Chapter Text
Percival Graves grumbled as he tied his necktie for the hundredth time. It still looked rakishly off-centre. Perhaps he should ask an elf to help, or not. Portia had talked him into joining them for the charity gala when he would rather hide in the woods for the rest of the evening. That was preferable to the horror of being accosted by society matrons once the gigglewater started flowing.
Portia Jane Potter-Graves had inherited a sprawling estate near Mount Greylock from her late husband - her fifth and final one- with rooms to let. Wilfred was a cousin of Percival’s. Percy took up her offer since he was just hired to teach at Ilvermorny nearby. The arrangement had stood for three decades since. He was not the only one. The estate’s proximity to Ilvermorny meant many relatives were eager to have their children hosted at Little Pottery for the brief Easter and Winter breaks rather than have them Floo, Portkey, or flown across the continent. Many of these youngsters later end up purchasing one of the many dwellings in the vicinity and starting their own households there.
“Percy, you need to get out and not just to up to Ilvermorny for your lectures… Alfie wouldn’t want you moping about…” Portia’s voice called out over the rapping on his door. “Let’s see if the elves have the front hall done up yet.”
Alfie, or Alphard Black, was a dear friend, even though they had not started off that way. They used to hole up in the woods between early October to Thanksgiving, steering well clear of Halloween. Poor Alfie had passed on since from a wasting disease which he blamed on his family’s propensity for inbreeding. The wizard had been a fine Auror in MACUSA before his retirement. Bit of a maverick perhaps. He was sorely missed. There was a nephew in Britain he had left the hunting lodge to, but the man had not replied to the letters sent to him regarding his American property. For now, the lodge out in Salem Woods sat in Stasis.
“You better not be starting on the firewhiskey…”
Sighing, Percival conceded defeat in his struggle with his necktie, Vanished his half-filled tumbler to the kitchens, and opened the door. Portia was dressed in a shimmery periwinkle gown. Her white hair was in a bob sporting a peacock feather band. White opera gloves, a cashmere stole, and beaded clutch completed her outfit. He offered her his arm. The rest of the household were still pottering about making last minute touches to their outfits. He led her down the stairs to the front hall.
There was something lying in the hall. Something wriggly and whimpering. A baby wrapped in a blanket. It was bleeding from the forehead. Was it a Skinwalker? His Auror training kicked in. Muscle memory slid his wand out of its holster and into his hand without him even being aware of it. He raised his wand arm. The bundle gave a wail.
“Percy, put that down!”
A sharp pain. His entire forearm was numb. He barely registered his wand falling from his now-nerveless hand before a sharp clip to the back of his knee, yes, the weak one, brought him to his knees literally. That bloody hurt. He was sidelined by that beaded clutch. Once again, Percival Graves wondered if all ladies carried bricks in their dainty handbags to add heft to their swing.
Percival being was attended to by Missy, a senior house elf. His arm still felt all tingly. If it were broken, Missy would have fixed it, the elf insisted. Mistress Portia just hit his funny bone hard. He’d be as good as new in a bit, if he laid off the drink. Percival wondered which perverse anatomist came up with that quaint name for the nerve which was currently tormenting him. Pain-reliver and alcohol did not mix well. Maybe more whiskey could numb it further. Missy gave him a scowl of disapproval as he fumbled with his whiskey glass. A good deal splashed onto the Persian rug.
Mistress Portia glided over with an armful of infant and a train of adoring relatives and guests. The child yawned sleepily as it snuggled against her shoulder. There was a bandage about its head. It was wearing a onesie with puppy pawprints.
“Portia, you almost crippled me…”
“Sorry for over-reacting, sir. What were you thinking pointing a wand at this darling little boy, Perce?”
Percival made a half-hearted protest about Scanning Spells and Skinwalkers. Babies do not pop up unannounced in front halls. He lay back on the couch with a groan. The feeling was just starting to return to his wand arm. The gala was in full swing despite the absence of its hostess. He should probably give the entire gala a miss while Portia fussed over the baby, along with a good many of the witches in attendance.
Harry Potter, a distant relation from the British line of Potters. Countess Dragmir of the Goblin Nation, and bosom friend of Portia Potter-Graves, had expedited the blood lineage test in the parlour, for a reasonable fee of course. The child was newly orphaned. Magic had seen fit to transport the child to his nearest magical kin despite the MACUSA Potters having parted ways with their British kin in the late 17th century.
Despite her many marriages, Portia had no child of her own. A Curse from a rival back in her youth had forestalled that. Two of her marriages ended in divorce thanks to her infertility. Even in the New World, old families were still obsessed about continuing the bloodline. She might had had a chance with Juan Lopez, but that ended abruptly when a Potions accident took out his elder brother’s family, leaving him to continue the line. Her next two marriages were with widowers eager to cement an alliance with the Potters and provide their daughters with a stepmother. For some reason, the fickle Potter magic had deemed Portia family head in the Americas when her grandfather passed on, over her horde of brothers, nephews, and boy-cousins. Both Andy MacDuff and Benoit Picquery had treated her decently, but more as a social ally than a wife. Her parents and Madam Savannah’s Finishing School had set her up to be the perfect society hostess.
She had tried her best by her stepchildren, but they were well into their teens and on the cusp of adulthood by the time she came into their lives. She was never quite their parent. She would mentor them in the niceties of how to negotiate the social minefield of the elite American wizarding world, how to dress and conduct themselves, even assist in finding them spouses, but she was never Mom to them, only Portia or Aunt.
Wilfred Graves was an odd one. He was a self-made wizard – the United Comet broom company and the Northwestern Wizarding Railways. He was the youngest son in a family of ten from a cadet offshoot of the main Graves line. He had no children due to his ill health, but he had lived life to the fullest before Dragon Pox did him in.
Now Fate seemed to have blessed her with a baby – something she had no idea about how to handle apart from entrusting him to a nursemaid. Missy would be glad to take charge. Most of her peers, magical and no-Maj, left childrearing to the help, the offspring to be trotted out to attend soirees and such once they were old enough…
“Don’t you fret, Ma’am… you’d figure it out…” the small house elf sniffed. “Methinks Master Harry needs changing…” Oh, and she had thought he was just fussy. Missy took the sleepy child and popped off to have him changed.
“Send him off to Dolly Potter or Queenie… They have more experience with infants than us…” Percival murmured as he nursed his whiskey. Dolly Potter had nine children, seventeen grandchildren and raised them all at her apron. Queenie had given her No-Maj baker a literal baker’s dozen before he passed in a tragic automobile accident. After which she had married a Graