not?”

Any patience Snape had left disappeared as he sneered.

“It's a dangerous tournament, Potter. As Tom's life is undoubtedly linked to yours, the Dark Lord clearly wants you unharmed-”

“I can look after myself,” Harry snapped. “And I don't care what Voldemort thinks.”

“Regardless of what the Dark Lord wants,” Snape hissed, and he looked pained to have to say it out loud. “You know Tom would want you safe in any instance.”

“I'm not going to get hurt,” Harry said. “Lyra is more than capable.”

Snape glared at him.

“You know nothing about this tournament. The challenges it will force you and your dæmon to endure will require your bond to be far more stable than anything you have ever demonstrated.”

Harry glared back, his fists clenched around the arms of the chair to stop him standing up and punching Snape in the face.

“I understand the bond between dæmons far more than anyone else,” Harry hissed. “I see it every day. I have just as much right as anyone else to compete.”

It seemed like Snape wasn't the only one struggling to reign in his temper.

“You cannot win this tournament, Potter,” Snape snapped. “You prey on dæmons, are tempted by your own. One wrong move in a task which is designed to push you and your dæmon to the limit will cost you far more deeply than anyone else.”

There was something Harry was missing, Snape wasn't usually so forthcoming in his advise. But Harry didn't care. He stood, snatching up his wand from Snape's desk and shoved it into his pocket.

“Nothing could ever be equivalent to what I have already gone through with Lyra. What I still go through.”

“I know you think you're special, Potter,” Snape sneered, clearly unimpressed. “That you believe anything related to dæmons solely exists for your amusement, but you are nothing without the Dark Lord, nothing without the decay spreading through your body...and one day it will claim you and there will nothing of you left but the foulest of creatures.”

A cruel smile slipped onto Harry's face.

“If you think I don't understand that, or sometimes crave that simple existence than I have sorely overestimated you.”

Snape loomed over him, but Harry didn't care. He tilted his head, dead eye looking around despite being blind.

“Where even is your dæmon?” Harry said. “Couldn't bare to face your darkest memories, Sir?”

Snape seized the front of Harry's robes, yanking him forwards as he pressed the tip of his wand straight into his neck.

Harry took a rattling breath, the shadow already roaring the life. There was more than one way to devour a soul. Then Snape pushed him away hard, so that Harry staggered, scraping his arm against the stone wall as he steadied himself.

“Get out of my sight, Potter,” Snape hissed, nostrils flaring. “And twenty points from Gryffindor for your little excursion on the train earlier.”

Harry glared at him, and then spun on his heel, slamming the office door behind him as he left.

---

The castle was so dark without Lyra. Harry climbed the familiar winding steps of the tower feeling only a deep disappointment when he reached the top. His room was empty, and there was no evidence that she had been there.

His belongings had already been delivered, and Hedwig's empty cage was sitting empty on top of the cabinet. Striding across the room, Harry kicked his trunk open and rummaged in the bottom, looking for one particular item. It was hidden under an assortment of robes, books and miscellaneous socks, wrapped haphazardly in brown paper. Tearing off the paper he revealed a small, square mirror.

Harry walked back to sit on the bed, rubbing a layer of dust from it in the process.

“Sirius Black,” he said.

Nothing happened for a moment, and he was left staring at his half rotten and decayed face. His scar was dulled, still visible on his forehead but by far not the most prominent feature. The black shroud that was his dead eye swirled.

The reflection morphed, and Sirius's grey eyes and haunted face stared back at him. The tips of Mintaka's ears were just visible at the bottom of the frame.

Sirius sighed and ran his hand over his face.

“What happened?”

Harry lent back on his pillow, holding the mirror above him. He gave a lopsided grin.

“What makes you think something happened?”
Sirius scowled at him.

“You never get in touch. Not unless I'm about to receive an owl from McGonagall about you terrorising the Slytherin quidditch team again.”

“I only did that once!”

“Twice,” Sirius corrected. “So what's up?”

Harry hesitated. Tom's request burning in the front of his mind. With a sigh, he relented.

“Do you know anything about the Decadæmon tournament?”

For a moment Sirius' blinked once, and then twice before a large grin spread across his face.

“You're joking, right?” he said. “Are you going to enter? Which school is hosting it?”

Sirius' grin was infectious and Harry couldn't help but relax, some of his immediate concerns alleviated.

“Durmstrang. I just need to put my name in to McGonagall to be considered.”

“You're so lucky,” Sirius said. “Hogwarts wasn't participating when I was at school. Your father and I wrote to the Ministry to start a petition to rejoin it, but that never went anywhere. The Head of International Magical Cooperation at the time was an ancient old witch who told us to get lost and go and waste someone else's time.”

“So what did you do?”

Sirius shrugged, sunken expression alight with amusement.

“I think we sent her four crates of self exploding crackers...or maybe that was to the Department of Magical Games and Sports when we tried to get flying carpets unbanned...either way they spent days trying to recapture all the mice-”

“Well Hogwarts are sending twelve students from sixth and seventh year,” Harry said. “So my chances might not be too bad.”

“Not forgetting that Lyra's a force to be reckoned with and Hogwarts will want to win,” Sirius said. “Professor McGonagall will have to pick you...or I can always find some more exploding crackers to convince her.”

Harry's smile slipped slightly. He tugged his hand through his patchy hair and let out a rattling breath causing a layer of thin mist to form on the mirror.

“Tom doesn't want me to enter.”

Sirius' brow knitted together, and the tips of Mintaka's ears twitched.

“How'd you find that out?”

A rush of guilt and a deep shame ran through Harry and he glanced away.

“Snape told me.”

“Ah,” Sirius said, but the look of concern didn't alleviate from his face. “So something did happen then?”

“I didn't mean it,” Harry said numbly. “I lost control, but in my defence Lyra was with me and it's not like I hurt anyone-”

Sirius' expression soured.

“I thought you said everything with Tom had settled down?”

Harry shrugged, but he still didn't look up to see the grave expression cross Sirius' face.

“Harry, we spoke about this. You can't have an incident like last time-”

Reluctantly, Harry nodded. The temperature in the room was dropping rapidly. Ice was creeping across the bedspread and down onto the floor, Harry shivered, despite not feeling the chill.

“So I probably shouldn't enter the tournament then?” Harry said. “If my bond with Tom is not exactly stable at the moment there's just as much chance that I'll lose control and devour Lyra.”

Sirius waved his hand dismissively.

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Harry. Whatever is going on with Tom is going to happen if you're at Hogwarts or Durmstrang. You may as well make the most of a bad situation.”

Harry pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them. Maybe it was because Snape had just ripped through his worst possible memories, the lingering despair clung to him, but there was no escape from the inevitable. And Harry hated himself for even thinking it.

“What if Voldemort's found a way to block our connection?”

A very hard expression crossed Sirius' face.

“If that was the case the Order would have surely have heard something-”

Harry bit his cheek to save from cursing. His hand automatically tugged at the blue band that enclosed his ankle.

“Okay, forget the Order-” Sirius said, noting the look on Harry's face. “But either way, Tom's not going to give you up so easily. You know that, right?”

Harry shook his head, burying his head into his knees. His grip loosening on the mirror so that he was looking at a sideways image.

“I just don't know what to do, Sirius.”

“Sure you do,” Sirius said, with one of his haunted smiles. “You enter the tournament, get out of Hogwarts, steal Tom back and try not to devour Lyra in the process. What more do you need to know?”

Harry's breath came out in a rattling laugh.

“You make it sound so simple.”

---

Severus Snape's footsteps echoed off the stone floor as he walked down the long chamber. He passed large ornate statues of black marble, carved in serpentine features. A fire was burning gently in the grate, casting the immediate surroundings and the waiting figures in a dim, flickering light.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness Snape could see the Dark Lord was sat in a large, throne like chair. His arms draped over the side lazily, as his red snake like eyes watched with a horrible predatory like quality. Just to the Dark Lord's right, a young man stood with his hands pressed behind his back and his legs apart slightly. His form was translucent, just like that of a dæmon.

Given the nature of his visit, Snape could only guess which part of Voldemort's soul was present. Tom had grown tall in the past few years, his features more handsome and defined so that he and Riddle looked strikingly alike. It was odd to think that the disfigured, serpent like form of the Dark Lord had ever appeared so human.

A third person was waiting with them. The skull like mask hid their entire face and the hood was drawn up to cover any notable features. Just like Snape, this person's dæmon was not present.

Snape reached the group, fell to his knees and pressed his forehead against the cold stone.

“My Lord,” he murmured.

Voldemort's high and unnatural voice echoed down the long chamber.

“Severus, I am pleased you could join us so soon.”

Snape rose back to his feet and removed the hood from over his head.

“Forgive me, I did not believe I was expected.”

Voldemort's face twisted into an unpleasant smile.

“I had hoped, nothing more...but of course, my loyal servant here assured me you would come, after all he is all to eager to act following the incident tonight-”

The Death Eater shifted, his mask was littered in intricate runes and carvings of a design that was unfamiliar and old.

“From what I heard, Potter lost control during the Hogwarts feast,” the Death Eater said.

Snape nodded, choosing his next words deliberately.

“I take it that the news has already reached the Ministry then?”

Behind the mask there was the clear narrowing of eyes.

“Now that Scrimgeour is no longer protecting Potter, the Minister is eager to take advantage of the situation...of course the Wizengamot have always been sympathetic to the boy, but now circumstances have changed....and if our Lord desires it, Potter will be detained before the week is out.”

Snape allowed an amused expression to cross his face.

“You are a fool if you believe Albus Dumbledore would ever let it get that far,” he said. “Potter is too well protected, the Order of the Phoenix have seen to that.”

“Even the Order cannot remove the boy from the Ministry's influence.”

Snape raised an eyebrow at this, his lips curling into a sneer.

“Then you know that the Order have blocked the trace on the boy?”

What could only have been a look of fury must have crossed under the mask, for the Death Eater twisted back towards the throne like chair.

“It cannot be true, my Lord?”

Voldemort inclined his head, his voice a dangerously quiet tone.

"It does appear that Albus Dumbledore has replaced the boys trace with a tracker of his own making. Which means that the Order has the capability of extracting the boy from any location...supposedly even one as secure as this.”

“That's impossible,” the Death Eater started aghast. “No magic is more powerful than your own-”

Voldemort waved his hand impatiently.

"It certainly complicates matters," he said. "I would have preferred not to have to confront the matter directly.  However-" He fell silent, his gaze wandering across to Tom.

The group waited in silence as Voldemort seemed to be contemplating something. When Tom did not say or do anything the Dark Lord withdrew his wand and held it loosely between his fingers. He fixed his red eyes back onto Snape.

“You have examined the boy, Severus?” Voldemort hissed.

“Yes, My Lord. It appears that Potter's temperamental behaviour is because the connection to your soul is being intermittently interrupted-” Neither Tom nor Voldemort reacted, so Snape continued. “The disruption is significant...his occlumency is compromised and his emotions appear to be in a constant state of flux. If it continues Potter will be prone to make further mistakes, just like tonight regardless of if his dæmon is present.”

Voldemort blinked once, and then hissed something in parseltongue. Tom flicked his eyes across to the Dark Lord but he did not reply.

“Then it is a perfect opportunity,” the Death Eater said. “Even without the Dark Lord's influence, the Wizengamot will have to remove the boy from Hogwarts.”

Voldemort's face contorted into something that could only be annoyance. He drummed his fingers on the wooden chair, his expression less than pleasant. There was a moment where only the crackling of the fire could be heard.

“Very well,” Voldemort hissed. “You may start the process to extract the boy.  Although it must be done delicately, Dumbledore's protections must not be triggered or access to the boy will be lost entirely.  And the consequences of that will be severe.”

Snape pressed his lips together, and took a shallow breath.

“There is...something else, My Lord,” he said.

Voldemort sat back in his throne like chair. His gaze fastened upon Snape's with such a fierce intensity, his voice was high and impatient.

“And?”

For the first time, and at great risk to himself for disregarding the Dark Lord so callously, Snape looked directly at Tom. In response, Tom barely reacted, his eyes flicking to meet him.

“I thought you should be aware there was an occasion where Potter was separated from his dæmon...which happened to coincide with when the connection to you was fully broken.”

Tom's composure, which had been the perfect picture of indifference, faltered. His mouth parted slightly, eyes widening as his whole body became rigid. If Snape hadn't been watching carefully, he would have missed the tightening of his fist and the brief look of pure terror which flashed across his face.

In comparison the reaction from Voldemort was chilling. The Dark Lord merely twisted his head to mildly observe his soul. The wand that had been placed on his lap was suddenly back in his grip, held delicately but deliberately.

“You're lying.”

Tom's voice was quiet, barely louder than the crackling of the fireplace. There was betrayal in his prolonged, unblinking stare, as if his eyes were suddenly unfocused and he was seeing straight through his surroundings.

Given the fact that Potter had not been lost, it made sense that Tom denied it. Voldemort seemed to have the same opinion, as his red eyes blinked in a horribly reptilian way.

“I trust there was no lasting damage, Severus?”

“The spread of decay was substantial. I suspect if his dæmon had not been seconds away Potter would have deteriorated past anything recoverable.”

Tom whirled suddenly and hissed something in parseltounge.

Voldemort tilted his head to the side, his lips curling into a faint mirthless smile as he nodded. A wand materialised in front of Tom. He grasped it and took several deliberate steps forwards, raising it to point directly between Snape's eyes.

“Show me.”

Snape hesitated for less than a heartbeat and then allowed the memory to surface.

He needn't have bothered. The sheer force of will that ripped into his mind made him stagger, disorientated as his memories of the last few hours were shifted apart like sand.

He was back at the Hogwarts feast...Dumbledore was standing up to announce the decadæmon tournament...and then there was a commotion at the Gryffindor table, apparent as dæmon from all directions fled...a patronus burst into life...which could only mean one thing...the memories shifted...and Snape was hurrying to his office, Potter floating unconscious in front of him...another shift...and Tom had the memory he required...

Snape watched for the second time that night, Potter's memory...not as clear as the first, but still with the same dangerous potency...the decay just as ruthless, caressing the boys body as it took hold and ruined him...devoured from the inside...

A heartache reverberated through Snape. A longing and despair so deep, that he staggered from the wealth of raw emotions coursing into his mind.

Now memories of insignificant times flashed before his eyes...Potter sitting in detention while finishing his homework...Potter on a broomstick in the middle of a quidditch match while his dæmon flew beside him...Potter eating breakfast, a smile on his decayed lips as Lyra knocked over Granger's pumpkin juice...and then everything changed...and Snape wasn't looking at his own memories any more...

He was back in the chamber...but it was like he wasn't there. Instead he watching three figures from a distance...Voldemort stood in front of the same fireplace, robes draped around him as he surveyed two parts of his soul.

“Have you made your decision?” Voldemort's voice was worse in the memory, the hiss echoed through the chamber, as if it was coming from every direction.

Tom's presence pulsed, his own emotions tainting the scene before Snape, the rush of fear paramount as he spoke.

“The answer is still no.”

“Even if I will let you keep the boy?” Voldemort said softly. Riddle jerked slightly at this, his own hand twitching to find his wand.

Tom glanced sideways only briefly, his voice heavy.

“We both know that's a lie.”

Screams tore through the building beneath them, but none of the three flinched.

“The boy must be tested,” Voldemort hissed. And the wand that was held loosely between thin fingers seemed all the more prominent, as if Tom was deadly aware of it.

Riddle sneered, his own disgust plain to see.

“If my brother is so...reluctant to assist you, My Lord...then let me go in your place.”

Tom laughed, despite the shiver down the back of his neck.

“We both know that Riddle will only try again where he failed before-”

The scene was rushing now...speeding past so that Snape could barely catch any hint of the conversation...and then it settled...coming back into a clear focus.

Riddle was gone, and the Dark Lord and Tom were alone. Voldemort was circling Tom, almost predator like as his robes trailed behind him.

“I am...disappointed,” he hissed. “I have promised you far more than you deserve and you would dare defy my command-”

“My Lord-” Tom wasn't looking at him, was clutching an arm to his chest. “There must be another way...”

A look of pure fury and rage passed over Voldemort's face. The enormity of the situation was apparent as Tom took several steps backwards. There was a hiss, a curse in parseltongue, and then Voldemort had raised his own wand and was pointing it at Tom-

“Enough.”

Voldemort's shrill command was high and unnatural, cutting through the memory. The curse broke, and Snape was thrown back into the present in the room with Voldemort, Tom and the masked Death Eater.

Snape kept his gaze impassive, despite his now racing heart beat. The rush of information he'd just been presented with made no sense...contradicted everything the Order thought they knew...and with his own prolonged silence, Snape's true loyalties would be only confirmed...which meant if Tom had truly pledged himself to the Dark Lord...

Tom was standing very still. His head lowered and his breathing sharp. Unregulated magic was burning, fury radiating through every inch of him. It was a stark contrast to his emotionless portrayal only moments before.

Robes billowed around Voldemort's skeletal figure as he stood and approached the fireplace. His disfigured face caught in the light, his slits for nostrils flaring.

“Thank you, Severus. You have done well.”

A horribly cruel smile flickered onto Voldemort's face.

“It seems that forcing the boys removal from Hogwarts will no longer be necessary.”

The masked Death Eater jerked, and fell to his knees again, forehead pressed against stone.

“My Lord,” he said. “If you let me convince Fudge-”

“That will do,” Voldemort hissed. “Leave us.”

The Death Eater started muttering hurried apologies, crawling up to the hem of the Dark Lord's robes to kiss it. Only with another dismissal did the Death Eater scramble up from the floor. The man cast Snape one final resentful glare through the slits in his mask before retreating at a brisk pace.

Voldemort curled his long fingers around his wand and he then fixed unnatural red eyes back upon Tom. There was a sharp edge to his voice, a challenge as he surveyed his soul.

“I trust that your support to the boy from now on will be unyielding. Your connection to Potter infallible. No matter the circumstance.”

Tom said nothing. He glared at Voldemort, his anger so palpable that if he raised the wand, only one curse was expected.

Just like the memory, Voldemort began to slowly circle Tom. An oppressive magic was rising, flooding and drowning their surroundings. The sheer power of it was suffocating so that Snape could barely draw breath.

Tom still had not moved. The wand in his hand emitted black sparks as Voldemort came to stand only an arms reach away. And then the Dark Lord was leaning down, his lipless mouth curled into something which could only resemble a smile as he hissed something softly into Tom's ear, the parseltongue intrusive and alien.

A desperate look of resignation flashed across Tom's face. He made to draw away but Voldemort's snatched his wrist, pulling Tom closer while still hissing those horrific sounds.

Something flashed and there was a second of complete darkness. A prickle of deathly cold slipped down the back of Snape's neck. The instinct to draw his wand was burning but he remained completely immobile.

Tom raised his arm and opened his palm, surrendering the wand for the Dark Lord to reclaim. Voldemort took it and released Tom's wrist with an unnecessary force. His expression contorted in a murderous fashion, his serpentine face, gleaming and deadly.

“And your answer?” Voldemort demanded.

Snape held his breath, thoughts flying back to the memory he had just witnessed, trying to decipher what Voldemort could be asking. It didn't matter either way.

Tom averted his gaze and bowed his head.

“Yes, My Lord.”

Chapter 4: Dolores Umbridge

Harry lay, staring at the ceiling with an unwavering intensity. Cold air flowed, dancing and swirling in a mist like fashion. It pooled across the ceiling, rising with each exhale before falling down in a curtain of despair.

Yet, his mind remained perfectly clear. His emotions calm and controlled as magic influenced and infiltrated the surroundings. It was something he was getting better at. The action easier because for the first time in a month he had a solid connection to Tom. And that had occurred suddenly and had remained unchanged since the early hours of the morning.

Harry's violent outbursts were fuelled by temperamental behaviour which Lyra had endured all summer. Now, it was a return of who he was meant to be, and after years of lessons with Remus, Harry was finally acknowledging and relishing in that fact.

The cold mist swirled, cascading in the most wonderful of patterns. It was better that Lyra wasn't here, it made it easier to embrace the darkness.

There was a loud knock on the door.

Harry rolled over, eyes burning and body stiff as he forced his legs to move. Around him the mist fell, rippling around his footsteps so when he opened the door it swept across the threshold.

Sephronia yelped and jumped back in surprise. She dodged around Ron, leapt down the steps and hid behind the central pillar.

Ron shivered, drawing his arms around himself, goosebumps pickling on his skin.

“A-are you okay, Harry?”

Harry pointed his wand towards the fire place. Flames roared to life, dampening the utter feeling of despair.

“Sorry. I was just practising.”

“Practising-” Sephronia growled, head poking around the top step. “It's worse than Azkaban in there-”

Ron retreated slightly, crouching down to comfort her. There was a determination in his expression, despite his cheeks colouring bright red as he became suddenly very interested in his shoes.

“About last night...”

Harry reached up and rubbed the back of his head. It no longer stung but he could still remember the crack of his head against stone.

“Sephronia's much stronger than last time. Your patronus is getting better.”

If anything Ron's face went even redder.

“Yeah, well. I have a better memory to try now.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow, mouth twisting into a smirk.

“Your summer was good then?”

Ron grinned sheepishly, looking abashed as he ran his hand through his hair. He seemed relieved that Harry hadn't started cursing at him.

“Hermione's parents are much less noisy than mum. Helps as well not having Fred and George send Celendia and Demetria to spy on us all the time.”

Harry grabbed his school bag and they walked down the steep spiral staircase to join a steady stream of students and dæmons making their way towards the Great Hall. Sephronia ran along in front of them, keeping well out of reach of Harry's immediate influence while Ron chatted about how odd muggle homes were.

"Seph couldn't get used to the fact that Hermione's parents couldn't hear or see her," Ron said. "She kept feeling like they were deliberately ignoring her. She made a right scene jumping onto the coffee table one day."

Harry smiled, but didn't say anything.  It reminded him of Tom terrorising Dudley.

Ron slowed down slightly, glancing at the empty space beside Harry.

“Lyra didn't find you then?” he asked.

Harry shook his head, trying to hide the bitterness in his voice.

“I'm guessing she took off straight after I attacked Neville?”

“Pretty much,” Ron said. “She hung about to see if Cyrilla was alright, but I haven't seen her since.”

Harry paused at the bottom of the entrance hall steps. The front doors were wide open, the grounds inviting as the sun rose across the distance hillsides. At least, if Harry couldn't find a way out of the castle then Lyra wouldn't have gone far.

“Come on,” Ron said, half distracted by Sephronia who was wagging her tail enthusiastically. The smell of sausages was wafting from the Great Hall. “I'm sure she'll turn up soon.”

"Yeah, maybe."

Lyra could easily disappear for weeks at a time, which was only made easier with Hogwarts' vast size and secret passageways.

Hermione was half way down the Gryffindor table emersed in a book. Ramiron lay on the bench, head in his paws, eyes shut and clearly still half asleep. Sephronia jumped up beside him causing the bench to wobble precariously. The otter opened one bleary eye and squeaked.

Hermione glanced over the top of her transfiguration textbook, a worried frown appearing on her face.

“Harry, we were going to come up to see you last night but Professor McGonagall said we should go straight to the common room-”

Harry reached across the table to grab a slice of toast.

“It's fine, Hermione.”

Hermione glanced at Ron, who was slipping a few sausages off his plate for Sephronia.

“Well...we finish prefect duties before dinner tonight, why don't you come up to the common room afterwards? It'll be good to catch up properly.”

Harry's mouth twitched slightly.

“Let me guess, you've drawn up a study plan already?”

Hermione didn't even blink.  She set her book down, gesturing to the text she had been reading.

“We learn some really interesting spells this year, and if you had something to keep you busy and keep your mind off things...it worked well for your O.W.L's.”

Harry smiled.

“I can think of plenty of things that are a better distraction than homework, specially before Snape's had the opportunity to give us any.”

Ron dropped his fork and gaped at him.

“You're still taking potions? I thought you needed an Outstanding for that.”

“Tom would kill me if I dropped potions,” Harry said with a shrug. “Plus Snape couldn't exactly refuse, not when I didn't get an opportunity to take any electives.”

“Well either way," Hermione said, pulling Ramiron into her lap. "If you change your mind the passwords mimbulus mimbletonia.”

High above there was the flutter of wings. Owls soared around the rafters, flying in a large circular formation, seeking out where to drop their deliveries. Harry looked up too, wishful despite everything that Lyra was amongst them, only to find his absent heart sink when Hedwig soared down alone.  She landed and hopped across to nip at his toast.

A small brown owl landed smartly in front of Hermione and presented the morning paper.  After popping a couple of sickles in its pouch, Hermione buried herself behind the prophet.

Harry stroked Hedwig absently. An old picture of Tom covered the newpapers front page underneath a damning headline. There was no doubt in his mind that Tom would have grown in the last couple of years, would look strikingly similar to Riddle who was bound to the diary and frozen in time.  After everything that had happened, Harry really didn't know how he felt about it.

A tall shadow loomed over the table causing Hedwig to hoot and flap her wings in protest.  After last night, it was the last person Harry wanted to see.

“Potter," Professor Snape said, lip curling.  "Your presence is required in the Headmaster's office."

Harry pushed his uneaten breakfast away.

“I have classes, sir.”

Snape's smile was unpleasant.

“That is still to be seen.”

Harry peered up at the teachers table, trying to ignore the creeping feeling of dread. Fawkes was perched on top of Dumbledore's chair but the chair itself was empty. Instinctively, Harry's dead eye found itself looking in the direction of the headmaster's office, but without Lyra there was no hint of which dæmons were waiting for him.

Harry pulled his breakfast back towards him, stabbing a fork into his bacon.

“I'll head up in a minute.”
Snape blinked once, his unpleasant smile widening.

“No, Potter. I'm to escort you up there now.”

When it was clear that Snape wasn't going to leave, Harry reluctantly reached for his bag.

“If you see Lyra tell her to come and find me.”

Ron and Hermione nodded, their anxious expressions doing little to settle Harry' own nerves. It also didn't help as people twisted in their seats, angry whispers breaking out as Harry followed Snape out of the Great Hall.

It was a long walk up to Dumbledore's office.

Despite taking the most direct path up through the moving staircases, Harry trailed his feet, a hard knot forming in the pit of his stomach as they ascended to the seventh floor.

Attacking Neville had been an unavoidable mistake, but there was no point arguing that. No excuse would satisfy the Ministry, which meant that anything could happen.

The only comfort Harry had was that his connection to Tom remained solid. The reckless bouts of emotions, the lingering desire to devour was pushed back to the far recesses of his mind.

At the far end of the corridor, Snape paused in front of the stone gargoyle. It jumped aside at the password – cherry fondue, revealing the winding staircase behind. Snape twisted on his heel, holding his hand out expectantly.

“Your wand, Potter.”

Harry shoved his hand into his pocket, fingers curling around it. He didn't move.

“Unless you would rather join me in detention this evening, do as you're told,” Snape scowled.

Harry tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

“I'd rather take detention, sir.”

Harry's feet ripped out from under him. The room spun, a rush of darkness pulsed as he was left hanging upside down, school bag crashing to the floor. His wand slipped through his fingers and zoomed straight into Snape's waiting hand.

Harry thrashed, trying and failing to grab hold of something. He inhaled and let out a rattling breath, only to find a horrible smothering sensation over his mouth.

Snape's footsteps echoed against the stone, his eyes glinting in amusement as Harry dangled uselessly before him.

“If you want to retain the small freedom you currently possess then you will listen carefully, Potter. Otherwise, you will find yourself in a far worse position than detention.”

Harry ignored him, trying to pull at whatever invisible blanket stopped him drawing breath.

Snape's mouth curled into an unpleasant sneer.

“First, you will obey every instruction I give you. Secondly, you will remain silent unless addressed directly. And finally, you will not under any circumstances attempt to devour a soul, or use your abilities in any way shape or form. I'm sure even you can manage to remember that?”

Pressure was building in Harry's head, and his vision swam slightly.

Snape held up Harry's wand, inspecting it.

“You will get this back after this ordeal is over with. Now are you going to cooperate, or do I have to leave you silenced?”

Harry's jaw tightened, darkness swirling within. He fell perfectly still, glaring at Snape and desperately thinking of all the ways he could tear out and devour Snape's soul.

“I'm more than happy to leave you like this all day,” Snape added. “Or as long as it takes for the message to sink in.”

Harry swung round, arms falling to below his head. The darkness pulsed, fury running through his veins. Despite not drawing breath, his magic cracked around him. The corridor dropped in temperature.

Through gritted teeth, he nodded once.

Snape flicked his wand and Harry crashed to the floor.

Dazed and head still pounding, Harry scrambled up but before he'd even steadied himself, or chance a glance back down the corridor, Snape seised his shoulder, spidery fingers digging in hard. His wand pointed straight at Harry's head.

“Don't make this more difficult for yourself then you have to, Potter. I only need one reason.”

Harry shoved Snape's arm off him.

“If you touch me again-”

“Twenty points from Gryffindor,” Snape sneered. “Now get up there or I'll make sure you're in detention until the end of term.”

Harry clenched his fists, took a harrowing breath and marched up the moving stone steps without another look at Snape.

He didn't bother knocking when he reached the top. Harry practically kicked the door open, his stomach flipping when it revealed a collection of very unwelcome dæmons.

Gracia, Amabel and a cat dæmon that Harry was unfamiliar with. Fawkes had materialised on his perch at the end of Dumbledore's desk. Harry ignored them all, his attention taken by someone he had not expected.

The Death Eater with the fake dæmon.

The osprey was perched on top of Mr Crouch's shoulder causing his neck to sit crooked. It looked so real it was frightening. Harry desperately wished Lyra was with him so he could see if the man's real dæmon was hiding just out of sight.

The unknown dæmon, a large black cat with a black velvet bow perched on top of his head, belonged to a woman dressed in pink who Harry had never seen before. The dæmon's face was squashed and his mouth turned downwards, giving him a rather grumpy appearance.

“I'll leave you to it, Cornelius,” Mr Crouch said, raising a finger to the brim of his hat and nodding towards Harry. “I don't think I'll be much help here with Mr Potter. I'll be back later to discuss the finer parts of the tournament.”

“You may as well stay,” Fudge said. He spun his bowler hat between his fingers, his expression souring as he looked towards Harry, and then a patiently waiting Dumbledore. “I don't think this will take very long.”

Harry crossed his arms and eyed Kingsley who was standing next to Fudge. The auror had a large gash down the side of his face, and Amabel had a dozen lacerations showing through her fur.  He looked a lot better since the last time Harry had seen the auror.

Ignoring Snape's instruction Harry addressed Fudge.

“Am I being arrested?”

Fudge scowled.

“Not today, Potter. The Wizengamot remain reluctant to deal with the imminent threat of your existence.” His voice was cold and bitter. “However, it appears that following the incident last night, the arrangements to contain you are not adequate...therefore, I have asked Dolores to undertake an extensive review to ensure everything is up to par.” The woman with the cat dæmon cleared her throat with a pathetic cough.

“Why?” Harry snapped, ignoring the warning that both Dumbledore and Snape were giving him. “I've had two years of being in complete control, just because I slipped up once-”

“Ah!” Fudge said, waving his finger in front of him. “It only takes one mistake Potter. And I'd rather not chance another attack on a student before the Wizengamot finally wakes up to their mistakes.”

Harry glared at Fudge.

Professor Dumbledore stood and walked from around his desk.

“Harry, I have agreed with the Minister that he may conduct whatever inspections he deems suitable. I've received a number of letters from concerned parents since last night and I trust you understand the importance of alleviating their concerns.”

Harry gritted his teeth and said nothing.

Dumbledore turned to the Minister. “I have other business to attend to with Barty. Professor Snape has kindly offered to escort Madam Umbridge and assist in her assessment today.”

Umbridge turned to Snape, her voice was oddly shrill and girl like.

“Where is the boys dæmon?” She looked around as if Lyra would suddenly appear and hop out from behind one of the oddly shaped instruments which occupied the office.

A thin smile crossed Snape's lips.

“Until I am convinced that Mr Potter is deemed fit enough to control himself, he and his dæmon will remain separated.”

Harry clenched his fists. If he didn't know Lyra was just on one of her excursions he would have tried to throttle Snape.

A look of deep concern crossed Umbridge's face. She pressed her lips together, while her black cat stalked around her legs, his squashy face fixed on Harry.

“Is that wise? Will Potter actually learn anything if the consequences are not permanent?”

Snape inclined his head.

“Regrettably, it is not an option to separate them indefinitely. Mr Potter is still reliant on his soul, just as you or I.”

It was safe to say Umbridge did not look convinced, if anything her pursed lips tightened.

Dumbledore clasped his hands together.

“Well then, before you get into the details I will excuse myself...of course, if you have any particularly queries then Professor Snape is permitted to act on my behalf, as Mr Potter's legal guardian. Cornelius, would you care to join myself and Barty to discuss the transport arrangements to Durmstrang?”

Fudge snapped his beady eyes away from Harry and yanked his bowler hat back onto his head.

“No, I have urgent business to attend to. Kingsley, if you would escort me back to the Ministry.”

The auror inclined his head. Kingley's injuries from Azkaban must have still been causing him problems, for he stepped forwards with a slight limp.

Fudge grunted and with a sharp nod to Dumbledore and Mr Crouch, a final scathing look towards Harry, turned on his heel and marched towards the door. Gracia, his bull dog trotted along behind, growling at Harry as they passed.

“Hem hem.”

Umbridge bent down to adjust the bow atop her dæmon's head. The cat hissed, arching his back in protest. Then she stood to straighten her own pink cardigan.

“Shall we?”

Reluctantly, Harry trudged his feet across the office, back to the winding staircase with Snape and Umbridge in tow. Mr Crouch smiled and waved at him, his fake osprey dæmon watching with its beady eyes.

At the bottom of the staircase, Harry retrieved his abandoned bag and had barely made it two steps down the corridor when Umbridge coughed again.

“If you would excuse me for a moment.”

She rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a clipboard along with a long roll of parchment. The quill's feathers were bright pink. She dipped it into an ink pot which had floated up to hover just below her shoulders and turned to Snape with an unsettling smile.

“So you are in charge of all matters relating to Mr Potter?”

Snape's mouth curled into a smirk.

“Yes. Potter is difficult to control and as such must be managed by someone who is competent in dealing with such dark creatures.”

“I see.” Umbridge marked something down on the parchment. “And you believe yourself to be suitably qualified?”

“Naturally. I was tasked with managing Potter after his initial transformation and have been primarily in charge of his rehabilitation since. Despite what recent events may indicate, Mr Potter has come on a long way since then.”

“So I have seen,” Umbridge said, voice horribly shrill. “Although I wasn't convinced Potter should have been allowed to mingle with his peers at all.”

That caught Harry's attention.

“You were at the Wizengamot, weren't you?” he said. “When the Minister was trying to get me put back in St Mungo's.”

Umbridge completely ignored him.

“Shall we start with Mr Potter's living arrangements?”

Snape nodded. He gestured for Harry to lead the way.

Harry scowled at the pair, but turned and stormed off in front of them, his hands stuffed in his pockets were his wand should be.

He tried to ignore them as he walked ahead. It was almost impossible as Umbridge kept interrupting Snape with her pathetic cough to ask stupid questions.

When they reached the top of Harry's tower, there was a new lock chained to the bars which hadn't been there this morning. Harry resisted the urge to roll his good eye as it slid open and allowed him to enter.

In addition, there were other changes to his room. Most of his school books were locked in a newly installed cabinet and a large poster had been plastered on the wall above the fireplace. It appeared to have a large list of rules on it, including No 5. Don't approach other dæmons under any circumstance. This time Harry did look at Snape. Surely this was over the top. Umbridge however, didn't seem to think so, she nodded and then made a large tick on her clip board.

Hedwig perched on her usual spot on the windowsill. Her large yellow eyes fixed on Umbridge who started to walk around the room, scribbling down notes as she inspected each and every inch of the place.

Finally, she spun on her heel and still completely ignoring Harry cleared her throat again.

“Would you be kind enough to explain how you deal with Mr Potter if he steps out of line?”

Snape withdrew his wand.

“Personally, I find a direct approach works best. Would you like a demonstration?”

The wand struck before she answered, before Harry could prepare.

“Expecto Patronum.”

A cold and unnatural light burst into existence. Laraine who had been no where to be seen, was suddenly there, her protected form radiating waves of impenetrable force.

Harry staggered, his breath catching from being plunged into an icy depths. His limbs heavy with exhaustion, like he was trying to wade through treacle. The light oppressive and poised to destroy every part of him.

Pressing himself against the far wall was the furthest he could retreat. Harry shivered, body repelled as the darkness gouged inwards, desperately seeking a way to escape.

The spell broke.

Harry fell forwards, breathing in sharp uneven gasps. His fingers scratched into the stone wall, clinging to any remnant of strength in an attempt to steady his trembling legs. He wasn't used to such a direct attack.  Laraine retreated, beating her wings as she flew to perch on top of the cabinet. 

A horribly sweet smile had crept onto Umbridge's face.

“Can I try?”

Snape's black eyes were alight with equally wicked amusement.

“Certainly.”

There was no time to recover. The black cat pounced and Harry was left fully exposed, cold light carving into his decayed flesh. Harry slipped to the floor, his body collapsing from the sheer oppressive force.

Umbridge was talking, her voice a hollow echo.  Harry could barely make out the words, could not concentrate on his surroundings.  Each breath was weaker than the last, rattling and unable to draw air, let alone anything else. Flickers of light danced in Harry's vision as within him the darkness began to burn. It was suffocating, felt sickeningly close to his initial transformation when it had rushed through his body and claimed him.

And it wasn't stopping.

The cold light was pushing into his body, cutting deeper and seeking out the darkness in a desparate need to destroy.  Harry grasped at his chest, his absent heart withered against the onslaught, unable to yeild any fight as it constricted in painful motions.  This couldn't be how it ended-

Snape moved, a lazy motion with his hand.  The black cat leapt away, the cold light fading.

Harry fell forwards, palms pressed against the floor. His head throbbed from a dim pounding, vision blurry as everything spun. Every inch of him was shaking, trembling uncontrollably. He needed Lyra...couldn't hope to fight either of them without her.

“Get up, Potter.”

With immense effort, Harry staggered to his feet. His chest burned, his breathing sharp and shallow as his lungs gasped from the lack of oxygen.

Umbridge's dæmon prowled back and forth, edging closer and ready to leap back into his protected form. Umbridge at least seemed satisfied with the result, for she placed her wand back into her handbag.

Snape kept his own held lightly in his palm, a nasty sneer on his face. Harry clenched his jaw and eyed him warily.

“Mr Potter's friends were taught the patronus charm due to the amount of time they spend with him,” Snape said. “Unfortunately, it is not part of the curriculum.”

Umbridge scribbled something on her notepad. Her mouth twitching into a horribly sweet smile.

“How disappointing.”

“Students in Mr Potter's year are advised to minimise contact with him outside of classes, recognising that they do so at their own risk,” Snape continued. “Otherwise, the rest of the student population is to avoid contact with Mr Potter and report any incident to a teacher immediately. Of course, I will be kept informed of all incidents.”

Umbridge wrote something else on her clipboard, glancing at Harry as if he was something foul like a piece of dirt on her shoe.

“And I believe Mr Potter is permitted the use of a wand?”

“It has been confiscated after last night,” Snape said, and he removed Harry's wand from his pocket in a totally unnecessary demonstration. “Naturally, the boy is legally allowed to use magic, but until we can be certain the same thing will not happen again, it will be strictly controlled.”

“Well at least that's in hand,” Umbridge said, ticking off something else. “Now, in relation to Mr Potter's punishment-”

Hot anger thrummed through Harry, but the lingering effects of the patronus charm still resonated...he steadied himself, his voice hollow.

“My punishment?”

“Oh dear,” Umbridge said, her mouth parting slightly. It would have been comical if the situation wasn't so serious. “You attacked another student, Mr Potter. If you haven't even conceived the notion that this was wrong-”

“I wouldn't worry,” Snape said. “Unless attending classes, Mr Potter will be confined to his tower for the foreseeable future. He will also serve a number of detentions with myself, until I'm satisfied that he understands the severity of what he has done.”

Umbridge paused, blinking slightly. Her hand tightened around her pink handbag. Her dæmon meowed and she bent down to scratch him absently behind his ear.

“Will the detentions involve corporal punishment?”

“Naturally,” Snape said. “Of course, it is not the recommended way of dealing with students at Hogwarts, but I'm sure you understand that Mr Potter is an exception.”

Umbridge smiled, and for the first time her eyes narrowed. Her dæmon mirrored her suspicion as he hissed towards Laraine.

“I'm surprised to hear Professor Dumbledore would allow that?”

Snape's mouth curled into a horrible smirk.

“Professor Dumbledore has placed his trust in me to manage the arrangements with Mr Potter accordingly. I have complete authority on the matter, regardless of if my some of my colleagues may disagree with my methods, they have proved to be effective.”

It was if they were speaking about a caged animal.

Harry couldn't think straight, his swayed slightly, hand reaching into his pocket automatically.

“So why do you believe Mr Potter decided to attack another student now?” Umbridge said. “If you have kept him controlled for the last two years...”

“I didn't-” Harry started, but Snape was quicker, silencing him with a lazy flick of his wand.

“Unfortunately, Mr Potter's summer residence is not somewhere I am welcome. Of course, spending a few months without any strict discipline will be counter productive, and returning to school where there are hundreds of dæmons, Mr Potter will push the boundaries. I will be sure to enforce stricter arrangements at the start of any term to...refresh Potter's memories of what is expected of him.”

Umbridge wrote something else on her clipboard.

“And do you think it is safe to allow Potter to play Quidditch?” she asked. “I hardly think it's appropriate after the boy has been known to attack other students on the pitch before?”

Snape's expression tightened slightly, and not for the first time he glared at Harry.

“I have expressed my concerns to the Headmaster, but in this instance, it is the boy's head of house who has control over this matter.”

Harry glared back, resisting the urge to sink the room into a deathly cold. He wouldn't give Snape the satisfaction, knew that he was itching to use a patronus again and that Snape would take any opportunity to throw him off the team to give Slytherin a chance for the cup.

“I see,” Umbridge said. Her dæmon meowed and began pacing restlessly around her feet. “Then perhaps later I should speak to Mr Potter's head of house-”

Harry crossed to his bed and sank into it, trying desperately to cut out the pair of them. He clenched his hands together to stop them shaking. He'd never been held under a patronus that long before...and he never wanted to again. It was as if the darkness was burying deeper, was cutting into his absent heart to burst from his chest and rip him apart.

The bell rang throughout the tower. Harry flinched, instinct expecting another curse. He failed miserably to hide his reaction from either Snape and Umbridge.

“Well,” Umbridge smiled, making another tick on her checklist. “I must admit, it does seem like you have the boy controlled.”
Snape's mouth curled into a smirk.

“If you would like to accompany me to my office, I will go into further details regarding the other arrangements we have in place,” Snape said. He then cast Harry a nasty look. “Potter, you're to stay here until your detention tonight.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, trying and failing to keep the venom out of his voice. Having already missed Defence Against the Dark Arts, he had no desire to deal with Snape in potions this afternoon.

Umbridge placed the pink handbag on the floor and her cat hopped in between the open clasps. He looked ridiculous with his squashy face poking out, and even more so when Umbridge tucked the handbag under her arm.

Snape offered him one last horrible smile as Laraine swooped down from the ceiling, coming to land on his shoulder. Fortunately, Umbridge seemed satisfied to ignore Harry as she followed Snape from the room. The door shut behind them and Harry heard the distinctive sound of the iron bars sliding into place.

He wouldn't be going anywhere.

Harry stood, vision swaying violently as he kicked his bed, regretting it instantly at the sharp pain which ran through his foot.

He had vowed never to be this weak again, yet in the last few days his world seemed to be crumbling apart, and the control was slipping through his fingers.

The desire to escape the castle, lose the trace and disappear had never felt so strong. And he couldn't do that alone.

Ignoring the throbbing in his toe, he crossed the room to where Hedwig had started to doze off. He ran his hand across her feathers and she blinked her large yellow eyes open.

Harry knew it was wrong to ask, to refuse his dæmon any reprieve but he couldn't go on without her.

“Find Lyra.”

Hedwig hooted sleepily but she dutifully stretched her wings and hopped off her perch before soaring through the open window.

Chapter 5: The Unforgivable Curses

It was hours later when the grating sound of iron bars disturbed Harry. Having not bothered to light any of the floating candles, the room had grown dark and only dwindling embers remained in the fireplace.

Harry pushed himself up, bad mood souring as the door swung open. He glared at Dumbledore and Snape, opening his palm before they'd even crossed the threshold.

“My wand.”

For a dreadful second, Harry's thought they would refuse. Snape walked deliberately slowly, footsteps echoing across the stone floor. He withdrew Harry's wand and placed it on the desk, alongside a bottle of the forbidden potion.

Before they could could change their minds, Harry was on his feet and across the room. He snatched it up and directed it straight at Snape.  Black sparks shot from the end, magic crackling around him.

“Get out.”

“Calm down, Potter." Snape sneered. "Before you hurt yourself-”

Harry's curse fired, black light flashing and striking forwards. It stopped short, dispersing in a loud crackle and bang, inches away from Snape.

Snape's eyes bulged, his lips half opened.

“Fifty points-”

“Severus,” Dumbledore said, a warning edge to his voice. Dumbledore's arm was outstretched, wand held high to counter Harry's curse.  He peered over his half moon glasses, sharing an equally unimpressed look towards Harry. “Harry, I would ask that you do not attack us again.  Our actions were only to keep you safe.”

A blind rage consumed Harry, another curse on the tip of his tongue. The already cold room plunged rapidly several degrees.

“That doesn't excuse it," Harry hissed. 

“The Ministry must believe that you are not a threat, Potter,” Snape retorted coldly. “Any defiance or hint that you are capable will only bring retaliation back onto yourself. Have you learnt nothing?”

Harry tilted his head, fingers tightening around his wand. A burning desire to destroy flooded through him, an acid taste in his mouth as he all but spat his next words.

“So I'm just expected to have to deal with a patronus any time the ministry come calling?”

Unfiltered disdain crossed Snape's expression.

“The consequences would have been far more severe if I had not demonstrated you are weak."

The fire, long since reduced to embers suddenly diminished. The room fell into a darkness, all light dissipating, leaving only a deep anger unrelated to any instability from dæmons. Ice started creeping across the floor directly from underneath Harry's feet, cracking as it coated the stone.

“I am not weak,” Harry hissed, levelling his wand again. “Get out.”

Dumbledore calmly removed his glasses to clear the frost that had started to cling to the surface.

“Harry, I ask for only a moment of your time. It is important that you to learn about recent developments, specially concerning your recent outbursts and temperamental changes...otherwise, I could not have allowed you to mix with other students.”

“Why?” Harry demanded. “What's changed?”

He already knew the answer. His connection to Tom hadn't faltered once since the early hours of the morning.

“Severus spoke with Tom last night.”

Harry flicked his eyes across to Snape, anger barely contained as the surroundings continued to manipulate to his will, ice cracking and breaking.

Snape seemed to take great pleasure in drawing out any explanation.

“Any fluctuations in your bond will stabilise...you will no longer be cut off from Tom in any capacity going forwards.”

Harry couldn't help it. A rattling, shaky breath escaped him, the weight of terror lifting.

Everything would go back to how it should be.

“The Dark Lord had planned to remove you from Hogwarts via the Ministry. Tom was distorting your connection to deliberately cause you to slip up,” Snape said.

An odd pounding reverberated through Harry's head, his voice coming out painfully quiet.

“Tom wouldn't-”

He would never have risked Harry's safety, not when there was only one result.

Snape crossed his arms, lips sneering.

“Tom killed Scrimgeour because he was an obstacle to those plans. The Minister would not have been able to arrest you otherwise.”

The pounding was becoming louder and the Harry's vision swayed dangerously. He would not believe it.

“So why didn't he?” Harry said, throat strained. “Fudge wouldn't pass up the opportunity.”

“It seems the Dark Lord changed his mind and as his influence remains strong over the Wizengamot they will not act.”

A trickle of fear ran through Harry.

“Why?”

Dumbledore crossed the room and sat down at Harry's desk. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and sighed.

“It appears Tom made a deal with Lord Voldemort.”

The hollow terror coursed through Harry, his body going strangely numb. The last time Harry had made a deal with a piece of Voldemort's soul he'd ended up demented. He glanced towards the window. It remained wide open, awaiting Hedwig's return.

“What deal?”

Dumbledore lowered his head. There was no twinkle in his eye.

“The details are not clear to us, however it does appear that Tom was reluctant to agree and guaranteeing your safety was paramount in his cooperation.”

Of course Tom was coerced, had been from the start. The fact that no one seemed to realise that only made the darkness inside of him burn.  He twisted around to confront Snape, the desperation failing to keep out of his voice.

“You need to get Tom out of there.”

Snape's lips curled into a sneer but he didn't answer.

Dumbledore sighed heavily.

“Harry, you know that is not an option for us,” he said. “However, I hope you understand that if circumstances change, and for whatever reasons you do manage to reunite with Tom, the Order of the Phoenix will be there for both of you.”

Harry couldn't help it, an incredulous look crossed his face.

“You've as good as abandoned him. Remus told me there were people in the Order who would rather kill Tom on sight-”

Dumbledore raised his hand abruptly to cut him off.

“There are a few members, most notably those who are in the auror department, who will be less accommodating towards Tom-”

Tonks. Kingsley. Moody.

That was all that Harry needed to know.

“However,” Dumbledore continued, his voice sharp. “They understand that the war is much bigger than their personal opinions on the matter. So I hope that if you do manage to reconnect with Tom, that you feel you can retreat under the safety of the Order.”

So the Order would still do nothing. Would sooner leave Tom to suffer.

“Remove this thing from my ankle and I might consider it,” Harry lied, gesturing to where the blue band lay hidden around his ankle.

Dumbledore smiled sadly.

“You know that's for your own protection, Harry.”

It was no use. Despite what Sirius had insisted, the Order hadn't changed, could not be reasoned with. The only option was to blindly comply.

“And will you remove it when I'm old enough for the trace to break?”

The lack of a response was the only answer Harry needed.  Dumbledore cleared his throat, a sad smile on his face.

“The other thing you should know Harry is that, for the most part, Dolores Umbridge believed the arrangements in place are satisfactory.  She has however, recommended some improvements.”

“What improvements?” Harry demanded through gritted teeth.

“It seems that for the short term you will be unable to attend your Defence Against the Dark Arts classes while your classmates learn the patronus charm,” Dumbledore said. “In the interim, I will ask Professor Moody to teach you separately.”

“Right.  So now everyone's going to be able to attack me?”

“Defend themselves, Harry,” Dumbledore corrected.

Harry didn't know what was worse. Students being armed and capable, or having private lessons with Moody.

“I would also like you to check in with Professor Snape at least once a week,” Dumbledore said

“Umbridge wouldn't have suggested that,” Harry said, voice rising as he jerked his hand in Snape's direction. “She's already convinced he's breathing down my neck every day.”

Dumbledore nodded, his expression suddenly serious.

“I am concerned with the fact that both yourself and Sirius failed to mention that your connection to Tom had been disrupted,” he said. “Particularly recognising the detrimental effect it had on you, Harry.”

“So?” Harry said. “It's none of your business.”

Any warmth in Dumbledore's expression disappeared.

“Harry, I have been more than accommodating in letting you stay with Sirius during the holidays, however I remain your legal guardian. Therefore, if you continue to hide things from me at the expense of your own safety, then I will not hesitate to remove any flexibility you have in leaving the castle. Do you understand?”

The cruel, amused look passed across Snape's face. Any time in the holidays would be under his supervision, would be worse if no one else was around. And Snape would only seek to make Harry's life as miserable as possible, only as a means to get back at Sirius.

Hot anger burned inside, the darkness coiling in the depths, desperate to erupt and claim his every waking thoughts. Harry stormed across the room, seised the door and tugged on it.

It didn't budge.

“I'm going to find Lyra,” Harry bit out, hand still on the door handle. “If that's acceptable?”

He didn't want to look at either of them.

“Do you understand, Harry?” Dumbledore repeated calmly.

There was nothing he could do. Nothing but realise that Dumbledore would never let him be free. Would always make him suffer unless Harry took his own fate into his own hand.

“Perfectly, sir,” Harry said, voice terribly calm and cold. There was only one way this would end.

There was a click and the latch of the door unlocked.

“I do ask you to respect curfew, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “If the Minister realises how lenient our arrangements are then you may lose additional freedoms.”

Without looking back, Harry left without another word.

---

Harry made his way through the castle, still seething. He dithered for a moment at the top of the grand staircase before finally deciding the climb up to Gryffindor tower was worth the effort.

Students lingered in the corridors, making their way back to their common rooms after their first day back. A group of fifth years walked past, protesting loudly about the amount of homework Professor McGonagall had given them, and a couple of lost first years nearly stopped to ask Harry for directions before realising their mistake and bolting.

The route to Gryffindor tower was otherwise quiet and Harry soon stood in front of the portrait of the fat lady.  She was in the middle of a conversation with another witch who'd crammed herself into the same frame, and it took several attempts of shouting mimbulus mimbletonia before either of them acknowledged him.

The common room, which had been a buzz of activity, fell silent. Ignoring the disruption, Harry found Ron and Hermione sitting at a table in the corner.

Hermione had half a dozen books piled up in front of her.  Ramiron was on the back of her chair, lazily watching Ron play chess with Dean Thomas.  Sephronia balanced precariously on Ron's lap, barking instructions at the chess pieces. At the sight of Harry, Patroka slunk off Dean's lap to hide out of sight underneath the armchair.

Hermione beamed, setting down her potions book to clear a space at the already cramped table.

“You missed a really interesting Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, I made you a copy of all the notes.”

“Thanks Hermione.”

Harry didn't sit down. Ron's rook slid forwards and battered Dean's bishop off the table.

“Check,” Sephronia announced happily.

A once, Dean's chess pieces started shouting and pointing up at him, gesturing at the other pieces he should move.

“That's game isn't it?” Dean said, glancing in Harry's direction.

“In a couple of moves,” Ron corrected.

Dean knocked over his king, much to the dismay of all his little angry chess pieces.

“Good game. See you, Harry,” Dean said. He gathered up Pakroka from behind the chair and waved a hasty goodbye.

Looking around to check no one was listening, Hermione lowered her voice.

“How did it go with Snape?”

Harry bit his tongue.

“Fine.”

Ramiron and Sephronia glanced at each other, edging away slightly at the sharpness in Harry's tone.

“Any sign of Lyra?” Harry asked.

Ron shook his head, passing across a revealed maurader's map from his bag.  He drew his wand and pointed it and one of the little broken chess pieces.

“No sign of her...I was checking between classes too and she's not appeared once.”

“Right,” Harry muttered, scanning his good eye over the hundreds of small names and footprints which were scattered across Hogwarts.

Fawkes was alone in Dumbledore's office. Laraine and Einaris were together in McGonagall's office, and Itzel was for some reason up near the Astronomy tower.

Lyra was no where to be seen.

“Thanks,” Harry said, handing the map back.

Harry turned back in the direction of the fat ladies portrait.

“Aren't you going to stay awhile?” Hermione said. “Professor Moody wanted a foot written on the Unforgivable Curses by next lesson.”

The last thing on Harry's mind was catching up on homework.

Instead he nodded at the clearly agitated dæmons in the common room. Those which could fly had retreated up in the recesses of the ceiling, and were currently perched a top the Gryffindor banners or on curtain poles. The smaller dæmons had disappeared from sight entirely.

“I better not. I'll see you later.”

“I'll keep an eye out for her,” Ron said.

Harry left Gryffindor tower at a loss at where to look next. The map covered a good area of the Hogwarts grounds, but it didn't cover all of it.

He set off at a brisk pace back through the corridors and in the direction of the grounds.

To make matters worse, he ran into Neville in the Entrance Hall.

“Harry, wait-”

Harry walked down the marble steps. The nearby candles flickered and died as he passed.

“I-I just wanted to explain-”

Neville hurried to catch up, following through the oak front doors. He didn't even stop as Harry started to walk out across the large expanse of grass.

“Harry-”

Harry spun on his heel, fury pulsing through his dead veins.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn't just devour Cyrilla, Neville,” he hissed. “Because I'm really struggling to think of one right now.”

Neville froze and took a distinctive step back, gaze flicking back to the safety of the castle.  Cyrilla trembled, and Harry almost wished she'd transform, just to make the decision easier.

“She didn't mean to-”

“I mean it. One reason, right now.”

Cyrilla hopped behind Neville Harry watched her hauntingly, wondering how fast she could run.

With an desperate shake out his head, Neville raised his hands.

“Harry-”

The little light which shone from the castle revealed the colour draining from the other boys face, and the terrified protest caught in his throat. For a sudden wonderful moment, Harry felt a surge of temptation, unrelated to anything that Tom influenced. What he wouldn't give just to give in and not care for the consequences.

“My parents are in St Mungo's,” Neville blurted out.

Cyrilla stomped her back legs, hopping further away to give herself as much as a head start as she could managed.

It didn't matter though.

A rush of despair consumed Harry, but it had nothing to do with the desire to devour Cyrilla.  Instead Harry was left with a sudden rising hollowness. For a second he couldn't find his voice.

“What?”

Neville wrung his hands together, he looked miserable.

“I wanted to tell you earlier, specially after the attack on Azkaban, but-”

Harry didn't need to hear any more. All anger gone, he was left with his own traumatic memories of the hospital. Harry could hardly protest when he had reacted so viscerally to Hermione's telling of the past tournaments and the incidents which had followed.

“Neville, it's fine. I get it.”

“But-”

Harry raised a decayed hand.

“Forget it. It's none of my business.”

Neville looked down, clearly itching to say something but Harry had to get out of there. Even without Lyra he could see Cyrilla's agitation building. She wouldn't stay calm for much longer, and given how Harry hadn't tried to calm himself.

“Right,” Neville said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I am sorry, Harry.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I'll speak to you later, Neville.”

He turned and walked away briskly, aiming in the direction of the quidditch pitch.

The grounds were dark and despite the cool evening not bothering him, Harry couldn't stop the shiver running down his spine. His dead eye stared blindly into the night. Intrusive memories of St Mungo's disturbing his thoughts.

He skirted warily around the edge of the forest in the direction of Hagrid's hut. In the distance, he could see smoke rising from the small cabin but otherwise remained eager to avoid any proximity to Ilaria. The moon offered up some light across the grass, but it barely penetrated into the depths of the trees.

Lyra was known for venturing into the forest, often transforming and spending days soaring above its vast undergrowth. However, the more Harry lingered on its edge he had a feeling that Lyra had not left the castle. Sirius had hinted before that there were places which the map couldn't detect, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion that she'd taken refuge in one of them.

Aside from searching every inch of the forest, or the deepest secrets of the castle, it was clear that Lyra didn't want to be found.

Harry returned to his room an hour later, feeling worse than before and hoping that Hedwig's luck had been better.

She was waiting for him on the windowsill.

“No sign?” Harry whispered.

She hooted and nipped his fingers. Then extended her leg to reveal a small piece of parchment that had been rolled up and tied to her leg.

The note did not improve Harry's mood. It was written in large loopy writing and read My office 9pm – Professor Moody.

Scrunching the parchment up, Harry chucked it into the fire. He watched the embers rekindle, smouldering as the parchment caught. This was the last thing he needed right now.

Rummaging in his trunk, Harry retrieved the ornate mirror and set it in front of him on the desk. His ashen expression reflected back at him. For a few seconds Harry said nothing. He sighed, the rattling breath misting up the glass.

“Sirius Black.”

The seconds stretched by. Harry was just about to chuck it back into his trunk when the reflection shifted to show the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

“Is this going to start becoming a regular occurrence?” Sirius said smiling.

Harry ran his hand through his patchy hair. Sirius was difficult to understand, but he always had the right answers.

“Just a lot's happened-”

“It's been less than 24 hours.”

“Yeah well, the Minister came calling.”

Sirius swore violently, then listened intently when Harry explained his day. At the end of it, he had pulled out his wand, and looked ready to march up to the castle himself.

“Next time I see Snivellus I'm going to hang him from the rafters and see how he likes being cursed,” Sirius growled.

When Harry didn't react, Sirius leaned closer to he mirror, lowering his wand.

“Harry?”

An inexplicable guilt rushed through him and he looked away, not meeting Sirius' questioned gaze.

“Neville said his parents are in St Mungo's,” Harry said quietly. “I didn't know that. I mean, I knew he was raised by his Grandmother but-”

“Ah,” a horrible look of understanding crossed Sirius' gaunt face. “You probably have my darling cousin to thank for that,” Sirius said.

Harry's dead veins went cold, his voice sounding suddenly hollow.

“You mean Bellatrix Lestrange put them in there?” he said.

“Mmm. It's not commonly known how she tortured them,” Sirius said. “Most people assume it was the cruciatus curse, but she went far beyond that...she forcibly separated their dæmons from them...returned them before they could be lost completely...after a dozen times it's hard to image what that would do to a person.”

Sirius sighed and ran a hand over his face. The tips of Mintaka's ears had wilted at the bottom of the frame.

“From what I've head, Alive Longbottom doesn't recognise her dæmon any more. They're together but she ignores him...believes he's nothing more than a pet. Keeps wanting to go and find her own dæmon again...Frank Longbottom I don't think faired much better...but not as much is known about his condition, or even if he still has his dæmon with him.”

A hard, uncomfortable lump was forming in Harry's throat.

Neville's behaviour made sense now. It also explained what Neville had really wanted to ask him in the carriage.

“Bellatrix Lestrange was one of the Death Eaters that Tom freed.”

Sirius' expression shifted at once to concern.

“That would certainly make me angry enough to do something stupid.”

Harry shook his head.

“Neville wouldn't. Besides, he knows Tom...he probably just wants answers.”

Sirius' frown deepened.

“Well just be careful. If everyone's going to start learning patronus' you might not be in the best position.”

Harry shrugged, it didn't really change anything. Not when it was only one other thing to add to the list to worry about.

No.

What he really wanted desperately, more than anything else was to talk to Tom, and the possibility that the sorting hat might be able to help was all too real.

“I want to break into Dumbledore's office.”

It was a testament of Sirius' trust that he didn't even blink and start asking him a barrage of questions. At the bottom of the mirror, Mintaka's ears twitched.

“We have an Order meeting this tonight,” Sirius said. “Eleven o'clock. You should get a clear window of at least an hour.”

“Will Moody and Snape be there?” Harry asked.

A brief flash of anger crossed Sirius face.

“Hopefully Snape will be,” he added a few more choice words and then shook his head. “Not Moody though. Dumbledore will want someone to remain in the castle.”

Harry was silent for a moment.

“Any idea how Moody's blue eye works?”

Sirius shrugged.

“It can't see through things, that's for sure. Otherwise he would have spotted me and Tom back when the shrieking shack was on fire.”

“And Mintaka, he couldn't see her?”
“Well...” Sirius said slowly. “I was an animagis at the time if that matters.”
Harry looked away, voice quiet.

“Yeah...it matters.”

Sirius nodded, absently scratching Mintaka between her ears.

“I'll see what I can find out, Harry. But I certainly don't think he's got the same capability that you have...he'd be able to spot Death Eaters then wouldn't he?”

Harry looked up at this and nodded.

“Either way,” Sirius continued. “Just be careful. Even if Moody isn't watching you, sneaking into Dumbledore's office isn't exactly easy...did I tell you about the time your father and I tried it?”

Harry listened, zoning out as he listened to Sirius' enthused voice. Maybe it wouldn't be too difficult after all.

---

Harry knocked on the Moody's office door at exactly nine o'clock.

There was a heavy clunk, clunk, clunk. Without Lyra, it was the only warning Harry got before Moody's office door yanked open to reveal the ex-auror supported on his gnarled, wooden leg.

“In you come, Potter,” he grunted.

Harry stepped inside, watched cautiously as Moody closed and locked the door behind him.

Moody's office was a collection of odd contraptions. On the desk, a device spun rapidly, letting out small whizzing noises every few seconds and against the far wall a large glass object reflected odd humanoid shapes merging in and out of focus.

“Right.” Moody tapped his wand sharply on the desk, his blue eye spinning wildly in its socket. “I've discussed it with Dumbledore, and he and I both think it's time you learnt how to fight properly. So it's my job to teach you how.”

Harry blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

“You're going to teach me how to duel?”

“I'll be doing far more than that,” Moody grunted. “No, you need proper training to make sure you can keep yourself alive.”

Harry looked away.

“You believe the prophecy don't you?”

“I believe in a lot of things, but most of all I believe in being prepared. Now-” he hobbled across to his desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a jar which contained four large black spiders. “What do you know about illegal curses?”

Harry eyed the spiders warily.

“They're a one way ticket to Azkaban,” Harry said, before adding. “Well...when it was still there.”

Moody looked intently at Harry, his magical eye rolling to fix right on him.

“Know what they are?” Moody grunted. “I imagine you've probably encountered a few.”

Harry couldn't tell from all the scars if Moody was smiling or grimacing. He shrugged.

“The imperious, cruciatus and killing curse are the Unforgivable Curses.”

Moody nodded, and he opened the jar and scooped out one of the large black spiders. It scuttled across the desk and hid in between a couple of books.

“Good. Now, given you're going to end up in the middle of this war, you've got to learn, nothing more to it.”

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“Isn't this just giving the Ministry more reason to arrest me?”

Moody grinned and it was frightful. His cracked face and scars all the more prominent.

“You're far more dangerous than a few curses, Potter,” Moody said. “When the day comes and you devour someone's dæmon, they'll wish you'd have killed them instead. No, you've got to be ready.”

If Moody wasn't part of the Order, and Harry had some leverage should the retired auror immediately go to the Ministry he would have just walked out the door.

Moody either didn't notice or care for Harry's wariness.

“Now I imagine you've a lot of pent up anger, eh? You'll need more than that. You need to have the desire to hurt.”

He drew his wand and raised it towards the spider.

“Crucio.”

The spider began to twitch, its legs flailing and body shaking under the unseen torment. There was no relief as Moody held his wand perfectly calm, the spider left to his mercy.

“Pain,” Moody said, finally raising his wand. “Pure and simple, not a lot more to it, but it's worse than any other torture.”

The spider had curled its legs up to its body, but it didn't try to run away.

“Your turn, Potter. Although you better use this.” Moody pulled another wand from his pocket and handed it to Harry. “The last thing we want is for Fudge to come snooping again, and best you don't go practising with your own wand. No, this is to remain strictly controlled until absolutely necessary.”

Harry glanced at him, the point of that statement not lost on him.

“Now hold it straighter...that's right,” Moody said. “You'll need to concentrate and remember, anger is superficial, you'll need to harness more than that to be successful.”

The spider had regained some of its energy and had started to scuttle off towards the edge of the desk.

Beneath the surface, in that specific moment, Harry's anger was only towards Snape and Umbridge. But there was also an instinctual longing, the need and desire to recklessly destroy.

The spell slipped from the end of his tongue, so natural, as if it was a part of him. The darkness that was his very heart consumed his soul, flickered hungrily, eager for more and ready to consume whatever was in its path.

“Crucio.”

The spider collapsed in on itself, twisting violently in horrible jerky movements. It was simultaneously disturbing and fascinating. The only outcome that was expected. A spell had never come that easily before. It was always Tom who was the natural, who was capable of achieving extraordinary. Harry had never had the same luxury and he relished it, his wand held straight and locked onto his prey.

“Enough.”

Harry blinked, his surroundings suddenly coming back into focus. No longer engrossed by the spider, despite the simmering hunger for more.

Moody was looking at him with both eyes.

“That definitely the first time you've cast that spell, Potter?”

Harry lowered the wand, watching as the spider continued to twitch slightly.

“Tom didn't teach me, if that's what you think.”

Moody grunted.

“Or you taught yourself.”

“Then I would have deliberately failed on my first go,” Harry said coolly.

Moody scooped the exhausted spider up off the desk and deposited it back into the jar with the others.

“That's enough of that one.” Moody said. He drew a fresh spider out of the jar, and laid it on the table. “The imperious curse. Know what this one does?”

Harry nodded. Tom had used it on him once, right back at the start when he'd not long been demented.

“Nasty curse, very nasty curse. Certainly can cause a lot of trouble...now watch my wand movement carefully.” Moody pointed and twisted his wand at the spider.

“Imperio.”

The insect which had about to scuttle off, froze. Its legs seizing to a complete halt, before one by one began to tap against the desk.

“Complete control,” Moody said while the spider started to dance in neat little circles. “Of course it can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how but first-”

He gestured to the spider which had began to dance across the desk.

For the second time, Harry raised his wand pointing it at the spider. The curse hummed throughout him as he almost whispered the incantation.

“Imperio.”

An odd sensation tricked from the end of the wand, down into the spider. Startled, Harry twisted his wand, breaking the spell.

“It's an odd feeling isn't it?” Moody grunted. “Try again.”

Harry took a rattling breath, settling himself as he raised his wand for a second time.

“Imperio.”

This time he was prepared. The odd sensation returned, tingling through his fingers to connect with the spider. Dance, Harry thought. Move around on the table.

Just like Moody's example, the spider responded. It began to spin in smooth unnatural circles, occasionally hopping from foot to foot in a little dance.

The spell wasn't exactly difficult. There was far more finesse but it wasn't as straight forward as wishing someone pain.

“Good. Now try it on me,” Moody said. “A spiders easy, but then you'll know what it's like to use it on someone who can fight it.”

Harry released the spider and aimed straight at Moody's head.

Once again, the curse came easily. Slipping from the tip of his wand to link his mind directly with his target.

Jump onto the desk, Harry thought.

A resistance pulsed back across the curse. It was strange, like the spell had been cast but in reverse, pulsing back into the tip of his wand and into Harry's own mind.

Then there was a flash, and Harry barely dodged the stunning spell aimed at his head.

A horrible grin split onto Moody's face.

“Again. This time direct your will towards me. Convince me that your will is my own.”

Harry tried again, yet it wasn't until the fifth time that he had any luck holding the curse for longer than a minute. Moody could still throw it off, but it didn't happen within the first few seconds at least.

“Better,” Moody grunted. He hobbled across to his desk and took a swig from his hip flask. “There are plenty of people who can't fight it. Pick your target carefully. If you notice someone resisting then you have to be prepared.”

Harry nodded, watching Moody's blue eye whizz in its socket, stopping briefly to focus on a cabinet in the far corner of his office.

“You'll know all about this next one,” Moody grunted. And without any further explanation he reached into the glass jar, extracted another spider and raised his wand.

“Avada Kedavra.”

There was a disturbance, a flash of green and the spider went completely motionless.

Harry didn't react, only tightened his fingers around the wand.

Moody extracted the last spider from the jar, which promptly started to scuttle away. With a quick spell, the spiders movement began to slow, so that escape was impossible.

“Powerful bit of magic to cast that spell, but go on Potter.”

The curse itched on Harry's lips, the incarnation and flash of green clear in his mind. Just how Voldemort had killed his parents, how it had rebounded and struck him instead...and Harry had been gifted Tom-

Harry raised the wand. His voice was firm, unwavering, as if he already expected the result.

“Avada Kedavra.”

There was a rush of something, a force unnatural and unknown.

Just like Moody's spider, this one rolled over, its twitching legs coming to an abrupt halt.

Moody surveyed him. He looked like he didn't know whether to be impressed or alarmed.

“Comes with the territory, eh?” he said quietly after awhile.

Harry didn't say anything. Tom had always theorised that because Harry was a dark creature some curses would come naturally to him. Harry just didn't expect it to be quite so literal.

The spider remained motionless. As if death had always claimed them.

“Right,” Moody grunted. “Unfortunately, you'll probably need to use that one again.”

He held out his hand, blue eye whizzing to stop very briefly on the same location in the corner before moving on rapidly.

Harry placed the wand on the desk, his own dead eye fixing on the same spot where Moody had been looking. Although he couldn't see Itzel, it was obvious she was there.

So Moody could certainly see his own dæmon. Perhaps Sirius was right...maybe Moody couldn't see other people's...he hadn't identified Mr Crouch as a Death Eater after all.

The wizard was certainly paranoid enough to pretend that his vision was omnipotent...that any other movement towards people's dæmons was a facade. But that wouldn't have fooled the Death Eaters, they would know from his silence that his gaze was limited.

At least that would make Harry's planned excursions for the night much easier. With or without Lyra, Moody wouldn't have any luck tracking him either way.

The band around Harry's leg itched, and he resisted the urge to bend down and tug on it. For a fleeting second he debated telling Moody about the imposter in exchange for removing it...but before he'd formed the idea he already dismissed it.

“Right, Potter,” Moody said. “We'll leave it there tonight. Same time on Friday. I'll run through the basics of duelling and how not to get yourself killed. And we'll touch on how to fight the imperious curse the following week.”

Harry nodded, keeping his gaze deliberately misaligned from Moody's.

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter 6: Convincing Riddle

Harry walked through the dark corridor, candle light flickering and barely projecting to the recesses of the stone walls.  His steps were instinctual and his thoughts remained consumed on the past hour.

He hated to admit it, but Moody's lesson had been actually pretty good.  It was probably worth missing Defence Against the Dark Arts class just to get some hands on real duelling experience.

The curses felt natural and instinctive. Harry itched to try them out with his own wand, knew that the phoenix core also had an affinity for dark magic.

The only concern was Dumbledore and Moody's motivations. The three unforgivables were no doubt useful to learn, however if either thought Harry would try and strike down Voldemort then they would be sorely mistaken.

Not when it would bring Tom's life into question.  And when either realised that, the repercussions would be deadly. 

At least Tom was capable and had always instinctively been able to replicate the Dark Lord's powers. Harry however, could not afford to be a hindrance.

Not with Voldemort, the Ministry and the Order on their heels. No. Harry had to learn quickly, and when the time came he would be the one to protect Tom...not the other way around for once.

In the distance, Harry could hear the clock tower chime the single bell to mark half ten.

With half an hour spare, he made his way back to his tower.

The over the top lock that had been placed on the door for Umbridge's benefit had been removed.  So had all the other restrictions that had been scattered around the room.

The far more notable thing was that Lyra was curled up on his bed.

“Where have you been?” Harry said, throwing down his bag. There was the sound of an ink bottle breaking.

Lyra looked up and yawned, looking completely disinterested.

Harry relaxed his vision, allowing the castle which had been so dark before, to light up in a sea of gold. Dæmons shone in every direction, causing Harry to instantly let out a rattling breath he didn't realise he had been holding.

Lyra watched and swiped her tail back and forth. Harry crossed to the bed and sank into it, reaching out to run his decayed hands through her fur.

“I needed you today.”

Lyra uncurled herself, and brushed up against his fingers.

Harry sighed, all anger and fear leaving him. Nothing could go wrong when he had Lyra. She made everything that little bit easier to deal with.

“Tom's sorted our bond out by the way.”

Lyra fixed him with a clear look which expected more of an explanation.

“It won't be like summer, I promise,” Harry said quickly. “My emotions should settle now...it'll go back to like it was before...you don't have to leave as much.”

She flicked her tail again but didn't indicate either way what she would do.

Reluctantly, Harry shifted off the bed and away from Lyra.  He had other things to worry about tonight, and her pesence alone had boosted his confidence to proceed.

Harry spun his dead eye into the depths of the castle. Fawkes and Laraine weren't present and Itzel was still in Moody's office.

Moving quickly and with purpose, Harry rummaged in his trunk and pulled out his invisibility cloak. Lyra sat up suddenly, watching him with her wide eyes as he threw it over his shoulders.

“Are you coming?”

Lyra leapt up and darted under the bottom of it, clambering up to shuffle her way onto his shoulder.

Harry teased his fingers into her fur, further relief washing through him.

He needed both Lyra and Tom. Anything less was not comparable.

---

The castle remained quiet as Harry crept through the empty corridors. The nearest dæmon to him was Tana, Professor Flitwick's dormouse, who scurried around the library several rooms away.  Of course, Filch could still be lingering nearby or anyone who could separate from their dæmon, but Harry to pressed on urgently.

“Cherry Fondue,” he whispered when he reached the stone gargoyle. It leapt aside revealing the moving spiral staircase.

Tentatively, Harry tapped his wand on the wall beside the stone gargoyle.  It lit up a dim blue, indicating that it should be safe to proceed.  He did the same just outside the office door, checking for any hint of an incantation that would alert someone to an intruder.  It glowed blue again.

Dumbledore's office was empty. The portraits were fast asleep, the gentle sound of snoring filling the room.

Harry tiptoed, trying not to disturb anything as Lyra jumped onto the floor with a heavy thump.  He shot her a look and hissed under his breath but she scurried out from under his feet. Harry shrugged off his cloak, following as he stepped around Dumbledore's desk.

Despite everything, his hands were shaking as he pulled the sorting hat from the shelf. For a second he held it in his fingers, terrified of what would happen.

Lyra squeaked.

“Yeah, I know.” Harry whispered, darkness pulsing where his heart should be.  With a single, terrified rattling breath he placed it on his head. It slipped over his eyes, blocking out everything but Lyra's golden light. 

The hat didn't say anything.

Harry took a dizzying breath.

“Tom?”

The silence stretched on and a hard knot formed in the pit of his stomach. It had been foolish to think that this would work...

“Harry?”

Harry couldn't breathe, the air in the office was suddenly thick and stifling.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “It's me.”

Harry's chest felt like it would stop, that it would fail to draw breath. He couldn't believe he was actually speaking to Tom.

“I-I don't understand,” Tom said, voice catching. “How are you doing this?”

Harry's words rushed out, barely sounding coherent in his excitement.

“The sorting hat...remember how we could hear each other before?”

“I remember,” Tom said quietly. “Is Lyra with you?”

“Yeah,” Harry nearly laughed in giddiness. Lyra's golden dust swirled restlessly. “She's right here.”

Another silence. Harry itched to hold Tom, to actually feel that he was real.  That it hadn't all been some very long dream.

“Harry-” Tom's voice sounded so broken, full of so much pain, and for the first time in two years a ripple of Tom's emotions filtered across their bond. “I'm sorry.”

The effect was instant. Toms presence vanished. His absence was just like the silver guillotine intended. Yet it was worse because this had been Tom's choice, that he had deliberately cut Harry out.

“T-Tom?”

Deep rattling breaths consumed Harry.  They wouldn't stop.  And neither would the hot angry tears. Two years. It felt like a lifetime.

It just wasn't fair.

“Harry?”

Harry spun, yanking the hat from his head. He hurriedly wiped his face on his sleeve, but it was too late.

Professor Dumbledore was standing at the entrance to his office, holding his illuminated wand out stretched in front of him.

“I thought you had an Order meeting,” Harry bit out. He didn't care that he wasn't supposed to be here, not after the day he'd been forced to endure.

Dumbledore lowered his wand.

“I'm afraid it was postponed due to an emergent issue.”

“What issue?” Harry demanded, still trying to wipe his face dry.

Dumbledore looked almost sad as he peered over his half moon glasses. There was no twinkle in his eye.

“Because I was alerted to the fact that someone entered my office.”

Harry looked down, clutching Lyra tighter to himself. The hat lay on the floor, but it didn't move or complain at where it had been disregarded.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, and he walked up and picked up the old hat, dusting it off a vigorous shake. “You know you just needed to ask.”

“You'd have just said no,” Harry muttered.
Dumbledore didn't deny it.

“Did you manage to speak with Tom?”

Harry looked away.

“No.”

Dumbledore sighed and sat down at his desk, offering Harry the seat across from it. He crossed his hands and suddenly he looked very old and tired.

“I thought this might happen.”

Harry clenched his fist and didn't say anything.

“It is my believe that Tom is reluctant to speak with you because he knows your conversations are not private.”

Harry glanced up, his brow knitting together.

“What do you mean?” he said, before adding a hurried. “Sir.”

“The sorting hat is a marvellous creation, it links one and ones dæmon within a single consciousness, so that both opinions can be considered when deliberating a students house.”

“What's your point?” Harry said.

“You shared your soul with another piece of Voldemort's,” Dumbledore said.

Harry frowned and sat back in his seat.

“Riddle? What's he got to do with this?”

“Everything,” Dumbledore said, leaning forwards and pressing his hands together. “Riddle is connected to you in a way neither you and Tom can ignore. I believe that Tom would have spoken to you freely if he had known that Riddle was not listening in.”

Harry stared at the headmaster, his mouth parting slightly.

“You think that Riddle can hear us?”

Dumbledore nodded.

“I certainly think it's possible, and I'm sure Tom has come to the same conclusion I have.”

Harry shook his head.

“If Riddle was listening, that wouldn't have stopped Tom. Tom would want to talk to me.”

Dumbledore peered back over his glasses, and then gestured towards the sorting hat.

“There is only one way to find out.”

Harry looked towards the old hat, a sudden apprehension taking hold. With a tentative glance towards Lyra, he took an unsteady breath and placed the hat back onto his head.

“Riddle, are you there?”

There was no response and Harry was left with only his own nervous rattling breaths, each getting slightly deeper by the second. He was just about to pull the hat from his head when Riddle spoke.

“I forgot how bright you were.”

The voice sent a shiver down Harry's spine. It was just like Tom's, so achingly familiar but there was something off. A fresh wave of hurt passed through Harry, and he couldn't find the words to respond. It didn't help that Riddle seemed to understand.

“Don't mind Tom,” Riddle said. “Our Lord keeps a rather tight leash, and he would not be pleased if he knew you'd spoken.”

That didn't make it any better. Harry hated how his own voice came out hollow. The accusation apparent and the jealously burned deep within him.

“Is Tom with Voldemort now?”

Riddle laughed softly, as if he was leaning down to whisper in Harry's ear.

“Oh, of course he is. The Dark Lord likes to keep Tom close. Just like a dæmon you could say.”

The horror of that fact chilled Harry to the core. If Tom was kept constantly by the Voldemort's side, bound so that he could never be separated from him, then stealing him back would be next to impossible.

Harry wetted his lips, the darkness of his absent heart swirling as his thoughts raced wildly. He'd known it would be a real possibility, that his only way forward would be to convince Voldemort he was loyal, that he could be trusted above all else...trusted with a piece of his soul...

And convincing Voldemort, meant convincing Riddle.

“I never got a chance before to say. Your diary piece-”

Harry broke off suddenly, the fake concern in his voice wavering. He owed Riddle nothing. Not after everything that had happened to him but he had to start somewhere.

“You didn't take particularly good care of it,” Riddle said. His voice had gone suddenly very cold.

The darkness inside Harry pounded for lack of his heart. The words had been deliberate, as if Riddle knew exactly what he was trying to do.

“A few words of advice, Harry,” Riddle said. “If you wish for the Dark Lord to believe you had any concern that Tom destroyed a piece of me, you're going to have to try harder than that.”

Harry ground his teeth, and he pinched himself hard on the wrist to stop himself giving into his anger.

“If I still had a piece of your diary I wouldn't have felt so abandoned for the last two years,” Harry said stiffly. “I thought you above anyone else would understand that. I don't like being alone.”

It had been enough. Riddle failed to hide the slight catch in his throat, the possibility that Harry desired a connection despite everything that had happened.

“You're saying you would take either me or Tom, if it came down to it?”

Harry grasped his own hand to stop it from shaking.

“I'm saying I would prefer to have you, over the absence of Tom.” Harry could barely think straight, couldn't believe the next words he was about to say. The dangers of provoking a fire that had nearly claimed him before, but it had to be done.

Riddle's emotions were seeping through the hat, a horrible oppressive anticipation as Harry could only imagine his response. Although his words were guarded.

“I understand that you will do anything to reunite with Tom again,” Riddle said coldly. “Even if it means bending a knee and pledging your soul to the Dark Lord, regardless of your true allegiances or loyalties.”

Harry had a response ready for this.

“Why does that matter?” he bit out. “Have you not realised that if I never get Tom back, then I would do the same for you.” Harry paused deliberately, the poisonous words on the tip of his tongue. “Although you found Nagini...I guess you don't need me any more.”

“I found her,” Riddle confirmed, but there was something off with his voice. A bitterness that could not be hidden. “That doesn't mean I'm finished with you, Harry.”

The room suddenly felt cold and a trickle of fear slipped down the back of Harry's neck.

Riddle was silent for a moment, and when he spoke it did little to alleviate any rising dread.

“Would you have gone with me?”

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly tight and the darkness rising where his absent heart should be. The question was vague, but it was apparent what Riddle was asking, despite it being over three years ago. The night Harry had turned demented. If the Death Eaters hadn't caught up to them, if Riddle hadn't resurrected Voldemort, and then destroyed Harry past anything recoverable. If they had simply boarded a train and fled the country, leaving both Lyra and Tom behind.

“Yes,” Harry said. “I promised you, didn't I?”

It was the only answer he could give.

The fact though that Riddle had needed to ask it though was worrying. If his doubts were not satisfied, then he would only demand more. Would need Harry to truly demonstrate that he would choose him, and not just as a means to get to Tom.

Riddle was clearly thinking the same thing.

“I would have you, Harry,” he said softly. “Just know that I alone could offer you your deepest, darkest desires.”

Harry pressed his lips together, they were very dry all of a sudden, and the darkness in his veins was pumping horribly fast.

“My darkest desires?”

He could just imagine Riddle's grin, the cruel light in his eyes.

“I know how precious you are, Harry. Understand far more than Tom that you have certain wants and needs. After all, how could I not after all that you had gifted me.”

Harry dug his fingers into his knees, relishing the pain.

“Lyra.” Riddle's voice was so soft, and delicate. “I know she's there.”

“You know she can't talk?” Harry said. He couldn't move, he desperately wanted to end it, take his dæmon and run.

Riddle laughed.

“You gave me a piece of her. You can't keep her from me now.”

“She can't-”

“Harry, it's okay.”

Harry whirled, nearly yanking the hat off his head. The darkness in his veins throbbed, and a longing ache pressed hard in his chest.

There was a moment where he couldn't think, couldn't process the words out loud. The voice that he'd craved to hear as much as Tom's.

“Lyra-”

It wasn't possible.  Lyra had never communicated through the hat before, not in first year or in third...but she had not revealed herself then.  It was only after Riddle had interfered, had come between Harry and Tom, that she had taken a physical form.

Lyra stared up at him, her golden light visible through the brim of the hat.  Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry. There was so much he wanted to ask, the questions brimming on the tip of his tongue.

The satisfied laugh from Riddle was unnerving, as he whispered her name in turn.

“Lyra, it's been far too long.”

Lyra turned away from Harry slightly, her teeth exposed as she growled.

“I should have bitten your face off when I had the chance.”

There was a horrible lurch in Harry's stomach, the realisation that she would betray his true feelings.

“She doesn't mean that-” Harry started, but Riddle cut across him.

“Oh I don't mind,” Riddle said. “Given their animalistic tendencies, dæmons usually are wilder than their humans...”

“Shut up. I'm here.” Lyra growled. “What do you want?”

There was another horrible pause. They all knew the answer to that.

“For our bond to be rekindled, you know I can't do it on Harry's words alone,” Riddle said. “I need something far more substantial.”

“Like I'd let you do that,” Lyra hissed, her teeth bared again as she scratched her claws into the carpet.

“Hmm,” Riddle hummed, but he didn't sound very upset at her refusal. “Yet still you interact with me. One would almost say you're hardly protesting very much.”

Lyra growled, but she didn't speak which only caused Riddle to laugh.

Harry's head was spinning. He couldn't believe what he was about to say. It was everything Tom wouldn't want. To think that he was opening up far more than dialogue with Riddle again...that he would share his soul, share Lyra with him.

“Send me a piece of your diary again. I'll keep it safe this time.”

“No,” Riddle said softly. “I much prefer this option. It's far more intimate, don't you think?”

Harry swallowed tightly.

“You know the sorting hat is just going to tell Dumbledore everything?” Lyra said. “This way doesn't work.”

“Actually,” Riddle said. “I believe Godric Gryffindor ensured the hat could not divulge any secrets. Have you not ready Hogwarts, A History?”

“Like that would stop it,” Lyra growled.

“Either way,” Riddle said. “I can gain strength enough from here-”

Harry yanked the hat off his head, his resolve caving. Overwhelmed and barely making sense of it all. Words were one thing, but actually gambling with Lyra-

He hated it. For years he'd been in control, just him and Lyra together. Now the piece's of Voldemort's soul were demonstrating that they had absolute power over him.

Harry ignored Dumbledore, opened his mouth to say something to Lyra, he couldn't find the words. She stared back at him unblinking as she swiped her tail back and forth.

He'd imagined his first proper conversation with Lyra for years, always wondered what he'd say...and now it was flying past with a unsettling disappointment.

Lyra had first shown herself to Riddle, and now had only spoken when Riddle was present, despite sparing no expense at being hostile to Riddle.

And to think that the only way he could speak to her, truly speak to her would meant Riddle would leech off her. It just wasn't fair.

Dumbledore held out his hand to take the sorting hat back, but Harry only gripped it harder. He placed it back on his head again, barely stopping his fingers from shaking.

Riddle was still there, waiting.

“Sorry,” Harry lied, he gripped the edge of the desk to stop himself from automatically yanking the hat from his head again. “I forgot how intense you could be.”

It was the right choice of words, for he knew Riddle would only be grinning.

“Despite everything, you're still so terribly human, Harry,” Riddle said. Harry craved to hear Lyra's voice again, but with Riddle listening-

“I have to go.”

Fortunately, Riddle didn't seem put off.

“I would like to speak with you again, Harry,” Riddle said.

“Fine,” Harry said. “But I can't guarantee how often I can sneak into Dumbledore's office, Fawkes might show up any minute. I've already risked being here too long.”

“I'm sure you can manage something,” Riddle said. “And Harry-”

His voice was dangerously cold now.

“Make sure you bring Lyra with you. Tom won't cut you off if he knows she isn't with you.”

Harry took a rattling breath, knowing he was pushing the boundaries.

“Surely you're more than enough? You can keep me stable.”

“If that were true then I would have stopped your recent decay,” Riddle said coolly. “You know our bond isn't substantial enough for that...not in its current form.”

“Right,” Harry muttered. “You heard about that then...”

Riddle would have no reservations of cutting Harry off, not when he had done it before. If Harry ever had to solely depend on him again then there was no way it could end well.

“I heard,” Riddle said, and again his voice had an odd tone to it, although there was a clear hint of amusement. “Incidently, Tom did ask me if I could sustain you should it happen again.”

Harry couldn't hide his surprise.

“Tom asked you that?”

“Of course,” Riddle said. “But he knows that without my diary you will never be as connected to me as you once were. Not until you have given me Lyra completely.”

Harry shivered. That would not be her fate.

“So then why not send me a piece of your diary?” Harry tried again. It was still the better option, one that he could maintain control over, only exchanging his soul when absolutely necessary.

There was definite amusement in Riddle's voice now.

“Nice try, Harry.”

Without saying another word, Harry slipped the sorting hat from his head and placed it on the desk in front of him. An uneasy feeling stirring in his chest.

Dumbledore was lent back in his chair waiting patiently.

“Riddle wants me to speak with him again,” Harry said as he picked up and pulled Lyra close to him. How much had Riddle managed to take from her...

It also didn't help that Harry had been so temperamental recently. Lyra had already suffered through the summer and had not yet recovered.

Dumbledore slotted his hands together, his wrinkled brow coming down in a frown.

“Then I can propose two options. The first being, I could remove the sorting hat from my office and have Professor Snape inform Lord Voldemort that you were caught breaking into my office.”

Harry didn't respond. That certainly felt like the right option. But then he wouldn't ever get to hear Lyra again-

“What's the second?”

“The second is putting some further protections in place, but otherwise letting you open a dialogue with Riddle.”

Harry snapped his head up.

“Why would you do that?”

Dumbledore sighed.

“I said before that neither you or Tom can pretend that you don't have a bond to Riddle. And some day Harry I know you will leave Hogwarts and rejoin with the pieces of Voldemort's soul. When the time comes, it would be helpful if Riddle would choose you and protect you from Voldemort.”

Harry nearly burst out laughing at the fact. He gestured to his half rotten half.

“Riddle chose Voldemort, chose Nagini. He did this to me. He already made that decision. He would only ever see me rot.”

“And yet Riddle still has not obtained Nagini,” Dumbledore said mildly. “Do not forget that, Harry. Riddle will have altered his plans, will undoubtedly have decided to have you to himself instead, away from both Tom and Voldemort if possible. It may just keep you alive.”

Harry looked away. That was frighteningly true. Yet, at the same time, Riddle had told him over two years ago that he'd found Nagini...maybe she hadn't survived when the killing curse had rebounded after all...

There was no way around it. Harry needed Riddle. Needed him to get close to Voldemort.

“Don't move the hat,” Harry said. “I'll talk to him again, just not straight away.”

Dumbledore sighed and he looked older somehow, his expression tired but he nodded.

Harry shifted on his seat.

“Sir, I-” he wetted his lips, struggling to find his voice. “I could hear Lyra...she spoke to me.”

“Ah-” Dumbledore said.

“Is there a way so that I can speak with her all the time?”

Dumbledore frowned, he linked his fingers together and peered over his half moon glasses.

“It is a complicated bit of magic, Harry,” he said. “I would be more than happy to proceed if I thought for a moment it would not replicate the exact same circumstances of the sorting hat.”

“Oh-” Harry sat back, a rush of bitter disappoint flooding through him. “You mean you can't let me hear just Lyra...Tom and Riddle would be there too.”

“Yes, they would be present.”

“Right,” Harry mumbled. “Maybe another time.”

The thought of being able to communicate with Tom freely was tempting, but if Tom was going to keep shutting him out the whole time it wouldn't achieve anything, specially if all that left him with was Riddle trying to prey off Lyra.

Chapter 7: A Minor Setback

Lyra's feet pattered against the stone floor as she squeaked and hurried to keep up with Harry.

He had risen early that morning and the castle was quiet.  It made it easier for Harry's dead eye to focus on the scattering of dæmons who had ventured down to the Great Hall.  Ignoring the temptation to head straight for breakfast, Harry deviated from his normal route towards the first floor corridor.

Lyra squeaked again and Harry drew his dead eye to the office door up ahead. A cat dæmon was curled up on the windowsill, idly swinging his tail back and forth

“Yeah," Harry whispered. "Just remember what we practiced-”

He crouched down and Lyra scurried up his arm to perch on his shoulder. She pushed her face up against Harry's cheek in comfort. He savoured it, running his hand through her fur. Despite his bond to Tom being restored it did little to make Harry feel any better.

He paused just outside the office door, took a deep breath and knocked.

Einaris froze, his golden light moving in a mesmerising patten as his tail stopped swinging.

“Come in.”

For a second Harry hesitated.  He turned the large iron handle.

Professor McGonagall was sat at her desk, a large stack of essays piled up beside her. She looked up, quill pausing from the paper she was marking.

“Mr Potter, what can I do for you?”

Harry dithered on the threshold, trying to chose the right words.

“I want to put name in-”

He broke off, already feeling a rush of what should have been blood to his head.

He half expected Professor McGonagall to immediately reject his request and tell him to stop wasting her time and get our her office. Instead she gestured for him to take a seat, opened her desk drawer and retrieved a roll of parchment.

“Why do you want to enter the tournament?”

She dipped her quill into the ink pot and scribbled something on the parchment.

Harry's throat dried as he wetted his lips. He moved across the office and sat across from her. There was no point lying. He had money from his parents and Sirius, and the fame and glory of the tournament was negligible compared to how frequent his name graced the papers. Even imagining himself lifting the Decadæmon cup was insignificant to his true desires.

“I want to enter for Lyra.”

The scratching of the quill fell silent. Professor McGonagall looked up with a furrowed brow but did not interrupt.

Harry shifted in his chair, hoping he wasn't over doing it.

“It's all about dæmons right? Lyra is just as worthy as any other. She deserves a chance to prove she isn't any less because of me-”

On his shoulder, Lyra growled but Harry continued, rushing to get the words out.

“I know I'm demented and that I don't deserve the opportunity...but Lyra's still a dæmon despite her unnatural behaviour.”

McGonagall leaned forwards, concern already lining her expression.

“Lyra's behaviour is not unnatural, given the circumstances of course.”

“But what dæmon chooses to be alone?” Harry said. “She doesn't talk and can spend days away from me...I mean, I know I can see dæmons...but I'm still learning how to live with one. I mean when I first had her she was all matted and covered in dirt...I didn't know if I was supposed to clean her or anything...Tom always just looked after himself-”

Harry fell silent from his well rehearsed ramble, twisting his decayed hands in his lap. Lyra had gone very still, but she knew what to do.

“I need this, we need this. Doing this tournament can only bring us closer together.”

Einaris leapt from the window sill, prowled forwards to skirt around the desk. He might have whispered something as McGonagall tilted her head towards him for the briefest of seconds.

“Harry, do you understand that the decadæmon tournament is extremely dangerous?”

Harry nodded but his voice was deliberately bitter.

“Nothing is beyond what me and Lyra have already been through.”

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips together.

“Then why would you wish to subject Lyra and your bond to an increased stress?”

“Because something is wrong with us,” Harry said, gesturing his hands to his absent heart and his decayed skin, hoping he sounded endearing enough.  Lyra scurried across his shoulder, her teeth bared as she growled. “And if we get a chance...if we win...then maybe that makes it a little bit easier to live with...knowing that Lyra can beat all the dæmons who are normal.”

Professor McGonagall leaned back, reaching out to stroke Einaris who had just leapt up onto the desk. He skirted underneath her hand and sat himself at the corner of the desk so that he was only an arms reach away from Harry. The dæmons golden dust was agitated and flicking around in volatile motions.

Harry ignored him and sat waiting, the darkness pulsing through his veins as he held his breath. There was nothing more he could add.

After a brief silence McGonagall placed down the quill, and nodded.

“Harry, I'm confident you and Lyra both have the capability to excel in the tournament so I will put your name forwards, however, it will be Professor Dumbledore who will have the ultimate say in which students are selected.”

A hard knot was forming in Harry's stomach. Dumbledore. He hadn't considered that.

“Right,” Harry said, disappointment evident as he slid his chair backwards, shoving his hands in the pockets. “Never mind then.”

All of his and Lyra's well planned actions gone to waste.

He was a fool to this it was worth a shot.

“Harry,” McGonagall said. He paused just before her office door. Both she and Einaris were watching him carefully. “I will insist to Professor Dumbledore that he considers your application fairly...however if you were short-listed and chosen to be a Hogwarts Champion there may be additional considerations you may not have considered.”

Harry kept his face blank.

“You mean I'll be visible to the press? It's not like that's any different from normal, is it?” Harry said before adding quietly. “Voldemort knows what I'm doing anyway.”

Einaris growled, claws extracting from his paws but Professor McGonagall merely nodded.

“Very well then. The selection will be announced in a couple of weeks.”

Harry smiled, hoping it didn't look too forced as he reached up and combed his fingers through Lyra's fur.

“Thanks Professor.”

---

Harry skipped breakfast, and made his way across the cool and damp grass to the quidditch stands. He walked quickly, pushing away his lingering disappointment.

The two way mirror lay abandoned in his trunk. He debated retrieving it but he couldn't bring himself to face Sirius, to admit out loud that there was no chance he was going to leave the castle.

The changing rooms and pitch were empty, so Harry started the climb up to the Slytherin stands where a small glistening amount of golden dust was waiting.

Lyra jumped off his shoulder, running to greet Adara as they brushed their cheeks together.

"Nice to know Lyra still holds some of your humanity," Draco said as Harry took the empty seat in the row in front of him.

“I wouldn't count on that,” Harry muttered.

Draco grinned, nodding towards the empty skies.

“I'm surprised none of the teams are out here getting an earlier start.”

“Gryffindor needs to hold try-outs,” Harry shrugged. “We've got a fair few places open this year and Katie Bell didn't want to start training until we had a whole team together.”

“Dumbledore didn't fancy making you captain then?” Draco said.

For the first time that morning, a grin crossed Harry's face.

“Not likely. After what I did in our last quidditch match, I'm surprised Snape ever let me back out of detention.”

“Served Humberstone right though,” Draco said. “His dæmon was practically baiting you.”

Harry's grin slipped slightly, the same hollowness returning.

“Guess Slytherin will need another seeker this year?”

Adara jumped around the stands excitedly.

“Yeah, Snape's going to put my name forward. The Dark Lord wants me to recruit Death Eaters while I'm at Durmstrang.”

“If you get picked will you even have time for that?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. The morning air had a lingering harshness to it.

“It would probably make it easier to be honest. Champions are popular and will have a lot of influence, but I'll have to see what the competitions like before I can even determine if I have a chance.”

“Any idea who's going for it?” Harry asked.

“Rumour has it that both Cho Chang and Cormac McLaggen have put their names forwards,” Draco said before adding. “McLaggen has a tabby dæmon named Finola.”

Harry nodded, he knew the one. Not that he could say much about the human they were attached to.

“So are you going to enter?” Draco asked.

The sun was starting to rise and Harry mimicked Draco, rapping his cloak tighter around himself despite it doing nothing. His conversation with McGonagall echoed in his head. There was nothing else he could do now.

“Tom doesn't want me to enter,” Harry said instead. “Probably thinks it's too dangerous.”

“He's not wrong. I've been reading up on the tournament and it's certainly not for the faint hearted...not that you are,” Draco added quickly at the look on Harry's face. “But I can see why Tom would be concerned...specially if he's not there to watch over you.”

Harry let out a rattling breath, causing both Lyra and Adara to clamber underneath the seats.

“I don't need Tom to look after me. Not any more.”

---

The next week or so passed relatively quickly. Despite having fewer classes than most, even Harry found himself with an unusual amount of homework to do. Moody had been no exception, instructing that Harry had to write a three foot essay on The Techniques of Advanced Duelling, which Hermione had insisted was beyond N.E.W.T level material when Harry had asked for help.

Otherwise, Harry's lessons with Moody had continued to be just as interesting as the first. Harry had already learned how to throw off the imperius curse, summon a nearly impenetrable shield and had just started on useful spells to get your dæmon out of harms way.

The latter Lyra hadn't enjoyed very much, as every time Harry threw her across the room, she'd transform and Moody was left to mediate the damage.

Harry was currently standing in the middle of Moody's office attempting to cast a disillusionment charm on her, which also didn't help when Lyra kept dodging out the way of his spell.

“She's got the right idea,” Moody grunted. “Best thing would be for your dæmon to get away as far as possible and hide. Dæmons are always a target...which is why You Know Who always makes sure his Death Eaters can separate from their own.”

Harry's dead eye swung round to fixate on Itzel. The red kite ruffled her feathers, hopping closer to Moody and balancing precariously on the edge of the table with her one wing.

“Right,” Harry said, still watching the dæmon carefully. “With the Knife of Separation.”

A terrifying expression crossed the ex-aurors face.

“Riddle tell you that?”

Harry glared at him.

“Dumbledore. He said you'd had a run in with the knife's owner which is why you can separate from Itzel.”

Moody's blue eye spun round in its socket, fixing on the spot where Itzel was perched. She in turn was watching Lyra, looking ready to take flight despite her lack of ability.

“That was a long time ago,” Moody grunted. “But yes, that's how the Death Eaters separate from their dæmons...of course, newer Death Eaters don't have that luxury. With the knife missing, newer Death Eaters cannot go and attack anywhere...not without getting their dæmon spotted and their lives up ended...makes recruiting very difficult, which is good for us.”

Moody cracked another terrified grin.

Harry looked away, darkness swirling inside of him. His own link to Lyra remained splintered, meant that every time she separated it was as worst as the first time. Lyra flicked her tail, looking rather pleased with herself that she'd dodged the last couple of Harry's disillusionment charms.

Moody pulled out an old pocket watch which had a dozen extra hands and clockwork mechanisms.

“We'll end it there tonight,” he said, “Dumbledore wants to see you in his office.”

Biting his tongue, Harry picked up and swung his bag over his back. Lyra darted beneath his feet and led the way out of the office into the corridor.

The castle still had a few late night stragglers making their way back to their common room. Harry debated not going at all, tempted instead to go and see if Ron and Hermione would still be in the library.

Lyra had other ideas. She took off along the stone floor, tearing towards the grand staircase. Reluctantly, Harry traipsed along after her, knowing perfectly well why Lyra was so eager to go back to the headmasters office.

“I'm not putting it on,” Harry called after her. Lyra ignored him, climbing a set of stairs which had just moved into place. The sorting hat had been on his mind since the first time, and he knew Lyra was adamant to try it again.

Several staircases up, and at the far end of the seventh floor corridor the stone gargoyle leapt aside to reveal the moving staircase behind.

Dumbledore was sat at his desk, half moon glasses down the tip of his nose. A barn owl waited patiently at the end of his desk as he finished reading. Fawkes was perched atop one of the bookcases.

“Good evening, Harry,” Dumbledore smiled, looking up briefly. “If you would excuse me a second, I'll be with you shortly.”

Harry didn't say anything else. Restless, Lyra paced around his ankles and squeaked.

After a couple of minutes, Dumbledore signed the bottom of the parchment and attached it to the waiting owl. The owl spread its wings and soared towards and out of the open window.

Harry took a rattling breath.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

Dumbledore stood and pressed his hands behind him. He smiled sadly.

“Professor McGonagall informed me that she would be putting your name forward to represent Hogwarts for the decadæmon tournament.”

At the same time that his stomach did a somersault, a hard lump formed in Harry's throat.

“Sir?”

From the apologetic look on Dumbledore's face, it clearly wasn't good news.

“Harry, as your legal guardian, I must advise against your participation in the tournament. Given the circumstances, and I have of course discussed this with the Ministry, for your own protection it would be best if you stayed at Hogwarts for the year.”

Harry clenched his fists, but otherwise his face remained impassive.

“So that's it?” Harry said. “I don't even get a chance."

Dumbledore pushed his half moon glasses up his nose, his voice horribly calm.

“My decision is final, Harry.”

“You had no issue with me going to another school before,” Harry snapped, taking an abrupt step forwards. “I could have ended up at Durmstrang if Fudge had continued to refuse my wand.”

“Things are very different,” Dumbledore said with a very pointed look. “Lord Voldemort is only growing in strength every day, and his attention on you has not waived. For your own safety, I believe this is the best way forward.”

For the briefest of moments, the chance of escaping the castle had felt so real.

The disappointment was deep and Harry looked down. His shoes were suddenly far more interesting. He was certain that the portraits which lined the room were peering closer in the portraits, hanging onto every word.

Dumbledore stepped around from his desk, clearing his throat as Fawkes let out a single note.

“I will be going to Durmstrang, and I have therefore asked Professor Snape to be your primary guardian while at school, of course-”

Harry's mouth fell open, head jerking up.

“What's wrong with Sirius?”

“As a member of the Order, Sirius knows your safety comes first-”

A blind furry was taking hold, and the candles in the room flickered.

“Sirius would never have agreed to that,” Harry snapped. “Go on, bring him here and let me hear it.”

Dumbledore didn't even bother to explain or offer an answer. Instead he crossed his arms, linking his fingers together as he waited patiently. It was infuriating.

The urge to smash something surged within Harry, the desire to grab one of the delicate instruments that lined the room and throw it to the floor. He took a rattling breath, barely containing any rationale.

“Is that why Moody's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, just to keep an eye on me?” Harry demanded.

“Professor Moody, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “And yes, I feel much happier leaving the castle for the year knowing that you will be in safe hands.”

Harry bit back a curse. Lyra hissed, baring her small teeth towards Fawkes. The phoenix ignored her, head tilting but otherwise not responding in kind.

“And what about Tom? He doesn't want me to enter,” Harry said. “Surely, there's a good reason for it, if Voldemort is planning something while I'm here-”

Dumbledore fixed him with a very hard stare over the brim of his half moon spectacles. The twinkle in his blue eyes had gone.

“Tom is concerned for your well being, Harry. The tournament is dangerous and it makes sense for him to express his opinion on the matter,” Dumbledore said. “I would also add that because of Tom's deal with Voldemort, the risk of the Ministry removing you from Hogwarts has been lessened.”

“Right. I get it.”

There was an horrible silence. There was nothing that could be done and Harry hated it. He glowered at Fawkes instead, watching the dæmons golden dust swirl around like fire. It was easier than looking at the headmaster.

Dumbledore however, was not finished.

“Harry, have you given any thought to any further conversations with Riddle?”

A hollowness drummed through Harry, his vision swaying slightly despite himself. His anger shifting to something else entirely.  He hadn't expected Dumbledore to press the matter so soon.

“I have nothing to say to him.”

Dumbledore bowed his head, looking solemn.

“I understand that, Harry. However, I will stress again that having Riddle on your side will only be beneficial to yourself.”

It was horribly true.  But it was equally beneficial to Dumbledore, if he was convinced Harry could turn Riddle against Voldemort-

“Maybe in a few days then,” Harry muttered. The thought of speaking to Riddle churned in his stomach.

Dumbledore nodded, moving to sit back down behind his desk.

“Is that all, Professor?” Harry said, not even bothering to look up.

Dumbledore only smiled sadly at him.

“Yes, Harry. You may leave.”

Lyra ducked under his feet as Harry turned and made his way down onto the moving staircase.

The darkness pulsed through Harry's dead veins. Another year at Hogwarts, another year lost being unable to get any closer to Tom. The torch brackets on the wall flickered and died, plunging the corridor into darkness.

With a casual flick of his wand, a dim light returned but it too was swallowed up past his immediate surroundings.

There had to be another way to get out of the castle, a way to get rid of the trace. Harry only had to find it. It was almost worth using magic outside of school. The chance of getting picked up by the Ministry was just as high as the Death Eaters finding him.

Harry kicked a nearby coat of arms, cursing in the pain that shot up through his toe. Lyra squeaked, hurrying to keep up.

“I know,” Harry whispered. His thoughts consumed so that she could only mean one thing.

Riddle was his only current path to Tom and there was no way to avoid it. “But I won't sacrifice you, not for him.”

Lyra stopped, crouching low so that her back arched, fur sticking up on end as she hissed.

“I know you can look after yourself,” Harry said, walking past her. “This is different...you know what he's capable of.”

And the worse thing was Harry couldn't even leach off Riddle. The parts of Voldemort's soul were off limits to him, would not compensate for anything that Riddle might steal in return.

She darted forwards, teeth sinking into his trousers. A sharp pain seared up his leg.

Harry shook her off, glaring down at her.

“Fine,” Harry snapped. “But don't you dare speak to him, I'll take the hat off if you do. No other warnings, understand?”

She squeaked, aggressive stance relaxing as she darted off down the corridor. Harry followed, trailing his feet and not feeling much better about the situation.

Chapter 8: Will Parry

The trees stretched high into the sky, layering and obscuring the blanket of stars above.

Will Parry walked quickly and quietly underneath the canopy. Hedgerow caught at his boots, the narrow path making it hard to traverse but he dare not create any light. He kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, fingers curled tight around his wand.

Every now and then he would stop, straining his ears into the night. An owl hooted in the distance and there was the distinct sound of water babbling from a stream.

Despite the peaceful silence, Will could not shake the distinct feeling that he was being watched.

He pressed on with the same cautiousness, eager to get to the end of the uneven path.

Within five minutes, a flickering light could be seen from a small house up ahead. It was well hidden in the trees, deliberately tucked away so that if you didn't know the way you could easily miss it.

As he approached, Will's footsteps slowed to a stop. The front door had been deliberately left ajar and splinters outlined the broken latch. To the right, an oddly shaped stone which usually sat on the doorstep was instead resting on the top of an unturned flowerpot.

Will exhaled, letting out the breath he had been holding.  Without drawing his wand, he stepped across the threshold.

Warm air brushed against his face from a crackling hearth. Will relaxed at the sight of Sayan Kötör, his father's osprey dæmon. John Parry was sitting in an old, patchwork armchair across from the fire. Once upon a time, it had been his mother's favourite.

Will crossed to the window to pull the curtains shut. From outside, the darkness pressed in, causing a flicker of unease to return.

“You shouldn't be here. It's not safe.”

John Parry grunted and took a swig of a strong smelling something from a hip-flask.

“I'll be gone in a few hours.”

Will unbuttoned his coat, hung it on one of the metal iron hooks by the door and stuffed his own wand into his back pocket.

“Why are you here?”

John Parry raised the flask to his lips, examining the liquid remains with a sobering expression.

“How is she?”

Will resisted the urge to shoot his father a scathing look. Instead he took a deep breath, running a hand over his face while his mind replayed his last exhausting hours.

“The same,” he said flatly. “The healers say there is no improvement.”

John nodded, muttering to himself as he took another swig. Sayan Kötör gripped her talons onto the armchair, tearing into loose strands of fabric.

“I'll be heading north and I won't return for a long while,” John said. “There's a witch in Svalbard who I believe can help me...but first I need information.”

Will threw his bag down onto the floor, biting his tongue to save himself from cursing.

His father didn't even blink, a horrible calmness radiating from both him and his dæmon.

“Ideally, your mother needs to be moved...there's a remote hospital there which will take her subject to a few conditions. I need you to bring me her medical records-”

Will couldn't help it, a bitter laugher leaving his voice.

“The British ministry will never agree to that. Not when they know your intent. She's far safer in St Mungo's.”

“I can't treat her unless she comes to me,” John Parry said, voice remaining level. “I will be arrested as soon as I return to Britain.”

A fury pulsed behind Will's temple and he curled his fists, shaking his head vehemently.

“I can't help you. Plus I have to be back at school in the morning, I only had permission to leave for the weekend-”

Will started towards the kitchen. He barely made it two steps-

The room spun and suddenly he was pressed into the carpet. The musky smell of tobacco smoke flooded his nostrils.

A boot pressed hard into Will's lower back, digging painfully into his spine. His attacker reached down to fumble in Will's pockets, retrieving his rowan and dragon heartstring wand.

Will didn't resist.

He slowed his breathing, watching as Death Eaters moved from the shadows. Across the room, his father remained just as calm. Both hands raised and with Sayan Kötör perched on the patchwork arm.

A woman with long, wild black hair stepped forwards. She was the only unmasked intruder and her dæmon floated in a ball of water by her side. Her escape had graced even international papers.

Bellatrix Lestrange and her dæmon, Malos.

Her face was hollow and gaunt like, made worse by her expression that was alight with a terrifying hunger. Her dæmon, an electric eel coiled in his watery cage. He looked just as damaged as she did. His thick, scaleless skin was broken in numerous places with large welts and cuts to give him a horrible alien appearance.

Behind her was a man Will had not seen since he was a child. Giacomo Paradisi was an old wizard, dressed in long faded robes. He looked weary but had a fierce determination on his wrinkled face.

“You're a hard man to find,” Lestrange said. Her grin was sickly as she loomed over John Parry. “Fortunately your son was much easier to locate...we just never expected that you'd risk turning up here of all places.”

Will's father raised his chin defiantly, voice cold as Sayan Kötör screeched and braced her wings.

“This is my home.”

Lestrange threw back her head and laughed.

“You haven't been here in years. Not since the Dark Lord's return...no, he is well aware of that.”

John narrowed his eyes, hands moving down to clench into the arm of the chair.

“He's wasted his time. I don't have it.”

“Mmm,” Bellatrix said with a mirthless smile. “So then why disappear at all? If you truly no longer possessed the knife, then surely a simple explanation would have sufficed. You wouldn't have needed to spend years away, hiding and abandoning your wife and son.”

At a wave of her hand, a death eater seised Will's upper arm and pulled him roughly onto his knees. A hot wand tip pressed into the nape of his neck.

Will sized up the room, relaxing his body instinctively and eyeing up the two other death eaters who guarded the door. Giacomo stood further back with his wyvern dæmon, Lorithia perched on his shoulder.

Lestrange smiled wickedly, strolling leisurely across the short distance to the musky carpet towards Will.

“You're a strange little thing, aren't you?” she cackled. She ran a finger down Will's chin. Despite his thumping heart, Will remained perfectly calm and still. “No dæmon...how unnatural.”

“The knife has the ability to cut into other worlds, Madam Lestrange,” Giacomo said, lowering his head into a deep bow. “The boys mother is not from our own...but from another world...one where souls do not exist in the same physical form as ours.”

Lestrange's electric eel coiled within its watery cage. A thin bubble of water shimmered around his form, moulding the water around him.

She fixed Will with a look of distaste, withdrawing her finger as if she'd just touched something poisonous.

Instead she raised and plunged her hand into the watery sphere which enclosed her dæmon. The eel hissed, its electric energy humming loudly as it embraced her, snaking around her wrist while still keeping protected within its bubble.

She fixed her attention back to Will's father.

“I had hoped you would need some persuasion.”

A fleeting look of terror crossed John Parry's face. Sayan Kötör made a high pitch cheeping noise, taking flight.

Lestrange flicked her wand.  A net burst forwards encaging the osprey.

Sayan Kötör fell, screeching and flapping wildly in a desperate heap of feathers.

“NO, please-”

John Parry threw himself to his knees, scrambling to help his dæmon.

Lestrange laughed, twisting her wand. The net tightened, cutting into the bird and restricting all movement.

“It was stolen long ago,” John cried, tugging at the net uselessly. “I don't have it-”

“Liar!” Lestrange screamed, spinning on her heel and striking her wand forward.

“Crucio.”

Will collapsed.

A guttural scream burst from his lips, throat burning as splintered needles pierced across every inch of his body. His bones would surely break, his skin rupture. Limbs twisted, jerking in an uncontrollable, violent pain. He could not hear or see, the unrelenting hurt was everything, his only escape was death.

The curse broke.

Will rolled onto his side, wretching. His chest constricted as he panted wildly, breathing deeply into the musky rug.

His head throbbed and he struggled to make sense of the conversation.

“I can't-” John croaked, tears streaming down his face. “Without the knife my wife has no hope-”

A harsh laugh sounded from Giacomo Paradisi.

“You have only yourself to blame for her condition, the Knife of Separation put her in that state.”

Sayan Kötör screeched, flapping her heavy body uselessly in the net. John scrambled to his feet, a terrifying righteousness on his expression as he jerked his fingers at Giacomo.

“I would have succeeded if not for you. You kept the secrets of the knife to yourself...when you knew what would save her!”

Giacomo's wyvern screeched. Her own terrifying call drowning out Sayan Kötör's flailing efforts.

“Nothing can save her,” Giacomo snapped. “And now you'll let your own son die, just for a fools errand.”

Lestrange laughed manically, raising her wand at Will's head.

For one excruciating second, his fathers eyes found his own. The remorse on John Parry's face was disturbing, that he resented Will for forcing him to give up what was most precious.

Slowly, John reached to the cord-string pouch around his neck.

Will lay frozen, chest rasping as his father revealed the Knife of Separation.

The blade glistened, silver catching in the dim light.

For a moment, everyone in the room was perfectly still. John held it at arms length, tip pointed downwards.

Lestrange's grin widened, eyes alight in a terrifying wonder. Around her arm, her dæmon crackled as sparks shot up and down his scaleless body.

“Nice and slowly now,” she whispered, directing her wand towards the musty carpet.

John Parry crouched down, arm surprisingly steady as he placed the knife on its side, careful that the tip would not pierce the floor beneath. Then he stood, hands raised as he moved back to be beside his restrained dæmon.

Giacomo stepped forwards and in that second a terrifying loss consumed Will.

The knife could not be taken.

All his fathers research, years of turmoil just to find the impossible answers, would be gone.

And his mother-

Will lunged on instinct, hand snatching towards the hilt.

No one else had moved.  Did not expect his reckless action.

The wooden hilt grasped into Will's hand. He swung backwards, brandishing at the Death Eater behind him...the knife swiped and met no resistance as it plunged effortlessly through the black cloth.

“Accio!”

“NO-”

The knife lurched from Will's hand and he fumbled, grasping at the rotating blade.

The lack of immediate pain was worse than the unforgivable curse. Will blinked, starting numbly at his deformed left hand.

It was sodden. Blood pooled across it while a searing pain started to register brutally in his mind.

Will fell to the floor, clutching uselessly at his hand. His ring and little fingers were gone, sliced away to leave only bloody stumps. Sickness pulsed through him and his body shivered violently as the world spun.

There was a scream, a curse and a flash of green.

A body crashed to the floor.

Will blinked back the pain, eyes struggling to focus, to concentrate on the danger he was in. Slowly and with great effort he pulled his gaze away from his blood soaked hand.

His father lay on the floor, a vacant expression on his face. The net which had held Sayan Kötör him was empty. She had diminished as soon as John Parry's life had passed.

All emotions were dulled.  The hard knot rising in Will's stomach barely registered.

The knife hovered, suspended in mid air so that it was safe for Giacomo to extract.  The old wizard seised the hilt, plucking it carefully and holding it aloft with reverence.

Giacomo shot a terrified look towards Lestrange.

“Never summon the knife! The blade will slice you apart in a second.”

Lestrange rolled her eyes and kicked the heavy body of Will's father. The lack of protest made Will's eyes sting. 

“Are we finished here?” 

She walked over and crouched down to examine the body of her dead comrade. The mask had fallen askew, revealing unmoving eyes and a gaping mouth. There was a large bloody pool soaked across the front of the man's robes from where the blade had penetrated.

Will's vision swam in and out of view. Had he done that? Everything had happened too quickly.

Bellatrix redirected her wand, looking almost bored as she pointed it straight at Will.

Will flinched and braced himself for death's icy grip.

“Wait,” Giacomo grunted. His wyvern let out a high pitched screech. “I have always wondered about the method John Parry used on his wife...this would be an opportune moment as any...”

Lestrange mouth split into a wide grin. Her dæmon coiled restlessly around her arm, hissing and spitting as unregulated electricity crackled outwards.

“I didn't think you had it in you, Paradisi.”

Will pushed himself back against the carpet, blood smearing across the carpet and terror mounting insufferably. Clearly the opportunity to be entertained was the only thing that had spared his life for a much more terrible fate. The skill Giacomo had with the knife was legendary, was far superior to anything his father had achieved, but still-

“It can't be done,” Will whispered.

Giacomo tilted his head, stare calculating as he surveyed his unwilling patient.

“Hold him.”

A curse enveloped Will, striking him directly on the chest. His limbs became numb and heavy, so that his arms and legs slumped, his heart rate slowing to a unnatural speed, the blood from his fingers pooled beneath him.

Giacomo rolled up his sleeves, knelt down to brandish the exposed knife directly above Will's chest. The tip glinted in the light, Will's own blood dripping down the blade.

“Don't-”

Will's words were slurred, his own vision swimming rapidly as consciousness faded. Giacomo could not succeed. The task was impossible, the risk astronomically outweighing any chance or hope of reward.

A hand closed tightly on Will's shoulder. 

Lorithia craned her long neck over Giacomo's shoulder, scales strong and rippling over her hide. She was beautiful, a translucent creature, a soul that represented what Will himself had been denied.

For a brief, deluded second, Will dully wondered what his own dæmon would look like...

Crack!

Everything went black. A pressure pulsated around him, squeezing his sides from all directions. He coughed, body bruising as his back slammed against hard earth.

Lorithia soared over Will's head, momentarily blocking out stars which shone high above.  Cold air lashed over his body, cutting against his exposed wound as his eyes rolled.

A surge of energy rushed to Will's muscles and he was hauled into a sitting position.

“Stay still and drink this.”

A vial was shoved into Will's good hand. Without thinking, he pressed it to recklessly to his lips, shivering as hot and cold flushes ran across his skin. Both a numb and sharp pain was tingling at the tips of his fingers as the cool liquid slowly lessoned the effect.

With a steady breath, a clearness was struggling to take hold. In the distance, Will could barely see the sickening green of the dark mark rising over the hillside and the clearing of trees which surrounded his home.

The Death Eaters would still be there, would be furious that Giacomo had removed the Knife of Separation from their sight.

“Why are you doing this?”

Giacomo's face was hard and he gestured to Will's bloody fingers. The wound was dripping, stinging from being exposed. Giacomo raised his own left hand. Sure enough, the same two fingers were missing.

“The knife has chosen you. You're the true bearer now.”

Will swayed violently at the rush of blood to his head.

“But you've hunted the knife for years, since my father stole it-”

He was losing too much blood.

Will fumbled blindly, delirious and desperate to find the wand that was no longer in his pocket.

Giacomo seised Will's wrist, pulling him back round and shaking him slightly.

“Magic can't help you here. If the knife ever cuts a person or dæmon you will have to cauterise the wound. Here, hold still.”

Giacomo pointed his wand at the blade and a raging heat blared into existence. The fire was concentrated, would surely melt and vaporise even this metal.

“This will hurt.”

Even with whatever concoction Will had drank, the hot knife on his flesh seared with a blistering pain. Eyes rolled in the back of his head, and Will tried to jerk away but Giacomo's strength was immense and he held Will's wrist perfectly still.

The stench of burnt flesh flooded his senses, making his stomach lurch.

“There.” Giacomo announced and he released Will's wrist. “No other tool can fix that...it has to be the knife or your soul will start to leach away.”

Will shivered violently, cradling his hand. The stumps of his fingers remained bloody, were soaked in a sickly red. The bleeding however, had stopped.

“Take it.” Giacomo thrust the knife towards Will, turning the blade away so that it was safe to handle. “It's yours now.”

Despite himself, and the remnants of pain ghosting across his hand, Will reached out to claim it.

A sudden rush of magic surged through his fingers. 

It was powerful and deliberate.  Tendrils of something were crawling and wrapping around his wrist, binding his soul to the blade.

Will let out a shaky breath, holding it up to examine.  He had never seen it this close before.

It looked surprisingly ordinary.  The blade was about eight inches long and had a wooden cross section protecting the hilt. An engraving of a winged dæmon was carved in golden embellishments on the front and back.

The edges were different. Each side of the blade distinct in both metal and colour. One was a clouded grey, like steel and the other with a silver light flickering just beneath the surface.

“The first edge will cut through any material in the world,” Giacomo said. “Try it now.”

Will had seen that demonstrated before...it was the other edge that had always eluded his father. He picked up a rock, fumbling slightly with his missing fingers.

The knife sliced through it without any resistance.

Giacomo grunted, pointing to the knife.

“The other edge is far more subtle, and holds the true power of he knife...now listen carefully...traditionally the new bearer would cut their dæmon free from their shackles...but you have none and I cut Lorithia away many years ago. No, you'll have to go by theory alone for now.  Stand up."

Will nodded, still feverish and clambered to his feet.

“The knife cannot cut a dæmon away on its own...which is why your father failed to understand its true power...he was never the true bearer and never was granted that power...you have to use your mind and cut with it. Focus on the tip, cast your eye upon it. Do it now.”

Will raised the blade, parting his feet to get a better stance and to stave off his trembling form.

“You have to feel it, the bond between a dæmon and human. It's small, thin...only the knife bearer can feel such a thing. Close your eyes.”

Will did as instructed, hating how his hand throbbed terribly.

“Concentrate, and you'll know it when you find it.”

It shouldn't have been so natural. Not when the knife had denied Will's father, had eluded and kept hidden its truth for years. Yet to Will everything felt suddenly so clear.

The grief of his father's death, the exhilaration of the knife, the terror that he held what the death eaters hunted. All of it was him, guided his arm and the knife before him.

Will breathed gently, letting all emotions take him. It both overwhelmed him and grounded him. The tip of the knife was an extension of his own soul, was reverberating into and out of him to reveal a snag in mid air, a resistance that should not be there. Will's eyes snapped open, heart beating wildly.

“I felt something, but there aren't any dæmons-”

Giacomo grinned.

“That's the third part of the knife. The method is similar. Go ahead, raise it again...”

Will knew what to expect and it came easier. The tip of the knife caught in mid air, the silver edge finding a hidden resistance.

“Focus now. And pull it down, not too quickly.”

Will tugged the knife down. He was certainly cutting through something. He opened his eyes, ensuring his mind stayed right on its tip, to ensure a tear was materialising into existence.

A thin veil, a manifestation of something unnatural was hovering just in front of him. Will pulled the knife away and walked around it, amazed that the very air had been sliced apart.

“A window,” Giacomo said. “A passage to another world.”

Will could hardly breathe, his chest hurt and the stub of his fingers throbbed. He knew the stories, his own fathers journey through a hidden window, had passed from one world to another, but to have that ability in his hand...could create more windows at only his whim.

Giacomo cracked a disturbed smile, clearly aware of the enormity that Will was realising.

“Now close it...you'll need your fingers for this, reach out and pinch the window together...yes that's right, slowly now...you'll need to shut any windows you create.”

Will's hand was completely steady this time, and he could feel a tingling running up his arm as he touched the window. The veil shimmered as it faded back out of existence. Giacomo circled the immediate surroundings, inspecting the air to ensure that Will had finished the job.

“Use the same method to cut a dæmon away. Concentrate and feel the resistance. Then slice slowly and carefully...although there are many who covert this knife...who hunt for its existence relentlessly, the Dark Lord is one of those...many others believe it's only capable of cutting a dæmons bond and do not realise the true potential of such a device...keep it hidden at all times. Trust no one but yourself.”

Will nodded, thoughts swirling.

“You should spend months learning under my guidance,” Giacomo muttered. “But there is no time...I have shown you the basics, everything else you will have to accomplish on your own.”

Will gripped the hilt, staring at the subtle edge of the knife. His father's research had never uncovered its secrets, had never uncovered anything beyond its basic use. And then there was the sharp reminder that his father never would. But still-

“My mother-” Will whispered. “Will I be able to heal her, use the knife to achieve what my father always dreamed?”

Giacomo frowned, his old face creasing into one of deep concern.

“Your father is the one who put her in that state. No, best you forget about her, boy. You'll need to worry about yourself now.”

Will didn't say anything but he lowered the knife, thoughts wandering. He would have to return home to retrieve his fathers notes either way. He glanced down the hillside, staring at the dark mark which hovered over the small clearing of trees.

Giacomo seemed aware of Will's intention, his desire to return. The old wizard stepped forwards and hooked his hand underneath Will's arm.

“Come on.”

With a twist and a loud crack, everything went black. A force was pressing against him from all directions, a pressure building in his head, behind his eyes and mouth so that it was difficult to breath.

Then it was over, and Will was staggering to the side, jerking away from Giacomo.

“Where-”

His mouth snapped closed, eyes drawn and focusing on the hundreds of dim lights flickering in the distance. It was odd, for there seemed to be no source from the lights, only that they were aligned in a clear pattern. The true structure obscured by a thin film of magic. Giacomo was standing, watching it almost longingly.

“You best get back to school. You'll be safe there.”

Will's head was pounding, the grief and shock of the night compounding in one moment.

“I- how can I go back to Durmstrang now?” The ringing in Will's head was getting louder. “The Death Eaters-”

Giacomo grunted.

“The Dark Lord will believe I have taken the knife and fled. Keep it secret, and you can go back to your life...there is no reason for the Dark Lord to believe you have it.”

“And when he catches up with you, when he knows you have it no longer?” Will said. He swayed on his feet slightly.

Giacomo gave a short, sharp laugh.

“I have been hiding from the Dark Lord for years, I've gotten very good at it. I never planned to return to his service. This changes nothing-”

Lorithia beat her wings and screeched impatiently, her call echoing throughout the night.

Giacomo nodded and raised an arm for her to perch on it. He turned, squeezed a hand on Will's shoulder, a genuine look of sorrow crossed the old man's face.

“I'm sorry about your father, he was a good man.”

Before Will could respond or find the right words, Giacomo took a step away and raised his wand.

With a crack, he disapparated into the night.

Notes:

It wouldn't be a true 'Inspired by His Dark Materials' fanfiction if we didn't have parallel universes ;)

For those of you who don't know Will Parry, he's a character in His Dark Materials. For the purpose of this story you don't need to know any background about him (i.e. he's completely integrated into the HP world and is not the Will Parry from His Dark Materials, aside from the fact he is the bearer of the Subtle Knife (Knife of Separation)).

And yes, Will's mother is from HP canon universe.

Chapter 9: Warning and Opportunity

The sky was cloudy and little light remained from the setting sun. Even over the last few days, the nights were slowly drawing in.

Harry stood, a short distance into the forbidden forest, a cold mist gathering around his feet.

The forest floor was crawling with small insects amongst the mossy undergrowth. A spider crawled out from underneath a leaf. It was large, about the size of Harry's hand, and its legs jerked in horrible clicking motions.

Following its path, Harry raised his wand. His mind clearing. A need to sink in and embrace the darkness.

“Avada Kedavra.”

The was a flash of green and the spider stopped moving.

It was calming to channel all of his rage into one curse, and to see the visible effects of it.

He wondered what it would be like to cast it on a person. The thought of Dumbledore lying in a crumpled heap before him. The half moon spectacles broken and slipped from the old wizards vacant face. And the thrill of power that coursed through Harry, at the possibility that he was stronger, could never again be shoved into any cage, with a silver blade hanging precariously above him.

Lyra watched, perched high up on a nearby branch as his raw unfiltered anger simmered.

Harry lowered his wand, eyes closing momentarily.

“Come on then,” he muttered. “We may as well get this over with.”

---

Dumbledore was waiting in his office. The sorting hat had already been removed from the shelf and was placed upon the oak desk.

“I will leave Fawkes to keep watch over you,” Dumbledore said. “If you need any assistance he will alert me immediately.”

“Right,” Harry said, glancing up at the phoenix warily. He had no intention of doing any such thing, specially when Dumbledore's reasons for allowing him to speak with Riddle were questionable.

“And Harry,” Dumbledore said, smiling sadly. “If you do wish to discuss anything, no matter how insignificant you may feel it to be, I will always be available to listen.”

Diverting his eyes, Harry tried not to let the fury show in his face.

“Yes, sir.”

Dumbledore turned, robes flowing around him as he walked across his office. As soon as the door clicked shut, Lyra jumped up onto the desk, waiting expectantly as Harry took a seat.

Unlike when he had cast the killing curse, Harry's hands were anything but still. The days had slipped by since his last conversation with Riddle, yet it felt like yesterday. He picked up the hat and slipped it over his head.

Once again, the hat didn't say anything.

“Riddle?”

Harry waited. Neither Tom nor Riddle spoke but he knew they were both there.

“I don't have very long,” Harry tried instead. “Dumbledore might be back soon.”

There was another short silence, and then Riddle replied.

“Is Lyra with you?”

Harry curled his fists at this, balling them against his palms so that it hurt. Beside him, Lyra pushed her head against his arm in comfort.
“Yeah, she's here.”

Harry winced, the seconds ticking away as he expected the paramount shift that occurred whenever Tom shut him out.

It never came.

Riddle however, either didn't notice that Tom wasn't gone or didn't care. Harry certainly wasn't going to clarify either way.

“You should have come back to talk to me sooner.” Riddle's voice was surprisingly hostile.

“You do realise that the sorting hat is in Dumbledore's office?” Harry said. “It's not like I can walk in here whenever I please.”

“I doubt that would have stopped you had it been Tom you wished to converse with?” Riddle said.

Harry couldn't deny that. Instead he sat back in the chair, crossing his arms.

“I'm here aren't I?”

“Yes, you are,” Riddle said softly. “We won't be interrupted then?”

Harry glanced up at Fawkes. His golden light shone brightly as the phoenix ruffled his feathers.

“Sirius said they have an Order meeting, I'll have at least an hour or two,” Harry said.

Riddle hissed something under his breath, the parseltongue drifting into his head and causing a shiver to run down Harry's spine.

It was fortunate the sorting hat was so well crafted. Otherwise Harry would have been convinced that Riddle knew he was lying.

“I heard about your encounter with Dolores Umbridge,” Riddle said.

Harry blinked, momentarily thrown off guard. He failed miserably to keep the anger out of his voice.

“What about it?”

There was another pause. A fury was there flicking across his bond, but that wasn't because of Riddle. Harry nearly sucked in a rattling breath, barely holding back at the wealth of emotions suddenly unfiltered from Tom.

“You should have mentioned it last time,” Riddle said.

“Funnily enough, it wasn't something I wanted to bring up,” Harry replied coolly.

Riddle tutted, clearly unimpressed as his tone grew colder.

“You need to be more concerned for your own well-being, Harry. Fortunately, the Dark Lord has influence over the Ministry. You can be assured it won't happen again.”

Harry couldn't help it, he laughed.

“Why do you care?” Harry said, voice almost hysterical. “After the damage you've done, nothing compares.”

“There's a difference,” Riddle said coolly. “I'm allowed to do with you what I will.”

The matter of fact tone in his voice was chilling.

“Anyway, you should be thanking me, Harry. You are stronger now.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek hard to save from cursing.

“Right, I can devour dæmons.”

“Among other things...” Riddle said lightly.

If Harry didn't know better, he would have missed that he was being accused of something.

“You've been experimenting with dark magic,” Riddle continued. “I didn't get the opportunity to ask you last time, but you seem to have taken a liking to it since.”

Harry couldn't hear properly, the thumping in his ear was getting louder. Could Riddle read his thoughts through the hat. Resisting the urge to yank it from his head, Harry took a rattling breath.

“What do you mean?”

There was a pause and Harry could just imagine Riddle's widening grin and the amusement in his eyes.

“You've been casting a few unsavoury curses,” he said. “I only wish that I could have been there to see it for myself.”

“How do you know that?”

Again, another pause. This time Harry could hear the laugh catching Riddle's voice.

“Magic that dark is raw and powerful. It disturbs the natural order of things. Could you honestly say you've never noticed?”

Harry didn't say anything.

“An example then,” Riddle continued. “You are Tom are bound together. Connected so intimately, that intense emotions filter between you, correct?”

“Yes,” Harry said stiffly. “What's this got to do with me casting the killing curse?”

“Emotions, Harry,” Riddle said simply. “If he desires, Tom is capable of blocking out most which pass between you, but not that particular curse. It requires an intent so extreme that cannot be hidden from either of you...like when Tom cast it at me during our fight in Hogsmeade.”

Harry's breath hitched slightly.

He remembered.

Even though it was year ago, had been under extreme circumstances at the time, the wave of immense hatred from Tom had been noticeable. The anger raw, uncensored and intense and from only one source. It had been during Harry's escape from the castle, just before he'd been reunited with Lyra. It was the only time that Tom's unfiltered anger had reminded him of Lord Voldemort.

But then Riddle's statement didn't make any sense.

“I've not noticed anything like that since me and Tom were separated, and Tom killed Scrimgeour right?” Harry said slowly.

A rush of something, a mixture of satisfaction, pride and desperate longing rushed across their connection. Harry nearly staggered from the weight of it. It was strangely intoxicating, as if he'd forgotten how Tom felt.

Riddle was silent for a moment, but he wouldn't have known about the rush of emotions Tom and Harry were sharing.

“And surely I'd have noticed when you cast dark magic?” Harry added.

“Our connection is fragmented,” Riddle said, his voice dangerously cold now. “We shared only whispers of our souls. It's not comparable to your bond with Tom.”

“So you knew when I cast the killing curse?” Harry asked.

“Barely,” Riddle said. “Tom suffered the full weight of it.”

Which meant that Tom hadn't keep it quiet.

“Tom told Voldemort,” Harry said flatly. It wasn't a question, and the lack of response from Riddle was confirmation enough. This however presented another problem.

Harry dug his fingers back into his palms, taking a long rattling breath to calm himself.

Transparency was probably the best option here.

“Moody's teaching me how to fight,” Harry said. “The Order think it's a good idea at least. I'm not going to complain.”

“Teaching you how to fight is one thing, teaching you how to kill is another,” Riddle said.

“Isn't that the same thing?” Harry said coolly. “Anyway, apparently it's more desirable than devouring someone. I know which one I would have preferred.”

Riddle ignored this.

“Regardless, there's only one reason the Order would be teaching you how to kill.”

There was a distinct shift in the atmosphere, and it wasn't just from Riddle. Across their bond, for the second time in such a short space of time, Harry could sense Tom's terror.

Harry bit his lip, knew it was a warning to tread carefully.

“Probably. I don't particularly care for Dumbledore's reasons.”

“Then you know it?” Riddle said sharply.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his good eye.

“Yes, I know the prophecy. As if Snape hasn't told Voldemort that already.”

There was another deliberate silence, as Riddle waited expectantly.

“Look,” Harry said, gesturing his hands despite Riddle not being able to see. “I'm not telling you...or Tom for that matter.”

The softness in Riddle's voice was dangerously apparent.

“You would deny the Dark Lord?”

“No,” Harry countered immediately. “I said I'm not telling you. I have no problems telling Voldemort.”

That certainly caught Riddle off guard.

“Why?”

“Because you and Tom would both probably do something stupid,” Harry said. “Plus I don't think Voldemort would want you to know...it's not for me to decide otherwise.”

Riddle could not protest against Harry's logic and that was clear from the mixture of relief from Tom.

There was a long, awkward silence, but Harry wasn't going to break it.

At last, Riddle sighed dramatically.

“Fine, have it your way,” he said. “Although Lyra's been awfully quiet...I'd love to know her thoughts on the matter.”

On Harry's lap, Lyra curled up and her golden light flickered. Harry dug his fingers into her fur.

“She has nothing to say to you.”

Riddle laughed. It echoed softly in Harry's ear as if Riddle was right next to him.

“Now I don't believe that. Lyra has always been connected to me...you cannot deny her.”

Before Harry could speak, another voice interrupted.

“Harry.”

It was Tom.

After the exchange of intense emotions, it was another thing entirely to actually hear him speak.

“I'm going to tell the Dark Lord.”

Harry's breath caught slightly, but he didn't get a chance to answer.

“Oh don't be such a spoil sport,” Riddle hissed. “You can't change your mind now.”

Harry could just imagine Tom's expression and the half shrug of his shoulder.

“What did you expect?”

“You just can't accept the fact that Potter cares for me, that he craves my existence,” Riddle said.

Tom laughed, and it made Harry's chest hurt all the more strongly.

“Believe what you will,” Tom said. “You won't have Harry, and I certainly won't let you leach off Lyra.”

It was a good job Harry was sitting. His legs felt like they would collapse from under him. He'd gotten in too deep, knew it was the only option to ensure that Riddle was satisfied. And Tom still could step in and protect him, while letting Riddle continue with the delusions Harry so desperately needed him to believe.

“You can't stop it,” Riddle snapped. “As long as Potter is willing, I have every right to speak with him. It's you who will suffer if the Dark Lord finds out.”

“Do you really think so?” Tom said. “The Dark Lord is well aware of your intentions if all doesn't go to plan-”

Riddle hissed something in parseltounge, his voice unintelligible. The sounds were sharp and alien, filled with a deep fury that reverberated through the brim of the sorting hat.

“Sorry,” Tom said, sounding not very sorry at all. “Just don't forget you need Harry to succeed just as much as me. You have just as much to lose.”

“Our Lord would know if we interfered,” Riddle said coolly. “And he would not take the fact lightly. He's indulged us this far, but his indifference to the outcome is what makes the situation so dangerous.”

Then it was Tom who was hissing. The strange noise completely indistinguishable to Harry. There was no indication of what Tom was saying. Riddle however, understood perfectly.

“And why should I be the one-” Riddle snarled. “This is just your plan to destroy any favour I have.”

“Harry just needs the right encouragement, just to point him in the right direction,” Tom said. The flickers of emotion which passed between them a mixture of hope and wariness.

Riddle hissed something under his breath which Harry didn't catch.

“If the Dark Lord finds out, you would destroy your only opportunity of taking the boy again-”

Tom didn't pause, his answer ready.

“Which will happen either way if Harry is not prepared, unless of course you think the Dark Lord will be lenient, that he will accept Harry as he is?”

“No,” Riddle said stiffly. “He will not settle for anything less than complete devotion.”

“Then without action, we will both lose,” Tom said simply. “I have already accepted that outcome, have you?”

“The Dark Lord has already made his decision,” Riddle hissed. “I have nothing to fear.”

“So then why are you leaving this to chance?” Tom countered, a hint of disdain seeping through his tone. “You have everything to gain. The only reason you could be hesitating is that you truly believe that the Dark Lord will favour me.”

“It is not the Dark Lord's favour I am concerned about,” Riddle said coolly.

“I know,” Tom said. “But would you really be satisfied, knowing that you came so close, to settle for anything less?

Riddle hissed something fowl again, the parseltongue fierce and almost hypnotic.

Harry's head was spinning, unable to keep up with the barrage of emotions and the rapid conversation which made no sense.

“Tom-”

The anger that was flicking between them stopped, and only a strange calm was left. Even Riddle quietened, but only after muttering another curse under his breath.

“Harry?”

Hearing his name was hard enough as it is...more so when there was so much at stake. Harry dug his fingers into Lyra's fur. He wanted more time, needed longer to understand but when the pair of them were deliberately omitting information...

“What do I need to do?”

Tom sighed, and Harry could almost imagine him taking a step forwards, pulling his arms around him...whispering in his ear.

“It's not for me to say.”

A hollowness drummed through Harry, a bitterness creeping into his voice.

“Right. This is about your deal with Voldemort isn't it?”

It was the wrong thing to say.

A rush of terror flicked across their bond. It was stifling. Harry staggered from the weight of it, gripping the brim of the hat to stop it from slipping off.

Lyra had moved from his lap, was standing on all fours as if ready to pounce at an unknown threat.

“Now who told you that?” Riddle said. His voice had gone suddenly very cold.

The darkness inside Harry pounded for lack of his heart. The fear from Tom was warning enough. This was dangerous territory. He swallowed thickly.

“Snape, who'd you think?”

“Did he tell anyone else?” Riddle asked quietly.

“How should I know?” Harry lied, the pounding in his head was getting worse, his throat horribly dry. “He just said that any fluctuations in my bond with Tom would stop because of something he'd agreed with Voldemort. I mean I'd notice anyway...”

Tom still didn't say anything.

“Are you sure that's all he said?” Riddle hissed.

“Given that he threw me out his office for asking for more, I'm sure.” Harry hoped he sounded nonchalant, with at least some amount of annoyance in his voice.

“Anyway,” he dared to push. “Tom didn't answer my question.”

And he wasn't going to, that much was obvious.

Tom hissed something. There was something very wrong, an emotion that Harry couldn't detect.

There was a cold, sharp laugh from Riddle.

“I hope you are not beneath begging our Lord for mercy.”

The course of emotions from Tom was desperate.

It felt like a knife was twisting in Harry's chest and Tom was slipping away...that nothing would ever make things right...that they would be separated indefinitely.

Lyra leapt up, baring her teeth and growling.

“What do you want, Riddle?”

Harry opened his mouth to protest but she dug her claws, scratching his legs in warning.

“Lyra-”

It was Tom's cracked voice, but Riddle interrupted him as well.

“Let her speak,” he hissed. “I should at least hear her offer.”

Lyra braced herself, fur sticking on end as she scratched another claw as she shifted her position.

“I don't understand everything...only that there is something Tom cannot do...something that he needs your cooperation for...”

Neither Tom or Riddle said anything, so Lyra continued.

“So what do you want in exchange?”

“Perhaps there is something-”

“Don't,” Tom hissed, voice stricken.

The same fear was still pulsing across their connection from Tom, smothering all other emotion.

“She offered,” Riddle said softly. “And right now that's the only thing saving any potential future you have with Harry.”

The truth of Riddle's words shook Harry to the core, he was protesting before he could even think straight.

“No,” Harry said. “Whatever Lyra promises you, I won't-”

He broke off, could remember Riddle pulling him over the cauldron, his arms butchered as it was trust over the flames...and then the darkness, the moment where his world fractured.

“-not after last time.”

“This is not something you can promise me, Harry,” Riddle hissed. “Your word will mean little for this...no, all I want in some reassurance.”

“Reassurance?” Harry breathed. “Haven't I already given you that?”

“Perhaps,” Riddle hummed. “However, I merely wish for a more direct answer.”

“Riddle-” Tom warned, but Riddle brushed him off.

“I know what I can and can't say, I won't jeopardise anything...more than what's already been done.”

Lyra stirred, agitated as she paced in a tight circle on Harry's lap. Harry shifted his hand to calm her, stilling her movement.

“Go on then,” Harry whispered. “Try me.”

He thought Tom would protest again, but his silence was daunting in itself.

Instead, he shivered, imaging Riddle's cruel smile.

“Very well then, Harry,” Riddle hissed softly. “If the Dark Lord gifted you to either me or Tom...would you accept his decision?”

In the pit of his stomach, Harry felt only a deep primal fear. It was a warning to take the hat off and flee...to abandon Tom and save Lyra while he still had the chance.

That was not the question he expected. The understanding that Tom and Riddle had been arguing over him...that maybe Voldemort truly had disregarded the prophecy and Harry could have a home in the Dark...

Harry bit his lip, preventing his initial retort as the darkness pulsed. He couldn't lie. Riddle would know otherwise, as despite everything the answer was obvious.

“That depends...”

Riddle laughed deliriously, his voice high and unnatural.

“Come on, Harry. You can do better than that.”

Harry chewed his tongue, trying to find the right words.

“I abandoned Tom in the chamber before.” His hands balled into fists as he shifted uncomfortably. “If there were similar circumstances...if Tom wasn't an option any more...why do you think I wouldn't stay with you again?”

There was a soft, chilling laugh from Riddle, and a rush of something else from Tom.

“It may just come to that,” Riddle said quietly.

There was a sudden, sharp catch in Tom's voice.

“Then you'll-”

“Yes, I'll deal with Potter.”

A relief so immense flooded into Harry and he clutched at Lyra, a rattling breath escaping.

“Harry, I need you to listen to Riddle,” Tom said. “I need you to do whatever he says.”

“I- wait what-”

“The Dark Lord will notice if you stay any longer,” Riddle said coolly. “Go now, before I change my mind.”

“It'll be okay, Harry,” Tom whispered. “Just trust me...listen to Riddle...I'll see you soon.”

“But-” Harry started.

It was too late. Without so much as a goodbye, the shift of Tom's absence was just as paramount as before. Harry gasped, caught off guard from the abruptness. It took a moment to recover. The pain lingering, coursing through his being.

Harry would have been offended had it not been so obvious something was wrong.

“Riddle?”

There was a horrible silence. Lyra climbed onto Harry's shoulder, ducking under the brim of the hat to press her body to his neck. He raised his hand, holding her close to feel her rapidly beating heart.

“For now,” Riddle said quietly. “My own goals and Tom's align.”

There was another pause, and Harry had a very unsettling feeling that their goals both involved him.

“And Voldemort's?” Harry asked.

“May change at any moment,” Riddle said. “For now however, they offer the most advantageous position to achieve our aims. That will change though depending on your actions.”

Lyra became very still. Her claws dug in sharply into his shoulder, but Harry barely registered the pain. He bit his lip and waited.

Riddle hissed something under his breath, the parseltounge harsh and alien. At least he had made a decision.

“The Dark Lord is going to test you, and it won't be apparent when he does,” Riddle said.

“What-” Harry started. “Test me on what?”

Riddle ignored him.

“From this point on you need to convince yourself you are loyal, that you would do anything for the Dark Lord,” Riddle said sharply. “If you falter, then you have no hope of succeeding and you will never see Tom again. Do you understand?”

“I-what?”

“It's not just the Dark Lord you will need to convince,” Riddle continued. “You will have to convince me and Tom, or anyone who may cross paths with you that you will do anything and everything the Dark Lord desires. Without any hesitation or doubt.”

Harry blinked, totally thrown by that statement.

“That doesn't make any sense?” Harry started. “I have to pretend to Tom, what's the point in that? He'll never believe me-”

“There's no pretending anything, Harry. You have to convince yourself,” Riddle said sharply. “If you don't believe it, one mistake will cost you everything.”

“I still don't understand why-”

Riddle cut across him again, a rare urgency in his voice.

“You have been granted this one opportunity. If you are not prepared then you will lose everything. Any other intentions, plans, desires you need to forget. Push them back to the deepest parts of your memories. Can you do that, Harry?”

Harry swallowed, head spinning with the instruction.

“You have to be certain,” Riddle snapped. “Otherwise the Dark Lord will suspect you. And how do you think that will go? Do you think the Dark Lord will be merciful? Or throw you to the dementors himself?”

A deathly chill passed through Harry. The enormity of that truth was terrifying.

He could not survive near a dementor.

The remains of his humanity would extinguish. He would know no thought beyond the need and want to devour. Lyra and Tom would be nothing to him and he would descend into the creature that he was meant to be.

Riddle was still hissing, his voice barely registering through Harry's fear.

“Swear to me you'll remember.”

The choice in words caused a trickle of something to stir in his memory.

Harry had promised Tom he would remember, all those years ago, just after they'd escaped the silver guillotine. The importance of those words had been lost of him at the time. He'd forgotten and it had cost him.

“I'll remember,” Harry whispered. “But I don't understand. Why couldn't Tom tell me this himself?”

Riddle laughed and it sent a chilling shiver down Harry's spine.

“Tom is under an oath, Harry. Even I am limited in what I can say...the Dark Lord has to be certain, he can have no doubt. You have to be believable.”

That was a whole different challenge in itself.

“And Harry, don't use the sorting hat to speak to either of us again,” Riddle said. “We'll find you again.”

And then he was gone. Harry gripped the brim of the hat tightly but he didn't pull it from his head.

“Lyra?” Harry said.

“Yeah?”

The relief that she was there was immense. After the onslaught of the pieces of Voldemort's soul, to have his own was a comfort.

“What should we do?”

“Tom wanted us to listen to Riddle,” Lyra said.

“Right.”

That made the decision oddly simple.

He removed the hat, only to find the room covered in a thin coating of ice, Fawkes was gone.

After two years of nothing, of being separated from the pieces of Voldemort's soul, he was being plunged back into the thick of it again.

Chapter 10: A Way Out

Chapter by HippoParty (OneMoreHorcrux)

Harry meandered across the empty grounds, lost in thought.  It was still early, and despite the warm glow which spread across the grounds, the chill from the night had not yet dissipated.

Lyra, sensing his discomfort, stirred in amongst the warmth of his robes.  Harry clutched her tightly, continuing on his path towards the far side of the grounds.

Draco was waiting for him half way up the Slytherin side of the quiddich stands.  Adara ducked out from underneath his robes, nose twitching against the cold air.

“You should have used a school owl,” he scowled. “Now I'm going to have to find an excuse for why Harry Potter's bloody owl landed at the breakfast table.”

Harry sat down cradling Lyra against his chest. She shuffled and her head emerged, poking out but refusing to leave the refuge of his red and gold scarf.

“I needed to talk.”

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I'll remember that when I have to explain to the Dark Lord why you sent me a message.”

Harry didn't look up, could only offer a half apologetic shrug.

“I'm sure you'll think of something.”

Draco's retort froze as he surveyed Harry properly. He leaned forwards as Adara squeaked.

“Harry. Are you okay?”

Harry shook his head and let out a rattling breath as he pulled his robes tighter around Lyra in an attempt to keep her warm. There was only one way forward now.

“I need you to forget everything we agreed on,” he said quietly. “If you get the opportunity, don't try and contact Tom.”

Draco opened his mouth, and then shut it again. He took a few seconds before he managed to find any words.

“What happened?”

Harry didn't answer, not directly at least. Instead he asked his own question.

“Was is easy to become a Death Eater? Knowing that you had other intentions?”

A flicker of worry crossed Draco's face.

“You're thinking of joining aren't you?”

Harry looked away, staring off back in the direction of the castle. He nodded.

Draco swore under his breath, and he glanced around quickly to see if they were truly alone.

“I can still help,” he whispered. “You don't need to involve yourself in this-”

Harry laughed bitterly.

“That's not what you said before. You said I couldn't outrun both the Ministry and Voldemort and that it's not so bad serving Voldemort.”

Draco winced, concern evident as he pulled Adara onto his lap. She protested, squirming as she dug her claws into his legs.

“Just be careful, Harry. You don't need me to tell you what the Dark Lord can be like-”

“No, you don't,” Harry said, looking off into the empty quidditch stands. “But any advice would be welcome. I know Tom and Riddle, but Voldemort is something else entirely.”

Draco nodded. He took a moment to find any words.

“The Dark Lord demands loyalty, of course-” he said. “But my father always used to say that the Dark Lord, above all else, requires his servants to be competent. If he entrusts a task to you, then you better make sure you achieve it under all other circumstances, no matter the risk or danger to yourself.”

“So there's no room for mistakes?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded.

“To keep the Dark Lord's favour is rare. There are few Death Eaters who the Dark Lord trusts beyond all others, but...if they manage to achieve and retain it they are rewarded with power and glory.”

Draco's words made Harry's chest tighten. Tom would never care for power and glory. Whether or not this was a comfort of not he wasn't sure. The doubt itched in his mind.

He knew the answer, but he couldn't help but let the words spill from his mouth.

“Do you think Tom really does serve Voldemort now?” Harry said.

Draco tilted his head, eyebrows rising in surprise.

“You were so confident before. What did happen?”

Lyra squeaked and squirmed her way out from his scarf. She leapt onto his lap as Harry weaved his fingers through her fur.

“I spoke to Tom.”

Draco swore, fear apparent.

“And don't tell me...the Dark Lord doesn't know?”

Harry shook his head.

He desperately wished he could talk to Tom in private. It would have made things so much clearer. Now however, Harry felt like he was about to walk straight into a snake's den blindfolded.

---

Harry walked back from the quidditch stands alone. He pulled his cloak tight around himself, shielding Lyra from the brunt of the icy rain.

He stopped to take shelter in an stone alcove just inside the inner courtyard.

Swiping her tail back and forth, Lyra climbed out of his cloak and perched herself on his shoulder, watching the flecks of rain soak into the stone work.

A future that involved the Dark Lord. It was against everything Harry desired. He only wanted Tom and nothing would ever change that.

But if this was his only step to achieve it.

Sirius had said it too, that the best way of stealing Tom back was to deceive Voldemort. That was always something Harry had expected. But deceiving both Tom and Riddle, that was going to be something else entirely.

Because of course Voldemort would rely on the pieces on his soul, would trust them if only they said the word. And then Riddle's other demands, that Harry had to convince himself. Was that even possible?

“Tom did it,” Harry whispered. “In first year...”

Lyra shuffled on his shoulder and nudged up against his cheek.

“Tom couldn't let himself think of anything but being loyal to Voldemort, otherwise he'd have been discovered, otherwise Voldemort would have known...”

Harry sighed, placing his face in his hands. He just wanted to stop, to go back to a simpler time when it could just him, Lyra and Tom in their cupboard.

“If I swear loyalty to the Dark Lord, that's something that will get me closer to Tom,” Harry whispered. “Even if in the end we take Tom and run-”

Lyra growled, bearing her sharp teeth dangerously close to his ear.

“Okay, okay,” Harry said. “That's the wrong attitude. Merlin, this is confusing. We swear loyalty to the Dark Lord and then that's it I guess. We'll have to obey him...just like Tom did.”

Until he didn't.

Lyra stopped growling.

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his wet hair. If he could lie to himself, he could lie to Tom. Though if Tom believed him though that would be a miracle within itself.

Nothing made sense any more.

At least, Harry would find out what Voldemort actually wanted from him.

“Do you think we should tell Sirius?” Harry asked.

Lyra didn't respond, which was as good as a no.

“Right,” Harry said. “I guess Sirius knew it would end up like this anyway.”

The weather was starting to ease, so throwing his cloak back over his head and making sure Lyra was covered, Harry ventured back out into the rain.

---

Harry and Ron sprinted across the courtyard, bags held over their heads and dæmons following as they avoided the large puddles which surrounded the entrance hall steps.

It was lunch time on Wednesday and the wet weather had refused to relent over the past week. Already students had taken to depending on the Hot Air Charm just to keep themselves and their dæmons dry.

The entrance hall was already packed with excited students, and if it hadn't been for the frantic light of dæmons, Harry wouldn't have thought anything of it.

Instead he paused, breath catching slightly at the sight. Lyra skipped under his feet, back arched as she hissed at him impatiently, waiting for him to dry her soaking fur.

Ron who had just finished attending to Sephronia, looked up and swore.

“What?” Harry said, distracted.

Sephronia barked, then leapt around in a tight circle, adding to the mix of excited dæmons.

“They've selected the delegation to go to Durmstrang,” Ron said. “Come on.”

Despite already knowing the outcome, Harry couldn't help but feel his stomach twist.

Following Ron, Harry raced across the entrance way, Lyra keeping pace and dodging beneath his feet.

Hermione had just emerged from a group of students all craning their necks to see the notice board. Ramiron was grasp tightly in her arms and her face had turned a very bright colour as she buried her face in his fur.

Ron skidded to a halt, eyebrows rising.

“You got in?” he asked.

She looked up, bit her lip and nodded.

“Brilliant,” Ron beamed. “Hang on-” and he bent down to scoop up Sephronia to save her being trampled and started elbowing his way into the crowd.

Harry held back, coming to stand next to Hermione.

“Congratulations.”

She grinned, and if anything blushed even harder.

“Thanks. Professor McGonagall really thought I'd be an ideal candidate and that I'd have a chance at winning if I was selected.”

“I don't doubt that,” Harry said. “You have a great chance.”

At his feet, Lyra growled and Harry relented in drawing his wand to dry off her soaking fur.

Seconds later, Ron re-emerged with a clear look of disappointment on his face.

“Looks like we're both out of luck,” he muttered, dropping Sephronia back onto the floor.

Harry tried to ignore the stabbing disappointment in his absent heart.

“Dumbledore already told me I couldn't go.”

“Figures,” Ron mumbled shoving his hands into his pockets. “That's rotten luck that is-”

There was a sudden squeal and a group of Ravenclaw's broke away to rush up to Cho Chang who had just appeared at the top of the marble stairs. Harad, her owl dæmon, took flight to soar above the crowds, yellow eyes fixed on the other dæmons below in an almost predatory fashion.

“Well of course Cho Chang would get it,” Ron muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “That rumours been going around all week.”

Harry looked back towards the notice board. There was no one else around who was being mobbed by people.

“Who else got it?” Harry asked.

A thunderous look crossed Ron's face.

“Malfoy,” he spat. “Figure Snape would choose him.”

Harry shrugged, completely not surprised.

“Anyone else from our year?”

“Ernie Macmillian and Terry Boot,” Hermione said. “Everyone else chosen is a seventh year. Otherwise there's Katie Bell and Cormac McLaggen from Gryffindor-”

The other students Hermione listed, Harry knew of only in passing.

“Looks like you might get quidditch captain after all,” Ron said. “If Katie's going.”

Harry shook his head.

“Dumbledore's not going to give me any sort of authority. Hey- if you join the team maybe you'll be made captain.”

Despite Ron's clear disappointment, Sephronia's ears perked up at this.

Hermione had started pacing back and forth, ringing her hands together while she muttered to herself.

“I've read all about Durmstrang. It's supposedly located somewhere in the northern regions of Scandinavia,” Hermione said. “It's unplottable so no one knows exactly where it is, I wonder how we'll get there-”

"When do you leave?" Harry asked.

“Just before Hallow'een. The notice also says we've got to be present for photos this afternoon and that they're putting on extra classes for us to learn about the tournament and prepare us for it. ”

A fleeting, panicked look crossed Hermione's face.

“There's so much I have to research and hardly any time left.” She twisted on her heel, making in the direction of the library.

Ron was quicker, grabbing her arm gently to save from nearly dislodging Ramiron.

“Hermione, calm down. You've got weeks yet, plus any time when you get to Durmstrang. Come on, you won't get very far as Hogwart's champion if you skip lunch.”

Hermione bit her lip, glancing over to where Cho Chang was still surrounded by a large crowd.

“There's tough competition though...”

Ron pulled his arm around her, sharing an encouraging smile as Sephronia danced around their feet.

“There's two spots,” he said. “So even if someone from seventh year is bound to get one, you'll surely get the other. Now come on, food first, then me and Seph will help you look some stuff up in the library.”

Harry followed them both into the Great Hall as Lyra skipped around his feet.

She squeaked up at him.

“I know,” Harry whispered. “I shouldn't have expected anything else. But still-”

He hated how disappointed he felt.

---

The nights were drawing in and Harry found himself slipping into the same monotonous routine that Hogwarts always offered.

Snape was still breathing down his neck every other day and despite Moody continuing to teach him privately, Harry had finally been allowed back into Defence Against the Dark Arts Class.

Most of his classmates had apparently learnt the patronus charm. Not that Harry had seen anyone of them cast it. If anything people seemed to avoid him even more and Harry had a horrid suspicion that it was to do with his mood.

Ever since his acceptance that he wouldn't be leaving the castle anytime soon, Lyra had been spending longer and more frequent periods away from him.

It didn't help that often, Harry would find himself tempted to sneak back up to Dumbledore's office to put on the sorting hat.

He longed for any interaction with Tom. Having been two years, the short bursts of connection had only made his absent heart ache all the more strongly. Even those brief conversations with Riddle had been an odd lifeline to prove that Harry's connection to the pieces of the Dark Lords soul was real.

Now he would spend the day in classes and evenings doing homework and fitting in the occasional quidditch practice. Katie Bell had been determined to throw a competent team together in what little time she had left before the tournament.

She had decided on trials and a rigorous routine that Wood would be proud of, and was getting more frustrated with Harry who sometimes couldn't find the motivation to grab his broom and head down to the pitch.

He just couldn't spend a whole year doing this. A year pretending that everything was normal.

But at least one thing would be different.

Dumbledore was leaving the castle.

Sure, it would be hard to sneak away from Moody and Snape's watchful eyes, but the fact that Fawkes wouldn't be here either made things a little easier to stomach.

Harry let out a shallow breath, his thoughts swirling.

If this was going to be his opportunity, then he had to take it. Otherwise, by the time his seventeenth birthday rolled around it might be too late. The Order knew of Harry's intentions, and Dumbledore was sure to act accordingly to make it more difficult to slip away.

Ron had been spending more time hanging out up in Harry's tower. Hermione's time had been solely taken up with preparation for the tournament, which meant she often didn't return to the common room until well after dinner.

They were currently playing chess instead of completing McGonagall's three foot essay on non verbal spells.

“Hogwarts must really want to win,” Ron said as his Pawn moved to take Harry's Knight. “Hermione said Madam Hooch is teaching them stretching techniques.”

“I can't imagine Ramiron likes that very much,” Harry said, watching as the small pieces of stone decimated each other. Lyra was resting on his lap, fast asleep and nose twitching.

Ron shook his head.

“If I had to stretch my bond with Seph-” he fell silent, nervously running his fingers across his dæmon's fur.

Sephronia barked, but otherwise didn't look away from the game.

“I could help,” Harry said. “Let her know when she's pushed it too far.”

Ron frowned, momentarily pausing from sweeping the remnants of Harry's Knight from the board.

“You can see a dæmon's bond? You've never mentioned that.”

“It's not exactly something I care for people to know about,” Harry said. “Although I think Dumbledore suspects as much...”

Ron gaped at him, but then shut his mouth and shook his head.

“Best not tell Hermione or you won't get a moments peace. I feel like I've been living in the library.”

“Mmm,” Harry said as he directed his Queen to take Ron's Knight. “She's already tried to get me to show her some of the spells that Moody's been teaching me.”

“Well to be fair, that blue orb one is pretty cool,” Ron said.

Harry laughed, stroking Lyra as she shifted in her sleep.

“Tell that to Lyra, she hates being in that bubble...she transformed last time and Moody had to knock me out.”

Ron's expression slipped, as more pieces of stone went flying across the board.

“Well either way, I'm beginning to feel glad that I didn't get picked...sounds like a lot of hard work. I only wish we could be there to watch it.”

Harry smiled but otherwise didn't respond as Ron's Queen moved to take his own.

---

It was a calm autumn morning. The sun had barely risen and a thin layer of frost clung to the grass. The cold weather didn't stop the huge crowd of students and dæmons all eager to see the delegation off.

Ron jumped from foot to foot, blowing his hands to try and keep them warm.

“I don't see why it's got to be so early,” he muttered.

Sephronia brushed up against his leg and barked in agreement.

Harry shrugged, watching as Professor Flitwick floated dozens of trunks and packages up and onto the Hogwarts Express. Steam was pouring from the engine, misting out across the grounds giving it an eerie look.

“I thought you'd be used to it now.”

Ron's face reddened, and mumbled something.

“I still don't understand why I ended up quidditch captain...it should have been you.”

They were standing at the bottom of the steps which led up to the entrance hall. The large steam engine and carriages were no longer supported by rails but instead were hovering off the ground a hundred yards away, right up in the castle grounds.

Across the way, Hermione was climbing down a set of large steps that had been constructed next to a set of open carriage doors. Ramiron followed, weaving around her legs as she navigated the crowds towards them.

She arrived and wrapped her arms around Ron as their dæmons embraced.

"The compartments have been converted into rooms," she said. Her face alight with excitement. “We get our own space to sleep and study. There must be at least a hundred different expansion charms, and there's plenty of rooms for all my books.”

“So how are we supposed to get home for Christmas?” Ron asked, eyeing up the train.

Hermione grinned but didn't answer. Instead she pulled out a long piece of parchment which she pressed into Ron's hands.

“Now, don't forget Crookshanks likes to be brushed once a day-”

“That cat's never been brushed in his life-” Ron started. “He never stays still long enough-”

Harry watched as a number of other delegates left the train, hurrying to say their goodbyes. Further down the carriages, Professor Dumbledore had just entered one of the carriages.

“So what happens now?” Harry asked.

“Well, it'll take a few days to get there,” Hermione said. “I think we're travelling straight across the North Sea.”

The Hogwarts Express didn't look particularly sea worthy. In fact, Harry doubted it had been watertight at all until this morning.

“And then we'll arrive and I guess we all put our names in the Goblet of Fire,” Hermione continued.

Harry thought he'd misheard.

“Sorry what?”

“The Goblet of Fire. That's how the champions are selected,” she said. At Harry and Ron's blank looks she continued. “The goblet's an impartial judge, so we add our names into it and then it chooses two champions from each school.”

Lyra squeaked, jumping back and forth on the ground. Harry knelt down to calm her, but she just clambered up his arm and onto his shoulder still squeaking loudly.

He tried to ignore the darkness which swirled within him, where his rapidly beating heart should have been.

“You just have to put your names in a goblet? That's it?”

“Sure,” Hermione said. “It's a really interesting magical object. I was reading all about it. Apparently it ensures that a magically binding contract is in place. So if your name gets selected that's it, there's no going back. Which is kind of terrifying now I think about it-”

Harry couldn't help it, he leapt forwards pulling Hermione into a hug.

“Hermione, you're amazing.”

Ramiron bolted, tearing himself away with a startled cry.

Hermione flinched, pushing her self away as she clutched at her chest, a clear shiver running through her body.

“Harry, you're freezing-”

Ron had his wand drawn, an apprehensive look on his face, but Harry had already taken several more steps back, a sheepish grin on his decayed lips.

“Sorry-”

Then without offering them an explanation, he spun on his heel and waved.

“I'll catch you later alright.”

Ignoring their calls back to him, Harry took off through the crowd, startling more than a dozen dæmons at his close proximity.

He ran across the grass and jumped up onto one of the stone pillars to get a view of each of the carriages, searching desperately for a ferret dæmon.

Dæmons were everywhere. Birds had taken flight and the atmosphere was buzzing despite the early hour. It made concentrating on a lone dæmon almost impossible.

Lyra scurried across his shoulder and squeaked in his ear.

“I see her,” Harry said.

Adara was in the second to last compartment at the rear of the train.

Harry leapt off the pillar so that he landed behind it. Crouching down, he rummaged in his bag, pulling out a couple of books to unearth his invisibility cloak that had been stuffed in the bottom. Sparing only a fleeting glance to see if there was anyone watching it, he threw his bag back over over his shoulders, followed by his cloak.

Lyra danced around his feet, careful not to let any of her fur show as they made their way out from the pillar, around the edges of the crowd and to the back of the train.

A few Hufflepuff's were gathered nearby, excitedly chatting with Ernie Macmillian and his boar dæmon who was saying his goodbyes before boarding.

Making sure to keep quiet, Harry continued to walk until he was half way down the back carriage. Withdrawing his wand he pointed it up towards the train.

“Alohomora.”

The carriage door clicked open. At once, Lyra scurried out from under the cloak to climb up the spokes of the huge wheel. Harry joined her, keeping the cloak secure as he grasped onto the metal to lift himself up to the level of the door. It slid open, revealing an empty corridor.

A few strides later, he'd found the compartment he needed.

It wasn't locked.

Without caring for subtly, Harry yanked the door open and stepped inside a very large and spacious room. A fire place was roaring across from a four poster bed and a desk and chairs.

Draco who had been in the middle of unpacking, spun around, drawing his wand into his hand. Adara leapt in front of him and growled, bearing her small teeth.

“Who's there?”

Harry pulled the cloak from his head and Lyra scampered out from under his feet, startling Adara who jumped and hurried behind the half empty trunk.

Draco's mouth parted, and for a moment he looked stunned. Then he came to his senses.

“What are you doing?” he hissed, frantically moving across to yank down the blind. “If someone sees-”

Harry threw his bag from his shoulder, reached inside and pulled out parchment, ink and a quill. He scribbled Harry Potter & Lyra, Hogwarts in the corner and tore around it.

Straightening, he presented the ripped paper to Draco.

“Entering the tournament.”

Draco didn't take it.

“You're not serious-”

“My name just needs to go in the Goblet of Fire. It selects the champions,” Harry said. “That's all I'm asking for, it's my chance to get out of here-”

Draco's expression tightened at this, his voice raising as he spun on his heel, causing Adara to hiss and leap out of his way.

“And my chance to get killed. If the Dark Lord found out that I put your name in-”

Harry grabbed Draco's arm, pulling him back round to face him. Adara scurried out of the way to save being trodden on.

“How would he find out?” Harry said. “It's far more likely that he'd suspect Hermione.”

“And you're okay with that?” Draco demanded. “People die in this tournament. And you're more important than most. If the Dark Lord had to hold someone accountable.”

Harry looked away, his jaw tightening. Lyra curled across his shoulder, squeaking into his ear. He didn't need her reassurance, he had already made his decision, there was no point pretending otherwise.

He held out the parchment, his fingers creasing the torn edges.

“This is important. I wouldn't ask otherwise.”

For a moment, Harry thought Draco would flat out refuse. That he'd actually have to go and take his chances with Hermione.

Instead, Draco sighed and ran his hand over his face. He shook his head once and then reached forwards to reluctantly take the scrap of paper.

“I guess I'll see you in a few days then,” he said.

Harry's mouth twitched into a smile.

“I might not get selected.”

“Of course you'll be picked,” Draco said. “It's the Decadæmon tournament and you have Tom as a dæmon. Why do you think Dumbledore didn't want you to enter?”

Chapter 11: Durmstrang

Chapter by HippoParty (OneMoreHorcrux)

Since the departure of the Hogwarts Express the autumn weather had descended. For three days straight, rain lashed at the castle windows while howling winds and the distant rumble of thunder roamed across the grounds.

Students resorted to spending as little time as possible outside the common rooms. After class, they would race their dæmons through draughty corridors just to get the best seats in front of the fire.  Even Quidditch practice, much to Ron and Sephronia's dismay, had been suspended for the foreseeable future.

The mood in the castle however remained unaffected from the miserable weather. This was solely due to the entire school population theorising over who would be selected as school champions at the Hallowe'en feast that evening.

The Great Hall had been decorated in extravagant furnishings for the occasion. A whole swarm of bats had taken residence in the upper reaches of the room, and pumpkins the size of small cars were positioned in between the house tables.  In one corner, which Ron refused to go near, an enormous cobweb weaved through the rafters.

Harry's rising anticipation had only gotten worse by the time they sat themselves down for dinner. Lyra rested on his lap, remaining deceptively still as she flicked her tail back and forth, watching the rain lash at the enchanted ceiling.

It wasn’t long to go now. In less than a couple of hours, the decadæmon champions would be selected and Harry would find out if he was worthy. And no matter how much he'd tried to convince himself otherwise, their selection wasn't guaranteed.

Not with Lyra.  Her ability to transform and achieve the impossible might not counter any lasting damage from the chaos of their splintered bond.

And if Lyra wasn't chosen, would the Goblet of Fire even consider Tom?

A hollow pain twisted in Harry's chest at the thought. Although basically functioning as a dæmon, in reality Tom was something else entirely.  Which meant his chances of leaving the castle were looking less and less likely by the second.

“You should eat something,” Ron said, helping himself to some roast potatoes from one of the large silver platters.

Harry prodded his fork into his dinner but didn't take a bite.

Lyra sat up and brushed her head against his arm.  Harry took a slow breath, stroking her absently.  Her presence was soothing, enough to keep the darkness at bay.

By the time Ron had finished his second portion of treacle tart, Harry was clearly not the only one waiting with bated breath.  Around the room, several birds were circling high above, swooping around the floating candles in turbulent motions.  

Even Sephronia had lost all patience.  She paced back and forth, restless and growling at anyone who got too close.

Just when Harry thought he couldn't take the suspense any longer, there was a loud creak as the doors to the Great Hall opened.  A wave of expectant silence rippled across the room.

It was Barty Crouch and his fake dæmon. 

Without so much as a second look at anyone, Crouch marched right past Harry and Ron and straight up to the teachers table.  His face was set in a fierce scowl as he lent in, whispering something urgently in Professor McGonagall's ear.  She straightened, lips thinning and eyes diverting to the Gryffindor table.

“What have you done this time?” Ron muttered.

Harry ignored the surge of darkness which drummed through him, the absence of blood in his veins all the more prominent.  Sure enough their eyes fixed straight onto Harry.

Urgent and impatient whispers broke out from the students as Professor McGonagall gestured for Snape to join her.

“I entered the tournament,” Harry said quietly.

Ron swore, turning a dozen heads in their direction. He lent closer, whispering quickly.

“How in Merlin's dragon did you do that-”

At the end of the hall Professor McGonagall stood and raised her wand. Several loud fireworks quietened any rising murmurs as everyone waited.

“I am pleased to announce that one of our Hogwarts Champions is Miss Cho Chang and her dæmon Harad-”

The Ravenclaw house erupted. There wasn't a single person left in their seat. People and dæmons alike leapt up in cheers, barks, squeaks and roars.

“Got someone else to put my name in for me,” Harry said loudly to compete with the deafening noise.

A wary, but dawning look of understanding crossed Ron's face.

“Tom?”

Harry didn't bother to correct him.

Mr Crouch was making his way in their direction.  If anything, his scowl had deepened, face twisted in anger.  He came to a stop right in front of Harry. His fake dæmon loomed, beady eyes piercing.

“You have just been selected as a Hogwarts champion,” Crouch grumbled. 

Harry's stomach did an odd sort of somersault, filled both with elation and triumph. Lyra leapt up, squeaking rapidly as she clawed at his chest. Harry placed one hand into her fur, barely resisting his own excitement as his mouth slipped into a grin.

Beside him Ron swore loudly again.  Angry whispers rippled away from them. Without trying to look too suspicious Harry shrugged.

“I guess Voldemort put my name in.”

Mr Crouch's mouth tightened. He couldn't deny it, not in front of everyone, but the tone in his voice gave away his true impressions.

“It's certainly one possibility.”

Harry didn't get to hear the other theories as Professor McGonagall appeared with Einaris slinking around her heels.

“I would like a word alone with Mr Potter,” Mr Crouch said at once. His head looked even more crooked as the fake osprey shifted on his shoulder. “To run through certain...expectations.”

“I will relinquish Mr Potter to you shortly,” McGonagall said stiffly. “For now, I would like a word with him in my office.”

---

Ten minutes later, Harry sat in Professor McGonagall's office surrounded by the Order. Or at least a representation of them.

“How did you get your name in, Potter?” Moody said, hobbling forwards, grabbing a chair and throwing himself onto it. “We know that the Dark Lord had nothing to do with it.”

Harry crossed his arms, keeping his expression indifferent as he offered half a shrug.

“How should I know?”

Light flickered in his periphery vision as Harry tried to concentrate on anything but Lyra. Her excitement was contagious, the golden dust mesmerising and near the brink of transformation.

There was a silence, and from McGonagall's raised eyebrow and the sneer which crossed Snape's face, it was clear no one believed him.

Keeping his eyes deliberately misaligned from Snape's, Harry shoved his hands into his pockets.

“So what happens now?”

There was a longer pause where Snape's fingers curled around his wand. Harry braced himself, clearing his mind as he took a steady rasping breath.

Professor McGonagall was having none of it. Einaris hissed, back arching as he leapt between the pair.  She raised her voice and said very pointedly.

“Do you understand that entering this tournament is magically binding, Potter?”

Harry nodded. Hermione had gone into the fact in great detail. He needed to compete in all three tasks.

Moody's blue eye whizzed in its socket, focusing on Itzel in quick succession before darting around the rest of the room.

“At least you've had some training,” Moody grunted.

Harry wasn't sure if he was talking about the tournament or not.

Professor McGonagall seemed to be having the same thought as she surveyed Moody with a very cautious look.

“You'll be moved to Durmstrang immediately,” she said. “Professor Snape will accompany you.”

Harry bit his tongue to save from cursing. That he should have expected.

Snape's fingers uncurled from his wand. He stepped forwards and set two vials of the forbidden potion on the desk.

“Drink both now,” he said coolly. “Supply may be short until I can establish brewing capability and access to the main ingredient at Durmstrang.”

McGonagall deliberately looked away at this, pretending she hadn't heard.

Harry picked up a vial eagerly. He rolled it between his fingers, the odd smoke oozing as the precious golden flakes swirled within.

“Is that likely to be difficult?” he asked.

Moody grunted something which sounded suspiciously like Karkaroff.

Snape pressed his lips tightly together and shot Moody a wary glance.

Harry downed the black liquid and reached for the second. A deep buzz of satisfaction ran through him, suppressing any lingering appetite for dæmons. For now at least.

There was still another matter at hand.

“So...what about the tracker?” Harry asked casually.

The cylindrical band that encompassed his right ankle itched as the steady pulse of magic reverberated against his skin.

“Isn't going anywhere, Potter,” Moody grunted.

Snape didn't immediately agree. An odd expression crossed his face as he said softly.

“The Dark Lord has expressed interest in marking Potter. If he can get close enough then it won't matter that the Order can extract and hide the boy. The mark will break down all enchantments.”

Silence fell upon the room as Snape's meaning became clear. Harry fought the need to swallow, a rush of anticipation ran down his spine. Lyra had fallen very still.

“Then it would be up to Potter whether to summon the Dark Lord or not,” Moody muttered.

Snape gave a slow, deliberate nod.

“Denying the Dark Lord access to the boy will be next to impossible at Durmstrang, which means without Potter's cooperation we could end up in a very dire situation.”

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. She glanced at Harry, clearly reflecting his own thoughts. Could he actually summon Death Eaters straight into the midst of the Order? Would he?

“Then what do you propose?” she asked.

Snape's lips curled into a wry smile.

“An unbreakable vow.”

An unsettling chill spread through the room, permeating from Harry as he glared at Snape. He reached for his wand, but didn't draw it, wary that he could not take on all three Order members at once.

“Not a chance.”

Snape fingered his wand delicately, but with a subtle intensity that mirrored Harry's.

“You're wanting me to make a vow based on your assumptions?” Harry said coolly. “There's no guarantee that Voldemort will come for me at Durmstrang or give me the dark mark-” he ignored the looks of incredulity he was getting. “If the tracker is used, I would have no reason to use the mark unless you get in my way.”

“It's a trivial request, Potter," Snape sneered. "And one that says a lot about your allegiances if you refuse.”

Harry glared at Snape.

“I've said it before and the same remains unchanged. If the Order helps save Tom, if you protect the both of us, then I have no reason to fight you.”

Moody muttered something foul under his breath again. Harry ignored the ex-auror. Scrimgeour's death really had changed everything.

Snape's was quiet and for a moment his gaze did not quite meet Harry's. There was something he was not saying. Instead his eyes narrowed and he said very softly.

“I hardly think you are in a position to refuse, Potter. The Decadæmon tournament is magically binding, which means that unless you cooperate now you won't be going anywhere.”

Harry was ready for this, already confident that the threat was empty.

“And without magic, what am I worth to the Order?” Harry said, not a shred of fear on his face as he raised his chin defiantly. “You need me to defeat Voldemort, right?”

There was no misunderstanding. Everyone in the room knew the implication.

Without magic, Harry would lose any amount of control he had left. It was inevitable that he would decay and descend into shadow.

It was something they could not gamble on. Not after everything that had happened.

But Harry had accepted that potential future and maybe that's what frightened them.

Lyra bared her teeth and growled, daring them to say otherwise. Her golden light sparked energetically, swirling in the most wonderful of patterns as she prepared to transform.

Professor McGonagall sighed, and she looked very tired all of a sudden.

“Very well, Potter. Go and pack your things.”

---

Half an hour later, Harry couldn't believe his luck. He was standing in the entrance hall, trunk full with Hedwig's empty cage precariously balanced on top. Lyra paced back and forth, stopping every few minutes to twitch her nose and stare longingly out towards the grounds.

Sephronia wasn't helping much either. Unable to contain her own excitement she was running in small circles.

“I'll send Hedwig in a couple of days,” Ron said. “You've got to make sure you write down every single detail-”

Harry grinned.

“I'm sure they'll have enough coverage in the Daily Prophet.”

“Like that's the same," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Now, if you can get your hands on some omnioculars that would be better, Hermione could record everything-”

Harry tried not to glance at his trunk. He actually had a pair stuffed in the bottom of it from the last quidditch match Sirius had taken him too.

“Yeah, maybe-”

Compared to his true intentions, the tasks themselves Harry had given little thought to. Even now he wasn't particularly worried about the challenges he and Lyra would face.  In fact his more immediate concern was the arrival of Snape. The look of pure destain that was radiating from the Professor was unnatural.

With a hurried goodbye and a promise to keep Ron informed of every single detail, Harry tried not to retreat as Snape approached.  He loomed over Harry, seizing the front of his robes.

“How you fail to follow the most basic instructions is beyond me,” Snape hissed. “You were explicitly told not to enter the tournament.”

Harry broke eye contact. He pulled back a couple of inches but Snape's grip tightened.

“I must have forgotten, sir.”

Without McGonagall or Moody for restraint, Snape's attack was brutal. Magic flared. The non-verbal curse cutting ruthlessly down. 

Harry staggered, breath catching as his mind ripped. Thoughts flashed thick and fast, dizzying as his occlumency trembled and faltered.  His head spun as he grasped desperately at nothingness. 

Snape's wand twisted, pressing into Harry’s temple and digging deeper. Thoughts were thrown to the forefront of his mind before slipping away, pushed to the deepest recesses.

It could have been seconds or a minute but finally Snape relented.

Harry tore himself away, terror resonating as a coldness descended. His chest heaved as Lyra bolted. Her golden light danced, agitated from the immense pressure.

That was the second time in less than two months that Snape had attempted to brute force his way into Harry's mind. He'd succeed once, which meant he could do it again. Under the right circumstances, if Snape so desired he could easily have pushed further as long as there were no potential witnesses.

But that thought itself was frightening.

For if it was possible for Snape, then it would be just as easy for Voldemort.

“You are a fool, Potter,” Snape said softly. “The Dark Lord will not take your disobedience lightly.”

Harry swallowed hard, unsure of how much Snape had seen.

“Yeah, I get it-”

Snape's ugly face twisted, a mad glint in his eye.

“You understand nothing. These tasks are designed to test the bond between human and dæmon beyond the absolute limits. If you think that this does not apply to your connection with Tom then you are very much mistaken.”

“I-what-”

A trickle of fear seeped into the surroundings, and ice began to crackle at Harry's feet.

“The tournament instils an old magic, one that is primordial in its essence. It's designed to infiltrate and strain any connection between you and your soul. Only the best champions rise above this. However, you have a broken dæmon and a piece of the Dark Lord's soul attached. The destruction alone that could bring-”

“There is nothing wrong with Lyra,” Harry said coolly. Darkness consumed him, swirling around. And he took great pleasure from the brief look of absolute fear which he inflicted on Snape. Laraine beat her wings, taking flight to reach high into the recesses of the ceiling. “And nothing will ever interfere with mine and Tom's bond again.”

“This is beyond anything you can deal with," Snape said, lips curling into an unpleasant sneer. "The Dark Lord will have to interfere.”

The implication was not lost on Harry. He glared at Snape, and Lyra mirrored his contempt as she crouched low, arched her back and hissed.

“I'm perfectly capable of handling a high school tournament.”

Snape wasn't having it. His nostrils flared, his voice deadly cold.

“Your situation is unique, Potter. If your arrogance doesn't get you killed, you will have to hope that the Dark Lord will grant you mercy-”

A rush of daring coursed through Harry.

“I thought Voldemort needed me alive?” he said, decayed lips splitting into a terrifying grin. Snape had been hinting that much to the Order for years.

But there was only so far Voldemort's tolerance would grant him, even if Harry ever found out what restoring dæmons meant. But by that time he would have Tom and they would be long gone.

Sensing his betraying thoughts, Lyra arched her back and hissed, baring her sharp teeth.

She was right. He couldn't think like that. 

Without hestitation, Harry pushed that thought back into the deepest depths of his consciousness.  Serve Voldemort. That was his future now. Both Tom and Riddle demanded it.

And so he would.

The calm must have radiated, for Snape straightened, eyes narrowing suspiciously as he noticed the warning and animosity from Lyra.

“What do you know, Potter?”

Harry didn't answer.

“Whatever you think you are doing, you are out of your depth-” Snape started.

Harry's dead eye swirled with light, and he held his rattling breath.

“Am I?”

His confidence was unsettling.  

Laraine swooped down from the ceiling, landing and whispering something frantically in Snape’s ear.  The expected retort from Snape never came.  Instead he folded his arms and pressed a thoughtful finger to his lips.

“Tom didn't want you to enter this tournament. Even you, Potter, must have understood he had a good reason.”

“Tom killed Scrimgeour,” Harry countered. “Do you think he had a good reason for that too?”

For a moment, Harry was certain Snape would try blunt force occlumency again.  Instead Snape stayed motionless and silent, piercing black eyes watching Harry deplorably.

After a short pause, Snape turned and without saying another word, set off at a brisk pace.

Harry, with his floating trunk in tow and keeping a good distance, followed down the entrance hall steps. Lyra chased after him, darting between his feet and squeaking loudly.

“I know,” Harry whispered to her. “Snape knows something.”

It seemed however, that Snape wasn't the only one still in a foul mood.

They found the imposter and his fake dæmon waiting on the outskirts of the grounds.

Crouch straightened his robes, stuffed the pocket watch he'd been holding back into his robes and fixed Snape with a sharp look but otherwise didn't question his presence. Whatever Crouch had wanted to say privately to Harry never came.

“We'll be passing through the Ministry first,” Crouch instructed coldly.

Despite himself, Harry's absent heart jumped slightly. Lyra leapt into his arms and buried herself in the depths of his jumper.

Snape didn't object which had to count for something.

Harry took a tentative step towards the wrought iron entrance gates. The usual barrier which prevented his free comings and goings didn't materialise.

No sooner had he passed through, Snape curled a painful, claw-like grip on his shoulder.  He twisted on his heel.

Crack!

---

Two apparations, a portkey and a short amount of time later, Harry and Lyra arrived somewhere in the wilds of Scandinavia.

Other than a couple of bits of paperwork they had received no resistance while passing through the Ministry. And given the fact that Harry was being transported by two Death Eaters he was mildly surprised, and perhaps a bit disappointed, to actually find himself at the destination they were supposed to be travelling to.

Thick foliage surrounded the clearing while a dusting of light snow covered the earth. Trees towered around the edges, lining the sky so that only a small veil of stars could be seen. 

Up ahead, an old gate house blended into the shrubbery, only visible from the blue torches bracketed to the wall. It was manned by an elderly wizard wearing a blood red robe and a thick fur hat.

In a small alcove, the old wizard’s dæmon, a black cat, nestled into the stone work. She lifted her head to reveal a pair of bright yellow eyes.

The wizard squinted into the darkness. Lyra fidgeted, brushing her fur up against Harry's face as she darted from one shoulder to the next.

“It's only me,” Crouch said briskly. “I've got Potter and his dæmon.”

The man nodded and scratched his cat dæmon on the head. 

The wooden door swung open.

“It's still a long way to the castle,” Crouch said. He strolled through the archway and, similar to Hogwarts minus the thestrals, clambered into a waiting carriage.

In the distance, across a large expanse of water and set high into the hillside was Durmstrang. The castle was small. Towering only four floors high, its footprint remained inconspicuous with lights flickering under a mask of magic.

The path twisted and the carriage descended down the mountainside, levelling out and weaving its way around high above the water's edge.

Snape and Crouch were both content to sit in silence which suited Harry just fine. He ran a decayed hand through Lyra's fur, watching the silhouettes of the night take shape into all manner of creatures.

A cool breeze whisked around their surroundings. Harry didn't notice, but Lyra shivered before leaping from his shoulder, darting down from the carriage and onto the frozen earth. She sniffed the ground once, squeaked several times and then disappeared into the thicket.

“Potter, tell your dæmon to come back here,” Crouch scowled.

Harry didn't say anything.  The anguish and ache of her absence was growing more prominent with every second. He clenched his fists and took a deep rattling breath.

He couldn't really blame her.

Lyra hated being confined in Hogwarts just as much as him. Her years of wandering, where she had to answer to no one had clearly instilled a sense of exploration in her. And the grounds of Durmstrang were extensive with its mountainous terrain and deep lakes which stretched for miles.

At Harry's lack of action, Mr Crouch's face twisted into unconcealed fury. He chewed his tongue bitterly. His fake dæmon appeared all the more wooden as she failed to replicate his emotions.

Harry watched the osprey for a moment.

It was odd.  Any light that Harry would have expected to see from the real dæmon had not materialised.  It was almost tempting to ask. Snape was a Death Eater too, and the imposter must surely know the capabilities of Harry's dead eye.

The opportunity was lost however, when the carriage trundled to a stop.

The castle front was modest. Turrets framed each corner and crenelations ran along the top of the battlement. The stone arches were elaborate, etched in deep engraving and surrounding the large wooden doors.

The entrance opened into a large chamber with multiple passageways leading off in different directions. There was no source of light. Only an unnatural cold hue flickering dimly.

Crouch took off at a brisk pace, leading them down the furthest passage on the right. Harry's footsteps felt stifled against the stone floor due to a lack of noise reverberating through the castle.

Compared to Hogwarts, no portraits adorned the stone walls. Instead, intricate tapestries hung from metal brackets, depicting the castle and its historic occupants. Daemons were stitched into the fabric, often against impressive backgrounds and wild looking scenery.

Up ahead, in the centre of two particularly intricate tapestries, a modest sized archway framed the entrance to the main hall. Without pause, Crouch led them inside, his fake dæmon straightening on his shoulder which made his neck sit all the more crooked.

It was a far more intimate affair compared to Hogwarts; at least a quarter of the size, with a ceiling that barely reached above the tops of windows set in deep stone.

The edges of the room were surrounded by raised benches and there wasn't a table in sight. The relatively small number of Durmstrang students all had blood red robes, contrasted from their visitors in black, pale blue, blue and gold. They crowded together in their own groups talking in excited murmurs.

In the centre of the room, on a large plinth stood a roughly hewn wooden cup. It looked completely unremarkable.

Harry walked beside Crouch, ignoring the hundreds of stares which latched onto and followed his every move. More whispers broke out as they passed and the surrounding dæmons shuffled, nervous energy profound but completely incomparable to when he could see their golden dust like light.

He wished that Lyra had stayed. 

“Through the far door, Potter,” Crouch grunted. All of his polite mannerisms had gone.

The door led down a steep set of stairs to a chamber which mirrored the shape and size of the hall above. The ceiling was low and large pillars split the room into segments, illuminated by another radiating light.

Harry walked through the centre channel.

The headmaster of Durmstrang, Professor Igor Karkaroff stood at the end of the room. His wolf dæmon, Barghest, was at least twice the size of Niamh in her normal form.

Their voices were raised and heated.

“The Goblet of Fire chose him to be champion, same as all the others. You can not stop him from competing, Karkaroff-”

There were some very choice curse words. Karkaroff's face was twisted into a very ugly look, his mouth pinched together tightly and blue eyes steeled in fury.

“This tournament is for dæmons, allowing him to compete goes against everything it stands for.”

“And I agree with you, Igor,” a very frail looking witch responded. “However, the rules are clear. The tournament is magically binding. He's been selected now...”

She broke off and turned, noticing they were no longer alone.

Harry could see the group of people and dæmons better now. Apart from Dumbledore and Karkaroff, he recognised that the others were the remaining headmasters and headmistresses whose pictures had graced the Daily Prophet over the past week.

The nearest witch was the headmistress of Mahoutokoro, Professor Minaka Hirakata. She stood out, not only from the goose dæmon by her side but her electric blue coloured hair.

Next to her on a chair, sat Madam Maxime from Beauxbatons. Despite her large presence dominating the space, her giant boar dæmon was just as huge with tusks that looked like they'd pierce anyone who got too close.

On Madame Maxime's other side was the headmaster of Ilvermorny. Professor Agilbert Fontaine was spinning his hat nervously in his hands as his salamander dæmon crouched on his shoulder. At the smallest glance from Harry, the salamander scurried out of sight into the old wizard's robes.

Snape's vice-like fingers curled around Harry's shoulder, pushing him forwards into the dim light.

“Thank you, Severus,” Dumbledore said quietly. He was looking at Harry carefully over his half moon glasses.

Harry stared straight back, his dead eye unwavering.

When Harry didn't say or offer any explanation, Dumbledore sighed and removed his glasses to clean them on his robes. He turned to the waiting group of witches, wizards and dæmons.

“May I introduce you to our other Hogwarts Champion.”

No one said anything. They were all staring at Harry's dead eye and his ashen face with black veins. The decay was extensive, and could not be ignored as he resisted taking a rasping breath.

The dæmons in the room however shifted anxiously.

Harry half expected them to start arguing again, but instead the old witch he did not recognise bowed her head and smiled thinly at him.

“Mr Potter, my name is Ingrid Isberg and this is my dæmon Bulmmot,” she placed a hand on the large reindeer by her side.

Bulmmot bristled his head. His antlers spanned wide across his stance.

Harry eyed the dæmon warily, he certainly wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of those antlers.

“I work as part of International Magical Cooperation and have been part of organising the tournament for the past few months. I will leave it to your Headmaster to explain the finer details of the tournament that you have missed, otherwise I insist you take this opportunity to celebrate and meet the other champions.”

As Madam Isberg said this, a glass with a deep coloured liquid floated over. Harry took it, and seeing that all the other champions had glasses, took a sip. It tasted sweet and not dissimilar to some of the more unusual liquors Sirius had at Grimmauld Place.

She smiled at Harry once more and then turned her attention to Mr Crouch.

“Will you be staying, Barty?” she asked. “I believe you wished to discuss additional security that may be required due to Mr Potter's presence.”

“Yes,” Crouch said stiffly. He did not reach out to take a similar glass which had floated to his side. “The Minister has requested that I do a thorough review of your arrangements.”

Karkaroff, who had been staring at Snape uneasily, snapped his attention to Crouch.

“Absolutely not,” he said. His wolf dæmon arched his back and growled. “This castle is well protected, and I will not have your Ministry snooping around, trying to discover our secrets.”

Crouch gave a very odd smile, as his fake dæmon stiffened.

“I would have thought it would be in your best interests, Karkaroff,” he said, expression twisting in disdain. “Or do you think the Dark Lord will allow Potter to compete unassisted?”

There was a very cold, prolonged silence, broken only by Barghest's deep growl.

“I thought we discussed this,” Karkaroff said gruffly after a while. “Potter should only be allowed to compete with one dæmon.”

Dumbledore's face was grave, the twinkle in his eye had disappeared entirely.

“If Tom wishes to compete then there will be little we can do. However, given the nature of the tasks I do not believe this will be the case. Of course, that's not to say Lord Voldemort will not fix his attention onto Durmstrang-”

“Which will be made easier by the company that you bring with you,” Karkaroff snapped, gesturing wildly at Snape.

Snape sneered at this but Dumbledore cleared his throat and said rather forcefully.

“As I have already explained, for the safety of both your students and Mr Potter, Professor Snape will be remaining for the duration of the tournament.”

Karkaroff muttered something under his breath, cast another ugly look towards Snape before briefly shifting a dismissive gaze at Harry.

“My students are capable of handling dark creatures.”

Harry tilted his head, a decayed grin flashing across his face. He never got the chance to speak as two dæmons moved.

Barghest growled, massive body shifting forwards and the same time Fawkes let out a high, piercing note which reverberated around the room.

“Harry,” Professor Dumbledore said sharply, peering over his half moon glasses with a rather firm look. “If you would please excuse us.”

Without protest and all too eager to escape their scrutiny, Harry moved away, ducking under a couple more floating trays in the process. They all had a selection of half eaten canapés on and looked like they were seeking out people to serve their delicacies to.

The party however, looked like it was winding down.

The rest of the room was decorated with ornate bookcases, loaded with heavy tomes and intricate instruments adorned with gold and silver.

Harry walked around a pillar that had a huge tapestry of a wizard and his bear dæmon, and found himself face to face with one of the Durmstrang champions.

The boy had dark hair, and was a stocky and muscular build. More unusual though, the little and ring fingers on his left hand had been cut off. The boy met Harry's dead eye and stared back with a yielding intensity.

He had no dæmon in sight.

Harry's mouth slipped into an unsettling smile, his dead eye unseeing. Until Lyra returned he would be unable to see where this champion hid his dæmon.

The boy's eyes narrowed in suspicion before flicking his gaze across to where the group of headmistresses and headmasters were arguing again. When it was clear no one was paying them any attention, he crossed his arms.

“Will Parry,” the boy said tightly in introduction. “So you really are demented?”

The voice and accent were English.

Will Parry clearly had far more nerve than a lot of people. Most avoided Harry, let alone acknowledge the fact.

“Half demented,” Harry corrected mildly.

Will braced himself, but still did not back away or reach for the comfort of his dæmon.

“Is there a difference? You still prey on dæmons.”

Harry smiled and resisted the urge to draw breath.

“Dementor's prey on dæmons for weeks and months. Whereas, if I give into temptation I don't really have that much restraint.”

“And how often do you give into temptation?”

Perhaps it was a good thing that Snape had dosed Harry up with the forbidden potion before they left. 

Before Harry could respond there was a loud outburst from just behind them.

“Durmstrang should get to pick again,” Karkaroff shouted. His wolf dæmon crouched low, with her teeth bared and snout rippled. “This is unheard of-”

Will's expression darkened considerably and he looked distracted. He turned away without another word.

An odd feeling rushed through Harry. There were very few people who acted so nonchalant around him. Even Ron and Hermione who spent hours by his side, still acted with a degree of caution. It was almost insulting.

A sound of flapping wings interrupted his thoughts.

Harad swooped straight over Harry's head and around the back of a dæmon statue embellished in runes. He landed on Cho Chang's shoulder.

Without a shred of a smile on her face, she reached up to stroke her dæmons feathers.

“Congratulations, Potter.”

“Same to you," Harry said. "I guess we'll be competing against each other again?”

Cho crossed her arms and examined him shrewdly.

“This is going to be much harder and different than quidditch. I hope you're up for the challenge.”

That was one thing that could be admired about Cho Chang. She was fiercely competitive, and Harry's presence in the tournament would only make her desire to win all the more prominent, especially after how the last Gryffindor - Ravenclaw match had ended.

She didn't even bother asking how he'd put his name in. Instead she got straight down to the point.

“Historically, most champion's from the same school work together to increase their chance of winning-” she paused.  Harad ruffled his feathers and hooted. “I hope you're not going to be difficult?”

Raising both hands in mock surrender, a decayed grin slipped onto Harry's face.

“That depends. Have you learnt how to cast a patronus yet?”

Cho's jaw tightened, and her tone was icy.

“Funnily enough, I've been busy preparing for this tournament and I didn't think I needed to worry about it given that you weren't supposed to be here.”

“Well I'm here now,” Harry said, still smiling.

“Yes, I suppose you are,” Cho said coolly. “You better not let Hogwarts down.”

At least that was one thing they could agree on. Harry's good eye flickered across to some of the competition in the room. The other champion's were mingling around, while their dæmons seemed a mixture of nervous energy.

“I've no intention of losing.”

Cho surveyed him for a moment. She nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer as she relaxed her stance slightly. Harad however, ruffled his feathers again and took flight, soaring over some of the other dæmons in the chamber.

Harry watched, taking this as an excuse to divert Cho's attention from him.

“Have you met anyone else yet?”

Cho's lips tightened, but she nodded and lowered her voice to a whisper.

“See over there, that's Kaori Kai and Hana Yamamoto from Mahoutokoro.”

She gestured to a couple of young women dressed in robes of pure gold. The first was leaning against her cow dæmon, and the other had a bowtruckle who was climbing through her hair, pulling out strands as he did so. They were both listening to the headteacher's argument with rapt attention.

“And over there is Edouard Dubois and Adèle Boisclair from Beauxbatons,” Cho said.

Edouard Dubois had a thin face and light brown hair. His hand was resting on the back of a large ibex. The goat lowered its horns and pawed at the ground restlessly.  At the sound of her name, Adèle Boisclair looked round and noticed their gaze.  She took several confident steps forward to introduce herself.

“Pleased to meet you, Harry Potter. This is my dæmon, Velue.”

She wore a thick shawl draped over the top of her silk blue robes and held a porcupine perfectly comfortably in her arms.

She looked around expectantly as if Lyra would suddenly jump out and greet her. Harry's gaze drifted to the dæmon who squirmed and dug his claws into her robes.

“Lyra's just exploring the grounds. I'm sure she'll be back soon.”

Adèle opened her mouth, seemingly in shock as her grip tightened on Velue.

“I wouldn't worry,” Cho said, casting a warning glance at Harry. “Potter can separate from his dæmon.”

Adèle whispered something under her breath with a fleeting look of disbelief. A moment later her face had set in a determined fashion.

“We simply must meet her,” she burst out. “This tournament is all about dæmons, more so than it is champions-”

There was a sharp laugh from across the room. Kaori Kai, one of the Mahoutokoro champion's, who had pulled her attention away from the argument, smiled thinly at Adèle.

“I wouldn't keep your expectations too high, this tournament is already a disgrace-”

Kaori shot a daring glance towards Harry.

Adèle however, seemed relieved to have an escape and she replied eagerly in something that was clearly not English.  Undeterred, Kaori not only understood but also spoke back in something completely different.

“It takes awhile to get used to the language filter,” Cho said, noticing Harry’s confusion, “If someone's not addressing you directly, the magic doesn’t translate it unless you concentrate.”

“Right-” Harry said, but he did as she suggested.

Sure enough, both Adèle Boisclair and Kaori Kai were speaking in clear, perfect English about the historic importance of dæmons in the tournament.  Yet there was a second language being spoken in the background. Adèle Boisclair was chatting away rapidly in French and Kaori Kai was responding in Japanese.

Harry rubbed his ear as they continued to speak, while occasionally shooting wary looks in his direction.

“Is this just for the tournament?”

Cho shook her head.

“Durmstrang has always had it. Students from all over Europe come here so I guess it saves them all having to learn and study in a common language. The spell translates anything handwritten too, I've never seen magic like it. I've been meaning to see if their incantations are the same-”

Harry let her trail off as he surveyed the remaining champion's.

Across the room, next to a tapestry woven in thick shimmering strands, a young woman dressed in blue and cranberry robes was in deep conversation with another champion. A large serpent draped across her shoulders. Her dæmon constricted his body tightly around her while large fangs protruded from its jaw.

“That's Meleina Morgan,” Cho said quietly as Meleina blinked once, followed by a motion from the lidless eyes of her dæmon. “And the person she's talking to is Felix Kandil. They're both from Ilvermorny.”

Felix's dæmon was a coyote. She was transfixed on the serpent, poised as if ready to sprint.

“And the other Durmstrang student?” Harry asked, looking around but seeing no one else.

Cho shrugged and jerked her chin upwards in the direction of the hall above.

“Jorn Norberg. He didn't stick around, probably celebrating with his friends-”

“And his dæmon?” Harry asked.

Cho eyed him wary. 

“Nalusa,” she said. “She's a mare.”

“Right-”

There was a burst of outrage across the room. Hana Yamamoto, who had been listening intently to the argument, almost dropped her drink.

“He's an abomination! Allowing him to compete is a disgrace to this very school!”  Karkaroff had lost all patience. He was pacing back and forth, dæmon agitated as he relished in his fury.

A quiet had descended around the rest of the chamber as the other champion's watched the group of headteachers.

“What are they arguing about?” Harry asked.

Cho nodded across to where Will Parry was standing. Just like before, Will's expression was hard and he was listening with rapt attention.

"Believe it or not, your participation in the tournament isn't the most controversial thing," Cho muttered. "At least you have a dæmon."

Harry's dead eye narrowed as he flicked it over Will. It wasn't unusual for people to hide their dæmons, particularly if they were small enough to tuck away in a piece of clothing.

“Everyone has a dæmon.”

Harad hooted gently from where he’d perched himself on a bookshelf.  Cho crossed her arms, raising her chin.

“Well Will Parry doesn't. He never has.”

A deep trickle of unease seeped down Harry's neck.  If Cho hadn’t sounded so decisive, he would have thought she was joking.

But it couldn’t be true.  Without a dæmon Will Parry should fall into shadow and decay into something monstrous and unrecognisable. Just like Harry had.  Yet, he lived on unscathed.  Without consequence. 

An unfiltered anger and bitterness consumed Harry.

“That's not possible.”

Cho opened her mouth, taken aback from the pure disdain from his voice.

“I mean I can't imagine it's been easy for him…Durmstrang is more precious about their dæmons than most, and if he doesn't have one-”

“How did he get chosen as a champion without a dæmon?”

“I don’t know. That’s what the headteachers were discussing.” Cho said slowly, taking a single step back. “Although there are rumours he does have one, he just keeps her hidden-”

Harry didn't say anything.

It was certainly possible. Will Parry's dæmon could be like Moody's, concealed to all but himself. But without Lyra, there was only one way to find out.

“It's not possible to survive without a soul,” he whispered.

It was instinctive.

The darkness swirled in his veins as the temperature in their surroundings dropped several degrees.

Every nearby dæmon flinched. Their actions mirrored the shock of their champion's.  Kaori Kai gasped, eyes wide and frightful as her dæmon jerked violently. Meleina Morgan's serpent coiled tighter, beady eyes searching for the threat.  Even Cho took another step back and reached for her wand as Harad flustered, taking flight to safety.

Harry wasn't watching. His focus was captivated on one person only.

Will Parry.

As expected, a look of fear and despair crossed over Will's face. An emotion so raw and desperate, Harry could feast on it for days.

Will twisted around.  Deliciously dark memories pulled to the surface of his mind as vacant eyes plunged into the fearful abyss. Another deep rattling breath was all it took to satisfy Harry as he watched hungrily and eager.

Memories. Fresh and painful. Full of rich despair.

Everything he craved.

There was a flash, a red light, and a piercing pain splintered across Harry’s chest.  He staggered, breath tight as the cold rippled around him.

Snape stormed across the room, footsteps echoing and cloak swishing menacing around him.  The argument had stopped.

But Harry had what he wanted.  Confirmation that a soul was present, whether he could see it or not.

Snape levelled his wand, another curse already on his lips as sparks spat from the end of it.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

Calmly, Harry set his glass back onto a nearby floating tray, ignoring the remnants of Snape’s curse pulsing across his skin.

“Sorry, sir,” Harry said lightly. His voice carried around the chamber so that everyone could hear. “There's just so many new souls to feast on-” he looked pointedly at Will. 

Will Parry had drawn his arms around himself, unyielding gaze finding Harry's. His eyes were cold and he met Harry's with a challenge of his own. Harry's decayed lips tugged into a smirk. “I guess the excitement got to me a little.”

Snape's nostrils flared, the whites of his eyes bulging slightly. Without saying another word, his fingers curled around Harry's shoulder, all but wrenching him in the direction of the door.

---

Snape rounded on him as soon as they were out of the chamber.  He whirled Harry around and jabbed his wand into Harry’s chest.

“Are you that much of a fool?” he demanded.

Harry shrugged, pushing away Snape’s wand.  There was an equally hard tone to his voice.

“Does Will Parry really not have a dæmon?”

Snape looked ready to throttle him.

“Do not think I'm beyond sticking you in detention while we are here, Potter,” he hissed. “Given that my presence is for the sole purpose of babysitting you, trust me when I say I'm more than happy to spend my evenings ensuring your life is as miserable as possible. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly, sir,” Harry said coolly, crossing his arms. “Can I leave?”

He was eager to go and find Hermione.

Snape's mouth curled into a horrible sneer and he took great pleasure in answering.

“This is not Hogwarts, Potter. You're under my direct watch and if I have to be breathing down your neck every day while we are here then so be it. No, you’ll spend the rest of the evening assisting me setting up my potions lab.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but immediately stopped short as Snape raised his wand again.

Frustrated, but not daring to push his luck, Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and followed Snape begrudgingly down a side passage.

Durmstrang, although miniscule in size compared to Hogwarts, appeared to be just as maze-like. Unremarkable corridors branched off in multiple directions, only unique from the dozens of dæmon bas-reliefs carved into the walls.

Snape must have been here before, for he didn't pause or hesitate once as they arrived back out into the open without a single wrong turn.

The path down to the train was steep and narrow, lined in dense thicket and exposed to the elements as the wind howled, whistling against the hillside.  Harry stared off into the distance lost in thought.  Lyra must be somewhere deep in the undergrowth by now.

At the lakeside, the Hogwarts express hovered inches above the surface, so that water lapped against the wheels. A floating ramp materialised at their approach.

Snape practically threw Harry up it, his spidery grip surprisingly strong as he marched Harry down the corridor to an empty compartment.

It was exactly the same as Draco's had been, only now Harry's trunk was tucked away in the corner.

“I have another matter to attend to first,” Snape hissed. “Try not to do anything else idiotic until I return.”

He spun on his heel, but paused for a moment in the doorway.  After a brief silence, he glared at Harry.

“A word of warning, Potter. Will Parry's father was killed by Death Eaters a few weeks ago...as much as it pains me to offer you advice, I suggest you do not antagonise him.”

It took a few seconds for Harry to digest this. For the second time in a short period, Voldemort's actions had found their way back to him. First, Tom had freed Bellatrix Lestrange at Neville's expense, and now this.

However, unlike Neville, Will Parry would not understand Harry's complicated relation to the Dark Lord, and therefore Snape was probably right.

Absently, he nodded.

There was a click as the compartment door locked, leaving Harry alone in the semi-darkness.

Yet, he was not ready to sit idle.  Adrenaline coursed through his dead veins. A breath of cold mist flooded the room as he exhaled.

He was out of Hogwarts. That was a start.

Now all he had to do was find Tom.

Chapter 12: The Weighing of the Dæmons

Chapter by HippoParty (OneMoreHorcrux)

A dense mist occupied the train cabin. It seeped across the wooden floor and dispersed throughout the room. Snape had disappeared minutes ago but Harry remained perfectly still, listening, watching and waiting.

Outside waves lapped against the wheels of the Hogwarts express. Trees and foliage swayed, rustling in the wind. From the view of the lakeside and the dense thicket hiding the steep path up to the castle, it was not clear if anyone had ascended the path.

Harry let out a slow rattling breath.

There was no chance Snape would spend his evening lurking outside Harry's compartment. The mere possibility however, made Harry wait another five minutes before he set about emptying the contents of his trunk.

He deposited onto the floor a stack of textbooks, his shrunken firebolt and several empty potion bottles. Underneath was an assortment of clothes, robes and odd socks which covered his two most treasured possessions.

His invisibility cloak and penknife from Sirius.

Harry stuffed the cloak into an empty rucksack, grabbed and unshrunk his broomstick and turned his attention to the compartment door.

It was locked.

The blade flicked open, as he knelt down and inserted it into the lock. With a slow, delicate manoeuvre the knife twisted and sliced past the enchantments. The lock clicked and the compartment door swung open.

He paused, ears straining.

There was nothing.

Quietly, and wincing at every creak from the floorboards, Harry slipped through the corridor and hurried down the steps that descended from the Hogwarts Express.

His absent heart coiled and constricted as he let out another rattling breath. With one final look back to confirm Snape was nowhere to be seen, Harry threw his leg over his broom and kicked off hard from the ground.

Wind rushed against his ears, cold air clung to decayed skin as he flew higher and higher. The sky was clear, bright after the little snowfall that had settled. Far below silvery light glittered on the water, the moon reflected on the vast lakeside which stretched into the distance.

A rush of relief, mixed with adrenaline pulsed through Harry as the firebolt shot forwards.

The lake blurred, the dense treeline impenetrable across the mountainside. He was freer than he'd been in years...

Yet he wasn't. A flicker of frustration and anger threatened his momentarily excitement and relief.

There was still the issue of the tracker clasp tight around his ankle. No matter how far he got the Order could return him to an alternate destination within a second. But Harry wasn't going to stray too without Lyra-

Pushing his broom lower, Harry circled around the far side of the lake, scanning the ground for the nearest hint of the gatehouse. Any sign of the blue torches and the clearing down below were lost in the enormity of the place.

That was his conclusion until he flew directly over the castle.

The structure was surprisingly small from above, despite being four floors high and surrounded by imposing turrets, it was compact and tucked against the hillside. Dipping his broom lower, Harry fixed his gaze for any hint of a break in the tree line.

Thick forest surrounded the castle in every direction. Harry circled a couple more times for good measure.

There was no sign of any path. Even the one that they had travelled to the castle from the gatehouse had vanished.

A trickle of dread crept into Harry's consciousness. A gust jostled his position, would have steered him off course had he not shifted his weight.

He would have suspected he'd just missed it, the forest was expansive after all and stretched across the whole hillside. But magic crackled the night air, distorted the natural order of things.

Twisting around, Harry pulled the broomstick higher still and pointed it away from the lake towards a single solitary mountain peak. He shot off towards it, wind lashing against his skin, a deep cold penetrating as he rattled across the sky.

The firebolt cut through the clouds, the horizon edging ever closer, the summit of the mountain only a few minutes away. Yet that wasn't the case.

It remained elusive, just out of reach. The same distance away no matter how long he flew.

Losing patience, Harry abruptly jerked the handle upwards, coming to a halt. He turned around.

The castle and its dim flickering lights was less than a breath away.

He hadn't gone anywhere.

Instead of being lost to the horizon, the castle stood prominent and set against the hillside. Its small towers jutting up defiantly.

Harry circled round, frowning.

“That's a clever trick,” he whispered.

There was no obvious way out.

The castle and the grounds were encased in a impenetrable bubble, where the edges could not be reached, no matter how long he flew.

Sighing and feeling slightly frustrated, Harry shifted his weight forwards, broom shifting downwards as he skimmed back over the treeline towards the Hogwarts Express.

He'd have to resort to Plan B.

Any thought of his next actions however, quickly dissipated.

Beneath him a figure was hurrying down a path that had escaped Harry's immediate attention.

Leaning forwards, Harry dipped lower to get a better look.

It was Barty Crouch. The weight of the osprey pulled the man's neck into the usual crooked position, and with each long stride the fake dæmon bobbed along unnaturally.

Excitement and a daring rush flooded through Harry.

This was the opportunity he needed.

He dived lower, landing further down the path, threw his invisibility cloak over his shoulders and waited.

Crouch's footsteps were hurried, pace quickening with every step. Harry took a single step back, drew breath and aimed his wand, good eye focused intently on the darkness ahead.

A clear profound want to kill coursed through, consuming every inch of his thoughts and desires.

Crouch emerged not a few moments later. The man had taken no precaution to conceal his identity with hood down and dæmon balanced precariously on his neck. There was a stiffness to the man's movements, almost as if he body was suddenly alien to him as he forced it to move.

Harry's wand cut down, the curse slipping easily and delicately from his tongue. A flash of green illuminated the surroundings, a beam striking the intended target.

The fake dæmon burst into nothingness.

In any other circumstances the man would have died.

Crouch whirled, his own wand summoning a supposedly impenetrable shield. Wild eyes darted back and forth, his face twisted into an ugly, cruel expression as he found nothing in the immediate darkness.

“Lumos.”

Bright light scattered across the path, cascading down to reveal nothing but stone, earth and plants. In the distance an owl hooted and took a frenzied flight, swooped high above them and into the darkness.

Harry drew a single rattling breath. The temperature of the night air plunged but the true chill passed Crouch by unaffected. His true dæmon was nowhere in reach.

The Death Eater took a step back, exhaling as mist swirled in the wand light.

Eyes darted back and forth, searching and failing to find any target. There was only one possible solution the man had come to.

“Potter?”

Harry pulled the invisibility cloak from his head.

“You're lucky that dæmon convinces everyone else, it's a poor imitation if you ask me.”

He paused, a half decayed smile tugging on his lips. “Although, it's a shame, I would have preferred a real soul to devour.”

Crouch stared at Harry, expression twisting into something very unpleasant. He didn't answer as his eyes narrowed, fixing Harry with a hard stare.

“How long have you known?”

“That you're a Death Eater impersonating Barty Crouch?” Harry shrugged. “A couple of years.”

There was a silence, and Crouch glanced back up the path towards the castle, his eyes scanning for any unwelcome figures. He flicked his wand once as the shield pulsed and faded to nothing. With another flick the surroundings were plunged back into darkness. Crouch finally levelled it at Harry.

“Who have you told?”

Harry crossed his arms, and rolled his good eye.

“If I told anyone, don't you think the Order or the Ministry would have done something by now?”

Crouch's lips pressed tight together, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Whatever he had expected, this was not it. He chewed his tongue, clearly trying to decide what to do with this new information.

“You couldn't tell before,” he said at last.

That much was true. When Harry had first met Crouch, he'd only just turned demented and Tom had been blocking any vision of dæmons.

Harry tilted his head and shrugged again.

“Things are different now. Besides, Voldemort knows I can see dæmons. I didn't think you'd be so caught off guard.”

A sheer look of indignation and anger contorted onto Crouch's face. The old man no longer looked the calm and respected Ministry employee, instead his whole demeanour transformed to something far more unpleasant.

“How dare you-” Crouch spat, wand barely holding steady as his hand shook. “You do not have the right to speak the Dark Lord's name-”

Harry titled his head as a contemplated reaching for his own wand. He hadn't anticipated the Death Eater to be so unhinged. Maybe it was because the man spent all his time away from his dæmon.

“I don't think he'd like me calling him Tom.”

Crouch's eyes widened, mouth parting in disbelief and anger at the response. Sparks fired from the end of his wand.

“You are unworthy to bear a piece of the Dark Lord's soul, Potter.”

Harry held his arms wide open.

“Go on then. Curse me, see how the Dark Lord's soul will like that?”

“Ha-” Crouch laughed, mouth twisting into a sneer, “You think you have power over me? It is the Dark Lord's orders I obey, and I know fully well my limitations when it comes to you.”

Which meant Crouch had been given the authority to use force where necessary.

Harry surveyed the man, good eye narrowing. There was only one thing Crouch seemed to understand.

“I wasn't exclusively talking about Tom,” Harry said lightly. “Riddle has rather a soft spot for me too. Or didn't you know that either? I'm sure he'd love to hear about anything unjust that happens to me.”

He was over doing it. But from the slight bulge in Crouch's eyes, and briefest hesitancy in the man's face it was clearly the right decision. Solidified when Crouch finally lowered his wand.

The man scowled, chewed his tongue again as he was silent for a moment.

“How did you get your name in the tournament, Potter?” Crouch spat. “You know fine well the Dark Lord had nothing to do with it.”

Harry grinned, a little too innocently.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Crouch's wand hand twitched, sparks spitting from it as fury crossed his face.

“The Dark Lord will not be pleased,” he hissed. “You have no idea what you have done. This complicates everything. The consequences will be severe-”

“Why were you hurrying down here anyway?” Harry interrupted. “Spying on me, or were you looking for Snape? He's gone back up to the castle.”

“I don't answer to you, Potter,” Crouch snapped.

Perhaps this had been a bad idea. Barty Crouch always appeared so calm and composed, if a little standoffish. This Death Eater however, didn't retain any of the man's mannerisms. There were perhaps easier ways of getting what he wanted than continuing this conversation.

The imposter seemed to have come to the same conclusion. Obviously Harry hadn't confronted the man for no reason.

“What did you want, Potter?”

Harry paused and shrugged, despite the darkness rushing through him. Crouch would report back anything he said to Voldemort. He chose his next words carefully.

“A way out of here would be nice.”

A look of pure annoyance crossed Crouch's face.

“You entered a bounding magical contest, Potter. You're not going anywhere.”

“I have to participate in three tasks,” Harry corrected. “It doesn't matter where I am the rest of the time.”

“You will stay here,” Crouch snapped, wand hand twitching impatiently. “Until I receive further orders from the Dark Lord-”

That was all Harry needed to hear. A flash of annoyance shot through him and an unregulated coldness enveloped the surroundings. It was harsh and fast, ice cracking across stones and plants that were already covered in a dusting of snow. Despite Crouch not having his dæmon nearby he flinched, unprotected from the desperate chill.

“Fine,” Harry said coolly. He turned and started making his way back down the hill. “It's not like I can get out anyway.”

He thought Crouch would stop him, would berate him that he had even tried, but the man's response was something else entirely.

“You tried to leave the grounds and failed?”

Harry paused, turning on his heel to look back at Crouch.

“You sound surprised?”

But for whatever reason Crouch didn't reply. Instead a rather nasty grin crossed the old wizards face. Harry crossed his arm and glared at the Death Eater. Any surrounding light was beginning to fade.

“What's so funny?”

“Put it this way, Potter,” Crouch said, a cruel glint in his eye. “You will leave this castle only when the Dark Lord wants you to.”

A trickle of dread ran down Harry's spine.

He hadn't gone to all this effort and escaped Hogwarts just to be trapped in a different location for the next year. There was also the fact that he didn't know whether to be insulted by the implication that Voldemort was just going to leave him here.

“Look, Potter. If you want out so much, get rid of that tracker the Order have on you first. Then I'll see what I can do.”

Harry glared at the man. He itched to curse that smug look on Crouch's face. There was no way he was getting rid of the tracker, not on his own. That was the point of the thing.

“Who are you?” Harry demanded. “Where's your real dæmon?”

Crouch didn't answer. The man flashed another horrible smile and turned to make his way back up the path the way he had come. He made no attempt to re-summon his fake dæmon.

---

Harry slowed his pace as he approached the Hogwarts Express. Half a dozen lights were on, revealing shadows of people as they moved about in each of the compartments.

Harry took a deep breath, letting the cold despair calm him. Everything had moved so fast, and yet he'd hit an immediate brick wall. By making it so far, he'd been certain that Voldemort would interfere, but now that was apparently not the case. Plus if he had to find a way to remove the tracker himself...

Harry closed his eyes, relishing in the darkness. It grounded him, made everything clearer.

Confronting the impostor didn't change anything. Not really.

Crouch has been an opportunity to speed everything up. Harry would still find a way to Tom in the end.

As if that settled it, Harry set off at a brisk pace down the path towards the Hogwarts Express. On entering and with no immediate sign of Snape, Harry made a quick detour to another compartment.

Draco answered on the third knock. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his robes hung loose off his shoulders. At the sight of Harry he sighed and ran a hand over his face, pinching his nose in the process.

“I told you you'd be picked.”

But there was no smugness in Draco's voice, instead Adara peered around from under his feet, looking up with wide, cautious eyes. Something was clearly wrong.

Glancing around to make sure no one else was around, Harry lowered his voice.

“It's alright. Voldemort doesn't know how I put my name in.”

Draco didn't flinch. Instead his expression only sunk further as he gestured for Harry to enter while passing his a piece of parchment that had a hurried scrawl on it.

Your mission has changed. Don't let Potter out of your sight.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“There has to be another Death Eater at Durmstrang,” Draco whispered. “Someone who has direct contact with the Dark Lord.”

Harry chewed his tongue but ultimately relented, if only because Adara had started to pace back and forth at Draco's feet.

“Crouch?” Draco's eyes widened, mouth parting in astonishment as Harry explained his last half an hour. Adara leapt onto a cabinet and across onto his shoulder to mutter frantically in his ear. “Barty Crouch? That's impossible, he's not a Death Eater.”

“Well no,” Harry admitted. “The man's polyjuiced and his dæmon is fake, but the imposter is definitely a Death Eater. He can separate from his own dæmon for a start. I've never seen it so I don't know who they really are.”

If anything Draco's face paled further, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“If they can separate from their dæmon then they'll have been a Death Eater for a long time, which will make them more dangerous than most."

That much was certainly true. Voldemort no longer had possession of the Knife of Separation. Without it, Death Eaters would be unable to have their bond to their dæmon cut.

“Does Snape know about Crouch?” Harry asked.

Draco shook his head.

“Only the Dark Lord who knows who all of his Death Eaters are-"

Harry sat down at Draco's desk, reading the message over once more.

“Your mission has changed? I guess Voldemort's not happy that I entered the tournament and he didn't know anything about it.”

Draco nodded.

“Snape's already told me something similar,” he said. “Said I should make every effort to befriend you again and find out how you entered. Also that the Dark Lord will want to ensure that you succeed in the tournament so I should assist you in anyway I can.”

“I guess that works out for us,” Harry said. “Although it's odd that Crouch was coming to tell you himself. Doesn't he trust Snape?”

Draco shrugged.

"Not many Death Eaters trust Snape."

"I guess being a spy in the Order isn't going to do him any favours," Harry said.

Draco gave him an odd look and crossed his arms.

"You need to be more careful in who you stay stuff too. First Crouch, now Snape, the Dark Lord won't like how observant you are around those who are meant to be keeping an eye on you."

Harry grinned and leaned back on the chair.

"Like you for example?"

Draco flushed, but he didn't back down. He scooped up Adara into his arms and held her closely to his chest as his voice fell to an urgent whisper.

"I mean it, Harry. If you really are thinking of joining, the Dark Lord will want unwavering loyalty, and if he finds out you're manipulating the information he receives-"

That much was true. Which made Riddle's last warning even more ominous.

Convince yourself you are loyal.

Harry still didn't know if that was possible. He sighed, careful not to agitate Adara further as he got to the real reason for his visit.

“I've got a favour to ask.”

If Draco hadn't been so good at hiding his true emotions, Harry might have missed the minute flicker of annoyance which crossed his face.

“Can you teach me how to apparate?”

Draco's shoulders relaxed.

“For a second you were going to ask me to contact Tom or something again-”

“Oh,” Harry said, a sudden ache running through his chest as he remembered the sorting hat. “No, what I said before is still true. You don't need to worry about that any more."

Draco didn't look convinced.

“Harry, are you sure this is still what you want? You can still walk away.”

Harry stood and made his way to the door. He turned on the threshold and smiled sadly.

“Voldemort has Tom. There's no other option for me.”

---

Harry knocked on Hermione's compartment door next.

There was a pause, hurried footsteps and it flew open, revealing a Hermione who was a lot less composed than normal.

“How on earth did you get selected?” she whispered frantically, pulling him inside and slamming the door before he could answer. She was half way through getting dressed, her shirt untucked and robe discarded on the bed. “You should have seen the reaction when your name came out the goblet. Dumbledore looked so angry, and then Fawkes disappeared-”

Harry smiled and didn't answer.

Hermione' room was much the same as his own and Draco's, only she seemed to have turned it into a mini library. Dozens of shelves had been placed in every free space on the wall.

On her bed, in amongst a pile of books, lay Ramiron. The otter merely yawned and flicked his tail. He looked totally unimpressed by Harry's presence.

“You did put your name in didn't you?” Hermione demanded, pulling Harry round to face her. “Tom would never have done it and I can't think of anyone else.”

“Sort of,” Harry said. “It was you who gave me the idea actually.”

A look of absolute horror passed over Hermione's face and Ramiron sat up, squeaking in protest.

“Don't say that!”

“Why not? You said that to enter the tournament I just had to put my name in the Goblet of Fire.”

Hermione whipped around, her mouth open and ready to argue, but she closed it again almost immediately when she realised she had in fact told Harry exactly that.

“But who-”

A look of terrified understanding flicked across Hermione's face before he could even answer.

“You threatened Malfoy didn't you?”

Harry did his best to look indignant.

“I asked very nicely.”

Hermione glared at him, and looked like she wanted to bat him around the ears. Ramiron was pacing on the bed around the books, he too looked like he would have had a few choice words to say to Lyra if she was about.

“Well I can't imagine Tom's going to be happy. I thought you said he didn't want you to enter.”

“He didn't,” Harry said coolly. “But that's his problem not mine.”

Hermione crossed her arm and raised an eyebrow, fixing him with an unimpressed look.

“Well, either way you're going to have to be careful. Particularly after what happened at the last tournament-”

An odd expression crossed Harry's face.

“I don't plan on devouring anyone.”

“Well of course not,” Hermione said matter of factly. “But you've been really temperamental this term and this tournament is only going to make things worse.”

“It's only a high school tournament, Hermione,” Harry said. “How bad can it be?”

Hermione pressed her lips together.

“Well just don't underestimate it. It's going to be dangerous, particularly for you-”

Harry rolled his good eye.

“You sound just like Snape.”

She ignored him and reached inside her bag and pulled out a large stack of parchment.

“You're going to need these. My notes on every tournament since the decadæmon was discontinued, and of course the decadæmon itself. And I'll have to show you some of the spells we were being taught, although you probably learned a lot from Professor Moody-”

The door slammed open.

Snape stood in the doorway, nostrils flared and lips pressed tight together. His black eyes were ablaze with fury.

“Where have you been?”
His voice was the slightest of whispers, but the tone was deadly.

Ramiron jumped from the bed, darted under the timber frame and didn't re-emerge.

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, and fixed Snape with an equally cool look.

“I haven't left the train.”

“Liar.”

Snape practically spat the word, his mouth curling into a horrible sneer. If Laraine or Lyra had been present, they'd probably have gone for each others throats.

Harry didn't bother to avert his gaze.

“With me now,” Snape snarled.

Resisting the urge to draw his wand, Harry twisted on his heel and made his way to the door.

“I'll see you in the morning, Hermione.”

---

“Snape wasn't too angry was he?”

It was early the next morning, and Harry, Hermione and Ramiron were walking up the steep hillside towards the school. Hermione was wrapped up and using her magical fire to keep her hands warm.

Harry had thrown his cloak over his shoulders, mainly at Hermione's instance, but the cool air was quite pleasant compared to his own internal chill.

Harry held up his arms. The bits of skin which weren't covered in decay were stained a dark reddy brown colour.

“It's not as bad as it looks,” he said at her wrinkled nose. “Cleaning out his cauldron wasn't the worst part. I'd rather do that again then listen to him go on at me about how reckless I was for entering the tournament-”

Snape had been particularly intolerable last night. He'd taken great pleasure in telling Harry how inconvenienced he was just because of him. Specially when he was going to have to start brewing illegal potions from scratch in another country. Harry couldn't see what the trouble was. If Snape was breaking the law in one country, what matter did it make if he was doing it in another. Just as long as he could get hold of the main ingredient-

Their route through the castle was different from the one last night. Harry, Hermione and Ramiron walked through open corridors, passing groups of Durmstrang students dressed in blood red robes, with furs and warm hats.

“You wouldn't think the castle was this big,” Harry commented as they turned another corner. “It looks so small from the outside.”

Ramiron poked his head out of Hermione's jumper.

“It's a fascinating bit of magic,” he squeaked. “The inside of the castle constantly changes to accommodate each and every person.”

Harry paused mid step, looking around at the corridor they were in. It had mostly the same features as they rest of the castle. Large ornate tapestries of woven fabric displayed impressive portraits of dæmons.

“How does anyone know where to go?”

Hermione smiled and tucked Ramiron back into her jumper.

“The castle generally knows where you want to go and adapts accordingly. It means that different rooms can sometimes end up in totally different places, on opposite sides of the castle, or sometimes they don't exist at all. It's entirely different from Hogwarts-”

“Is that why it looks so small from the outside?” Harry asked. “If classrooms just pop in and out of existence?”

“And corridors,” Ramiron squeaked, poking his head back out.

Sure enough though, after a few more turns they found themselves in the large room he'd been in briefly last night. It was still early, and long shadows cast through the windows, barely offering any light above the flickering candles. The roughly hewn wooden cup sat untouched on a plinth in the centre of the room. The benches which had been pressed against the side of the room had been moved into the centre, spreading out in an almost random display amongst the tables.

There were a few other Hogwarts students scattered around the hall mixed in amongst those from Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, Ilvermorny and Mahoutokoro. Harry spotted Draco sitting on the far side of the room deep in discussion with a couple of Durmstrang students.

Harry followed Hermione as she found a spot in one of the far corners, near to where Katie Bell and her hare dæmon were sitting talking to Cormac McLaggen.

Just like Hogwarts, there was a ripple effect as they walked by. So many faces and dæmons whispered as he passed.

Harry ignored them, casting his good eye across the mix of students to find the one person who shouldn't have held his attention.

Will Parry sat alone, a short distance away. Angry whispers and hostile stares surrounded him. Clearly Durmstrang were just as frustrated as Karkaroff that they had been cheated out of a proper champion.

Will ignored them all.

“It's not surprising why the cup chose you, Harry,” Hermione said, oblivious to Harry's distraction as she offered Ramiron some toast. “It selects a champion based on both the strength of the student and of the dæmon...”

“I know, Hermione,” Harry said thoughts drifting to Tom.

“Where is Lyra anyway?”

Before he could answer there was a flutter of wings and an owl landed on the table in front of him. It ruffled itself, hopped closer, hooted and held out a thinly rolled piece of parchment.

It was a formal letter, written in long elegant handwriting.

 

Mr Potter & Lyra.

As Decadæmon champions, you are both required to attend the Weighing of the Dæmons ceremony this morning. After breakfast, please make your way to the vault.

Madam Isberg & Bulmmot

 

Harry looked up, noticing that Will Parry had received a similar letter. They weren't the only ones. Across the way, Harad had greeted an equally formal owl and Cho was reading her own letter.

Ramiron peered across the table and squeaked.

“Well wherever Lyra is, you're going to need her soon.”

---

Descending the steep set of stairs Harry entered the chamber from the previous night.

The room had been rearranged. Both the large ornate bookcases and the pillars which supported the hall above had disappeared to create a more open space and ominous space.

Harry's footsteps echoed across the chamber as he eyed the precarious ceiling above. Despite spending plenty of times climbing the grand staircase in Hogwarts, it was unnerving to see a whole room held up from simply nothing.

A long thin carpet lay from one end of the room to the other. In the centre, a table was adorned in a thick velvet cloth, covered in depictions of dæmons.

Seven chairs spread equally along its edge and a a large display board was set up in the middle. The text was written in bold golden letters.

Weighing of the Dæmons Ceremony
Decadæmon Tournament Champions & Dæmons

Beauxbatons Academy of Magic
Adèle Boisclair & Velue [porcupine]
Edouard Dubois & Parandrus [alpine ibex]

Durmstrang Institute
Jorn Norberg & Nalusa [horse]
William Parry

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Cho Chang & Harad [owl]
Harry Potter & Lyra [pine marten]

Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Felix Kandil & Tesa [coyote]
Maleina Morgan & Edimmu [snake]

Mahoutokoro School of Magic
Hana Yamamoto & Kodama [bowtruckle]
Kaori Kai & Akabeko [cow]

Harry walked up beside Cho.

“They don't actually weigh our dæmons do they?”

Cho uncrossed her arms, deliberately relaxing her posture, as she glanced towards Harad. The owl was perched inside a hollowed stone crevice high up on the wall, his sharp yellow eyes peering down.

“No, it's just a ceremony. You know, to confirm that everything's legit and they're capable of participating in the tournament.”

Harry nodded, an odd apprehension running through him.

Lyra was healthy enough, but her behaviours certainly weren't normal. If only she hadn't disappeared as soon as they'd arrived-

“So you're Harry Potter-”

Harry grimaced at the tone, as Cho smirked, resisting the urge to laugh. They turned to find both of the Ilvermorny students standing behind them, dressed in blue and cranberry robes.

“Maleina Morgan,” the young woman introduced. She had long frizzy hair which she'd tied back into a ponytail. “This is my dæmon, Edimmu.”

Her serpent draped lazily across her shoulders. He hissed and coiled his muscles, tightening protectively.

Felix Kandil however, didn't say anything. His eyes glinted coolly, matching the coy smile on his lips as he nodded stiffly to Harry and Cho. His dæmon, a grey coyote growled towards Harry.

Maleina looked at Felix, then at his dæmon and rolled her eyes.

“Professor Dumbledore has already been quite clear that there is no threat to our dæmons from Harry.”

Felix's smile vanished.

“I hope you haven't forgotten that the last time the decadæmon tournament was held it was stopped because a dæmon was devoured.”

“Of course not,” Maleina said, matter of factly. “I just don't believe that they'll be any problems, right Harry?”

Harry looked between the two of them. Felix's standoffishness was expected, and in all honestly the right response if he wanted to protect his dæmon. Maleina Morgan however, was clearly letting onto something.

“You can cast a patronus can't you?” Harry asked dryly.

Maleina shrugged, a little too innocently.

“I've never had the opportunity to try it on the real thing.”

A threat. It was clear and simple.

Harry curled his fist, resisting the urge to reach for his wand or draw a rattling breath.

The drama and politics of this tournament were things he really just didn't care about. Of course, he wasn't going to show himself to be weak. But having to dance around these threats was annoying. It would be far easier to just demonstrate he was capable.

And in that sense, he would bite.

“What's your worst fear?” Harry asked, flashing a decayed smile. “If you've never tried it on a dementor, then it's not as easy as it looks.”

Maleina's expression faltered, her face twisting into something else entirely as her eyes narrowed. Edimmu raised his head and hissed, baring long, white fangs.

“Perhaps you didn't understand me-”

“I understood perfectly,” Harry said.

A momentary silence, one where Maleina moved her hand towards her wand. Harry didn't react, only looked deliberately towards her serpent before looking straight back towards her.

If she dared to cast a patronus now-

“What about your other dæmon?” Felix asked loudly and deliberately. “The rumour going around is that he put your name in the Goblet.”

Harry flicked his good eye across to him. The Ilvermorny students were certainly daring, he'd give them that.

“What does it matter who put my name in?”

Felix raised his chin, a cautious note to his voice.

“Is he going to compete?”

So that was what Maleina and Felix wanted. They weren't interested in whether or not they could fight Harry at all.

For a moment, Harry debated lying.

“I doubt it.”

Both Felix and Maleina exchanged disbelieving glances. Their dæmons on the other hand looked more terrified than anything.

“He must be the reason the Goblet of Fire chose you. I mean everyone is thinking it,” Maleina added without a hint of embarrassment. Edimmu hissed and slunk his heavy body to slither tighter across her shoulders.

“Lyra's just as strong as Tom,” Harry said coolly.

“Right,” Felix said slowly as he ran his fingers through his coyote's fur. “Well surely he's not going to leave you to do this on your own-”

Cho, who had been watching silently the whole time, laughed.

Felix spun on his heel. He crossed his arms and cast a wary glance at her.

“What's so funny?”

Cho shrugged and held out an arm. Harad swooped low to land on it.

“You're wasting your effort,” she said. “Tom doesn't need to show up.”

Felix stiffened, his voice hostile. His coyote dæmon snarled towards Harad.

“How can you be so confident? Or are you just trying to make sure we don't prepare?”

Cho shrugged and Harad hooted and fluffed his feathers.

“Fine, don't believe me. But even if he does turns up for the tasks, what do you think you can do about it. Fight the Dark Lord?”

There was a pause. Felix tensed, his hand itching towards his wand instinctively. Maleina however smiled, re-evaluating Cho with a new sort of interest.

“Of course not, that would be foolish.” she waved her hand dismissively. “Although, speaking hypothetically...given the fact you know him...what would you do if you had to fight him?”

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or be offended. The nerve that they would so blatantly ask about how to confront Tom was unreal.

“Tom hates flying,” Cho said offhandedly as she stroked her hand through Harad's feathers. “If it were me I'd challenge him to a game of quidditch.”

Harry's lip twitched, resisting the urge to laugh. But both Maleina and Felix, along with their dæmons were listening with rapt attention, hanging onto her every word.

“Otherwise-” Cho continued, pausing for dramatic effect. “Tom really only has one real weakness. If you can target that then you're sorted.”

Harry would have interjected, but there was an odd look in Cho's eye.

“Well, I'd cast a patronus charm at the person he cares about the most. You know, hit him where it hurts. I'm sure that won't infuriate him or anything.”

The stark reality of her statement took a moment to sink in. Edimmu hissed, coiling himself around Maleina's shoulder to gain a better position to strike.

“I was only jesting, isn't that right, Harry?” Maleina said. “I'm sure you're not afraid of some healthy competition?”

Before Harry could answer, Maleina turned on her heel, cast him one last smile before making her way to the other side of the room. Felix and his dæmon followed, throwing a departing wave in Harry and Cho's direction.

Harry stood silently. Not entirely sure to make of the situation. If they really thought Tom would compete-

“I can do this on my own,” Harry said quietly to Cho. “Not that I don't appreciate it.”

Cho rolled her eyes. Harad hooted once and took off to fly back to the safety of the stone recess.

“The other champions will be working together to make sure their school wins. Why do you think they ganged up on you? And anyway I sort of assumed we'd be doing the same?”

Harry didn't say anything.

“Plus Maleina wants to win,” Cho continued, unconcerned by his lack of response. “She'll do whatever it takes, even if she has to face the wrath of Tom. The same goes for the other champions.”

“It's not Tom they should be worried about,” Harry said quietly, his dead eye unseeing but wavering around the room, scanning over their dæmons as if by habit.

“I know that, but let them waste their efforts. If they ignore Lyra then they're going to be in for a nasty shock come the first task-”

Again, Harry remained silent. Lyra would have to pick her form carefully. If she transformed mid task then he'd devour her before it was over-

A disturbance at the end of the room drew their attention.

Madam Isberg, the five headmasters and mistresses and their dæmons entered the vault. They were joined by Snape, a photographer and someone else Harry was surprised he recognised.

International quidditch star, Victor Krum.

Krum had thick black eyebrows and a curved nose. He crossed the room, took one of the seven seats and hunched over looking rather sullen. His dæmon, a cat called Anelia, curled up on the table in front of him, yawned and shut her eyes.

“Is Victor Krum a judge?” Harry whispered.

“Yeah,” Cho whispered, keeping her voice equally as quiet. “He used to go to Durmstrang-”

Madam Isberg faced the room, cleared her throat as Bulmmot grunted loudly and stomped his hooves.

The room fell silent.

“Thank you all for your attendance today. I would like to welcome you all to the weighing of the dæmons. Today, we'll be asking each of you a number of questions to make sure your dæmons are ready for whatever lies ahead. We'll start with Miss Boisclair. If you would please-”

Adele Boisclair held her head high as she took her place directly before the judges table. An odd purple cloud of smoke burst from the camera.

“When did your dæmon first appear, Miss Boisclair?” Madam Isberg began.

“On my sixth birthday,” Adèle said, holding Velue tightly in her arms. “I woke up on my seventh birthday, and there he was right on the end of my bed trying to burrow into the covers. I don't think Velue realised I could see him at first. He ignored me for the first few days.”

“That's quite common,” Madame Maxine said in a deep voice, placing a large hand on her giant boar. “Dæmons of course have been ignored their entire existence. It's only naturally that they return the favour when we first start paying them attention.”

Madam Isberg leaned forwards, an expectant look on her face.

“I've heard you're an Animagus?”

Adèle's smile faltered slightly. She knelt down to place Velue on the floor and in a blink of an eye, disappeared. The porcupine went very still. His form shifting from transparent to a far more solid state.

“Most impressive,” Professor Fontaine squeaked, peering down at the small creature as his salamander scurried across the brim of his hat. “And you have perfect control.”

The porcupine shuffled and within a split second, Adèle was standing back before them again.

“Good. Now, we'd like to see how far you can go from your dæmon,” Madam Isberg said.

A brief flash of panic crossed Adèle's face, but then it was gone. Together they started walking away from each other towards one end of the long carpet.

A tape measurer floated mid-air beside them, stretching out with each step.

At twenty paces they stopped. Adèle turned on her heel with tears in her eyes.

The other dæmons in the room froze, and if anything they pressed themselves closer to their own humans.

Krum stood and walked around the end of the table. Anelia, his cat dæmon, yawned and opened her eyes, blinking slowly. She was in no discomfort, not a single ounce of pain as he walked away. As a quidditch player they had trained for years to stretch their own bond.

“You can go further.” Krum's voice was gruff, hardly encouraging.

Adèle clenched at her chest, eyes watering, but she didn't move. Neither did Velue.

Harry's good eye narrowed.

He knew the effects of pulling better than anyone here. And despite Tom keeping him stable, the hollowness of Lyra drummed through him. It was constant, and the same whenever she left his side.

Perhaps he had underestimated the tournament. If they were going to challenge the champion's to separate-

When neither Adèle or Velue refused to move, Krum grunted in disappointment. He returned to his seat looking more sullen than before.

“Right, thank you Miss Boisclair,” Madam Isberg said.

Following a few more questions and demonstrations, Edouard Dubois and his dæmon Parandrus followed next. Just like Adele, he was asked to transform into an animagus which he did so without any hesitation. When it came to seeing how far they could separate they managed at least a couple more steps than Adèle and Velue. This time Krum did not interrupt, but he cast a brief nod towards Madam Isberg when she looked his way.

Then it was the first Durmstrang champion's turn.

Jorn Norberg stood next to a rather wild looking horse. Her blonde mane was untamed and she clattered her hoofs against the ground, just like Galian used to do when Ginny was impatient.

He smiled confidently as the camera went off in the purple smoke, and barely flinched when he and his dæmon were asked to stand apart.

“Thank you, Mr Norberg,” Madam Isberg said after a few minutes, she noted something down on a piece of parchment. “Mr Parry. If you could please step forwards.”

Karkaroff muttered a curse under his breath. Barghest crouched low, although it didn't actually make him that much smaller. The photographer raised his camera but no smoke appeared as their dæmon, a gerbil who had been tucked in the brim of his hat disappeared out of sight.

Will Parry didn't seem to care.

He held his gaze even, staring at the judges with little concern.

The other dæmons in the room shifted restlessly.

“Have you ever seen your dæmon, Mr Parry?” Madam Isberg asked.

Will pressed his lips thinly together.

“No, she's never shown herself to me.”

“I've heard your mother was the same? That she also never had a dæmon.”

Will's jaw tightened but again he nodded.

Other people in the room, notably the other Durmstrang champion looked sharply across at Will at this.

That wasn't common knowledge apparently.

Madam Isberg however, was not deterred.

“Have you ever felt the presence of your dæmon? If you accidentality separated and pulled on your bond?”
“No,” Will answered.

Harry had the distinct memory of flying on a broomstick for the first time. Lyra had been left on the ground and their bond had suffered the pain of being separated.

“Why did you enter the tournament if you have no dæmon?” Madam Isberg continued.

Will's fingers flexed instinctively, the missing little and ring fingers on his left hand looked more prominent as he did so. His chest rose and fell with a single deep breath.

“I thought that by entering the tournament my dæmon would reveal herself to me.”

There was an edge to his voice, and Harry had the distinct feeling that what Will had said was not actually the whole truth.

“Very well-”

There was a disturbance.

It was just like a flutter, a warmth as the terrible ache inside Harry's chest disappeared.

Instinctively, Harry twisted on his heel, spotted Lyra peering around the bottom of the stone steps.

Some of the other dæmons shifted, watching cautiously as Lyra scampered across the room.

“Where have you been?” Harry hissed, keeping his voice low. He crouched down so she could clamber onto his shoulder. Lyra squeaked happily and pressed against him. Her fur was cold and damp, covered in moss and dirt.

Harry relaxed, taking a shallow breath. For the first time since entering the castle his dead eye flooded with light.

Now he would have a true measure of the other champions. And more importantly, confirm that it was impossible to live without a soul. Harry flicked his dead eye towards his target.

For a few seconds, he couldn't tell what he was looking at.

Unlike Remus, who had golden dust which clung in a thin outline to his skin, Will Parry had a light that illuminated his whole self. It burned intensely, gold and brighter than the surroundings.

It was impossible.

Will Parry was just like a dæmon, but in human form.

A primal urge rose within Harry. A deep, longing want. His feet remained rooted to the floor, but he screamed to cross the room, seize Will Parry by the collar and devour his soul completely.

It was dizzying, intoxicating.

Madam Isberg was speaking but the words washed over Harry. He could barely concentrate. Only a surge of temptation to claim and destroy remained.

Yet the room was oblivious to the imminent threat. The perfect imbalance between untamed desire and the darkness coiling within.

Lyra had gone deathly still, her own heart beat betraying her awareness of the danger. Her claws dug painful and deep into his shoulder, scratching into the decayed flesh. She would have drawn blood if he had any, knew instantly that this wasn't like other times, where Harry had been in control and had pushed the boundaries deliberately. This was Harry on the brink of slipping, of losing his humanity and becoming the very embodiment of evil.

Yet he wasn't.

This was unlike anything Harry had experienced. His mind was perfectly clear, the humanity unhindered and with the unstoppable force that would usually occur when a dæmon transformed non-existent. This was something else.

A temptation that he did not want to refuse.

Will stood in front of the judges, unaware of the hyper fixation on him. Or the fact that his soul burned brighter than any other living being present. The golden dust swirling in irresistible patterns.

Lyra growled, a warning that she would transform if she had to. Either to save herself, or to stop Harry. It didn't matter.

But she wasn't his target. She knew that. Any force now would be excessive.

“I'm fine,” Harry whispered so only she could hear. It was hard to draw his attention away from Will Parry, but he curled his fingers into her fur, clinging onto any strength she could offer him. “I'm not going to do anything stupid.”

The burning temptation remained. A desire he couldn't immediately act upon. Perhaps he could get Will alone, in an empty corridor or classroom.

The boy didn't have any friends after all.

It would be so easy. More so, because whenever Harry was truly demented he reacted on instant, had no plans to ensure he avoided consequence.

Instead he could plan, could make sure that no one would stop him taking what he wanted. And the best thing was that no one would suspect him, would never believe that Harry would target someone without a supposed soul.

Lyra growled again and scratched her claw sharply into his skin. He had left her with no other choice.

She leapt from his shoulder, darting unnoticed across the floor.

Harry tore his gaze away, simultaneously as Will Parry's soul extinguished. His vision to dæmons blocked. Lyra was just out of reach, beyond where their bond could reach.

She came to a halt, watching from a dark corner with her eyes wide and terrified.

A shiver ran down Harry spine.

It was horrifying because he had been so lucid, could follow the rationale of his decision and knew that he could justify to himself that Will Parry's soul was his to claim. That he could still be so easily tempted by a soul in his waking mind.

Now with Lyra out of reach, only a lingering want remained. Although present it wasn't nearly as debilitating.

Harry took a shaky breath, pinching his skin hard. No one else had noticed, they were absorbed in listening to Will, did not realise how close Harry had been to giving into his desires.

Only that wasn't true.

Snape was watching him, his dark eyes locked on with a horrible intensity.

There was no point avoiding eye contact, whether he ripped the memory from Harry's mind now or later he would find out.

A calmness had overtaken Harry's mind. A fact that consumed his immediate guilt and shame.

The fact that Will Parry had no dæmon was irrelevant.

His soul was inside of him.

The revelation was startling, ripped apart everything Harry thought he knew.

It wasn't possible, and it was.

Lyra remained at a distance for the entirety of the time the judges questioned Cho and Harad. Her eyes wide, watching and waiting.

But Harry was looking anywhere but in Will's direction. Anything to deter Snape, if only slightly.

“Mr Potter,” Madam Isberg finally called.

Lyra leapt down from her shelf as if nothing had happened.

Harry pinched himself again, welcoming the distraction. He stepped forwards, deliberately focusing on each of the judges in turn.

The room had gone unnaturally quiet. The photographer didn't even raise the camera as he stared open mouthed at Harry's rotten skin and dead eye. His gerbil was nowhere in sight.

“Would you please introduce your dæmon,” Madam Isberg said.

Harry held out an arm, and Lyra jumped onto his shoulder and squeaked several times. Given her adventures through the grounds, it was clear her fur was cold and dirty.

Harry would have to dunk her in the bath later.

The other dæmons in the room shifted restlessly, disturbed by Lyra's daring despite how normal this should be.

“This is Lyra,” Harry said. His throat was horribly dry.

Their silence was expectant but there was nothing else he wanted to say.

Madam Isberg cleared her throat.

“When did your dæmons first appear?”

Harry was surprised at her nerve.

“Tom's always been there, long as I can remember.”

Around the room people were leaning closer, listening with rapt attention.

“And Lyra?”

“I first saw her when I was eleven,” Harry said, thinking back to the mirror of Erised. Did that even count?

Madam Isberg raised her eyebrows, leaning forwards in surprise.

“Eleven? That's very late.”
“If I may offer an explanation,” Dumbledore said calmly. “I believe that Lyra of course would have shown herself much sooner had it not been the influence of Lord Voldemort's soul.”

There was sudden jerk of movement as people and dæmons alike flinched at the name. Madam Isberg however, continued with only a slight hesitation in her voice.

“And do your dæmons feel different from each other?”

Harry narrowed his eyes.

“No.”

It was an obvious lie.

There weren't getting anything different though.

Barghest snarled, shifting his weight forwards as he pulled himself to his full height, snout rippled and teeth bared.

“How can you stand it? Why do you place yourself within direct reach of that thing-”

The question was directed at Lyra.

“She's my soul,” Harry said coolly. “She belongs by my side.”

Karkaroff stood, placing his palms face down on the table.

“I would prefer if you didn't address my dæmon directly, Mr Potter.”

Harry resisted the urge to role his good eye. He couldn't care less about pureblood etiquette.

“Lyra doesn't speak,” Harry said stiffly.

Lyra growled and rightly so, her light shifting in agitation. Whispers rippled around the room. Harry could see Jorn Norberg mutter something to his dæmon.

Karkaroff however, seemed genuinely surprised. He straightened, a frown deepening across his brow.

“Why? What is wrong with her?” he demanded.

Harry resisted the urge to draw a rattling breath.

“Nothing is wrong with her.”

Krum slouched forwards, a frown crossing his already sullen face. He appeared bored, but Anelia sat upright, ears straightening as she stared at Lyra-

“Have you ever heard your dæmon speak?” Madam Isberg asked.

Harry debated lying again.

“Yes.”

This at least seemed to settle the rising anxiety in the room.

“Is there any point asking Mr Potter and Lyra to separate?” Madame Maxime said. “We've already seen they can do so.”

Harry didn't protest at this. The didn't need to know the intricacies of his and Lyra's bond. Or the fact that he had to rely on Tom whenever she went wandering.

“We should do something about it. It's an unfair advantage,” Karkaroff muttered.

There was a flash of icy cold, all warmth dissipating from the surroundings from Harry's will alone. He curled his fingers around his wand.

“Interfere with our bond and I will make sure you never feel happiness again.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said loudly, a warning edge to his voice. He turned to Karkaroff and spoke rather firmly. “Harry's capability is just as advantageous as those champion's who are animagus. This is the decadæmon tournament, with sole purpose is to test the bonds between each other.”

“I find it odd that's what you would focus on Igor,” Madame Maxime said. Unable to escape the lingering despair, her hand tightened against her giant boar's fur. “I would think that the fact that Mr Potter and his dæmon can separate is incomparable to the fact he's demented.”

“Which is in itself problematic,” Karkaroff said. “Are we really going to allow Potter to compete-”

Madam Isberg cleared her throat.

“We discussed this last night, Igor. All champion's that were chosen by the goblet of fire will participate. It's a magically binding contract and nothing will change that now.”

It was clear that she wasn't just referring to Harry.

“Thank you, Mr Potter. That will be all.”

Surprised, but not about to complain, Harry stepped back. The cold that had taken the room dissipating with every step.

Lyra scampered further away, placing herself just out of reach so that the terrible ache on Harry's soul returned, his dead eye blind.

It wouldn't have mattered.

Harry was prepared this time. His own temptation to devour Will Parry's soul was limited. His Occlumency shutting of his deepest desires before they could take hold.

Which was a shame, as it would have been fascinating to understand how Will's soul had come to be.

One by one the remaining champions took it in turns to stand before the judges to present their dæmons. Harry paid little attention, his thoughts lost and occupied by the impossible.

The want to steal glances at Will Parry hard to resist.

Snape was watching him again, a long finger pressed to his lower lip. He must have gotten an initial glimpse of Harry's thoughts-

“-and that concludes the weighing of the dæmons.”

A puff of purple smoke burst into existence as Kaori Kai reunited with her dæmon, Akabeko. She wrapped her arms around her dæmons neck, reassuring him that they would not be separated again.

Madam Isberg stood and gestured for all champions and dæmons to come into the centre of the room. Cho stood to Harry's left, while Hana Yamamoto deliberately took several steps away on Harry's right. Kodama, her bowtruckle climbed into her hair, peering at Harry through the lose strands.

“Champions, please listen closely,” Madam Isberg said. “The first task will take place in three weeks time. To prepare you will each need one of these.”

She pulled out a velvet bag and extracted a golden egg shaped stone. It was about the size of a large marble.

“Your dæmons will carry one of these during the task. Your job is to steal as many of these stones from other dæmons as you can. The more stones you obtain, the more points you gain. And of course, if you lose your own stone you lose points. Is that clear?”

Around the room everyone nodded. A grin broke out across Maleina's face, and her dæmon slithered across her shoulder to whisper something in her ear.

“You will need to enchant your stones,” Madam Isberg continued, fixing them all with a stern look. “Or otherwise ensure your dæmons have sufficient protections during the task. I trust you to use your time wisely. I wish you all the very best of luck.”

---

Harry tossed the gold stone in the air and caught it again. It fit perfectly in the palm of his hand, its smooth surface shimmering from the nearby candle light, reminding him of an oddly shaped golden snitch. Lyra followed, gaze locked on with a keen interest, occasionally squeaking in excitement as they made their way through the castle.

The corridors were unfamiliar, adorned with large tapestries of intricate weaving. The depictions of dæmons from heavy fabric made their surroundings almost stifling, looming down oppressively as if they shouldn't be here. Yet, the path they walked felt natural and despite not knowing where to go, Harry and Lyra soon arrived at their intended destination.

Hermione was sitting in a modest sized library. Shelves covered every inch of the walls and ceiling, held up by magic as they hung precariously over head. A dusty tome floated passed past, neatly slotting itself on a shelf as another soared over head.

She put down her book, looking both excited and slightly apprehensive.

“How did it go?”

Harry sat down, his stomach twisting slightly despite himself.

“The first task is sort of like a dual I guess.” He showed her the golden egg shaped stone and explained. Ramiron jumped onto the table, dodging around Lyra to peer up to get a better look.

Hermione listened intently before reaching her bag to retrieve a large stack of notes. Flicking past the first dozen pages she extracted a single piece of parchment.

“They've done similar tasks in the past. Here's one where the champions had to fight blindfolded. Of course their dæmons could see-” she added quickly at Harry's face as she passed across her notes. “But the dæmons all had an item they had to protect. Some of the tactics were fascinating-”

Hermione paused, noticing his discomfort.

“I'm not going to lie. From what I've read it can be pretty ruthless. The champions will play to their strengths and those of their dæmons. And of course exploit anyone who has a known weakness.”

She looked pointedly at Harry.

A sour taste filled his mouth.

“You'll need to pick your battles carefully, otherwise you'll be an easy target,” Hermione said. “The best you can hope for is that no one knows how to cast a patronus.”

“Some of them do,” Harry said, thinking of Maleina Morgan's threat. “And if any of the other champions don't know now, they'll learn before the task.”

He vaguely wondered if Will Parry had tried to ever cast a patronus and whether it would turn his whole body into a silvery protection. He hated the thought.

“I really don't know how you're going to get around it,” Hermione said, brow furrowed as she absently stroked Ramiron between his ears. “They'll be able to attack from a distance and their dæmons will be invulnerable.”

Harry's fists curled tightly, his fingernails scratching against his decayed palms.

The last time he had been subjected to a patronus had been Umbridge's cat. That had been humiliating. He would never put himself through that again, let alone in front of a stadium of spectators.

“Ouch-”

A sharp pain scratched his elbow.

Lyra withdrew, bounding backwards, claws scratching at the table as she scampered out of reach. Her golden light danced, tantalisingly dangerous. Agitated and deliberately on the brink of transformation. She hissed, teeth bared, showing no remorse as she prepared to pounce again.

Harry's breath caught in his throat.

“Lyra-”

She squeaked and nipped sharply at his fingers when he reached towards her.

The golden dust cascaded and swirled, a perfect mixture of temptation.

Hermione placed her wad of parchment down and reached cautiously for her wand, just in case.

One wrong move. That's all it would take.

Harry watched with predatory senses. His mind perfectly calm, but all too aware of what Lyra was trying to achieve.

If Hermione were to cast a patronus now-

But why would Lyra want that? What was she trying to tell him?

A rattling breath escaped Harry. His absent heart almost stopped, an excited smile crossed his decayed lips.

“That's it-”

A chill mixed with a rush as trepidation flooded every inch of his body. He stood, the darkness within consuming.

He couldn't believe that he hadn't thought of it before.

It would be risky. Incredibly so. If something went even the slightest bit wrong-

On the other hand...why leave things to chance?

Sensing his clarity, Lyra dodged around Ramiron and scrambled up Harry's arm, settling on his shoulder and pressing her fur against his cheek.

“I'll catch you later, Hermione-”

“Harry, wait-” Hermione started in a frenzied panic. “Where are you going?”

“I'll tell you later-”

Harry hurried from the library, Lyra scurrying back and forth across his shoulder before leaping to the floor to chase his heels. There was one thing that would win them the task. And for that he needed-

 

“Cho-”

Harry knocked rapidly on one of the middle cabins in the Hogwarts express. He could see Harad's golden light through the wall, perched on what must have been the end of the bed, his sharp eyes staring straight at the carriage door.

“I heard you the first time-”

The door jerked open. Cho stopped, mouth parting in surprise at the sight of him.

Without bothering to explain or waiting to be invited in, Harry stepped around her, scooping up Lyra into his arms.

“You wanted to pair up, right?”

Cho's expression sharpened as she crossed her arms.

“We both want Hogwarts to win, I don't see any point in making it any harder for each other.”

“Good,” Harry grinned. “Can you cast a patronus yet?”

Cho's hand itched towards her wand, lips tightening.

“No.”

“Learn it,” Harry said. “I can help, and Snape if you really need it.”

Cho wrinkled her nose.

“You do realise it's the other champions we should be fighting, not each other. Anyway, I don't have time to learn a patronus,” Cho said coolly. “Three weeks isn't enough, not when I've got this stone to deal with too-”

“I guarantee it'll win us the first task.”

Cho paused, retort disappearing in an instant, as she pressed his lips tightly together.

She didn't question his confidence. Instead she reached out a hand and stroked Harad's feathers. He hooted gently, light mesmerising in his own excitement. It seemed to give her the answer she needed.

Chapter 13: Preparations

Chapter by HippoParty (OneMoreHorcrux)

The Hogwarts Express rocked gently against a persistent northerly wind. The winter storm had continued long through the night and despite the trains relatively sheltered position tucked in against the hillside, it had not escaped the distinct wilds of Scandinavia.

Harry stood, staring out across the lake as fresh snow fall whipped through the air currents, flurries of thick white obscuring the distinct line of treetops over the mountainside.

For a moment he remained deathly still, tempted to go back to his cabin, retrieve his broom and fly out into the storm. At least that would give himself the illusion of freedom.

Lyra skirted around his feet, torn between offering him comfort and protesting about her discomfort at being left on the draughty floor. She squeaked, and nipped at his ankles.

With a heavy sigh, Harry scooped her up and knocked on the compartment door.

Extensive transformations had been done inside the train and Dumbledore's room was no exception, having been conjured into an exact replica of his existing office but for a large domed glass ceiling filled with the cold morning light. Items cluttered the walls, along with the same opulent portraits of snoozing ex-headmasters and mistresses, undisturbed by the howling winds.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk, waiting. Fawkes perched behind him, atop an odd looking instrument, his feathers ablaze in a golden dust.

Harry took a seat, keeping his gaze deliberately misaligned from the headmasters. Having managed to successfully avoid this conversation since his arrival at Durmstrang a couple of days ago, the owl that had braved the morning weather to knock on Harry's cabin window had been an unwelcome sight.

Dumbledore clasped his hands together and lent forwards to peer over the top of his half moon glasses. His blue eyes were lacking their usual twinkle.

“Harry, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?”

Harry dug his fingers into the chair beneath him. He didn't answer.

Dumbledore sighed, a wariness taking hold. He looked older, as if a great weight had been placed on his shoulders. Fawkes let out a soft note of reassurance but even that seemed flat compared to his usual song.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said heavily. “I need you to understand that there is a real chance you won't survive this tournament.”

Harry clenched his jaw, a wild fury rising in his throat.

“Me and Lyra have suffered far worse than anything these tasks can offer.”

“I'm not questioning that,” Dumbledore said quietly. “However, the tasks can be cruel in nature, are unforgiving with punishing consequences. Given what lies ahead, without assistance there is a very real risk you will perish, whether it be death or a fall into darkness.”

Harry glared at Dumbledore, ignoring Lyra who growled and scratched her claws deep into his shoulder.

“What are you getting at?”

Dumbledore bowed his head. He was silent for a few seconds.

“Sometime in the coming weeks I believe Tom will come to your aid. When he does, then I implore you to let me know at the first instance.”

Harry blinked, and for a moment he was lost for words.

He clenched his fists, drew a rattling breath, indignant at the sheer nerve.

“You think Tom will show himself?

Dumbledore nodded simply.

Harry could taste the bitterness in his mouth, felt Lyra stir anxiously.

“Then why would I let you know of all people?”

“This is a magically bounding contest. I can not interfere despite my desperate wish to,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Tom however, is equivalent to your dæmon. Any magical restrictions imposed by the tournament do not extend to him. He can interfere if he so chooses.”

Harry took an exaggerated breath, his chest tightening at the mere possibility of what was being said.

“So what's the problem?”

Dumbledore closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, there was only a terrifying fear.

“Tom's help may come at an even greater cost. If anything his presence will make the tournament even more dangerous for you.”

A burst of laugher came from Harry's mouth before he could stop himself.

“More dangerous for me?”

Even Lyra found this statement ludicrous, for she jumped from Harry's shoulder onto his lap, scurrying round and chirping loudly.

This did not deter Dumbledore, who shook his head sadly.

“I ask you to put your trust in me, Harry. If Tom comes to you, then I promise I will not let him come to harm. I will protect both of you from the Ministry.”

“I don't believe you,” Harry said coolly. “Half the Order want Tom dead for what he did to Scrimgeour.”

“I admit,” Dumbledore said, bowing his head. “That there are some tensions in the Order in relation to Tom, but that will not prevent them from doing the right thing-”

“Which is what exactly?” Harry demanded, standing up and dislodging Lyra onto the floor. His voice raised, a coldness seeping from him. “You can't protect Tom from anyone. You left him to rot with Voldemort for the last two years-”

“Harry, I understand your concerns-” Dumbledore started.

“No. You don't. You've done nothing to help Tom. Why would you change your mind now?”

There was a sharp knock at the door.

Harry whirled, shoulders tensing at the immediate lack of golden light present.

For a moment, no one moved. Dumbledore lowered his head, regret apparent before he shook his head and called softly.

“Come in.”

The imposter opened the door.

“Albus, I hope I am not interrupting,” Crouch said, stepping inside. His cold grey eyes swept between the pair of them, but he didn't seem particularly surprised at Harry's presence. “You received my owl?”

Dumbledore sat back. Giving no indication of the previous argument, he flicked his wand and conjured a second chair opposite the desk.

Crouch didn't move to take it.

“I did,” Dumbledore said. “I understand both you and the Minister are concerned regarding Harry's presence here at Durmstrang.”

Crouch straightened the front of his robes.

“Then you agree? Sooner or later, the Dark Lord will come for Mr Potter.”

Dumbledore sighed, linking his fingers together.

“That is certainly a possibility.”

Now it was Harry's turn to fix Dumbledore with a scowl. He could at least pretend to Crouch he believed it to be a viable threat, instead it just came across as him being incompetent, inviting the ministry to stick their noses in.

They all knew that he wasn't going anywhere.

Harry scooped Lyra up and took a step towards the door, only for Crouch to wave a hand at him.

“You better stay, Mr Potter. This concerns you.”

Harry scowled at the pair of them, dropped Lyra back onto the floor.

“What?”

Crouch cleared his throat unapologetically, his fake dæmon wobbling precariously on his shoulder, making his neck look even more crooked than usual, as he addressed Dumbledore.

“My review of the security arrangements around the castle and grounds identified a number of vulnerabilities. As such, the Minister insists that Potter be assigned a full time guard. Naturally, I volunteered myself for the task-”

“I don't need a guard,” Harry snapped. Clearly it was the excuse for the man to stick around for longer than he was welcome. For Voldemort to have eyes on Harry at all times.

“Harry has to compete in all three tasks,” Dumbledore said mildly. “He is magically bound to remain in the tournament. I am confident Voldemort will not interfere until after the final task-”

Crouch shook his head.

“My concern, Albus, is that our lack of action will create an opportunity for someone to get close to the boy. Mr Potter's allegiance has always been in question, and we both know how persuasive the Dark Lord can be.”

Harry flicked his good eye across to Crouch. There was an edge to the man's tone, as if he was hinting at something more.

Dumbledore seemed to understand, for he bowed his head solemnly.

“Unfortunately, even the best of us can fall. However, I will stress that I have every faith in Harry.”

Crouch tipped his hat and straightened his robes again, his fake dæmon remaining just as wooden as he made to leave.

“Either way, I shall talk to Karkaroff about my proposal.”

Harry pressed his lips tight together to save from cursing. Riddle's warning echoed ominously in his head.

Convince yourself.

Any objection here was dangerous. If he was supposed to be loyal he could not out Crouch as a Death Eater, nor could he protest too much if it was against the Dark Lord's will.

---

Harry left the Hogwarts Express fuming. He flew over the lake, braced against the fierce winds, to land on the far shore. Draco and Adara were further up the bank, waiting inside the tree line. The thick canopy of trees sheltered the ground from the snowfall and the worse of the wind.

“What happened?” Draco asked at the thunderous look on Harry's face.

“Dumbledore,” Harry muttered, kicking a tree stump and causing his toe to throb painfully. He briefly explained the last half an hour, including Crouch's request.

“Dumbledore thinks that Tom will come here?” Draco asked, face draining of all colour.

“Yes, but that's not going to happen,” Harry said. Lyra squeaked in his ear in agreement. “I'm more concerned why Crouch is sticking his nose in. I've already got you and Snape watching me. Why does Voldemort need Crouch as well?”

Draco looked away and tugged absently at his left sleeve.

“Maybe he suspects that I put your name in?” he said quietly.

Harry didn't say anything. It was clear from Draco's expression that he wouldn't be reassured of the fact. Instead, he walked around the small clearing, directing his wand beyond the foliage.

“Revelio.”

There was nothing.

Satisfied, Harry turned back to Draco.

“We should get started,” he said. “I promised Hermione I'd meet her in the library in an hour.”

Draco took a deep breath, nodded absently. He knelt down to grab Adara, held her tightly in his arms.

“Right...well if you're sure...”

When Harry didn't respond, he reluctantly continued.

“The most important thing about apparation is never leave your dæmon behind,” Draco said. “First, you'll need to concentrate on where you want to go. Visualise it and think of nothing else. Then you need to force yourself to move into the space, command your body to enter it...Lyra can help if she does the same. Thirdly, turn on the spot-”

Draco demonstrated in slow motion, twisting his body round.

“At the same time imagine that you're going to disappear...make your consciousness vanish. And it's as straight forward of that-”

Harry practised a few times, turning sharply to imitate Draco's movements, all the while running through the steps in his mind.

“Are you certain you want to do this?” Draco asked warily, taking a few cautious steps back to allow for more space. “If you get splinched, I'm not really equipped to do anything about it-”

Harry nodded again, fixing his mind firmly on the spot just in front of him. The forest floor was uneven due to the thick tree roots weaving through across the earth.

“It's fine. Just press your Dark Mark.”

“That's not funny-”

Forcing away his own trepidations, Harry twisted on his heel. He wobbled, lost his balance and nearly slipped on a tree branch. Lyra's claws dug painfully into his shoulder to save from being thrown off.

“Don't forget it's important to will yourself into the space,” Draco said. “And I suggest you hold Lyra in your arms. If she gets separated she could end up in a totally different location-”

Harry did so, although it didn't seem to help. After a dozen more failed attempts, Harry kicked the ground, sending up loose dirt underneath the snow.

“You won't get it straight away,” Draco said. “It took me several weeks before I really got the hang of it-”

Which meant more wasted time.

Adara pawed around nervously on the ground, her light a mixture of trepidation.

“What?” Harry asked, looking pointedly at Draco.

Draco shrugged.

“I was wondering how we were going to publicly become friends again?”

Harry twisted on the spot again, trying and failing to push back his rising frustration.

“Does it matter?”

A flicker of annoyance across Draco's face.

“Of course it matters, the Dark Lord gave me instructions to keep an eye on you. He'll want to know why if you suddenly start talking to me again.”

Harry shut his eyes, visualising the uneven forest floor in front of him again.

“What did you tell him when we fell out the first time?”

“That you shunted me off my broom because I refused to help you contact Tom.”

Harry opened his eyes and didn't say anything for a moment. That had been a particularly nasty games of quidditch. It had been planned of course, but no one had questioned the fact when Harry and Draco had turned a cold shoulder to each other.

“So its got to be believable?” Harry said.

Draco nodded, not looking particularly happy about it,

Feeling relieved to have an excuse to stop spinning on the spot, Harry dropped Lyra onto the floor.

“Just tell him you're teaching me how to apparate. He know I'll want to learn and wouldn't refuse your offer.”

Draco was silent for a few seconds, chewing his tongue.

“Which is fine, but what would be in it for me? You'd have assumed I was only doing so to report back to the Dark Lord.”

“That still works, Voldemort will think I've agreed because I'll think I can still get information from you about Tom.”

Draco paled, but he nodded.

“And publicly?”

Harry shrugged.

“That's easy. We supposedly fell out over quidditch, it's the obvious way to make up. I'll see if Cho wants to play too. Although it'll have to wait until after the first task...I went to talk to her yesterday and she told me to get lost and stop distracting her.”

Draco scooped up Adara.

“Surely you should go by her example? Apparating can wait.”

Harry ignored that comment.

Draco however didn't drop the subject.

“I mean it, Harry. I don't think you realise the expectations everyone here has of you.”

Harry frowned. Since his arrival, he hadn't conversed with anyone from the other schools.
“What do you mean?”

Draco rolled his eyes, a slight smirk crossing his lips.

“You're a school champion with two dæmons and that's what Durmstrang hold in the highest of regards above anything else.”

Harry grinned despite himself.

“They're going to love Lyra then.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, his gaze slipping momentarily to Lyra. She squeaked in response, looking very pleased with herself. A fleeting look of understanding crossed Draco face, followed by concern.

“Are you sure that's a good idea? If you can't be stopped-”

Harry didn't say anything for a few seconds.

“They need to see,” he said quietly. “They need to see that Lyra's not weak.”

And neither am I, he thought.

---

Over the next few days Harry was surprised to see that Draco was correct. People who passed him in the corridors would either nod in respect or mutter brief words of encouragement. Plus, Katie Bell told him at breakfast one morning that she'd been accosted by numerous Durmstrang students asking about how likely a Hogwarts win was.

“Of course, I told them I'm betting my galleons on Lyra,” she said, winking at Harry. Then she dropped her voice, looked round and whispered. “But honestly, they still think Tom is going to show-”

Harry didn't know how he particularly felt about this. Dumbledore's warning had seemed to imply the same thing, and even Hermione seemed to be coming round to the idea.

“I mean, it's certainly possible Tom will appear for the tasks. Dæmons are protected here, plus the tournament has rules of its own which makes it impossible for anyone to interfere.”

They were standing in one of the carriages of the Hogwarts Express which had become particularly accommodating since their arrival. Rooms had popped into existence to form a collection of spacious classrooms and study areas. The one they were currently in had been transformed into a make shift duelling space with a few dummies scattered around the outside.

Harry knelt down and flicked to the next page of Counter-curses and Jinxes - A Wizards Toolbox. It had a series of complicated wand movements depicted, which he duly tried to replicate. Lyra lay on floor nearby watching lazily, her eyes half closed.

When it was obvious that Hermione was waiting for an answer, he flicked his wand upwards, causing a trail of blue mist to plume from the tip. It shimmered for a few seconds, then faded almost immediately.

“Tom's not coming,” he said flatly.

Hermione pursed her lips and exchanged a glance with Ramiron.

“ I know that you and Lyra are perfectly capable of doing this tournament on your own. I just don't think you should dismiss it outright, specially when Tom will want to help-”

Harry looked up sharply at this.

“Tom's held captive by Voldemort. If he was free to come and find me he would have done so already.”

Hermione flushed, face turning red.

“Oh, Harry. I know that. It's just that-”

“Hermione,” Harry interrupted, a hard edge to his voice. “He's not coming.”

Before she could protest, he clapped the book shut, startling Lyra who was about to doze off.

“I'm going to go and get some more books from the library.”

“Wait,” Hermione said, sharing another hurried glance with Ramiron. “I'll come too-”

“It's fine. I'll catch up with you later.”

He left quickly, felt worse at the sudden ache in his chest which indicated that Lyra hadn't followed.

There was no way Tom could just show up...not after two long years...

Harry walked briskly up the steep path to the castle, lost in his thoughts as a darkness swarmed inside him, clung naturally to his skin so that the coldness penetrated, making him shiver.

He entered the castle and set off in a direction he assumed was the library. Usually, the castle would mould itself to his will, the corridors merging into one clear path so that his destination would materialise before him. However, after he'd rounded the fifth corner and entered another seemingly empty corridor decorated with nondescript tapestries the library had yet to appear.

Harry paused, turned on his heel, and this time thinking of his destination more clearly, walked down a couple more corridors.

Nothing happened.

Harry swore, turned back the way he'd came, retracing the same path passed a tapestry with a great bear dæmon-

A pair of unwelcome voices sounded down the corridor. Harry froze, recognising them immediately.

“...it is impossible to interfere with the tournament now,” Karkaroff was saying gruffly. “It is magically binding and beyond the realms of any interference.”

“The Goblet of Fire is merely a magical artefact,” Crouch said, the impatience in his voice apparent. “It can be manipulated...be convinced that the boy never entered in the first place.”

There was a short, curt laugh from Karkaroff, followed by the low rumble of amusement from Barghest.

“The Goblet is now dormant until the next tournament. It will not reignite, and if it does it will change nothing. Potter and his dæmon have no choice. They have to compete.”

There was a cold pause.

“Old magic can always be broken,” Crouch spat. “If you are refusing to obey-”

“I am doing nothing of the sort,” Karkaroff snapped, voice raising. “I am merely explaining what can and cannot be done. This cannot...”

They were heading straight towards where Harry was standing.

Not particularly wanting to be found by two death eaters, Harry hurried down a corridor, slipped round a corner and ran straight into Draco and Adara.

Draco didn't jump or flinch at the sudden appearance. Instead he pressed a finger to his lips, peered back around the corner that Harry had emerged from, then beckoned quickly towards an empty classroom.

As soon as they were inside Draco pulled out his wand, and pointed it at the door.

“Colloportus ... Muffliato. ”

The lock clicked shut at the same time an odd cushioning feeling formed over Harry's ears, dampening any sound.

Draco stood perfectly still at the door for a second, ear pressed up against it. Harry could hear Karkaroff and Crouch's voices as they passed their hiding spot, before they too faded to nothing. Draco stepped back, letting Adara settle on his shoulder.

“We can talk now.”

Harry didn't know whether to be impressed or not.

“Why are you spying on Karkaroff?”

Draco shrugged.

“Crouch keeps trying to meet with him...he's been to see Karkaroff twice in the last couple of days at least...but Karkaroff never wants to stay and listen...I think he fears being attacked.”

Harry frowned. He'd thought Crouch had wanted to discuss his proposal of shadowing Harry, but nothing had obviously come from that. Plus, the conversation he'd just overhead implied Crouch wasn't interested in that at all.

“Crouch was just trying to get me withdrawn from the tournament,” Harry said quietly. “I guess Voldemort's really not happy about it.”

Draco's expression paled, his hand going instinctively to pull on his left sleeve. Adara squeaked, shifted from one shoulder to the other anxiously.

A sting of guilt shot through Harry. Draco had warned him there would be repercussions.

“I should never have asked you to put my name in the goblet. It was unfair.”

Draco was barely listening, but he still looked up and spoke quietly.

“I promised you I'd help you get Tom back remember. I knew what I was getting myself in for...and we both knew how important it was for you to get out of the castle.”

Harry didn't respond to this, an odd lump forming in the back of his throat.

“I really do owe you one.”

A thin smile tugged at Draco's mouth, and he reached towards Adara in comfort.

“If we both survive this-”

“We will,” Harry said firmly. “Anyway, Karkaroff didn't particularly seem very keen to help out...I guess that's a good thing.”

Draco shook his head.

“Karkaroff betrayed a lot of Death Eaters. Crouch might not have revealed his real identity to him-”

“No,” Harry said quietly. “They were communicating plainly enough. He knows Crouch is acting on Voldemort's orders.”

They fell into a silence, although Harry was half convinced Draco was still straining his ear towards the door to see if they were still alone.

When the corridor remained quiet, Draco sighed, his shoulder's slumping slightly.

“By the way, there's something else you ought to know,” he said. “I was talking to one of the other Ilvermorny students and they told me that Maleina's a duelling champion. Top in her region apparently.”

Harry paused, his absent heart suddenly beating a lot faster. That certainly would make things harder.

“If all goes to plan I technically shouldn't have to duel her,” he said slowly.

“Yeah, well don't say I didn't warn you.”

“Anything else I should know about the other champions?”

Draco nodded as Adara chirped on his shoulder.

“A few things, but nothing as significant as that. Maleina certainly appears to be the biggest threat, although Jorn Norberg could also cause some trouble. The Durmstrang students think very highly of him.”

“What about Will Parry?” Harry asked. “His father was killed by Death Eaters recently.”

Draco crossed his arms, and he was silent for a few seconds.

“His father was a wanted man for years,” he said carefully, choosing his words. “He used to work for the Department of Mysteries before he fled the country. I guess if the Dark Lord was looking for him then that's another reason why he was hiding.”

Harry raised his eyebrows.

“What was he wanted for?”

Draco shrugged. If it wasn't for an erratic pulse of agitation from Adara, Harry might have let it drop. Instead he held Draco's gaze momentarily.

“What are you not telling me?”

Draco wiped a hand across his face, rubbing his eyes. He looked suddenly very tired.

“It doesn't matter, honestly.”

Adara pawed at the ground, pushing her body against his legs to offer comfort. When it was clear that Harry wouldn't let up, Draco sighed.

“Parry's mother is on a high security ward at St Mungo's,” he said quietly. “She's been there for years. The rumour is her husband put her there.”

Harry shivered. His own memories of the hospital resurfacing despite the time that had passed.

There was something in the way Draco said it though that still made Harry feel like he wasn't gaining the whole truth. Either way, he didn't push the topic.

He'd actually been hoping to run into Will, but since the Weighing of the Dæmons their paths had not crossed.

---

Harry pushed his breakfast around, a hollow emptiness growing with every uneaten bite.

It had been a little over a week since his arrival at Durmstrang and each day was getting longer, each second harder to ignore the painstaking truth. He was being tested, unjustly so, with his desire so hauntingly close-

Hermione sat a little further down the table from him than usual, her nose firmly stuffed in a book. Ramiron curled up on her lap, feinting interest.

He wasn't the only one.

The surrounding dæmons were filled with an nervous energy, mimicking a false calm. They alone could sense the risk that their presence bought, that they offered a substance that was dangerously alluring and ripe for the taking.

Harry pressed dry lips together, the decay clinging to his breath. Shadows ebbed and flowed from his person, emitting a wave of despair to consume those who lingered too close.

Lyra rested on the table, swatting her tail back and forth, perfectly calm and relaxed, despite being in reach of Harry's grasp. That if his resolve was to fail for a second-

But she was not be his target.

Will Parry sat across the other side of the hall, oblivious to the fierce scrutiny that he was under. His soul unknown to him, yet a burden that could easily be gifted to Harry, if only he had the opportunity-

Harry should have made a move straight after the Weighing of the Dæmons, gone and at least spoken to the boy, started a casual conversation to lure Will away from any potential witnesses, but that would be almost impossible now.

It was unusual for Professor Snape to attend breakfast, but over the last few days he'd been inconveniently present. As if he knew that Harry's patience had been waning-

Will stood suddenly, stuffed the book he was reading into his bag.

A rush of trepidation coursed through Harry, a daring want and recklessness, that it could all be his if only he took the chance-

He moved automatically, waved a hasty excuse to Hermione-

Lyra followed reluctantly at his heels, aware of his rising desires. Gibbering frantically, but Harry had no desire to pay any heed-

He paused as soon as he was out of the hall and out of sight, crouched down to retrieve the invisibility cloak from his bag. Lyra growled, a flash of light challenging his intentions.

“I only want a closer look,” Harry lied, throwing the cloak over his shoulders. Before Lyra could protest further, he scooped her into his arms and hurried down the corridor, eager not to lose Will to the whims of the castle.

Will continued ahead of him, walking at a brisk pace through passages that Harry didn't recognise.

At least the sound of Harry's footsteps were dampened by the continuous heavy tapestries that were a staple at Durmstrang, lining every wall in a blanket of its history.

Soon he'd have Will to himself. A boy without a dæmon, but with a soul so fresh that it would be rude to ignore-

The darkness rose with every step, hungry and eager. Harry embraced it, revelling in the rush of decay as the surrounding magical fires flickered and died in their brackets.

Up ahead, Will stopped, twisted on his heel. Mist swirled in front of his face, the corridor plunged into a deathly cold. He drew his wand, expression unreadable.

“Potter?”
Underneath the cloak Harry grinned.

Lyra squirmed, her light agitated but nowhere near as exciting as this new prey to claim.

Harry edged closer, wild thoughts racing-

A sharp pain sliced his finger.

“Ouch,” Harry hissed under his breath. “Lyra-”

Lyra sunk her teeth deeper, claws scratching into his skin. A black substance oozed from the end of his finger.

Harry cursed and let go. Lyra dropped, darted out from underneath the cloak, just as a hand seised his shoulder, pulled the invisibility cloak from his head.

Harry whirled, drew a sharp perilous breath-

Snape loomed over him, black eyes wide in a frightening realisation.

There was a heavy silence.

Long fingers tightened painfully on Harry's shoulder. Snape's voice was dangerously quiet, a menacing undertone.

“Follow me.”

He spun on his heel, robes billowing around him.

Harry glared at Lyra.

She darted away, unconcerned that she had betrayed his position.

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets, scowling as he glanced back down the corridor.

Will had gone.

---

Snape led him silently out of the castle, down the steep path to the Hogwarts Express to a cabin at the front of the train. Harry trailed reluctantly behind, his chest rising and falling in calming breaths as he forced an emptiness upon his mind.

It didn't work.

The hunger was fierce. Insufferable. A deep longing want that was growing with every absent heart beat. Even now Harry could almost imagine the taste of Will Parry's soul-

The cabin door slammed shut.

Harry jumped slightly, his insanity momentarily distracted. He was in the same room that Snape had dragged him to on his first night at Durmstrang, only it had been fleshed out since.  It was very similar to Snape's office, just like an apothecary, with shelves stacked with assortments of herbs, feathers, fangs and various luminous looking powders. Lyra leapt up and perched herself in-between some dubious looking potions, half of which were neatly labelled with such things as Blood-Replenishing, Muffling Draught and Murtlap Essence.

Snape pivoted, held his was aloft, the tip glowing with a cold light.

“Come closer, Potter.”

Harry raised his chin, good eye dilating as mist shrouded his dead eye. He didn't move.

Snape loomed over him, gaunt face illuminated, black eyes contrasted against the whites of his eyes. There was a horrible pause, a nasty curl of his lip.

“Your desires are bleeding through.”

Harry clenched his jaw and didn't answer.

Snape withdrew, placing a small bottle of the forbidden potion onto his desk.

Harry reached for it eagerly. The last few days now a blur, his thirst ever growing, demanding, with a desperate need to be quenched.

The liquid burned his throat, thick and pungent with an odd sour taste. The flicker of golden light was dim in comparison to normal.

Harry wrinkled his nose, setting the empty bottle on the desk. A clearness returning to his consciousness.

“Not your best batch.”

Surprisingly Snape did not disagree. His eyes narrowed as if he had almost expected the response.

“The potion is breaking down,” he said softly. “I would usually leave the concoction to brew for a longer period, however here the potency and therefore effectiveness only lessens with time. The main ingredient is not compatible with the magic of this place.”

Harry stilled, an icy trepidation taking hold.

“How does that work?”

Snape was silent for a moment.

“Durmstrang is built on the will of dæmons. It is their desires alone which control the ebb and flow of magic here,” Snape pointed to the bottle with a long thin finger. “Given that essence of dæmon is the main ingredient, this potion is against the very foundations of everything that exists here. It refuses to remain in any useable form.”

Harry's dead eye narrowed.

“Which means what?”

“It means, Potter, that your thirst will have to be satiated on less.”

“Can't I just leave the grounds to take it?”

Snape crossed his arms, folding his robes around himself, to create the illusion of looking just like his bat dæmon.

“One day, Potter, you will find yourself without my expertise to concoct such an abomination of a potion. When that time comes, if you have not mastered your own temptations then you will fall into an inescapable darkness.”

A cold dread washed over Harry. An existential fact that this outcome would one day be his future. It was harrowing.

Snape blinked once, expression blank and without concern.

“While you remain among the student populous, the risk to withdraw your doses is not worth considering. However, given the circumstances, this is an opportunity for you to achieve any resemblance of independence. Or do you plan on consuming dæmons forever?”

“Dementors have to feed,” Harry said, a hard edge to his voice. “That's what Azkaban was for.”

Snape sneered, destain apparent.

“You are half human, Potter. As much as you must hate to consume the food of us mere mortals, you will be able to survive on it alone. No, I believe this compromise will benefit you in the long term.”

Harry crossed his arms, drawing them close around himself.

“It's easier when I have Tom with me,” he muttered.

Anyway, if Snape wasn't going to get him dæmons then he'd just have to find his own.

A fleeting hungered vision of Will resurfaced. The light clear in his mind, irresistible and could not be ignored-

“Why are you so infatuated with Will Parry?” Snape asked.

Harry tilted his head, coldness dissipating through the room. He slammed up his occlumency, cursing himself for letting it slip.

“Stay out of my head.”

Snape however, continued to watch him intently. He pressed a single finger to his lips as his black eyes narrowed. The fact that Harry didn't deny it clearly fuelled Snape's suspicions, for he raised his wand-

They were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Harry stayed perfectly still, eyeing the raised wand warily. If the new supply of the forbidden potion was an inadequate version, then his faculties were going to be compromised.

“Perhaps this isn't a good idea-”

Snape glared at him flicking his wand to unlock the door.

“This is not just for your benefit, Potter. If you lose control in the tasks then the other champions will have to defend themselves. No one else can interfere.”

Cho entered, pausing on the threshold at the clear hostility.

Snape beckoned her inside.

“Miss Chang, stand across from Potter. Have you been practising the incantation as instructed?”

Cho did so, shifting her position so that one foot was further forward than the other. She raised her arm, twisting her elbow to point her wand straight at Harry.

“I've got the basics. Harad can transform fine enough.”

Snape nodded, circling around the pair.

“Good, I want you to attack Potter. He will try and disrupt you.”

Cho grimaced, opened her mouth to cast the incantation.

Harry instinctively drew a deep rattling breath, the darkness roaring to life.

The candle light flickered. Ice cracked across the floor, a thin layer enveloping every object with an odd shine.

Cho's eyes glossed over, mouth twisting in fright at some unknown terror. Her distress palpable. A memory that was Harry's for the taking. All joy was his alone to devour.

Harad screeched. The high pitch noise grating, but not enough to save him.

“Expecto Patronum.”

Snape's curse cut through the darkness. His dæmon, Laraine projecting through the despair, forcing the shift of power.

Harry was incapacitated for only seconds, but the damage had been done.

“You could have just asked me to stop,” Harry snapped, clutching at his chest as the curse lifted. He was shaking violently, could not think straight-

Snape ignored him.

“See how my wand movement is direct, my pronunciation is clear. Angle your wand higher,” he instructed. “Hold your happy memory deep within your mind. Do not lose it. Use it against Potter and he won't be able to steal it.”

Cho levelled her wand again, a fierce determination in her eyes.

“Expecto Patronum.”

Harry drew a hurried breath, warmth dissipating.

Cho flushed, face taut in concentration. Harad's protection flickered and died. He screeched, flapping his wings frantically to pull himself out of Harry's reach.

Harry relented at once.

Cho's shoulders sagged in visible relief, dim flickers of happiness returning, before they were replaced by frustration.

“I still don't get why I have to learn this,” she snapped. “One of the other champion's is going to attack Potter before I do-”

Snape lowered his wand, Laraine flicked back to normal.
“Potter is an unstoppable force, Miss Chang. Given the opportunity, he will devour every dæmon in the arena, including his own. If the timing is even slightly wrong...”

“Then why are you even entertaining this?” Cho demanded, kicking the chair as she slumped into it and threw her head back to rub her eyes.

“Because,” Snape said coldly. “Potter's dæmon is just as chaotic and unpredictable. The combination makes the tasks far more dangerous. As soon as you enter that arena you are on your own. You must be prepared to defend yourself, let alone protect Potter from himself.”

Cho peeled one eye open, glaring at Harry.

“If I could just practice without him breathing down my neck-”

Harry thought Snape would agree but a cold twitch of his lips indicated otherwise.

“In isolation you could learn to conjure a perfect patronus, Miss Chang. But do not be fooled to think that this would guarantee any success when confronted by Potter. He is far more dangerous than a normal dementor and if your dæmon falters, if your worst memories surface even for a second, then you have just thrown your soul at the mercy of one of the foulest creatures to walk this earth. Are you willing to take that risk?”

Cho shivered, eyes darting nervously to Harad. He ruffled his feathers, sharp yellow eyes watching Harry with full appreciation that he was the predator.

Slowly, Cho shook her head.

Snape circled behind her, levelling his own wand to demonstrate.

“Again.” He instructed.

Notes:

So it's been awhile since my last update...sorry!! and thank you all for your patience.

This chapter actually ended up being ~16,000 words, but I really couldn't justify posting a chapter that long so I split it in two. Therefore the good news is the next chapter "The First Task" is fully drafted and will be uploaded as soon as I've finished editing it :)

Chapter 14: The First Task

Chapter by HippoParty (OneMoreHorcrux)

The morning of the first task arrived in a feverish blur. In contrast to the long monotonous days of Hogwarts, the hours of relentless study, practice and apparating had merged into the other, which left Harry with little time to put the last pieces of his plan into action.

He rose early, had a brief good luck chat with Sirius over the two-way mirror, and made his way up the hillside with Lyra trotting at his heels.

It was strangely quiet. Even Harry's dead eye echoed the emptiness of the place, the surrounding dæmons hidden to the whims of the castle, leaving oddly peaceful surroundings despite the looming event which lay ahead.

Lyra brimmed with a nervous energy, her golden light alive in a swirl of rapid anticipation as they entered the dusty library. She skirted around Harry, squeaking impatiently as he located and stroked the spine of a copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

He set the appeased book on the table, biting back a flicker of concern.

“You'll only get one chance. Just make it a good one.”

Lyra leapt onto the table, peering at each beast with a fascinating curiosity as Harry idly turned the pages, lost in his own thoughts of the day ahead.

There was a tightness in his chest. A lingering presence that hadn't been noticeable in the encroaching days. Now he sat alone, in the solitude of the expansive library, a hollowness was growing. That the coming hours would put him no where near closer to his ultimate goal.

“Do you think Tom will show up?” Harry said quietly.

Lyra flicked her tail and didn't say anything. Her focus invested on the latest page of the book. It showed a Manticore with a deadly tail of a scorpion piercing through its prey. Her dismissiveness was enough of an answer.

“Right,” Harry muttered. An internal terror clawed at his mind, did little to settle his growing anxiousness. “I guess you're right.”

Of course she was.

Harry sat silently, ran his fingers through Lyra's fur as he watched the dæmons in the castle begin to stir. They flickered into existence, appearing in random locations as the castle morphed around them.

“Come on then,” Harry said after an extended while. “We better go.”

Lyra growled but stayed dutifully still as he withdrew his wand and fastened the golden egg shaped stone to her fur. He added a couple of general protections and pulled back to inspect if it was secure.

“Don't lose it, okay?”

Lyra squeaked and nipped at his fingers affectionately.

Harry descended back through the castle, peering out of the windows and watching the slow stream of dæmons that were beginning to consolidate outside.

By the time he reached the main entrance, a wide path had materialised. It meandered into the south of the forest, adorned in flags and banners of each school's emblems, leading excited students and dæmons towards where the first task was to be held.

Hermione was waiting just beyond the treeline, shuffling to keep warm and cradling Ramiron in the folds of her robes.

“How're you both feeling?” she asked. “I didn't see you at breakfast.”

Harry shrugged.

“Fine. Lyra's got us covered.”

Hermione nodded, mouth twisting and brow shifting into a frown.

“As long as you know what you're doing-”

Harry shot her a grim decayed smile. In less than an hour, everything would change.

“You worry to much-”

They set off down the path, passing a number of Durmstrang students who nodded towards Harry or braved calling words of encouragement. In the distance, a loud voice boomed across the treetops.

“WELCOME TO THE FIRST TASK. WE ARE ONLY MINUTES AWAY NOW. SOON THE CHAMPION'S AND THEIR DAEMONS WILL ENTER THE AREA AND THE DECADAEMON TOURNAMENT WILL BEGIN-”

Up ahead, a wall stretched fifty feet high, towering over an archway of impossible stonework where the growing crowd passed beneath. Jorn Norberg and Nalusa, his wild looking horse dæmon, stood outside the champion's tent surrounded by friends and supporters.

“Well, good luck both of you,” Hermione said. “Ron wants a complete second by second account, so I better get a good spot-”

She hurried away, leaving Harry to enter the tent. He made to do so, ignoring the stares as the crowd parted to allow him through.

“Hey, Potter-”

Harry turned, took a rattling breath on instinct. A hush descended, a nervous anxiousness which rippled across the nearby dæmons, their lights a blur in expectation.

Jorn straightened. He was tall, much taller than Harry, with long blonde hair as wild as Nalusa's mane. His blue eyes shone with a confidence, a warm smile on his lips.

He held out his hand.

“Good luck, may the best dæmon win.” There was a confidence in his voice.

Harry took it. It was subtle, but Jorn's eyes widened, surprised by the coldness radiating from Harry's decayed fingers. Nalusa bristled, hooves pawing at the ground.

“I...” Jorn started, glancing towards her. Then the smile was back, despite every instinct would be telling him to flee. “I just wanted to say, you won't see any underhand tactics from me.”

Which meant he couldn't cast a patronus.

It didn't matter either way. Harry shrugged.

“I can't promise the same.”

A few nearby dæmons stirred, ruffled by the implication. Harry glanced towards them, the mist of his dead eye swirling. They fell silent and still.

It didn't seem to deter Jorn, who laughed. It was a hearty laugh, one that radiated warmth and charisma. Harry could see why the boy was popular.

“Well, I guess we'll find out soon enough,” he said, gesturing to the champion's tent. “Shall we?”

Lyra lowered herself to the ground. She didn't make a sound, but her light sparked in silent agitation.

Harry followed Jorn inside, leaving the crowd behind.

The tent was spacious and divided into five stations, one for each school. Several ominous hospital beds were positioned around the edge in-between fabric cubicles.

Cho waved Harry over as soon as she saw him. She was standing underneath a flag with the Hogwarts crest, rocking back an forth on her heels.

“Ready? You should get changed-”

She gestured to a fancy set of robes hanging on a clothes stand. It matched her own, decorated in the Hogwarts colours, apart from a appliquéd silhouette of a pine marten on the chest.

There was a partition for him to change behind which he did so quickly, Lyra squeaking her approval when he emerged.

Cho was distracted when he reappeared. Jorn Norberg was changing in plain sight, unconcerned at the peering eyes. On his back was a large tattoo of Nalusa which stretched between his shoulder blades to the small of his back. The tattoo flickered and shifted, the colours magical and dancing across his skin.

“Old pureblood tradition,” Cho muttered. She clenched her wand tighter in her hand, and tapped her leg with a nervous energy. Harad ruffled his feathers, perched high on one of the tent guide ropes. He did not move, his piercing yellow watching the occupants of the tent.

Will Parry was nowhere to be seen, but it appeared all the other champion's were all present.

Hana Yamamoto crouched in front of her dæmon. Kodama wobbled in front of her, balancing his small golden egg above his head as she cast a feather-light charm on it.

The other Mahoutokoro student, Kaori Kai paced back and forth. Every now and then she would pause, mutter something to her dæmon and flick her wand in a pattern to mimic a specific incantation.

Underneath the Beauxbaton's flag, Edouard Dubois and Adèle Boisclair huddled together, whispering in French. Their dæmons, Velue and Parandrus both wore matching light blue apparel, made of a fine silk. From the shimmering distortion around their golden light, Harry half suspected they were enchanted with some form of magical armour.

“Feeling confident?”

Harry and Cho turned to find Maleina Morgan with Edimmu draped over her shoulders. She was dressed in full battle robes in the Ilvermorny blue and cranberry. A little distance away, Felix Kandil and Tesa, his grey coyote were watching cautiously.

Harry's dead eye narrowed.

“Confident enough,” he said.

“So...” Maleina paused, tucked a loose strand of her hair back into the high bun that she wore. “No sign of your other dæmon then? Or is he going to make an entrance mid-task?”

Harry tensed despite himself, a hard lump forming in his throat.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I heard that no one can beat him in a duel,” Maleina said, a smile tugging at her lips. “That he's as good as the Dark Lord himself?”

There was a pause, a second where Harry and Cho shared an incredulous look with each other.

“You want to duel Tom?” Cho asked slowly.

Maleina waved her hand dismissively, as if she'd just asked for something inconsequential.

“Of course,” she said. “I only fight the best.”

Lyra growled, her light prickling and burning with a fierce intensity.

Both Maleina and her dæmon completely ignored her. Cho on the other hand, glanced down and shrugged.

“Fine, but you should know Tom's the easier fight.”

There was a deliberate weight to her words, enough to make Maleina take pause, her smile faltering slightly. She didn't get a chance to respond.

Madam Isberg entered the tent, arms wide and beaming. She was followed by her reindeer dæmon, Bulmmot. Will Parry trailed behind in a blur of agitated gold. He was already dressed in Durmstrang colours.

“Gather round champions and dæmons,” Madam Isberg said. “This is a very exciting time and you should all be honoured to have been chosen to represent your schools. Now a few details before we begin-”

She paused, checked that they were all listening and continued.

“Firstly, as well as stealing and protecting your stones you need to focus your attention on impressing the judges and their dæmons. At the end of the task, you will each receive a combined score of points assigned by the judges in addition to how many stones you possess.”

Harry caught Cho's eye, who grinned back at him.

“Secondly,” Madam Isberg continued. “This tournament is about your dæmons first and foremost. Every action you take to support them matters, so don't you forget it. Now, I wish you all the best of luck.”

She gestured for them to line up. Harry and Cho took their places side by side right behind Adèle Boisclair, Edouard Dubois and their dæmons.

“Make it quick. Go straight for the centre,” Harry whispered to Cho as they followed the procession out into the arena.

Her response was lost to the roar of the crowd. The area was about half the size of a quidditch pitch, a large flat expanse surrounded by by thin wooden platforms. Hundreds of people screamed and applauded, waving flags adorned in every colour.

Across the grass, on the other side of the arena, the judges and their dæmons sat at a long table which had been positioned on a raised platform.

The champions took their allocated places equidistant around the parameter. Cho and Harad were directly across from them. The same was true for the other champions, each school split across the arena.

Harry crouched down and pressed a hand into the grass. It was wet from the morning rain, made the ground soft and muddy.

Lyra's ears perked up, listening intently.

“Don't transform unless you're sure,” he whispered. “If you misjudge it even slightly-”

Lyra's light danced, ready to bait him in the full knowledge that she was perfectly capable of dealing with a deranged Harry.

“Look,” Harry said calmly. “We'll lose points if I start attacking you. Just stick to the plan and stay close to Cho. I'll join you as soon as I can.”

He stood and drew a deep rattling breath, trepidation fuelled his excitement, they were only seconds away-

The warm air dissipated, ice forming around his feet, cracking above the hum of dæmons which fuelled the internal darkness. Never before had he been permitted to fight with his faculties unhindered.

BOOM.

The canon fired.

Harry exhaled, drew a final breath. It was as if time had slowed down, a scattered pause between fading echoes against the mountainside.

The sky went pitch black. An impenetrable shadow consumed the arena, the screams of the crowd swallowed by the void, fear delightful as Harry fed on every positive emotion. The commentator's voice muffled and quiet, lost at the end of a long, distant tunnel.

Golden dust illuminated Harry's dead eye, granting him perfect clarity in an otherwise dark world.

Lyra dashed out from under his feet, tearing towards the centre. Mirroring her, Harad took flight, soaring high towards the same destination.

Harry didn't move.

Only breathed deeply, in and out, watching and waiting.

The remaining dæmons faulted, their fear just as palpable and so easy to manipulate and consume.

Then one by one, patronus' began to flick into existence. Some of them stronger and brighter than others.

Edimmu, Maleina Morgan's dæmon appeared first, followed in quick succession by Tesa, Felix Kendil's dæmon and Kodama and Akabeko from Mahoutokoro. Velue and Parandrus disappeared entirely, their champion's choosing animagis forms to spare any despair.

Only Nalusa, Jorn Norberg's dæmon and Will Parry remained, a glowing beacon, enticing above all others.

There was a sharp tug on Harry's soul, the ache as Lyra pulled out of reach.

Harry relented. Light burst back into the arena, simultaneously as his vision of dæmons vanished.

Lyra and Harad were closing in on the centre, with Cho close behind. He'd given them enough time to cross without being under a barrage of wand fire. Now Harry just had to follow.

“POTTER HAS A STRONG ADVANTAGE, BUT IT'S NOT GOING TO LAST LONG WITH THOSE PATRONUS' READY TO GO-” the commentator roared.

But the initial danger had passed. The harsh white glow faded as those that had cast patronus released their dæmons, their attention demanded by the nearest threat instead.

Harry let out a rattling breath, moved in Cho's direction. The sooner they reached each other the better-

A flash of red caught his eye. Harry did not have time to think. He threw himself to the ground as a curse shot over his head. He rolled over, dodged a second, had only seconds to find his target-

Maleina Morgan stopped about twenty feet away. She grinned wildly, eyes alight in a blaze of uncontrolled excitement as Harry leapt to his feet.

There was no point in duelling him. Not without Lyra. Otherwise Edimmu had no prize to steal.

Maleina had come for another reason.

Harry flexed his fingers, twisting his heel, repositioned the grip on his wand. The weight of it balanced in his palm, the wood an extension of his own arm.

Maleina began to circle; just like her dæmon, a serpent coiled and ready to strike. Harry mirrored her, side stepping and facing edgeways to create less of a target. His own absent heart slowed to steady rhythmic thumping.

An unspoken understanding seemed to pass between them. Maleina, a duelling champion, wanted to win on merit and skill alone. Yet there was only one real way this would end.

Maleina pivoted, threw her wand forwards and screamed.
“Impedimenta...Confringo.”

Harry dodged the first, threw up a counter curse for the second-

The spell collided, smashing the shield like a sledge hammer. The force threw Harry off balance, he staggered, righted his footing, levelled his wand at Edimmu.

“Stupefy.”

The serpent coiled, body twisting defensively.

There was a flash, the spell striking a protective barrier...only for Maleina to rally, sending a barrage of spells in return, one after the other in quick succession so that Harry had barely enough time to counter-

He flicked his wand up. Earth ripped from the ground, creating a physical shield of stone and dirt. He glanced round, saw Cho was in the centre of the arena, locked in a fierce duel with Jorn Norberg. If he could just get a little closer-

BANG.

The wall of earth exploded in a violent blast, rocks and soil crumbled and filled the air in whirlwind of dust. A cry, barely heard above the noise.

“Expecto-”

Harry reacted on instinct. The darkness flared, a cold dread, paralysed by cruel memories of being weak, humiliated. The non-verbal curse purely instinctual as he willed it forwards. It was a part of him, fused to his magic, concentrated and creating a chaotic wave of upmost despair.

Maleina made a startled cry, wand slashing forwards once again.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Edimmu flashed into a brilliant white glowing serpent. The light rippled and undulated, pulsing into a force to be reckoned with.

The two collided in an explosion of light and dark. It was brutal, each force an entity of its own. Edimmu hissed, striking at plumes of despair which circled and enveloped, burst into nothingness and reformed in waves of malevolent ethereal evil.

Harry wand shook violently; strands of transparent blackness wrapped around his wrist, caressing the decay, the worst evil as the power projected straight at the dæmon.

Maleina shivered, lips trembling, barely able to withstand the onslaught of negative emotions. Edimmu was exposed, lost and trapped in the worst kind of magic.

The patronus flickered, his white light compromised...just as Harry drew another deliberate testing breath. A rapid cold, full of the deepest despair.

Cherished memories crushed under the weight of anguish. Evident from Maleina's wide eyes, her mouth parting as vacant eyes stared at the unseen horror.

The patronus stopped.

Maleina sunk to the floor, wrapping arms tight around herself. She let out an anguished sob as Edimmu retreated, coiled around her, offering her little comfort from the unseen terror.

There was nothing. No good emotion could counter the unnatural magic which was permeating around her.

It happened suddenly. Harry's vision swam, flooded with memories that were not his own.

A younger Maleina stepped onto a podium to enthusiastic applause, facing an opponent with equal valour, their dæmon a vibrant tropical bird.

A duelling competition.

Harry was captivated. He'd always had hints of memories, fed on them instinctively...but never before had Harry been gifted the actual thing to feast on in this much clarity.

He watched as Maleina dominated the fight, raised a golden trophy in triumph...celebrated achieving her dreams-

There was a pulse of magic. A resistance as Maleina tried to cling to any good thought..the decay suffocating any other emotion.

No wonder Snape had been so insistent that Cho could not fail-

Maleina lunged suddenly. A harrowed expression in her eyes, frustration and desperation apparent. She needed this to end...pointed her wand away from Harry and screamed.

“Leviosa.”

It soared across the arena, found its target, striking Lyra who was lifted from the ground.

Maleina wasn't finished. She was shaking, suffocating from the unrelenting terror that was Harry.

“Accio dæmon.”

The horrified gasp from the crowd was worse then the reality of it. The taboo, that ripping a dæmon from another was forbidden, the worst act imaginable. Despite what Harry had just done to her-

Lyra flew through the air, hissing and spitting. Her light rippling in fury, fearless, despite being delivered straight to a giant serpent.

She dropped to the ground just in front of Maleina.

Edimmu coiled his heavy body, and lunged. Powerful muscles propelling him forwards. Tail striking, just as Lyra leapt to the left-

She didn't stand a chance. Not against a natural predator hunting its prey.

A gut wrenching punch shook Harry. A hollow realisation as his vision blurred.

Lyra went limp, body lifeless, red staining her fur as fangs plunged deeper-

It took all Harry resolve to maintain control. Not to plunge the arena into something worse than death.

Harry twisted round, his wand slashing upwards to deflect Maleina's curse.

“Cho!”

She was ready, willing to forfeit her own position. Face hard, eyes determined with a thirst to prove herself. Cho pointed her wand straight at him.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Harad transformed, his light burning white. Stronger and brighter than any other dæmon. He swooped down, straight towards Harry-

“CHANG IS ATTACKING POTTER!”

That was the last thing before sheer power cut into Harry's very existence. The patronus an unrelenting force. A light blinding and suffocating all senses.

Harry fell to his knees, lungs collapsing. He couldn't see or hear anything.

The darkness was gouging inwards, carving deeper in a desperate escape. Brutal and unforgiving, the cold light ripped mercilessly through him.

Each breath was weaker than the last. He wanted it to end-

Harad circled, pulling higher and higher. There was screaming, some coherency filtering through the delirium.

“IS THAT A DRAGON?”

The pressure released.

Harry rolled onto his side, eyes stinging, throat raw and dry. He gasped, coughing and spluttering for breath, vision swimming in and out of focus, sickness rising in his throat.

Everything hurt.

His arms and legs were heavy, he couldn't think straight-

The ground shook and rumbled. Small stones vibrated and bounced into the air. The thrum of wings, powerful and deadly.

Overhead, an enormous shadow blocked out the sky. Harry blinked back exhaustion-

Lyra's roar rumbled across the arena, drowning out all other sound. The absolute strength and power apparent, as she landed shielding and protecting Harry completely. She swung round a huge, spiked tail carving a deadly protective space. Daemons and champion's scattered, fleeing in desperation.

For a moment Harry was taken.

He lay on his back, chest heaving but alleviating in intensity with every breath. Lyra's light radiated over her huge form. Dancing like fiendfyre, untamed and wild as as hot flames licked her mouth.

It gave him strength.

Harry scrambled to his feet, hand pressing against her underside to steady himself. Her scales were hard and strong, felt rough underneath his fingers and the heat from her fiery belly radiated into his skin.

“Lyra-”

She launched forwards, yellow eyes bright and seeking her prey. Dragon fire erupted, hot, deadly and ferocious...

The pure terror on Maleina's face as she threw up a pitiful defence.

The shield burst as flames engulfed it, suffocated all oxygen, merciless in the attack. Within, Edimmu writhed, hissing and spitting. Body coiling and slamming against the ground to dampen the flames that leached through.

Harry was there. Ready to strike, his own curse cutting through her own. Shattering all protections with ease. They had no where to run.

“Accio stone.”

The golden stone flew from Edimmu's hold, soaring through the air. Harry caught it, held it high in the air in triumph.

The crowd were screaming and cheering simultaneously. The commentator shouting, but the words washed over Harry-

Lyra stretched her giant leathery wings wide as she reared, launched herself upwards, her next target sighted. The other champions scattered, like ants fleeing a burning nest. Their dæmons easy targets as fire reigned down-

A stinging hex fired through the smoke, catching Harry just above the elbow.

Pain blossomed, an excruciating burning ricocheted down his arm, through the tips of his fingers. The golden stone slipped from his grip, soaring away into the air.

Harry whirled, wand held high. There was no one in sight.

“Lyra-”

She was there, somehow heard him above the chaos, soaring low overhead to give him clarity.

Harry's dead eye erupted with light. The arena transforming as he fixated on his prey, the only person foolish enough to take on a dementor with a dragon-

Will Parry.

Harry's grin was manic, his wand raising.

Will froze, aware of the fixation on him despite his invisibility. Yet Harry didn't have to act, Lyra flew in from above, a raging inferno, burning and scorching the ground beneath. Will cursed, threw himself to the side and summoned a great sphere of water above his head.

The flames licked at it, hot and ferocious, causing bubbles of boiling water to drip down, scolding his skin in a range of blisters.

Will gasped, wand faltering, held aloft but unable to summon another defence-

“Petrificus Totalus,” Harry cried.

Will froze. He rocked back and forth, fell backwards, the stolen stone falling from his grasp into the ground, just as the reservoir of boiling water rained down.

The result was horrific.

Will's frozen scream apparent, eyes rolled wildly in his head. His light erupted in erratic patterns of blossoming pain, his golden dust shimmering in turbulent waves.

Harry approached, fingers trembling as they curled around the golden stone that Will had fastened like a necklace. For a second, he did not want to pull away-

Lyra did it for him, soaring further to plunge his vision into darkness.

Will vanished completely.

Harry could feel the heavy stone in his palm, his raspy breath washing over Will's. A coldness seeped out to the surrounding grass. The fear palpable, despite being unseen.

The stone didn't budge.

Harry's voice was barely a whisper as he flicked his wand.

“Finite Incantatem.”

The invisibility lifted, the stone released. Will rolled over, shaking violently and crying out. Angry blisters covered his skin, his face raw and bloody as skin peeled away.

Reluctantly, Harry collected the stolen stone and walked away, coming to stand in the centre of the arena.

Lyra roared and soared overhead. The ground reverberated and shook, daring any champion to challenge her raw power as she came to land. Fire and smoke billowed across the arena, creating pockets of deadly islands in amongst Lyra's reach. The other champion's were retreating, their dæmons fixated on Lyra-

Stealing from a Hungarian horntail. They wouldn't dare.

Harry stepped out from under her, hand pressed against her and with his wand raised-

BOOM.

The canon fired.

“THE FIRST TASK IS OVER. POTTER AND LYRA HAVE SET THE BAR HIGH-”

Everyone was screaming and applauding, stamping their feet against the grandstands.

A number of Durmstrang teachers and other volunteers rushed into the arena to assist the injured champions, closely followed by excited members from the crowd.

Lyra took flight again, the force from her wings knocking a few people off their feet.

Cho came running, supporting a nasty gash across her arm, she was holding it limply, while simultaneously beaming from ear to ear. Harad equally supported a crooked wing, and he landed rather roughly at her feet.

“Courtesy of Jorn Norberg,” she said, nodding matter of factly as she crouched down to comfort him. “Harad lost his stone to him. You owe me, Potter.”

Harry grinned back.

“How many did you get?”

“Two. Kodama and Parandrus.”

Which meant between them, including Harry's own, that Hogwarts had five stones out of ten. There was no way they could lose after that performance.

“I didn't even see Beauxbaton's-”

“They were tied up fighting Mahoutokoro at the start. I got them both from Edouard Dubois last minute in all the confusion, all thanks to Lyra of course-”

She was pulled away reluctantly by a healer. A second faulted just shy of Harry, did not want to approach him as they gave a cursory inspection from a distance.

Hermione was next to reach him, which was impressive as Ramiron was running in frantic patterns around her feet.

“That was amazing, Harry,” she said, beaming. “Lyra was wonderful. Although I still think she should have transformed before the start.”

Harry smiled, watching fondly as Lyra flew in large circles over the treeline. No one would question her strength now. Or dare cast a patronus on him again, not when they had seen the results for themselves.

“That sort of defeats the point-”

“I know, I know,” Hermione punched him on the arm. “But when Edimmu attacked her-”

Harry's grin faulted slightly. Although, it was for an entirely different reason.

“I didn't expect Maleina's patronus wouldn't work,” he said quietly, looking across to where Maleina was being attended by healers. Despite the large burn on her arm, she waved them away, focused instead on making sure Edimmu's damaged scales were tended to. “I've never been able to stop a patronus like that before.”

Hermione crossed her arms, brows knitting together.

“I guess it makes sense why Snape gave Cho such a hard time. If he suspected you could learn to fight it.”
Harry shook his head, frowning.

“Why though? It doesn't make any sense. Dementors shouldn't be able to fight a patronus.”

Hermione lent down to pick up Ramiron.

“You're a wizard too, Harry,” she said. “Snape's always said you are far more dangerous than an actual dementor, I guess this is evidence enough.”

“Mmm,” Harry said pressing his lips together. That wasn't a good thing. Not when the Ministry were so obsessed with watching and controlling him. If he could really defend himself against a patronus-

“Oh, look they're announcing the scores-”

On the far side of the arena, the judges had lined up. A great hush descended across the crowd as they waited with baited breath.

Seven wands rose into the air, each with a number highlighted in golden light. There were nines and tens across the board. Madam Isberg's showed a golden thirty next to Lyra's name, representing the points gained via the stones.

“FIRST PLACE GOES TO HARRY POTTER AND LYRA,” the commentator roared.

“First place, Harry,” Hermione squeaked, jumping up and down and clapping. “And look, Cho's second-”

The judges scores had morphed into another set of numbers, while Madam Isberg's now read 'Harad' accompanied by another golden twenty.

Jorn Norberg was next, followed by a mix of Felix Kandil, Mahoutokoro and Beauxbaton students. Maleina Morgan was next. Will Parry was last.

“That's not fair,” Harry protested furiously as Karkaroff scored Maleina a three. “She put up a hell of a fight.”

“She used a summoning charm on Lyra,” Hermione said. “That's a huge violation against someone's soul. Far worse than touching someone else's dæmon. People have been punished for less.”

Harry rolled his good eye.

“Lyra can separate from me. It's not the same.”

He was surprised when Hermione shook her head in disagreement.

“It's going to lose her a lot of support with the Durmstrang students either way. Daemon etiquette in this tournament matters. She'll have a lot to make up for in the next task-”

Harry scoffed.

“I'm demented, how does dæmon etiquette factor into that?”

Hermione opened her mouth on instinct, before she shut it again on instinct.

“Good point.”

The crowd had flooded into the arena. Katie Bell and her hare dæmon were jumping up and down alongside Terry Boot who waved a Ravenclaw flag with such vigour as he celebrated Cho's performance.

Ernie Macmillan actually walked right up to him, held out his hand and shook Harry's with such enthusiasm despite his dæmon appearing like a nervous wreck. The Durmstrang students kept a wide berth which made it easier for Harry to pass back through the crowd to the tent where Madam Isberg waited.

Lyra landed outside, scattering panicked students and dæmons who wanted to peak inside. She crouched low, snout barely fitting into the tent flap as Harry waved to Hermione and walked inside.

Kaori Kai was sporting a large bandage, her right arm in a sling while another wrapped around their torso. Her dæmon, Akabeko was completely unharmed, his golden stone still in his possession as he waited anxiously be her side.

The other champion's and their dæmons looked exhausted and covered in soot and ash. Otherwise they were relatively unharmed aside from a few minor burns.

Maleina sat at the end of a bed. There was an emptiness in her eyes. Edimmu mirrored her, the light dim in comparison to the surrounding dæmons.

“Eat some chocolate,” a healer prompted, but Maleina simply shook her head, her haunted gaze coming to find Harry. There was a steely respect in her eyes despite the pure terror that Harry had subjected her to. She looked away, fingers curling around her wand that rested on her lap.

“Well done, everyone,” Madam Isberg clapped her hands together in delight. “What a show. That was very well played, an excellent first task. Now, the second task will take place in the month of February so you've got a bit of a break to recuperate and ensure your dæmons are at their best-” Her smile faulted slightly as she glanced towards the mouth of the tent where Lyra was waiting. “My only advice would be to use what you have learnt from this task, particularly in relation to understanding what your own dæmons are capable of. Your dæmons are the most important part of this tournament. Don't forget it.”

Everyone else was nodding, either grimly or enthusiastically. From outside the tent, Lyra let out a low satisfied rumble.

“Now, off you all go to enjoy the celebrations. They'll be a feast tonight in your honours...however if any of you wish to speak to the press prior to then please wait here.”

Harry broke away from the group, still beaming as Cho waved him a hearty goodbye. Lyra took back to the skies, soaring in tight circles overhead. Her shadow cast across the ground, covering Harry in an ebb and flow of darkness.

Instead of making his way back to the castle however, Harry meandered away from the crowd, following the towering wall along side the outer parameter, hoping he'd get a chance to catch up with Draco.

He didn't get very far.

The only warning he got was Lyra's booming roar, just before a glint of gold caught his eye-

He whirled, rattling breath catching.

Will Parry was marching towards him.

He had a stern look on his face, exaggerated by the blotchy red patches of skin, still mildly irritated from the scolding water. The healers had done a good job.

Will came to a halt, chin jutted up defiantly. He crossed his arms, surveying Harry for the briefest of seconds.

“We need to talk.”

Harry took a involuntary step backwards, absent heart suddenly racing as he pressed his lips together. He hated how strained his voice sounded.

“Yeah...right...Lyra's never been a dragon before, she doesn't realise her own strength sometimes-”

Will raised an eyebrow, gaze holding with the same unyielding intensity. They both knew that wasn't the reason why he was here.

Instead Will was silent for a moment, distracted by Lyra's shadow looming across the ground as she came in to land. Several tree branches snapped, disturbing a nearby flock of birds as she made space in the small clearing. Yellow eyes narrowing in on the pair of them.

Her enormous presence should have been enough to unnerve anyone, however Will didn't flinch as the ground shook and rumbled, his attention fixed solely on Harry.

“In the arena you could see me with that.” Will pointed at Harry's dead eye. “How?”

Harry moved and lent back against the wall of the arena, if only to mentally stop himself from doing anything stupid.

“My demented eye?” Harry said with a shrug, hoping he sounded casual. “It can see souls. Just like a dementor can.”

If anything Will tensed, his body becoming motionless.

“So with me...”

For a second Harry didn't say anything. The deep longing want penetrated every inch of his consciousness, enthralled and taken by the golden light which consumed the boy.

“Yes,” Harry said softly. It was almost affectionate as a slight smile tugged at his lips. “I can see your soul.”

The response was enough to make Will's shoulders visibly sag from relief, a fleeting look of triumph to cross his expression as he took a dangerous step closer towards Harry.

“What animal is she?”

“I-” Harry's breath caught. He looked away, but not before one last fleeting look at Will's soul, dancing in a fog of indistinguishable gold. “That's not exactly how you work.”

“W-what do you mean?” Will asked. There was the slightest note of panic in his voice.

Harry looked desperately to Lyra. She lowered her head, so that it was still a few metres from the ground, pupils sharpening against her huge yellow eyes. A low rumble reverberated from her throat. It was reassuring, a confirmation that she would not let him fail.

He swallowed, closed his eyes before fixing them back onto Will.

“There is far more to dæmons than what you can see,” Harry said quietly. His voice sounded like it didn't belong to him. “They take the form of animals and typically that aligns with what I can see with my demented eye; golden dust in the true form of a soul.”

Will shook his head.

“I don't understand.”

It was unnatural and terrifying. Will Parry, a complete stranger was listening with rapt attention, was seriously willing to risk his own well being by putting himself in Harry's reach.

Harry continued, throat horribly dry.

“There are people's souls who manifest differently from their true form. With your soul, it's no different. What you see if what you get.”

Will's face visibly paled at this.

“Your dæmon, Lyra-” he gestured up at her as she roared, spread her giant leathery wings. “She changes, so maybe my soul-”

“Lyra's different. She can take the form of whatever animal she chooses,” Harry said. “No, what I mean is I don't see you with a corporeal dæmon. I only a blaze of golden light. I'm sorry, but there's nothing else there-”

Will took several steps closer, so that he was only a few metres away.

“Look harder. I know she's there.”

There was an edge to Will's voice. A weight and truth to his words which could not be ignored.

Harry resisted the urge to take a rattling breath. He pressed his fingernails hard into his palm, grounding himself with the pain. But the eager anticipation was growing with every absent heartbeat...

Lyra lowered her body, releasing a distinct warning rumble. Yet, the invitation hung so tantalisingly open. Harry swallowed, pressed his dry lips together.

“How can you be so sure?”

Will remained perfectly calm, shoulders squared and steely expression locked in place. Unaware of the monster preparing to strike.

“I just know, alright.”

Harry didn't even glance to confirm they were still alone, that no one could act as witness. He kicked off the wall, closing the remaining distance between them, dead eye dilating, a haunted smile on his lips.

Will's soul flared, alluring in the rising anticipation. Yet he remained obediently still.

It was a gift. Presented to Harry freely, to satisfy his sole desire. He wanted to savour every second-

A spark of something hidden, flashed within Will's soul.

Harry's breath caught in his throat, dead eye enraptured. It was dizzying, intoxicating.

Impossible.

There was another flicker, golden dust pooling and distorting in rapid murmurations. It was brief, the smallest of movements.

Harry was lost, could not resist. He inched forwards, solely obsessed-

A bushy tail flicked round, lost in visual snow.

It was so fast that at first Harry thought he'd misseen...but then it was back, whiskers clear as the animal prowled forwards, undeterred and not afraid.

A startled breath escaped Harry.

“Your dæmon is inside of you-"

Feverishly he reached forwards, a hungered madness consuming all rationale, so that only compulsion and temptation remained.

Will faltered, natural instinct oblivious as his eyes widened. The golden light danced against his skin. A burning soul, ablaze and screaming to be taken.

“So, you can see her?”

Harry's mouth twisted, dead eye glistening. He took a sharp, exaggerated breath.

Will staggered, fresh pain as he plunged straight into his worst memories. Susceptible to the most delicious torment. The rush of emotions, swallowed up like an appetiser before a feast.

“Don't-”

Harry had Will incapacitated in a second, twisted round and slammed up against the wall. One hand rested on Will's exposed collarbone, thumb on his throat, the other pinched Will's hip to secure him in place.

Beneath him Will shivered, eyes rolling into the back of his head. Lost to memories, incapable of meaningful protest.

Harry leaned forwards, rattling breath ice cold. Eager to press his lips against Will's and ravish his soul. Until it was devoured and belonged only to-

WHAM.

Something heavy slammed into them.

Harry's feet left the ground as a splintering pain sliced his side, ripping skin and cutting straight down to bone. There was a flash of white. A burning hot scratch, followed by an immediate blunt force as his body crumpled hard onto the ground.

For a moment, Harry did not know what had happened. Only that he had been bludgeoned by something with deadly force-

Lyra.

Suppressing a rush of sickness, convulsive trembles made it almost impossible for Harry to scramble up, just as Lyra manoeuvred her large scaly body for a second attack.

He couldn't think straight as Lyra's spiked tail slammed into the ground just inches in front of him, carving a grating path of stone and earth between himself and Will.

Lyra growled, a plume of smoke rising from her nostrils, daring him to move and try and claim Will's soul again-

Instead, Harry pressed a dazed hand to his side. The wound was torn wide open, laceration pooling in a thick black substance, seeping and oozing between his fingers.

Will hadn't faired any better. He was shaking violently, legs barely able to support his weight as he staggered up, wand clutched in his bloody palm. Blood trickled down his forehead from an open injury. He swayed on the spot in a stupor, blinking multiple times as he tried to focus desperately on Harry.

“W...what...why?”

Harry stared, watching the golden light in turn. No hint of embarrassment as the urge to stalk his prey lingered.

“Your soul is different,” he said quietly. “I don't react well to new things.”

Will closed his eyes, drawing a shaky breath.

“And your dæmon-?”

Harry shrugged, felt the rush of something that was not blood swarm to his head.

“Lyra just saved your soul.”

Will was completely still for a moment, eyes flicking open at the realisation of the fact. He should have turned and fled, but instead he kept himself routed to the ground.

He looked between Harry and Lyra several times, pressed his hand to his chest as if coming to a sobering decision.

“Well-” Will said, wiping the blood from his mouth. “Are you going to tell me what animal is she?”

Harry's brow furrowed, dead eye swirling in mist.

A hard determination had taken over Will, a fierce pride which could not be shaken as he stood expectantly, waiting to discover his soul.

It reminded Harry strongly of standing before the mirror of erised, all those years ago. Desperate for the truth, the confirmation that he had a soul, that Lyra had truly been apart of him.

Harry drew a slight breath.

Now he had seen it, the hint of the animal was easier to notice. Harry tilted his head, which was a bad idea because of the throbbing pain which blossomed behind his right temple.

“Your dæmons a cat.”

Will's mouth parted in surprise.

There was a moment where they both stared at each other. Then a delirious smile crossed Will's face as he blinked back his sudden exhaustion.

“A cat, huh? Right...that's good...really good.”

Harry remained perfectly still, watching as Will's golden light swirled, agitated with a fierce excitement. Just like Lyra's did when she wanted something-

“Potter!”

Harry flinched at the sharp tone, reluctantly turning to see Snape behind him. Snape had heard the commotion, knew that Lyra had been enraged and had come running. And Harry could do nothing to hide the destruction, to cover up the truth of his desires.

Snape took several long strides forward, grabbed Harry's shoulder, whirling him around. His face was completely white as furious eyes burned into Harry's exhausted ones as the memory of the last five minutes was ripped from him.

“I didn't-”

“Be quiet, Potter.”

Snape traced his wand back and forth across the gash in Harry's side, moving it in slow rhythmic motions as he chanted an unknown string of words.

The sensation was the strangest Harry had ever felt. It was like his skin was being pulled together, knitting in an ugly pattern of tissue and decayed flesh, stretching over and intertwining to stop the black substance that oozed from his wound.

Harry staggered slightly, pressed his hand against the stone wall to steady himself. The pressure on his chest lessened, each breath coming easier than the last. He couldn't stop shaking. Adrenaline mixed with the irrational need to hunt kept his instincts screaming, to force his body to claim and rip apart Will Parry's bleeding soul.

Snape stood back, eyes narrowing and wand poised, but when Harry didn't move or speak, he turned his attention away.

“Are you a fool?” Snape snapped, manhandling Will so he could inspect the damage. “What did you expect, putting yourself within reach of Potter?”

Will tried to push Snape away, but it was a feeble attempt, strength waning and leaving him with no means to resist.

“It's none of your business-”

A cruel sneer crossed Snape's face, but he dutifully started to trace his wand back and forth, muttering the same rhythmic incantation. Slowly, Will stopped swaying, managed to regain some composure as he took several steadying breaths.

Snape however kept his fingers grasp tight on Will's shoulder, holding him in place. There was a moment when their eyes met, a chilling connection which Will could not escape.

“Whatever you are trying to achieve,” Snape said quietly, a harsh warning to his tone. “You won't succeed if you chose to throw yourself at Potter's mercy.”

A dark shadow crossed Will's face, and he wrenched his arm away.

“You don't know anything-”

“This is not the first time Potter has had an obsession with a soul,” Snape said coolly. “He is a dark creature that if left uncontrolled will take advantage of a situation. If he doesn't catch you incidentally alone, he will go out of his way to hunt you. Do not make it any easier for him.”

The terminology was enough for Will to take pause. He glanced at Harry, a new appreciation for the horror that should have already been obvious to anyone with a visible dæmon.

“So am I going to get attacked by a dragon often?” Will said dryly. “If Lyra keeps Potter in check-”

Snape didn't blink, only crossed his arms, folding his cloak around himself.

“You are safest when Potter's dæmon is not with him.”

Harry's good eye narrowed. That was a piece of advice he didn't care to be shared.

Will frowned, his lips pressed together. Clearly he found the advise as counter intuitive as it sounded.

But there was a more odd implication. As far as Harry knew, Will Parry was nobody important. Why would Snape, out of all people, care to divulge such a warning by revealing Harry's own capabilities. Then again, Snape had said Will's father had been killed by Death Eaters...there must have been a reason.

Harry cleared his throat, demented smile all the more sinister. Two could play at this game.

“I wouldn't trust him, by the way,” he said, nodding towards Snape. “He's a Death Eater.”

Will jerked at this, fingers immediately tightening around his wand. The reaction should have been more appropriate towards Harry, but this had clearly struck a cord.

Snape's black eyes narrowed, pressed his lips thinly together.

He didn't deny it.

Will took several steps back, staggering from the blood loss as he looked between the pair. He swallowed, golden light of his dæmon dancing in the most exotic of ways as he turned to leave.

“I'll catch you later, Potter.”

Harry's grin widened. The unsaid conversation hung frustratingly in the air, yet he didn't need to read minds to understand the implications.

It made no sense but there was no mistaking it.

There was something else Will Parry wanted, something that clearly involved Harry.

---

Riddle manor had changed over the years. The once grand house had been restored to something beyond its former glory. Ornate statues of black marble adorned the halls, serpent carved bas-reliefs decorated once historic features, cast around doorways, pillars and window frames, each with a pair of jewelled onyx eyes, creating an illusion that the whole mansion was being watched.

The main chamber was sparse in comparison. Aside from the throne like chair that had been positioned at the far end of the room, little else had been added to the expanse. Instead, the stone floor was engraved with intricate runes, blended into the surroundings in a far more subtle way, so that only the occasional flicker of candle light revealed their presence.

Tom waited silently, watching the rise and fall of the light against the room. Any grandeur was lost to him, leaving only a lingering resentment for every inch of the place.

Any hint of freedom had never felt so impossible.

He stood as far from the throne and its occupant as he was able. The invisible restraint that tethered him to the Dark Lord offered no privacy. Just like a real dæmon, only stripped of his agency and forced into submission. Despite this, Tom's chest rose and fell in calm, rhythmic beats. The remnants of his fury buried deep, hidden in his consciousness.

On the throne's other side, Riddle paced back and forth. His chaotic energy difficult to ignore, as he muttered words under his breath, impatience rising with each second.

Between them, the Dark Lord sat, hood drawn so that only snakelike features were illuminated by the dim glow from the crackling fire. He would have appeared relaxed, if it wasn't for the steady tapping on long pale fingers against the arm, or red eyes fixated on the approaching Death Eater.

The man walked briskly, fell to his knees, whispering words of praise and admiration, crawling forwards to kiss the Dark Lord's robes. The fact that he wasn't grovelling could only be a good thing.

Lord Voldemort's high voice pierced the chamber.

“And?”

The Death Eater straightened, removed the carved mask to reveal a gaunt and sunken face. The years in Azkaban had been unkind to Barty Crouch. Unlike his father, once handsome features had distorted into something foul and haunted.

“Potter and his dæmon excelled in the task, My Lord.”

From within his robes, he withdrew a newspaper.

Tom moved automatically, half a step forwards, hand outstretched, only to freeze at the warning glance from Voldemort.

The Dark Lord flexed his fingers, red eyes sweeping away from Tom. He pressed the tip of his long white finger to his lips and hissed something in parseltongue under his breath.

A horrible smile curled onto Riddle's mouth, who flicked his wand so that the paper disappeared from Crouch's hand and materialised in front of him.

For a horrible moment, Tom waited, watching Riddle with a fierce intensity. His expression unreadable apart from the slight quirk of an eyebrow.

"I told you so," he said after a short while, passing the paper to Tom with another flick of his wand.

The front page was a photograph of a Hungarian Horntail. Underneath in bold red letters it read POTTER'S DAEMON DOMINATES IN FIRST TASK.

Tom didn't deem Riddle worthy of a reaction as he turned feverishly to the next page. There was another picture of Lyra with Harry standing beneath her, ashen face prominent and totally enthralled by her presence.

Harry had matured in the last couple of years. Not only did he look older, had grown several inches, but being united with Lyra had clearly been a good thing. He held himself with a confidence that made Tom's heart ache with pride. No longer was he a damaged child, fighting and hanging onto survival. This was Harry, fully in control and carving his own path despite his glaring limitations.

Immense relief washed over Tom as he poured over the image. It did not appear that Harry's decay had spread further, had remained contained for the most part.

Riddle's footsteps echoed across the floor as he circled behind the throne, eye's alight with amusement. His voice was soft, barely even a whisper but it carried for everyone to hear.

“Though we all know its not the first task you were worried about.”

Tom glanced up, shoulders stiffening, heart beating painfully in his chest. He shot Voldemort a wary look.

The Dark Lord did not react, only spun his wand absently between long spidery fingers. He'd been oddly quiet for weeks, ever since Crouch had first delivered the news.

There was only one path forward now. They all knew it.

Riddle and Tom had discussed it at length, ever since Harry's name had risen from that goblet. The Dark Lord had of course been privy to these conversations, but he had yet to offer an opinion.

Tom waited, did not dare to interject.

Voldemort fixed pitiless red eyes on Tom, weighing the truth behind Riddle's words.

“Potter will not succeed in the next task.”

Tom dipped his head into a deep bow. He kept his eyes locked firmly onto the floor. To glance up would betray his palpable fear.
“Let me go to him. Harry cannot do this alone.”

He would have fallen to his knees and begged if he thought for a moment it would have swayed the Dark Lord's decision. Instead Tom's fingers creased the parchment, desperately clinging to it as if it it were a life line.

Voldemort seemed lost in thought for a moment, before he lazily turned his attention back to Crouch.

“What news from Karkaroff?”

A look of disgust passed across Crouch's gaunt face.

“He has agreed to your demands, My Lord.”

A wide, chilling smile split onto the Dark Lord's face. He sat up, leaning forwards in his throne, red eyes glinting in the fire light.

“Very well,” Voldemort hissed, he was silent for several long drawn out seconds. “Perhaps it is time-”

Tom's stomach churned, a sick realisation that their Lord had come to the same conclusion. Had not discovered another way to save Harry.

“Prepare for our departure,” Voldemort hissed, dismissing Crouch with a sharp wave of his hand, before turning his attention on Riddle. “You shall command the Death Eaters in my absence. I expect the Ministry to be under your control when I return.”

The hint of a smirk traced Riddle's lips before widening to a smile, infected with a delirious excitement that could not be missed.

“Of course, My Lord.”

The sinking feeling in Tom's chest was growing with every heart beat. A feverish anxiety that could not be shaken. He turned to the Dark Lord, dipping his head into a respectful bow.

“I take it Nagini will accompany us?” Tom said lightly. “I know you trust my brother to serve you well in your absence, however he does have a tendency to take advantage of a situation-”

Riddle scowled, handsome face twisting into something rather ugly.

“Nagini's fate is tied to Potter. I would never remove her from our Lord. Not after waiting for so long-”

“Yes, you would,” Tom said plainly, without a hint of satisfaction. “Steal Nagini, and then you only have to wait to have Harry in your grasp again.”

A crackle of magic penetrated the air, suffocating from the Dark Lord's presence. He rose, robes draped around his skeletal body, commanding their silence from his will alone.

“Nagini will remain by my side,” Voldemort hissed, voice high and chilling.

Tom smiled mirthlessly, dipping his head into a bow. Riddle mirrored him, expression shifting into something rather ugly.

The Dark Lord moved deliberately across the engraved floor, withdrawing his wand as red eyes glinted dangerously in the fire light. He held it loosely, his attention fixed solely on Riddle.

“I require a page of my diary.”

Tom bit his tongue, bitter copper flooding his senses as he resisted the urgency to speak.

“One single piece hardly seems enough.” Riddle said softly. He withdrew the book and traced a long finger down the spine. “I am willing to offer more.”

Voldemort's cloak clung to his skeletal form, distorting his movements in the fire light.

“No,” he hissed. “Otherwise, a manifestation of yourself may form, and will kill the boy. A piece will have to be sufficient.”

For the first time, both Riddle and Tom exchanged concerned glances. Tom swallowed thickly, his frantically beating heart betraying him.

“And if it's not?”

Voldemort's red eyes flashed dangerously, fury palpable.

“Then you should have made it clearer to Potter that he should not have entered the tournament to begin with. He has only himself to blame.”

Tom bowed his head low.

“If Harry dies, I will perish, My Lord,” he said tightly. “Harry would not have taken the risk of endangering my life if you had let me be transparent with him.”

Voldemort's slits for nostrils flared, robes billowing as he took slow predatory steps around Tom. There was a menace to his voice, a terrifying anger that had surfaced. The tip of the wand came to rest just below Tom's chin.

“Need I remind you, I could easily secure your soul via other means. Your corporeal existence is only permitted because I allow it. It does not need to be tied to the boy.”

Suppressing a shiver, Tom tilted his head back, bringing his gaze to lock onto fierce red. It was only the possibility of saving Nagini which had offered both himself and Harry any reprieve.

For now at least.

“Then I have one request, My Lord,” Tom whispered, an impending doom threatening all composure. “If you find Harry unworthy-”

Voldemort's head twisted, serpent features enhanced and alien in the flickering light. There was a push against Tom's mind, extracting the question with ease.

“I will consider it,” Voldemort hissed. “It will however, depend on your cooperation.”

Without breaking eye contact, Tom made sure his sincerity was apparent.

“You have it, My Lord.”

Chapter 15: Everyone's a Death Eater

Chapter by HippoParty (OneMoreHorcrux)

Barty Crouch Junior stood in the centre of the Ministry atrium, tapping his foot on the polished wooden floor. He adjusted his robes and checked his father's pocket watch, the gold and silver dials spinning into place. It was already past noon.

People bustled past, an endless footfall of witches, wizards and dæmons, heads down and oblivious to the impending clock which ticked ever closer.

It wouldn't be long now.

There was just a matter the Dark Lord had to attend to first.

Crouch's knuckles tightened, a cold fury taking hold. Potter was unworthy. To have his Lord's favour was unthinkable. And the fact that the boy was honoured with a piece of the Dark Lord's soul-

The fake osprey on his shoulder ruffled its feathers. Crouch scowled, shifting his posture slightly. Despite the years masquerading as his father, he'd never gotten used the impractical size of the thing, or the fact his father would use his own crooked neck as a perch.

At least his father was rotting away, imprisoned in the deepest depths of the Dark Lord's manor.

“Afternoon, Barty.”

Umbridge had finally arrived. She was wearing a pink fluffy cardigan, and was carrying her dæmon in an matching pink handbag. A ugly velvet bow was pinned to its head.

They fell into step beside each other.

“I hope your visit to Durmstrang will be a success,” Crouch said lightly. “I've heard Karkaroff has denied you access for weeks-”

Umbridge's face set into an grimace. She sniffed, nose upturned and voice slightly accusatory.

“It all gets so disorderly when things are outside the Ministry's control. Of course, you've had no issues visiting the castle.”

Crouch smiled, although it looked more like a grimace.

“Regardless, something needs to be done, and that will never happen while the Wizengamot lack the courage to do what is necessary-”

A flicker of surprise crossed Umbridge's face. Her cat dæmon stirred restlessly, attempting to free himself from the pink handbag.

“Cornelius is determined to have another vote on the matter,” Umbridge said, eyes alight, as if a fierce injustice had been done. “Now that it's been proven that Potter can fight off a patronus, he can hardly be left with other students.”

“Unfortunately, any legal way of addressing this matter has long passed,” Crouch said. “No, there needs to be more direct consequences for the boy-”

Umbridge didn't notice the hard look that had set on his face. Her eyes widened in delight.

“I would never have thought that you'd be one to step out of line, Barty. Not after-” she paused, clearing her throat unapologetically. “However, I can understand your change of heart, Potter has always been an exception...”

Crouch didn't respond.

They entered a small lobby which had metal grates across multiple different rooms. The service witch smiled, indicating to room number three. Inside, on a wooden pedestal was a rusty old key.

“Karkaroff is expecting us,” Crouch said gruffly.

They both reached for the portkey.

There was a sharp tug, and their feet were whisked from the floor. The sight of the ministry vanished as they landed at the edge of the old graveyard.

Umbridge dusted herself down, pivoting around expectantly.

“Barty, where are we?”

The gravestones were old. Moss grew over the stone, obscuring the names of those long buried. Her dæmon hissed, claws scratching as he clambered out of the handbag to make his escape. He landed on the hard ground, slinking low as he investigated their surroundings.

“This way,” Crouch said.

They made their way towards the wide open doors of an old manor.

Inside, large ornate statues of black marble towered throughout the entrance hall.  Umbridge cleared her throat, a nervous hem escaped her lips.

“Barty...”

Crouch ignored her as he very deliberately withdrew his wand.

“What are you doing-”

“Expelliarmus,” Crouch hissed.

Umbridge's wand slipped from her fingers, just as her dæmon scrambled for cover.

It didn't stand a chance. A metal cage conjured around the creature, trapping it inside. The cat howled, scratching feebly at the bars.

“How dare you-” Umbridge demanded shrilly. “Release Snowball at once. I am the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of-”

Her voice faded in shock, watching in horror as Crouch's fake dæmon vanished into dust, little particles catching in the light to reflect where the osprey had been only moments before.

“Your dæmon-”

Crouch didn't react, only grimaced as the polyjuice potion began to shed the skin of his father.

“You!”

Even after years in Azkaban he was recognisable. Despite this, he withdrew his Death Eater mask and placed it on his face.

Umbridge was pointing a useless finger at him.

“I demand you tell me how you escaped-” she screeched.

“Silencio,” Crouch hissed under his breath.

Umbridge fell silent, her eyes bulging while her dæmon hissed and spat in protest. The stupid velvet bow had fallen off its head. Even so, Crouch found himself smiling and answering all the same.

“If you must know, my mother saved me, convinced my father to free me. The dementors are blind you know, they cannot see humans, only dæmons. When my father came to visit one day, I left my dæmon and simply walked away-”

He pressed his wand directly into Umbridge's back, forcing her to move.

“I had to hide her before I left of course, for an auror would surely notice a solitary dæmon in a cell, but the dementors would not suspect a thing. Only an apparent empty cell would remain, and when I was no longer accounted for the Ministry just assumed I had died, that the dementors had finally taken my soul. Of course, Azkaban is now a ruin in the sea, and my dæmon freed once the Dark Lord came...”

Ahead, a fire was burning gently in the grate, casting long shadows through the chamber. Umbridge stiffened at the sight, her fear palpable as her eyes fixated on the occupant of the throne like chair.

Crouch scowled, face hidden behind his mask.

The Dark Lord had left. In his place remained Riddle, who had for all purposes taken on the role of the Dark Lord, including the meticulous disguise. Instead of the young, handsome man, a spitting image of the Dark Lord stood in his place.

All this for the pretence, that was necessarily for more than one reason. No one could know the true location of their Lord...

Riddle, tapped his long skeletal fingers against the Dark Lord's throne. He was a perfect imitation, yet it burned a fierce anger in Crouch that he had to obey someone lesser.

Riddle tapped his fingers across his wand, a wry smile on his face.

“Madam Umbridge, I believe you were warned against inflicting your presence on Potter.”

Umbridge shook her head wildly, unable to speak until Crouch lifted the silencing curse.

“I didn't touch the boy,” Umbridge said shrilly. Her dæmon cried out from his cage. “I merely thought to instruct-”

“Crucio.”

Umbridge collapsed, scream echoing against the black marble. Her body jerked and twitched in unnatural movements, unable to stop the unbearable, relentless torture.

When it was clear that Riddle was not going to relent, Crouch stepped forwards, dipping his head into a mock bow.

“My Lord,” he prompted.

Riddle sighed dramatically, lowering his wand. The look on his face was predatory, contained a cold fury like no other.

“As much as I would love to continue listening to your agonising screams before your death...that is unfortunately not the plan.”

Umbridge sobbed desperately on the floor.

“Please! Have Mercy-”

Her high pitch cries were met with another curse. This time, the sound of bones cracking reverberating across the room.

Crouch narrowed his eyes, watching with distaste.

The Dark Lord had been very clear in his instructions.

To torture Umbridge was beneath his Lord. Yet, this was clearly too personal to Riddle. He was showing his pitiful weakness of the boy.

Riddle seemed to have grown bored of her useless pleas. He stood, long robes draped around the Dark Lord's skeletal body, as his red eyes flickered in the fire light.

“Bellatrix, are you ready?” Riddle asked lazily.

Umbridge panicked, scrambling up from the floor. She didn't get very far as Crouch's curse held her still. Her dæmon started to thrash wildly inside the impenetrable cage as another Death Eater emerged from the shadows.

Bellatrix looked just as hollow as when she'd broken out of Azkaban. Her face, sunken and gaunt with a fanatical grin as her dæmon, Malos coiled inside of his watery cage, electricity sparking down the eels scaleless and ugly skin.

“Crouch, if you would,” Riddle instructed with a wave of his hand.

Crouch obeyed, and stepped up to the floating cage of Umbridge's dæmon. With a flick of his wand, three long cat hairs were plucked from its head.

The dæmon howled, twisting and hissing.

Bellatrix wrinkled her nose, turning and sniffing at the polyjuice disdainfully. The hair had turned it a sickish colour.

“I bet she tastes like a toad.”

She downed the potion in one.

---

Harry soared high above the lake, shifting his weight to counter the buffering winds.

Below, half a dozen figures weaved in and out of each other, passing the quaffle back and forth in rapid formations.

With a break in the weather, any opportunity between classes had been spent playing quidditch. The Dumstrang pitch and stands were unusual being located above the lake, with six goal hoops raised high out of the water; meaning that any fall would result in a player plunging into the icy depths.

Their team was made up of mostly Hogwarts students, with a few substitutes pulled in from Mahoutokoro. Both Draco and Cho were playing the position of chaser, mainly at Katie Bell's insistence that Harry be kept as far away from dæmons as possible.

They were currently practising attack formations before their game against Durmstrang that afternoon. Harry was left to catch the snitch in peace, aside from the Mahoutokoro beaters that kept hitting the odd bludger in his direction.

He circled round the pitch, gaze focused on the scene below. The northerly wind rustled the treetops, scattering leaves across the lakeside.

Something else flickered, catching the attention of his good eye. The golden snitch glinted just above the water.

Harry pushed his broom downwards, soared low above the water's surface. Water sprayed up, drenching his robes as he pushed his firebolt faster. He held out his hand to the snitch-

SPLASH.

A well aimed bludger slammed into the water.

Harry yanked the broom up, blinking and spluttering through the mist.  He spun around searching hurriedly, but the snitch was no longer present.

Instead his attention was stolen by something else entirely.

Will Parry had entered the stands and was climbing up to where Hermione sat. She was currently wrapped in a dozen layers, book in hand and balancing a bright blue flame trapped in a jam jar on her lap to keep Ramiron warm.

Harry had hardly seen Will since the first task a few weeks ago. He was looking a lot better, the wound from Lyra's tail had healed completely, leaving no trace or scaring across his skin. If only Lyra hadn't deliberately made herself scarce since then-

He flew higher, circling overhead and completely ignoring the rest of the game.

They spoke briefly, Hermione looking pretty guarded as she pulled Ramiron closer in her arms, whereas Will was concentrating on every word of the conversation.

After a few minutes, Will left looking more determined than before.

Harry wasted no time, he flew down, coming to land on the row of seats just in front of Hermione. Strangely enough Draco followed.

Hermione glanced at Draco and wrinkled her nose. Ramiron poked his head out of her scarf and growled at Adara.

“Are you two talking again?” she asked stiffly.

Draco opened his mouth to clearly make a rude remark-

Harry waved a hand impatiently.

“Never mind that, what did Will want?”

She raised herself up slightly.

“He wanted to know why you're my friend when I'm a muggleborn.”

Harry blinked.

“How did he know you're muggbleborn?”

“Draco,” Hermione said frostily, shooting him a cold stare. “Was all too eager to point out who of us Hogwarts students were not pureblood. And given that this school has never had a good reputation towards people like me...”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“They had a right to know, Granger-”

But Harry waved him quiet again, cutting him off.

“What did you say?”

Hermione pulled Ramiron tighter in her bundle of scarves.

“I said that obviously you don't care about that, and then Will asked why, given that you're connected to Tom-”

She paused, biting her lips slightly.

“And?” Harry pressed.

“I said that actually Tom's one of my best friends.”

Harry raised his eyebrows at that. Not because it was wrong, but because even now she sounded defensive about it.

“Bet he didn't believe that.”

“No,” Hermione said. “He didn't. And then he wanted to know how long we'd been friends...”

Harry looked across the stands to where Will had just left. The boy was fascinating. Not just because of his trapped soul, but because of his total insistence on putting himself close enough to Harry.

“Huh...I wonder what he wants.”

“Isn't it obvious?” Draco said, looking between the pair of them. When neither of them answered, he muttered something that sounded like 'Typical Gryffindors' and rolled his eyes.

“Clearly Will Parry wants intel on you,” Draco said. “Probably in relation to the tournament.”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “There's more to it then that. Otherwise why would he care if I'm friends with Hermione?”

There was the slightest movement from Adara. Just enough that without Lyra, Harry could still notice her discomfort. He stared at the ferret, withholding a rattling breath. Will's father had been killed by Death Eaters...and Draco had joined in this conversation for a reason.

“What do you know?”

Draco immediately crossed his arms.

“Nothing-”

But there was something missing. A question that Harry should have asked last time they had spoken, when Draco had clearly known more. Why had Will's father been targeted in the first place?

“You're spying on him for Voldemort,” Harry said.

Draco went a distinct white. All colour draining out of his face. He gestured wildly at Harry.

“Shut up. I'm not-”

Harry shot a grin at Hermione.

“It serves you right for being a prat to Hermione.”

“Are you trying to get me killed-” he hissed.

“Relax, Hermione's not going to tell anyone.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the pair of them, and pulled out a transfiguration book, disappearing into the pages while Ramiron growled at Adara. Perhaps asking them to be civil to each other was a bit of a stretch.

“And you are, aren't you?”

“I'm not-” Draco hissed, and he threw his leg back over his broom, taking off and soaring back into the sky without another word.

Harry watched him go, good eye narrowing slightly. He debated jumping on his broom and demanding an answer, but he doubt he'd get anything. Instead he looked back to Hermione.

“Did you tell Will anything else?”

She lowered her book, picking up their conversation as if they hadn't been interrupted.

“He asked if you were a Death Eater...which is just ridiculous. So I told him so. I said that if he thought for a second that you would ever obey You Know Who after what he did to you and Tom...” She pulled Ramiron tighter in her arms. “Sorry, I probably shouldn't have said that much-”

“No,” Harry said slowly. “That's really good...could you speak to Will again? You know, put in a good word for me.”

Hermione blinked, narrowing her eyes.

“Why?”

Harry shrugged, trying to look a bit sheepish.

“I just want to get to know him more...you know, meet new people and all that...he doesn't have a dæmon so it makes a difference when someone isn't scared of me.”

Hermione stared at him for a few seconds, before she opened her mouth with a wide “Oh” and then blushed slightly and nodded.

“Thanks, Hermione. You're the best.”

She seemed lost in thought for a moment, her brow creasing and looking off in the direction that Will had gone.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Dumbledore wanted to see you, Harry,” Hermione said, pulling out a small piece of parchment and handing it to him. “That's why I'm sitting here, freezing in the first place. Now I can go back to the library-”

Harry reluctantly took it, his absent heart sinking.

“Great,” he said bitterly. “That's just what I need.”

“Potter, get over here-”

Katie Bell was flying towards them, a beater's bat in her hand.  It looked like she wasn't afraid to throw it at him.

---

Half an hour later, Harry knocked on the door to Dumbledore's office.

There was a chill in the air, and it wasn't from the layers of snow building atop the large glass dome, or the icy stares of the ex-headmaster's and mistresses' portraits.

The room was occupied by people who Harry had no desire to talk to; Dumbledore, Snape, and the imposter still disguised as Crouch. In addition, on the desk sat a horribly familiar black cat dæmon with an ugly velvet bow pinned to its head.

Harry stopped on the threshold. A flash of anger burning towards Lyra for abandoning him and letting him walk in blind. He slowly curled his fingers around his wand.

“What is she doing here?”

Umbridge looked more toad like than ever. She gave a little hem, hem.

“I would think that would be obvious, Mr Potter,” she said with a horribly sweet smile. “Your performance during the first task was completely unacceptable. Therefore certain precautions have to be taken.”

There was a cold silence, made worse from the fury that was permeating from Harry.  He hadn't forgotten how she'd inflicted a patronus on him months ago.  He flicked his attention to Dumbledore and Snape, ignoring Umbridge completely.

“I thought no one could interfere?”

Even if Tom showed up they couldn't theoretically do anything-

“As I have told Madam Umbridge,” Dumbledore said rather firmly. “Anything that happens in the tournament is under a strict magical contract. Any intervention would be a direct violation of the traditions it is built upon, and thus there is nothing that can be done whether I would agree to it or not.”

Umbridge's smile widened. She opened her palms and presented them as if it was the most simple request in the world.

“Your wand is hardly tied, Dumbledore. A restriction to prevent the ability to fight a patronus is not a big ask given the circumstances.”

Harry's finger's clenched tighter around his wand.

Dumbledore looked down through his half moon spectacles.

“And I have already explained why that is not possible, Madam Umbridge.”

“Cornelius will want to hear about this,” Umbridge sniffed, and scribbled something hastily down on a clipboard that had been floating by her side. “And the Daily Prophet too of course. Their readers were most concerned after the first task,” She looked around deliberately, and when it was clear that Lyra wasn't hiding in amongst Harry's robes, she added. “I mean taking the form of a dragon, really? If you wanted to give people more of a reason to be afraid.”

Snape cleared his throat in a very Umbridge like manner.

“If I may suggest an alternative,” he said mildly.

Harry glared at him, but Umbridge looked practically delighted.

Snape looked even more bat like than usual as he folder his arms, drawing his robes around himself. Laraine rustled her wings, imitating him as she settled herself on his shoulder.

“The tournament has very strict rules and thus any hindrance to any champion is not permitted, however, merely having the capability to monitor Potter's wand would perhaps put the Minister at ease at any unsavoury spells and curses he may or may not be using.”

Harry froze. He'd had his wand use tracked before, but that was specifically to make sure Tom wasn't using it. Now, he had no desire to give them any control over him.

“I think that's an excellent compromise, Professor,” Crouch said, nodding matter of factly as he spun his bowler hat in his hands. “I'm sure that's more than adequate for you, Dolores.”

Harry stilled, eyes snapping between the pair of them. How would monitoring his wand prevent him from stopping a patronus in a task...it just made no sense.

It couldn't be a coincidence. He was surrounded by Death Eaters so there was only one reason this was happening. He spoke before he had even had time to think.

“Why does Voldemort want my wand use tracked?”

Snape's black eyes snapped to him, as did Crouch's. Even Dumbledore sat up straighter, his gaze locked onto Harry's.

But it was Umbridge's reaction that was the most telling of all. She had also gone very still, eyes widening almost comically. Which would have been fine if her cat dæmon had reacted at all. Harry stared at the thing, its indifference screaming that something was so very wrong. Harry's mouth parted slightly-

He'd become so used to watching dæmons, that it turned out he didn't need Lyra to spot Death Eaters after all...

Dumbledore's voice was suddenly very calm and quiet.

“Harry, please could you leave us.”

He held up his hand at the immediate protest of both Umbridge and Crouch.

“I will say this only once. There will be no further contact with Mr Potter from any Ministry official. I am after all, his legal guardian, therefore for any concerns will come directly to me in future.”

Umbridge's smile tightened, while her cat dæmon continued to sit there numbly.

“I will remind you Dumbledore, that Professor Karkaroff has just given me permission to attend the castle at my own leisure, for the safety of all students of course. You can hardly keep me away from Potter...no matter what bizarre theories the boy comes up with.”

Dumbledore smiled pleasantly.

“I have warned you once, Madam Umbridge, any further contact with Harry will result in your removal from this castle with or without the Headmaster's say.”

He didn't wait for her spluttered reply, instead turning his attention to Crouch.

“And yourself, Barty?” he asked politely. “Is your business finished at Durmstrang?”

There was a tone there that Harry couldn't quite place. Had Dumbledore caught onto the imposter-

It certainly seemed like Crouch thought so, for his straightened his robes.

“I have matters to attend to at the Ministry,” Crouch said stiffly. “I will impose upon you no more...after all I leave you in the capable hands of Madam Umbridge.”

He nodded the brim of his hat to Dumbledore.

Umbridge smiled, almost giddy, despite her dæmon looked muted at the response. She turned on her heel. Her squashy faced dæmon reacted numbly, just enough that no one else would notice its stilted movements.

They both left, the door shutting firmly closed behind them. Harry flicked his eyes back to Snape, biting back his urge to speak. It was Dumbledore who sat himself back in his chair, a wary look on his face.

“Severus?” he pressed.

But Snape ignored him, and had pressed a single finger to his lips. He was staring at Harry intently, his black eyes burning with anger.

“Who is he?”

Harry glared back at him, crossing his arms.

“I don't know, you're the Death Eater, you tell me.”

“His dæmon?” Snape snapped.

“I've never seen it,” Harry said coolly.

Both Dumbledore and Snape knew the implications of that. It was an old Death Eater, one who had been separated long ago, when Voldemort still had control of the Knife of Separation.

“What's wrong?” Harry growled. “You're just upset that Voldemort doesn't trust you to brew his stash of polyjuice potions?”

He probably gone to far. Snape towered over him, only staying his wand because Dumbledore cleared his throat deliberately.

“If you think the Dark Lord informs his Death Eaters of every single one of his plans, then you are mistaken, Potter,” Snape said softly.

“No, but he wanted to monitor what spells I was using, didn't he?” Harry pushed fiercely.

Surprisingly, it was Dumbledore who answered.

“Yes, that was Lord Voldemort's wish.”

Cold splintered away from Harry, a despair so potent that Laraine cowered in on herself. He relished in Snape's despair before she flicked into a patronus, radiating white light and protected.

Harry flinched, taking a wary step back, but he didn't retreat, his fury holding him still.

“And you would have allowed it?” Harry snapped. “Because you don't trust me either, you want to know what magic I've been casting.”

Dumbledore didn't deny it. He merely placed his fingers together, looking suddenly very tired.

“I would not expected you to understand, Harry. But it is for your own protection.”

So it all came down to this.

“You have the tracker on me,” Harry hissed. “That's not enough?”

He hated that Dumbledore looked so calm about it.

“You are growing more independent and capable each day, Harry. Have you forgotten that you hold the fate of the wizarding world in your hands.”

“Shut up. I don't care about the damn prophecy-”

Dumbledore was silent for a few seconds as he bowed his head. For a brief moment, Harry thought he was going to be lectured again. Instead Dumbledore sighed heavily and flicked his wand.

Fawkes appeared in a burst of radiating light.

“Fawkes, I need you to alert the Order at once. Tell them that Barty Crouch has been compromised. Utmost caution should be taken however, any direct action to apprehend the Death Eater could mean that they kill Barty if he is of no further use.”

A single note echoed from Fawkes, showing he understood as he vanished in a burst of flames.

Snape's cold gaze remained unblinking.

“How long have you known?” he said, voice deadly quiet.

Harry gritted his teeth, making sure not to make eye contact with either of them. It had been over two years since he'd first discovered the imposter.

He didn't answer.

“Harry, this is for your own protection,” Dumbledore said. “Have you seen any other Death Eaters hidden around the castle? Anyone's dæmon that looks different to you?”

Internally, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Technically he hadn't seen Umbridge's dæmon with his dead eye to confirm it either way.

“No,” he said coolly. “But even if I did, why should I bother telling you?”

Without giving them a second to answer, he turned on his heel and left.

Chapter 16: The Yule Ball

Chapter by HippoParty (OneMoreHorcrux)

As the days passed, the weather became wild and wet, the snow thick and deep. The morning trek up to the castle consisted of battling bitterly cold winds that whistled through the mountain side.

The Durmstrang students took the decent into winter in their stride, with thick fur coats they spent charms classes outside crafting beautiful ice sculptures of their dæmons.

It was all in preparation for the Yule ball which would take place at Christmas. The second task was still months away, but this was apparently a tradition which Harry had been told under no circumstances was he permitted to skip.

“I don't know why I have to go,” Harry muttered as he slammed the book How to Curse your Friends and make them your Enemies shut.

Harry and Hermione had found a relatively quiet spot in the library, one tucked away from the comings and goings of other students.

“Snape wants you to go?” Hermione asked, her brow knitting together as she glanced up from her book. “I would have thought Dumbledore if anyone would insist...”

“Dumbledore's another problem,” Harry muttered. “He's still convinced Tom will show up-”

Hermione furrowed her brow.

“Is that why Lyra has disappeared...if she's gone to find Tom?”

“That's got nothing to do with Tom,” Harry said hotly. The past few weeks had been an isolating experience. The usual golden light which occupied the castle remain hidden, all because Lyra refused to let him see Will's soul or anyone else's for that matter.

“Harry...you're making it c-cold-”

Harry blinked. A thin layer of frost had formed on the table and had started to creep across the floor. He took a shallow, restless breath.

“Sorry...it's just hard at the moment.”

Hermione lent closer, her arms wrapping tight around Ramiron.

“Because Lyra isn't close?”

Harry didn't reply, only tightened his jaw. As promised, Snape had limited his access to the forbidden potion. Just enough that the cravings were hard to ignore. His control, which had been so perfect, was starting to slip through his fingers.

“Excuse me.”

A Durmstrang boy shuffled out from behind a bookshelf. He cleared his throat nervously, eyes fixed on Hermione as he gestured to his own dæmon.

“My name is Axel Svenson, this is my dæmon Dahl.”

The dog bowed his head low did not speak.

“Would you like to accompany me to the ball?”

Hermione didn't even blink.

“No, thank you.”

Axel frowned, the rejection taken him by surprise. He glanced towards Harry.

“You have already been asked?”

Hermione smiled, and twirled a strand of hair between her fingers.

“Something like that.”

Axel looked like he wanted to say something else, but he nodded and turned to leave, his dæmon trailing behind him and looking back suspiciously at Hermione.

Hermione turned back to her book, only looking up to offer Harry an explanation.

“They're only asking because I'm friends with you,” she said. “He's not the first person to ask.”

Harry watched Axel Svenson sulk off behind a shelf of books.

“Are you going with someone? I don't think Ron would cope if you went to the ball with any tall and handsome Durmstrang.”

Hermione blushed, her gaze flicking to the bracelet on her wrist that Ron had gifted her.

“No one. Anyway, who are you going with?”

Harry couldn't help but stifle a laugh.

“You're a champion,” Hermione argued. “I would have thought someone might have asked.”

Harry wiped a tear from his good eye.

“People actively avoid me in the corridors, who's going to want to spend a whole evening with me?”

“I'm just saying...Durmstrang hold dæmons in the highest of regards, and technically you have two.”

Harry grinned.

“Do you want to go together? Makes life easy for both of us.”

“Sure,” Hermione said, she tilted her head, ignoring the small squeaking protests from Ramiron. “I wonder how Tom would deal with you dating.”

Harry's smile disappeared.

“I have Tom, why would I need to date?”

Hermione shrugged again, but there was a small smile on her lips as she buried herself in her textbook.

“What's so funny?”

“Nothing...anyway, you've been quite taken with the Durmstrang Champion,” she said mildly. “You're always watching him at breakfast and you asked me to put in a good word for you-”

“You mean Will?” Harry frowned. “I mean sure, I'd love to kiss him, but I don't think he'd appreciate it the same.”

Hermione paled and she looked horrified. Her mouth parted, and she grasped a hand over it. Ramiron who had remained relatively undisturbed on her lap, shifted into her jumper.

“But he doesn't have a dæmon-”

Harry shrugged, and deliberately flicked a page of his book.

Hermione shook her head, her eyes widening.

“He does, doesn't he?”

When Harry didn't respond she punched him on the arm.

“Of course he's got a dæmon,” Harry said. “He wouldn't have been chosen to be champion otherwise, would he?”

Hermione looked stunned.

“Is she just invisible then?”

“Well...not exactly.”

He quietly explained under his breath how Will's soul was an embodiment of himself, but still represented an animal in some form.

Ramiron shuddered from inside Hermione's jumper, his otter form looking smaller and more timid.

“A soul inside of someone...that's just...unnatural.”

Hermione shook her head slowly, she looked absolutely captivated.

“I never even considered that before-” She glanced around at the books that towered up dozens of shelves high around them. Harry doubted they'd find any books here on the subject. Her fascination however was soon replaced with wariness.

“That's why you watch him the whole time,” she whispered. “If he's like a dæmon to you.”

Harry couldn't help but look away at this.

“You'll still put in a good word for me though?”

She responded by punching him on the arm again.

---

The morning of the Yule ball, the whole castle seemed to spring alive. The cold and dull corridors transformed into a festive wonderland; grand tapestries of wintery scenes appeared, framed by pine and holly garlands and decorated with all manner of magical creatures. A cloud of fairies had already fluttered over Harry's head, throwing out handfuls of hard boiled sweets and confetti.

There was even a sudden appearance of festive spirits wandering the halls. Harry had never seen ghosts before at Durmstrang, but now they floated out of the brickwork at every turn, singing Christmas songs and wishing anyone they passed a happy Yuletide.

Breakfast was a celebratory affair, with students hurrying between different tables, exchanging gifts and cards in amongst the steady influx of owl post.

Hermione already had half a dozen cards propped up against cereal bowls and jam jars. She passed Harry a couple as he sat down.

“From Mr and Mrs Weasley,” she said happily, before nodding to a very smart owl that was tucking into some left over toast. “They didn't send Errol, I don't think he would have been up to the journey.”

Hedwig, who was a usual sight at breakfasts was absent. She'd left a few days ago, laden with parcels from both Harry and Hermione, and wasn't expected back for a week at least.

Harry tore into a card from Ron, which he was pleased to see included the latest rundown of the Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff match.

“Ron's doing well as captain then,” Harry said. “Looks like he's pulled together a competent team...although Ginny's been giving him a hard time. She wants to play seeker, despite Galian making it near impossible.”

They ate the rest of their breakfast with Harry reading the Daily Prophet while half listening as Hermione recited letters from everyone back at Hogwarts.

He'd been expecting to see some news about Barty Crouch, but so far there had been nothing.

---

It was mid morning by the time he returned to the Hogwarts Express. The sky had cleared, and the snow glistened in the low sunlight, capturing the magic of the mountainside. For a moment, Harry stood watching the water ripple across the lakeside.

He'd taken a longer route back to the train. Lost in an aimless path of endless castle corridors and passageways, while trying to ignore the growing sense of isolation taking hold.

Which made it all the more prominent when a twisting sense of completeness coursed through him.

Harry staggered, clutched his chest with each rotten breath.

Lyra-

The weight of each step was absolute. A rush of exhilaration as he entered his compartment almost at a run.

Two things immediately drew his attention.

The first was that a vial of the forbidden potion was set on his desk. Harry crossed the room and downed it. The hot liquid scratching at his throat.

An instant calm settled over him, a brief moment of satisfaction where he felt so much more human.

The second was that Lyra was curled up asleep on top of his dresser in her pine marten form. She looked so peaceful, her chest rising and falling gently.

She'd found a spot by the window. The dim winter sunshine, keeping the worst of the chill off. All anger at her prolonger absence seemed to melt away in seconds.

Despite this, Harry kicked the drawer, jolting her awake with a series of protesting growls.

“Where have you been?”

Lyra squeaked indignantly. For a moment, Harry stared, caught off guard by the light which flooded his dead eye. It danced tantalisingly, mesmerising almost. Despite this, he found himself relaxing under her presence.

“Just next time, don't disappear for so long okay?”

Lyra squeaked again, but it did little to provide the reassurance he wanted.

Instead he ran his fingers through her fur, relishing in the fact his soul was intact for the first time in weeks. He would have quite happily stayed like that, had he not heard a faint muffled sound coming from his trunk.

“Harry! Harry!”

Underneath a pile of robes, Harry hurriedly found and picked up the two-way mirror.

It was the look on Sirius face that sent a wave of dread through him. Mintaka stirred restlessly behind him, pacing the room back and forth in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

“What's happened?” Harry asked quickly.

His first thought went to Crouch, and whether the Death Eater had been apprehended yet.

Sirius lent closer to the mirror, his gaunt face more prominent.

“I've just come from an Order meeting-” he paused, gathering his breath, “Well, Tom hasn't been seen in weeks, or Riddle for that matter-”

A hollow sensation ripped through Harry. Lyra went very still, well aware of the terrifying implications.

“What-”

Sirius' expression hardened.

“The Order suspect that something is happening, but they have no idea what. Of course, Tom's been by Voldemort's side ever since you were separated, but now-”

Harry froze, thoughts racing. Tom was tethered to Voldemort, just like a dæmon. Riddle had said so himself...if that wasn't true any more...

“Is Tom with Riddle?”

Sirius shook his head as beside him Mintaka growled.

“No idea. Snape's known Tom and Riddle have been gone for weeks. He had a pitiful excuse for why he'd kept quiet before now.”

A hot anger filled Harry, almost turned to go and confront Snape then and there-

“But where have they gone?”

Sirius shook his head.

“I thought you should know as soon as possible...it just feels like something is wrong...and you know what Dumbledore thinks.”

Harry didn't say anything to this, a shadowed fury crossing his expression.

“Tom would never put me in danger.”

Sirius wiped a hand across his face, he looked even more exhausted than usual.

“I know that, but just keep an eye out and be careful, okay?”

Harry nodded, but he wasn't really listening. There was no chance Tom would show himself now, he was imprisoned by Voldemort. How could he possibly come and find him-

Sirius looked grim, but managed a haunted smile.

“I'm sure it's fine...but if I hear anything else, I'll let you know straight away.”

Harry set down the mirror slowly, unsure of when his hands had started to shake.

Lyra leapt from the dresser and brushed her face against his leg, but Harry was hardly paying attention. If Tom wasn't tethered to Voldemort than this would be the perfect chance to steal him back.

Lyra growled, her light rippling in warning.

Harry sighed, absent heart twisting at the thought.

She was right.

That wasn't what Tom wanted. He'd told Harry explicitly to listen to Riddle...and that meant convincing himself that there was no other choice.

He had to serve Lord Voldemort.

But that didn't mean he'd just sit here, waiting for something to happen.

“Come on,” Harry whispered.

He grabbed his broom, scooped up a protesting Lyra and headed out to the usual secluded spot at the side of the lake.

Over the past few weeks he'd had some success with apparition. Once he'd managed to disappear momentarily without splinching himself, much to Draco's relief. But now, he wasn't leaving anything to chance-

Having Lyra back would make it easier.

A calm settled over him as he stood in the quiet of the forest. His attention completely focused, despite the desperate need that he had to succeed before it was too late.

He took a rattling breath and twisted on the spot-

CRACK.

It was like he was being squeezed through something very small. He clutched Lyra tight, a sense of clarity taking hold as he appeared exactly where he'd planned to be, several feet in front of where he'd been moments before.

Lyra squeaked in delight, but Harry didn't let her go, instead repositioning himself to try again.

After his a few more tries, each attempt pushing the distance further than the last, he managed to apparate across the lakeside and back.

Now was the real challenge.

Harry dropped Lyra, twisted on the spot again, concentrating clearly on the other side of the lake.

Nothing happened.

At least nothing more than his initial attempts from the past few weeks.

“Do I need dæmons for everything?” he muttered furiously. He picked Lyra back up, an entirely new destination of his mind.

“The Burrow,” he said, mentally forming an image of the place. He could picture the tumbledown garage and the crooked house towering several storeys high, with the chimney smoke drifting lazily across the hillside.

He twisted again, only for his body to slam against something very solid. His breath caught and he was left gasping for air, as if his lungs would not decompress properly.

A crushing sense of disappointment coursed through him. He stood there in the quiet of the forest, rattling breath growing as he held Lyra tight.

There was a definite block, preventing him from leaving the castle grounds.

Every success had him no closer to his ultimate goal. He'd gotten out of Hogwarts, learned how to apparate and still he was no step to finding or taking back Tom.

“I guess we're stuck here then,” Harry said quietly.

Lyra dutifully pushed her face against his. A reminder that he still had to get the tracker removed from his ankle first before anything could happen.

It made him feel slightly better.

“Stay close tonight.”

---

Harry stood in front of the mirror, staring back at his ashen face and dead eye. He looked odd wearing formal attire. The bottle green dress robes were a stark contrast to the death and decay of the creature he was. His good eye stared back, capturing some of the numbness that coursed through him.

He sighed, straightening his collar before looking down at Lyra. They may as well get this over with.

“Come on then.”

It was well after sunset, and the corridor of the Hogwarts Express was dark, lit only by a few flickering candles. The carriage swayed, rocked by the gentle breeze across the lake.

Harry knocked on Hermione's door, slightly concerned when she took longer than usual to answer. He watched idly as Ramiron darted around the room, his light brimming with defiance.

The door flung open.

“Hi Harry, sorry, I'll just be a moment-”

Hermione wore a very pretty blue dress, with a matching thick woollen shawl draped over her shoulders that Harry was pretty sure had been made by Mrs Weasley.

Ramiron was tucked under the bed. The otter snarled, ducked away and took a swipe at her. There was a ribbon half tied to his tail.

Harry blinked and looked down at Lyra. She was scruffy and still had several twigs stuck in her fur.

“Are we meant to dress up our dæmons?”

“Apparently,” Hermione said as she desperately tried to catch Ramiron. “It's tradition...oh stop it.”

“No,” Ramiron snapped, darting back under the bed. “Lyra's not wearing anything, so why should I?”

Lyra swiped her tail back and forth, watching the exchange with mild interest. That was until Harry pointed his wand at her.

She didn't get very far, Harry caught her with a quick accio and started running his fingers through her fur to pull out some of the twigs.

When Lyra looked vaguely presentable, minus any bows or ribbons, and Hermione had managed to catch and accessorize Ramiron, they made their way up the hillside to the castle.

On the way, Hermione fiddled with the strands of a small purse she had over her shoulder.

“Lyra came back then,” she said quietly.

Harry nodded stiffly.

He glanced down at Lyra, an ache in his chest as she skipped alongside the path, the slush from the snow wetting her fur. It had only been just over a month, but it felt so much longer.

And now she'd just reappeared as if the first task hadn't happened...did she even remember the impact she had on Harry-

It wasn't long before they reached the castle walls. Just like for the first task, a wide path meandered into the forest. The large flags and banners had been replaced with flaming blue and white torches.

There were dozens of students mingling about, all chatting excitedly as they waited for their dates to arrive. Harry smiled at the sight, it had been weeks since he'd seen dæmons properly, and now they were all gathered in once place. Perhaps he'd enjoy the ball more than he'd thought-

There was a rustle of leaves as up ahead, and the treeline parted to reveal a carriage trundling down a newly formed path. The brief moment of peace shattered in an instant.

From out of the castle stepped the one person Harry had wanted to see.

Harry grinned wildly, instincts fuelling all actions. Lyra growled in warning, but she needn't have bothered. The forbidden potion had quenched his growing thirst to some degree.

“Have a patronus ready, and stay here,” Harry said quietly.

Hermione took a tentative step forward, her voice panicked.

“Harry, don't-”

“I'll just be a minute.”

Without giving her a second to protest, he made his way towards where Will Parry was floating a large travelling chest into the waiting carriage. Will wasn't wearing dress robes, and was instead dressed in plain muggle clothing.

Harry failed to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice.

“You're leaving.”

Will turned, his hand already reaching for his wand. His gaze went straight to Lyra, clearly heeding Snape's warning since the first task.

Harry stepped closer, closing the gap between them at an alarming rate.

“Where are you going?”

“None of your business, Potter,” Will said stiffly. His light flickered and pulsed, agitated but still so beautiful.

Lyra growled, her light shifting, but even that would not be enough to distract Harry.

Draco had said something about Will's mother being in St Mungo's. It would make sense if he was visiting her over the holidays.

Harry outstretched his fingers, only for Will to knock his hand away. The feeling lingered, tantalising, as if he'd just touched a real dæmon. He reached out again, more deliberate this time.

“Don't touch me-”

Harry grinned, the rejection only fuelling his desires. The obsession, unhealthy and intoxicating.

His for the taking.

“You're unhinged, you know that right,” Will said, taking a further step back and pointing his wand straight at Harry's chest.

Harry grinned, his decayed smile terrifying. How far would Will let him push it-

“It's hardly my fault your soul is so appetising.”

There was a horrible pause, the chill from Harry was already creeping through the air, turning it desperately cold. Will shuddered, slipping instantly in terrifying memories.

Harry cherished the moment.

Lyra leapt up and sunk her claws into Harry's leg. A final warning.

Harry sighed, let out a rattling breath and took a reluctant step back.

Will Parry would have to wait.

“You shouldn't let me get so close,” Harry said, almost in a mocking tone. “You had plenty of time to curse me, so why didn't you?”

Will shook his head, trying to pull himself from the depths of his despair. For a second, it didn't look like he was going to manage, and then a hard, determined expression crossed his face. He stared at Harry coldly, his own wand hand shaking.

Unbelievably however, he turned his back to Harry.

“Whatever. I'll catch you later, Potter.”

Will hoisted himself up into the carriage.

Harry stared, hunger growing with each impatient, rattling breath. But he stayed dutifully still, well aware that Lyra or Hermione would not tolerate any further action.

It was the same thing Will had said after the first task, but Harry was still no closer to understanding what Will could possibly want.

The carriage trundled away, down the small path and into the depths of the forest.

Hermione ran up beside him. She'd gone very pale and her hands were shaking.

“Don't you dare do that again,” she snapped.

“Sorry-” Harry said, feeling not very sorry at all. “But I didn't attack him this time, so that's only a good thing, right?”

Hermione glared at him.

“If I have to curse you tonight, Potter. I will make it hurt.”

Harry smiled, but he was already relaxing. The urge to devour fading to the back of his consciousness. Lyra shifted around his feet, making apologetic noises towards Ramiron.

“Thanks, Hermione.”

She grumbled her acceptance, crossing her arms in distaste.

“Does Snape know about Will?”

A flicker of annoyance ran through Harry, and he stared at Hermione for a second. He knew she only meant well, but the thought that she'd interfere made the darkness inside of him grow.

“Actually, he figured that out pretty quickly.”

Hermione uncrossed her arms, looking relieved.

"Well, that's good..."

They made their way up the path and through the tree line and soon came to a large opening at the edge of where the first task had been. All thoughts of hostilities seemed to melt from Hermione as she stared at the sight.

“Oh wow,” she whispered.

The whole area had been transformed into an ice like palace. Lights floated, twinkling across the treetops, casting a blue hue onto the powdered snow below. Ice sculptures shaped like dæmons decorated the tree line, while tables and fur blanket chairs were positioned in clusters around the outer edge of the dance floor.

Across the clearing, a band was playing on a crystal stage, a chorus of bells chiming along to a gentle rhythm.

Platters of food sat out on each of the tables, offering a buffet of fish, meats and various cheeses. Hot roast pork, ham and an impressive tower of meatballs were complimented by a mini steaming fountain of mulled wine.

A tray of champaign flutes came floating up to them. The pink liquid tasted like fizzy strawberries and cream.

“Shall we find somewhere to sit?” Hermione asked, beaming from ear to ear. Ramiron shuffled around her feet, watching snow fall melt above their heads.

They moved between mingling students, the girls all dressed in long flowing ballgowns of shimmering pinks and blues, and the boys sporting dress robes of equal grandeur. Their dæmons wore accessories of bows and ribbons of Christmas golds and silvers.

Draco spotted them and waved them over. He was sitting at a table with Jorn Norberg and his friends who all seemed to be in deep discussion about the Decadæmon tournament.

“So Potter, any ideas on the next task?” Jorn asked as they sat down. He was dressed in robes of midnight blue, and had his long blonde hair plaited in an extravagant fashion.

Harry shook his head, watching as Hermione pressed her lips together with an urge to say something.

“Apparently the second task is infamously difficult,” Jorn said simply. “The last time, several champions withdrew without completing it, much to the upset and humiliation of their school.”

“That's because the task is all about the intimate relationship between a person and their dæmon,” Hermione said quickly. She paused, Ramiron stirring restless as Jorn and everyone else turned expectantly towards her.

“Well,” she continued. “It involves testing and manipulating that bond...some champions have said it made their relationship closer but that hasn't always been the case...”

The rest of the table fell into an excited chatter, clearly impressed as Hermione recounted a dozen examples where the second task had been cited as being the worst part of the tournament.

Harry listened as Lyra stirred restlessly, but she wasn't the only one. Harry's dead eye slipped to Adara. Her light was a buzz of activity, mirrored by Draco who kept looking over his shoulder as if distracted.

In comparison, Nalusa, despite being the largest of the dæmons, stayed diligently still, her head bowed just over Jorn's shoulder. Her mane had been tamed and was braided in red and gold ribbons.

Jorn set his drink down and lent back, surveying both Harry and Lyra.

“Your dæmon is really something, Potter,” he said, “How'd she learn to change form like that?”

Harry tried to keep his voice indifferent.

“It's not really something she learned-”

Draco, who had been unnaturally silent for the whole meal, shifted slightly. But no one else seemed to notice.

“What else can Lyra turn into?” Jorn pressed.

He looked expectantly at Lyra as if she'd just transform then and there. Lyra instead yawned and settled herself down on Harry's shoulder.

“I know she's always wanted to try out a basilisk,” Harry said casually, “Or was it a niffler...I can never remember.”

Jorn smiled, which caused the surrounding Durmstrang students to laugh nervously. He leaned forwards, expression eager.

“Lyra is like nothing I've seen before. This tournament must seem like child's play to the likes of you both...which begs the question why did you enter if not for the fame and glory?”

Harry frowned.

“Why does that matter why I entered?”

Jorn's expression was serious, intense almost as he did not look away.

“In wizarding society dæmons are the only thing that matter...you could have so much respect and power. Lyra could give you it all. If you just made your own way.”

Harry actually laughed, an understanding taking hold, but Jorn continued undeterred.

“This tournament has the potential to set anyone up for life. If their dæmon is successful unlimited opportunities await-”

There was a pause, despite the surrounding sounds of mucic and laughter. Harry knew what Jorn wanted, what the expectant looks of all the surrounding Durmstrang thought they were going to hear.

“My soul is tied to Tom's, and always will be,” Harry said. “There's only one path for me.”

Beside Jorn, his dæmon pawed the ground with her hooves, a new restlessness which reflected the golden particles dancing inside her.

“I see,” Jorn actually looked disappointed, he lent back and crossed his arms. “Don't waste the potential you have, Potter. The Dark Lord can offer you power, but is it really worth the cost?”

There was a stony silence.

Harry bit back his retort, a sudden anger taking hold. Ice crackled around, the snow falling above their heads freezing in ice drops. To have his decision judged by someone who knew nothing.

Draco started to speak, but Lyra sunk her claws into Harry's shoulder, baring her teeth and hissed. She would have transformed into a dragon then and there, if Harry hadn't stood suddenly.

“Hermione, do you want to dance?”

Hermione looked simultaneously terrified and grateful at the same time. She jumped up, looking a little relieved when Harry didn't take her hand.

Jorn looked like he was going to say something else, but Harry held out his withered palm to stop him.

“You're using the Decadæmon tournament to launch your own place in pureblood society, I get it. I think that says more about you then it does about me.”

He left the table quickly, with Hermione rushing to keep up.

They slipped onto the dance floor, immediately students and dæmons shifting to give them space.

“How dare he!” Hermione snapped. “You don't owe anyone an explanation.”

Harry looked back over in the direction they'd just left. Jorn was sitting silently, while his friends all gathered round to clearly express their opinion on the matter. Surprisingly Draco's seat had also emptied.

“I thought you were excited to meet people from other schools-”

Hermione blushed.

“I am, but people need to stop telling you how to live your life. It's none of their business if you want to choose Tom.”

Harry stared at her, the darkness in his absent heart somehow softening. Hermione seemed to notice, as she smiled back and gathered Ramiron in her shawl.

Snow fell gently above them, melting only inches above their head.

“Anyway, let's forget about that. There's no point dwelling on pureblood culture. I'll go grab us some drinks, shall I?” she said, and she disappeared into the crowd.

Harry was left alone, save for Lyra who nipped at his ear. He crouched down, letting her jump off so she could skip on the ice around his feet.

He sighed, everything always felt right when she was with him. The last few weeks and her deliberate absence had been painful, but he couldn't even be mad.

“Have fun did you?”

Lyra blinked up at him.

“Well just don't go too far-”

Sirius's warning echoed briefly in his mind, but he pushed it away, instead enjoying the light from the surrounding dæmons. They shone brighter than usual, the dust like light dancing in mesmerising patterns.

Everything had felt so dull without them-

And then something changed.

The was a second where magic pulsed across the dance floor. It disrupted the natural flow of things. The single indication was Lyra's light. It distorted, tremored in way Harry had never seen before.

Harry's breathing slowed, his head spinning slightly, the rush and excitement of the night lingered in the air, but this was something else...

It was if Harry was floating, in a dream like state.

Around him, no one else seemed to have noticed. The motions of people slowed, their dæmons sluggish, their gold dust fracturing in an unknown way.

Something was so very wrong.

Harry tried to concentrate, to reach for his wand, but the music was pounding in his ears, and he found himself starting to relax, watching as students twirled across the dance floor. Beneath him, Lyra skipped around, her small feet pattering across the floor. Her light glistened slowly, distorted by the magic that clung to the air.

Cho, who had been dancing with Cormac McLaggen, squeezed her way through the crowd towards him. Harad circled above her head, soaring between all the other dæmons that flew above the dance floor.

“Ready for the next one, Potter?” Cho said, a wide grin on her face.

Harry couldn't help it, despite his instincts screaming to leave, he grinned back.

“Lyra's got us covered. Hogwarts have got to win.”

Cho beamed at him.

“You should come and celebrate with the rest of us-”

She gestured behind her eagerly, ignoring Harad who hooted to indicate his displeasure at the suggestion.

Harry glanced over to where she'd been dancing with McLaggen to see Katie Bell, Ernie Macmillan, Terry Boot all grouped together, chatting and enjoying the evening. Their dæmons looked relaxed, mingled amongst each other and unaware of his demented gaze.

“I'll pass-” Harry started.

Cho shrugged.

“Well if you change your mind, you know where to find us-”

She waved and made to leave, only to stop. A brief look of surprise crossing her face at something just behind him.

A hand pinched Harry's shoulder.

“May I?”

The voice was achingly familiar.

Harry turned, a sudden clarity taking hold. Whatever magic lingered in the air shifted...the illusion of safety shattering as he came face to face with Tom.

It wasn't possible.

Tom stood before him, immaculately dressed in black dress robes, and with a perfectly charming smile. He was older, looked an exact replica of Riddle.

A mixture of emotions fluttered simultaneously between them, of hope, longing, and desperation. But it was the fear, the unburdened terror that rippled from Tom that really caught Harry off guard.

Lyra hissed, back arching as her claws dug into the ice. A few heads turned in their direction.

“Harry, don't be rude,” Cho said at Lyra's hostility. Her gaze unfocused, seemed to go straight through the pair of them.

Tom flashed a disarming smile as he took Cho's hand and placed a kiss gently on the back of her hand.

She blushed, smile matching his own as Harad hooted uncomfortably, yellow eyes darting between the now snarling Lyra and the fake dæmon floating dumbly beside Tom.

Harry froze. Words lost and body numb, like he'd been plunged into deep, ice cold water. His dead pulse accelerated, the darkness unleashed, as a frost permeated across the dance floor.

How was Tom doing that?

Dæmons couldn't. They shouldn't.

A mixture of horror and absolute fury that Tom was touching someone else, yet there was no pain or despair across their bond, which only made his hurt and anger flare all the more fiercely.

Tom winked at him, mouth curling into an smirk as his eyes burned with wicked amusement.

Chapter 17: Possession

Chapter by HippoParty (OneMoreHorcrux)

“Excuse us,” Harry said tightly as he yanked the back of Tom's dress robes.

“Harry-” Cho started, eyes dilating in an enchanted stupor. Harad took rapid flight, pulling far above their heads with a loud screech.

Tom straightened, offered only an unapologetic smirk as Harry tugged him backwards by the collar.

There was no time for subtlety.

Harry's dead eye locked onto Tom, darting back and forth desperately in the absence of particles, a dark numbness growing in his chest.

Why hadn't Cho retreated in horror? Or anyone else reacted to Tom's presence? How had Tom touched someone else...broke the very foundations of what it meant to be dæmon?

Harry couldn't think.

A mist was forming, condensing across the dance floor, the temperature shift rapid as Harry tried to gain bearings on his emotions, hated how exposed he felt.  He grabbed Tom's hand, was greeted with an overwhelming rush of warmth and comfort. 

If anyone saw Tom, knew that he was here-

Harry began to move and Tom followed, eyes alight with amusement as Lyra scurried around Harry's feet, squeaking and protesting loudly.

“Lyra-”

She leapt out of the way, dodged his attempt to reach out, and ducked into the crowd of mingling students.

“Lyra, come back-” Harry hissed.

Tom's grip tightened in his, stopping any pursuit.

“Leave her,” he whispered.

Harry paused, dead eye frantically searching. Lyra had disappeared, her golden light lost in the blur of other dæmons.

“Come on.”

Tom tugged him back, and Harry was left with no choice. Half following, half searching desperately, knew that Lyra couldn't have gone far. She'd only just returned-

A rattled breath escaped him.

The ache on his soul growing with every absent heart beat. The world was growing colder, his body protesting as Lyra tore herself beyond their reach. His dead eye flickered and died, golden light disappearing.  At the same time, a long forgotten warmth was coursing through him. The physical touch made it all the more potent, a reminder that he wasn't alone.

Not any more.

Tom couldn't fill the void of his dæmon, but he was capable of so much more. The only thing that could offer Harry salvation.

Harry quickened his pace, dodged around other students who parted numbly. Their reactions unsettling and slow, without sparing them a single glance. That didn't stop the fear. That if any second someone shouted out-

Tom moved silently and confidently. Didn't even bother to glance behind them as he led Harry from the dance floor, past tables and fur blanket chairs, beyond the ice sculptures shaped like dæmons, and into the snow topped trees. The sound of music echoed behind them, muffled by whatever enchantment suffocated the night.

Tom squeezed Harry's hand. Despite the coldness in the air, his hand was unnaturally warm.

“This way.”

Tom changed direction, and now he was leading Harry deeper into the woods. Thorns began to crack through the earth in their wake, twisting and growing at a rapid pace to entwine into a solid barrier of vegetation.

They emerged in a dark clearing, the arena wall towering up and lit in moonlight before them. Thorns continued to creep and wrap up the stone work, climbing up its outer edge, while also blocking off any path back into the forest.

Harry stopped, drew his wand and held it tight as he glanced back towards the Yule Ball. Tom rolled his eyes, flashed a sharp smile as he led Harry further into the open clearing.

“I've dealt with that, trust me.”

Right, the fact that everyone at the ball appeared drugged. Their dæmons distorted in some way.

There was no sign of Dumbledore-

Harry lowered his wand, a hard lump forming in his throat, didn't want to let go for fear of Tom disappearing into the night. His whole being had longed for this moment, craved it with every second.

Tom smiled, seemed to understand as a wave of emotion crashed across their connection.

Harry's fist clutched the front of Tom's dress robes, pulling him close to remove the physical gap between them. An unspoken sadness ached across their bond. He couldn't speak. To do so would be to accept that they had been apart for three long years.

Tom gently brushed back Harry's fringe, fingers teasing through his dishevelled hair.

Harry melted into him, their foreheads pressed together. The briefest flicker of pain twinged in his scar, and then it was gone, and Harry could only feel the gentle coolness against his burning forehead.

All fear and doubts dissipating in an instant. If he had Tom again and nothing could go wrong.

He could have stayed like that for hours.

Lost and drowning in a comfort he'd forgotten.

Finally, Tom stepped back and Harry could take him in him clearly.

He was older, his cheek bones more defined. Tall and handsome with a clear air of authority. Harry would have thought he was Riddle had he not known better.

There was an odd look on Tom's face, as if something hadn't resulted in the way he expected, but Harry didn't care, he would have frozen time just to take in every inch of his face, every minute expression that gave Tom life.

Beside Tom, the fake dæmon floated. It was a box jellyfish, long tentacles catching in the breeze. It had a transparent, blue hue and shimmered in the darkness.

“Their tentacles can kill,” Tom said mildly, when he noticed Harry's stare. “One sting is enough venom to cause the most agonising death...if you're a muggle of course. The witch I took him from had tentacles permanently adhered to her skin...would rather risk an agonising life than go without her dæmons touch.”

Tom flicked his wand. The fake dæmon spun lazily in the night air. “You see, it's a fascinating piece of magic needed to mimic a dæmon. You have to steal a piece of an existing one...it allows an imprint of the original soul to be created, an imitation of what they should be.”

Harry didn't move, only tightened his jaw. It sounded horribly like Riddle's diary.

“Is that how you're able to touch someone else?”

He hated the accusation in his voice, felt even worse when Tom laughed.

“No, that's just a cheap trick. The real power is in the dæmons.”

The jellyfish flickered in the light. It certainly looked convincing, at least initially as its body pulsed against its watery sphere.

Harry crossed his arms, failed to keep the bitterness out of his voice, wished they were talking about anything else.

“Does it work the same with any dæmon?”

There was a flash of intrigue in Tom's eyes and for a second it looked like he was tempted.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Theoretically, I could steal a piece of Lyra and recreate an imagine of her.”

Harry pressed his lips together, and looked away.

“It's not stealing if I'm giving her to you,” he muttered.

Something sharpened in Tom's shadowed eyes. But he failed to acknowledge the hurt that was coursing through Harry. The fury that Tom had touched someone else, or that he didn't seem to care that he'd violated the most basic courtesy.

Tom stepped closer so they were only inches apart. Hot breath washed across Harry's face, disorienting almost as he resisted the urge to take a rattling breath.

“Your soul is far too precious to give away,” Tom said softly. “Any imbalance could have devastating consequences...you should know this.”

His last words were pointed, a hint of his anger seeping through. He reached out, fingers tugging deliberately around Harry's left wrist.

Harry squirmed, tried to pull his sleeve down to hide the decay. A wash of dread and shame coursed through him, but he wasn't sure if it was his own emotions or Tom's.

“Show me,” Tom said coolly.

Harry never got a chance to respond.

One second Harry was clutching Tom's sleeve. The next, he was slammed hard up against the arena wall.

“Tom-”

Oppressive magic burst into existence, manipulating the very air between them. Tom reached for Harry's collar, began to undo the buttons on his shirt.

Harry pushed back, gripped Tom's wrist desperately.

“Don't-”

Tom shot him a warning look, pulled his hand away with unnatural strength. Harry could do nothing, felt as if he was drowning for breath as Tom's magic rushed through him.

Tom tugged Harry's dress robes open with ease, revealing the gaping hole in his chest, directly where his heart should have been.

The growth was obvious. The impossible darkness leached out, tendrils of decay carving deep into Harry's flesh, cutting down his left arm and embedding itself further into the layers of his dead skin. The hole itself had widened and distorted to cover the whole upper half of his chest.

Tom pressed the tip of his wand to Harry's skin.

“Lumos,” he breathed.

Harry hissed. The light burned, absorbed by the darkness which lashed out, bleeding in smouldering tendrils.

“Has it changed since?” Tom asked sharply, a hard edge to his voice.

Harry shook his head, struggling against Tom's firm hold as he bit down on his lip to save from crying out. The light pulsed, it was like acid bubbling against his chest. He failed to push Tom away.

“Not since that night,” he said through gritted teeth.

It was months ago now, but Harry still shuddered at the memory. The moment when their connection to each other had been lost, and the darkness awakened with a desperate need to consume, ruin and destroy-

Tom lowered his wand and tilted his head, continuing to examine Harry like he was some odd specimen.

Harry slumped forwards, would have collapsed had it not been for Tom holding him against the wall. He looked up, pained expression finding Tom's own-

Guilt.

It flooded through Harry in such waves that he staggered.

“It wasn't your fault.” Harry gasped, needed to say it, didn't even know if it was true. “Look, I'm okay...Lyra got to me just in time.”

“Not soon enough,” Tom hissed, his hands moving to grip Harry's throat, tipping his head back, examining his jaw line. The sensation was cold and unfamiliar. “If it happens again, you may not survive it.”

Harry seized the front of Tom's robes, shook him slightly.

“What happened? W...why did we lose connection?”

Tom smile was haunted and he didn't answer.

“Tom-” Harry said. “Tell me.”

The coldness in Tom's gaze was just wrong.

There was the smallest of flinches as he drew away, leaving Harry feeling abruptly alone as he stood against the stone work.

Tom wasn't looking at him, had began to pace back and forth.

“You'll know by now that Voldemort has kept me by his side since our separation?” Tom said stiffly. “That I've basically been treated like a dæmon...in every capacity.”

Harry nodded, dare not move for fear that Tom would stop talking.

“Well...it's only natural that our connection developed into something more.”

A crushing weight surged through Harry.

“What-”

“It's just like your connection to Riddle, really,” Tom said quietly, a thin smile on his lips. “I tried to fight it at first, but now I understand that I have always been a part of him...”

Harry couldn't speak. An envy like no other was coursing through him.

Tom was his, had always been-

“Voldemort's taken you back?”

Tom nodded simply.

“S-so our connection?” Harry's voice cracked.

“Fluctuated because it was no longer unchallenged,” Tom said softly. “Voldemort asked me to attack Azkaban...I knew this was my chance to prove myself...to regain my freedom. And when I killed Scrimgeour, the Dark Lord was so pleased...I just never understood the consequences it would have on us...that when I gave myself to him, I became less to you.”

A distant drum was echoing in Harry's head, like he was hearing Tom from so very far away.

It was exactly like Harry and Riddle. All those years ago, when Riddle had given Harry back his wand, manipulated their bond...just so Lyra would show herself.

Tom was still pacing.

“I didn't think anything of it,” he muttered. “I didn't realise what had happened to you until you returned to Hogwarts-”

Harry could remember clearly. The way Snape had broken into his mind, had told him to stay with Lyra until he had spoken to the Dark Lord.

“You're still mine,” Tom whispered. He finally looked back to Harry, a rush of strange emotions overwhelming in every sense. “The Dark Lord had no desire for you to decay further. He is merciful, he allowed me to stabilise our connection.”

There was a stillness, where Harry couldn't process what he was hearing.

“Tom-”

It hurt. Now he knew how Tom had felt, when Harry had been so flippant about Riddle, when he had actively refused to let Tom know what had happened between them.

Harry swallowed, a tightness forming in his chest.

“So Voldemort-”

“Is nothing compared to you,” Tom said sharply. He closed the gap between them, but stayed just out of arms reach, fixing Harry with a desperate look, it made Harry's absent heart break.

Harry averted his gaze, shaking his head.

He needed time to think. To understand exactly what had happened.

Questions flew rapidly through Harry's head, didn't know what he was supposed to do-

With Riddle, everything had been so complicated, if he had to navigate Tom's connection to Voldemort too-

Then it all stopped. His thoughts quietening as a sudden clarity took hold. He'd been told exactly what he to do...when he'd spoken to Tom and Riddle through the sorting hat.

A hard lump was forming in Harry's throat. The darkness tightening, taking hold with a whirl of devastating emotions.

He had only one course of action now. Tom's wish and Riddle's warning.

Convince yourself you are loyal to the Dark Lord. Convince Tom.

Harry had to be believable.

He pushed the thought to the deepest recesses of him mind. Would not think on it.

“If Voldemort granted your freedom, what took you so long?” Harry said stiffly. He felt childish for asking.

Tom's expression warped, and for a moment he looked annoyed.

“Hogwarts is next to impenetrable, here you could say we have some leverage.”

“Right,” Harry muttered. “Having Karkaroff helps I guess.”

“He has been rather cooperative,” Tom said mildly.

“I guess you've got Crouch and Umbridge as well,” Harry said thickly.

Tom paused at this, a sudden steely gaze on Harry's. And then he was smiling, his eyes gleaming as he smirked.

“Yes,” Tom said softly. “How did you know about Umbridge? I didn't think Lyra had been with you.”

Harry shrugged.

“Fake dæmons aren't terribly convincing to me any more. They're usually too stiff and slow. Who is she anyway?”

Tom tilted his head, his stare unnaturally long. When he finally blinked, there was a twisted smile in the corner of his mouth.

“Bellatrix Lestrange.”

A flash of dread rippled between them. Sirius' had warned Harry about his cousin often enough...knew that if Harry ever found a home in the dark that she would be more of the unsavoury people he would meet.

“Why is she here?” Harry asked slowly.

Tom tapped his fingers against his wand.

“With Dumbledore being present, I'd rather have as many Death Eaters close by as possible...of course, she has other matters to attend to away from Durmstrang...but her presence is reassuring all the same.”

Harry crossed his arms.

“She's not here to watch me then?”

A thin smile tugged at Tom's lips but he shook his head. Harry wasn't quite sure he believed him.

“And Crouch? Who's he? I've never seen his dæmon.”

At the mention of the name, Tom's expression darkened, a hiss of anger escaped his lips.

“Crouch is a fool...the Order are already suspicious and yet he still believe he can out manoeuvrer them...it's only a matter of time before they act...and that will cause complications.”

“Crouch didn't seem to like me much,” Harry said delicately. “He said if I wanted any help, I had to get rid of the Orders tracker first.”

“You've spoken to him?”

Tom's voice was oddly sharp.

“First night I got here,” Harry shrugged. “I would've thought he'd have told Voldemort-”

Tom titled his head, a unfiltered anger simmering. It was clear he wanted to ask more on the subject, his gaze suddenly unfocused, as if he was lost in deep thought.

“No. He didn't.”

But Harry had no desire to get into what things Voldemort's Death Eaters did or didn't tell him. Instead, he had more pressing matters. He lifted up the leg of his trousers, revealing the blue cylindrical band that encompassed his right ankle.

“Can you do anything about it?”

Tom's gaze slipped down to it, pressed his mouth together. He levelled his wand. There was a splintering crack, a flash of blue light. Harry blinked rapidly, looked back down at his leg.

The band of light was gone.

A leap of euphoria enveloped him, and he beamed at Tom.

“You did it-”

Tom however, hadn't reacted. Instead his fingers wrapped around Harry's right wrist, pulling up his sleeve.

The tracker was there, unchanged and undamaged.

“That's very clever,” Tom breathed, nostrils flaring. “Dumbledore's work, of course.”

Disappointment coursed through Harry.

“But how-”

“The magic adapts,” Tom said coolly. “It means that if the caster wants to break the curse, it will shift the boundaries, make it almost impossible to break...it moved before the counter curse connected...”

“B-but you can break it?”

Harry didn't want to think of the possibility otherwise. If he was always going to remain trapped, and unable to escape Dumbledore-

“I can, but I'll need some time,” Tom said quietly.

A ripple of cold undulated away from Harry, ice cracking and reforming in terrifying waves.

“Anyway, that doesn't matter right now.” Tom's fingers wound back around his wrist, pulling him closer, so that his other hand tightened on Harry's hip. “The tournament is magically binding. I can't take you until it's over.”

Despite himself, Harry shivered. There was no warmth in Tom's voice, only a dangerous tone which was layered with a suppressed anger.

“I told you not to enter the tournament.”

Harry pushed Tom's shoulder, forcing him away. The sudden break in contact was like a rush of cold, like there was something terrible. A drug he'd forgotten about.

“I had to do something,” Harry said stiffly. “I was sick of waiting. I couldn't stay in Hogwarts, not for another year.”

Tom's mouth tightened.

“I would have come for you.”

But that in itself was so wrong. Tom couldn't just walk away, just like he couldn't be here now. Despite what had happened in Azkaban-

Only, they were together, and nothing could tear them apart. There was an ache across their connection, and Tom's emotions were a flood of terror, excitement and a longing need to say something.

Tom's expression however, was the opposite. Cold, and with a fierce determination.

“What?” Harry said when Tom kept staring at him.

Tom smirked.

“Here I was expecting you were going to have a go at me for killing Scrimgeour.”

Harry slammed up his Occlumency. Thoughts racing and threatening to betray his true response. Instead he crossed his arms, giving Tom a disbelieving look.

“Why would I? You get Scrimgeour, I get Dumbledore remember?”

It had been a joke at the time, all those years ago. But clearly that didn't matter now.

Now Tom really did stare at him.

But it wasn't in an amused way. It was as if Harry was suddenly far more interesting than he'd ever given him credit.

“Anyway, Scrimgeour's death changes nothing,” Harry said lightly, with a shrug. “It's not like you were coming back. I had to come to you.”

The implication was there. Enough for Tom to tilt his head, eyes alight in something terrifying.

“You would serve Lord Voldemort?”

Tom's tone was chilling. His expression shifted to something alien. But it wasn't the shock or disbelief that Harry had expected. Or that Tom would never accept Harry bending his knee in servitude to anyone.

He had to tread carefully.

“I want to be with you, Tom,” Harry said. “We've been apart too long...if there's even the possibility that Voldemort would let me remain by your side...then I would take it.”

The words slipped easily and earnestly.

“We could run,” Tom said quietly.

“Until Voldemort or the Ministry catch up with us again and rip us apart?” Harry laughed. “I'm not leaving us to chance. Not any more. With Voldemort we could be together and nothing would ever have to come between us again.”

Tom's eyes narrowed, an odd smile on his lips.

“How are you so sure there's a place for you?”

But Riddle had told Sirius all those years ago, that Voldemort needed him for something. Restoring dæmons. Whatever that meant.

A lot had changed since then.

Harry jerked his chin up.

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” Tom's voice was very soft now. “You're not wrong. There's a place for you with Voldemort.”

There was no hesitation. Harry would not think on it.

“Then we should take it,” Harry said firmly, locked gaze with Tom so that his resolve would not falter.

Tom was silent for a moment. Then he drew himself tall, held his wand deliberately in his palm.

Harry didn't flinch, merely met his stare unblinking.

“The prophecy?” Tom demanded suddenly.

Harry froze, nearly responded automatically had it not been for the spike of terror that radiated from Tom. Something told him to tread very carefully here.

“Is for Voldemort's ears only,” Harry said evenly, repeating his last response, his absent heart threatening to betray him. Something warned him not to refer back to their previous conversation on the matter.

It was the right answer. The relief that poured from Tom was overwhelming, that Harry nearly staggered.

Tom however, merely leant back, an almost amused look crossing his face.

Something wasn't right.

“So what happens now?” Harry asked cautiously. There had to be a reason why Tom had shown himself, least of all at the Yule Ball. Why had he taken such a stupid, unnecessary risk-

Tom's expression darkened, but instead of the fury to match his expression there was something else entirely.

Fear. Desperate, incomparable fear.

“Well at the moment, your job is to stay alive. The second task-”

There was a disturbance. A rustle of leaves from somewhere in the trees close by.

“Harry?” Hermione's voice called out in the darkness.

They both spun, relief flooded Harry as he made to call out, but Tom was quicker, hand slamming over his mouth. Magic snapped around him, suffocating in its potency. Harry's rattling breath failed to muster any force.

It had been a long time since Harry had felt this hopeless.

Tom on the other hand was radiating in power, an energy so raw that Harry's scar was burning. He slumped into Tom, moaning as his eyes rolled.

And then it stopped, and Harry was left clinging to Tom as if he was life itself.

He'd thought he had grown strong but Tom had grown so much stronger.

Harry struggled, but Tom didn't loosen his grip.

Something else shifted. A warmth that completed Harry's soul.

Harry froze, relaxed instinctively as his dead eye erupted in golden light.

A short distance away, Lyra crouched low amongst the thorns. She flicked her tail back and forth, watching them with her wide eyes.

Hermione's voice was growing distant, quietening as she called into the darkness as she moved away.

“She shouldn't have found us,” Tom hissed, lowering his hand away from Harry's mouth.

“She didn't,” Harry whispered, struggling to draw breath. “Lyra did.”

Tom spun away from Harry for the first time, wand in hand.

“Lyra's here?”

Lyra flicked away, unseen in the darkness to anyone but Harry, only revealed to his dead eye. If she didn't want to be seen...

Tom was already moving away, summoning a cloak which he drew over his shoulders. Harry lashed out, seized the front of Tom's robes.

“You're not staying?”

The truth of the matter hurt.

“I'll be back soon,” Tom said. He squeezed Harry's hand and a flicker of deep pain rippled across their bond.

But Harry couldn't let go.

“They can't do anything. You're my dæmon, protected by the tournament-”

A sad smile crossed Tom face.

“Do you think that would stop Dumbledore?”

Of course it wouldn't.

Harry shook his head, hating how desperate he sounded.

“Then take me with you...I can be back for the second task. Just don't-”

His voice died, almost believing that Tom couldn't walk away...not after all these years. He knew Tom didn't want to leave, he could feel it in the depth of his absent heart.

The longing pain that passed between them was proof enough of that.

Tom paused, reached out and gripped Harry's chin, holding it gently as his thumb stroked across Harry's cheek.

“I will be back for you, Harry. I promise,” he whispered.

Disappointment, so sharp and intense flooded Harry, but all he could do was agree numbly.

The thorn wall parted, and Tom pulled back, their touch parting. It was worse, because he was choosing to leave, after all this time.

Tom offered one last smile and then he was gone.

Harry slumped back against the wall, sinking to the ground and relishing the chill in the air. He couldn't stop shivering, despite his skin feeling hot and dry. Sweat covered his brow, as his chest rose and fell sharply.

Layers of ice began to creep away from him.

He wanted to follow.

To run after Tom and scream at him, call him out that he had walked away.

But something held him still.

Something was terrifying wrong.

For the first time, he let his own inhibitions come streaming back. The doubts, the anger, the complete confusion that Tom would believe for a second that Harry would pledge himself to Voldemort.

Tom should have challenged him...should have called Harry out and refuted every word he said. It was unnerving that he'd just accepted it, that he considered that Harry would consider joining the Dark Lord's service for real-

Tom would never allow it. Would rather destroy Voldemort and Riddle for what they had done to him. But if Tom had really formed an emotional connection with Voldemort....

Harry didn't believe it.

And there was the fact that Tom had been ruthless, had drawn his own wand on Harry-

That was more Riddle's style...but it had been Tom, there was no doubt about that. Just, the similarities were chilling.

Harry slumped his head in his hands, breathing in and out.

This was not normal.

Had he just spent so long in just the company of his own soul, that he'd forgotten how intense Tom could be...and then combined with Tom's wildly fluctuating emotions.

Nothing made any sense.

Did Tom have his part to play too? Just like in first year, when he couldn't think on his actions...

Harry wiped his sleeve on his face, unable to prevent the sudden blurring of his good eye. Why did everything have to be so complicated. It had been so simple when it had just been them in their cupboard.

Wand light scattered across the snow, illuminating the wall of thorns and the arena wall.

“Harry-”

Hermione was still searching in the darkness.

“I'm here.”

His voice was surprisingly hoarse. Harry could barely think, only just managed to pull his shirt closed to hide the gaping hole in his chest.

The wand light flicked round. There was hurried footsteps and Hermione appeared out of breath, through the thorn archway where Tom had left. Ramiron followed skirting nervously around her heels.

She stopped, eyes widening at the surroundings.

“Who were you with?”

She took one look at his dishevelled hair, and his heavy breathing.

“Who were you with?” she repeated, this time twisting round to see if anyone was hidden in amongst the tree. “Who was he? Is he a good kisser...I mean, can you kiss someone without-"

Hermione faltered, terror in her eyes at her own statement.

“Hermione-”

He couldn't say it.

The fact that Tom had been here. And now he was gone.

He was fortunate that he didn't need to explain anything else.

Hermione gasped, hand flying to her mouth.

“That was Tom? Oh, Harry.”

The minutes they'd spent together felt like they hadn't existed at all. A fleeting glance of what should have been. The years apart, that had been stolen and could never be reclaimed.

Hermione rushed towards him, knelt down and gripped his arm gently.

“Harry?”

“He's different,” Harry admitted, head tilted back. “I mean, of course he would be, I've changed. How could he not.”

Everything felt wrong.

Their encounter wasn't what he'd expected, but every inch of Tom felt familiar. Proof that he had existed and still belonged to Harry.

“Lyra wasn't happy,” Hermione said quietly. “She was in a right panic when she found me and Ramiron...”

Harry blinked tiredly.

“Lyra found you?”

Hermione nodded, brow furrowing.

“That's why I came looking for you. She was really distraught...although I don't know where she's gone now.”

Lyra was still crouched, watching and hidden in the undergrowth. Why had she fled when Tom had first appeared? And then still refused to show herself. She was his soul, adored Tom more than life itself.

“She's close enough,” Harry said quietly.

There was anger in her golden light. It splintered it dangerous waves, crashing back and forth as she flicked her tail, eyes wide and accusing.

What had Harry done wrong?

---

The forest was dark. A thick canopy of trees blocked the moonlight, allowing shadows of sinister shapes to form and disperse in the undergrowth. Thin layers of snow covered the ground, reflecting a dim light across the wintery landscape.

It was unnaturally quiet, with only soft footsteps disturbing the stillness. Durmstrang and the distant sounds of the Yule ball had long since faded. Leaving those celebrating unaware of the disturbance that had passed this night.

Harry.

Tom's thoughts burned with a fierce intensity, lost in memories of what could have been.

Despite the years, Harry had barely changed. The same ashen skin stretched across the right side of his face, with only his good eye left to reflect the boy he'd once been; bright green and filled with so much life.

Harry.

He'd been right there.

Tom had dreamt of their reunion in every waking hour. Desired nothing more than to pull Harry close, hold him tight and never let him go...

And that hadn't happened.

Tom's body continued to walk, the forest parting before him. Thick vines twisted across the thicket, trees warping to mirror the magic of the castle and allow passage. The snow was thicker here, built up from a fresh snowfall blown down from the hills.

Tom wanted to scream-

Wanted everything to stop.

Needed Harry to know that everything he'd just been told was a lie.

The trees began to distort. Roots buried through the earth, blocking the path to reflect the inner turmoil of Tom's desires.

His body came to a halt, a flicker of annoyance itching at the far recesses of his consciousness.

Everything went black.

Tom's vision swam, a rush of sickness overwhelming him.

He staggered, knees buckling as he collapsed into the snow. Anything to stop the world from spinning, to adjust to the sudden shift as control of his limbs returned. A chill coursed through him, the biting cold grounding, a gift following the cruel sensory deprivation. His heart thumped painfully, a reminder of what he'd been separated from.

He was himself again.

No longer possessed and imprisoned in his own body by Voldemort.

The Dark Lord wasn't looking at him.

He'd drawn his hood back, red eyes gleaming in a terrifying awareness, as pale fingers wrapped around his wand.

To any observer, it would have looked as if the Dark Lord had appeared from nowhere. But all manner of small creatures had fled, leaving no one left to bear witness, to observe the truth of Tom's life for the past few months.

Tom stood, legs shaking as he took a restless step away.

Lord Voldemort's pitiless eyes turned upon him.

The Dark Lord moved deliberately slowly, magic raw and suffocating in its potency. He loomed closer, spidery fingers seizing the front of Tom's dress robes.

“You warned the boy.”

Tom met Voldemort's fierce red eyes. Without breaking eye contact, he wetted his lips.

“I did not.”

Riddle had seen to that. Given Harry just enough information to know to be cautious. To not leave anything to chance.

Voldemort hissed, pulled him closer. A murderous intent smothered all thoughts and feelings. It was dizzying, intoxicating. A power that could not be denied.

Tom could barely think straight.

“I did everything you desired, My Lord,” he breathed.

Voldemort's serpentine face twisted, moved in a terrifying alien way.

“And yet, the boy failed.”

Instead of fear, a deep sense of pride welled within Tom. Harry had been flawless, there was nothing that Voldemort could criticise. He knew it more than he knew himself.

“Harry is yours in every sense, as promised,” Tom whispered. “You wanted to test him. And he showed himself capable.”

Spidery fingers slipped upwards, coiled around his throat. Voldemort's voice was soft, deadly.

“That is yet to be seen.”

Tom didn't move. For a moment, it was as if anger would take him, the weight of everything crushing down and spiralling out of control. Each breath like a knife to his chest, made worse as the Dark Lord tightened his grip.

“The fault is not with Harry,” Tom hissed. “Why did you bother to proceed if you never believed Harry could be loyal?”

Voldemort sneered, lipless mouth curling.

“You dare criticise me?”

Tom's eyes narrowed, and he raised his chin to draw a meagre breath.

“My Lord,” he said stiffly. “I just meant...if you're going to pretend to be me, then you need to start acting like me...this won't work if Harry doesn't trust you.”

A flash of what could only have been amusement passed through Voldemort's eyes. He uncurled his long fingers, releasing his grasp.

Tom stepped away. Pure adrenaline coursed through his veins, making his hands shake uncontrollably. Desperation mixed with fury overwhelmed the oppressive magic that lingered in the air.

Voldemort circled him, bare feet sinking into the snow.

“What else would you have me do?” he said lazily.

The cold indifference made Tom glare up at Voldemort.

“Have some empathy for a start,” Tom hissed. “It's Harry. If you don't know what you're supposed to do, then treat him like Nagini, or let me-”

Voldemort's face distorted into something fierce.

“You will have no agency near the boy,” he said coolly.

Tom stiffened, fingernails biting into his palms. He knew that.

Voldemort had been clear since the start. That his connection to Harry was permitted in necessity only.

That was not enough. How could it be.

No one should be left alone.

“You've become so detached from any hint of humanity,” Tom snapped, gesturing wildly. “Do you even remember how to care for anyone but yourself?”

But of course he didn't. He'd ripped his own soul apart, splintered Nagini past anything recoverable. Yet, there had to be something salvageable. Otherwise, why was the Dark Lord even entertaining this idea-

Voldemort tilted his head, eyes narrowing and patience waning. He raised his wand high.

“Crucio.”

Tom screamed, crumpling as the curse ripped through him. His bones were on fire, daggers cutting through his skin. Each second beyond comprehension, an agony that he could not escape-

The curse broke.

Tom rolled over, choking back a sob. He lay, face pressed into the freezing snow, muscles burning and sickness rushing to his throat. His whole existence needed this to succeed.

Voldemort moved silently, wand still pointing straight at Tom's heart.

“You should thank Potter that you have my mercy,” he hissed softly. “If it was not for the boy, I would have locked your soul away months ago.”

Just like Riddle.

Trapped and unchanging in a diary.

Tom gripped his wrist, but it failed to stop the tremors coursing through his hands.

It would never come to that. He would die first.

High above, the wall of trees and thorns began to twist and disperse, a hint of starlight flickering through the sky.

Tom lay still, lost in the stillness of the night. Voldemort's words running through his head.

Harry.

If Voldemort had not been satisfied then that would already be Tom's fate.

There was still hope.

Harry had played his part perfectly. Had done enough to keep things in motion, but if Voldemort did not reciprocate, then this would all be for nothing.

Tom winced as he pushed himself to his feet.

He swayed, thoughts spinning, a hardness in his voice.

“You need to do better. Harry was taken by surprise, the next time he won't be so forgiving. He'll already be suspicious, even if he doesn't know why.”

Voldemort's mirthless eyes stared back at him.

“The boy can sense you. He has no reason to doubt that you are anyone but yourself. Any suspicions or ire he has will be solely directed towards you.”

Tom averted his gaze, a sudden tightness in his chest.

It was true.

Lord Voldemort could truly do anything with his body.

And the egregious lies he'd just fed Harry were proof enough.

Tom curled his fists, drew a slow steady breath to stop himself doing something stupid.

Harry now believed that Tom had formed some sort of connection with Voldemort, that he was dependent on the Dark Lord in a way that was comparable to Harry.

It was ludicrous.

Tom glared at Voldemort, knew that the only emotion the Dark Lord spared him was contempt.

The truth was much more terrifying.

That the first time Voldemort had possessed him by force, it had broken their connection. And Tom was reduced to nothing, couldn't remember a thing...had no awareness of the urgency of each precious second...could no longer sustain Harry.

And then it had happened again...and again...until Tom could no longer gamble with Harry's remaining humanity.

Voldemort had counted on it, was prepared to leave Harry to suffer a fate worse than death.

“Harry will always care,” Tom whispered. “Whatever action I take, Harry will always choose me.”

But the hard lump in his throat was growing.

He had been left with only one solution.

He would no longer fight. He'd given his permission and consented to being possessed, granted the Dark Lord the authority to enter his mind unchallenged...just so that Tom could remain conscious and keep Harry safe.

And what had that achieved?

It allowed the Dark Lord to masquerade as him. Harry would never suspect that he was being tested. And if he proved unwavering loyalty...

Riddle's plan was beginning to come to fruition.

“And?” Tom asked numbly, although he already suspected the answer.

Lord Voldemort twisted his serpentine head, red eyes glinting in the darkness as he walked silently around Tom, black robes clinging to his skeletal body.

“If Potter survives the next task, then I may use the boy.”

Tom nodded, fists clenching.

He couldn't ask for more.

The second task. He dreaded it with every fibre of his being. The way to victory was narrow, an impossible path that Harry had to walk alone.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Bound by Souls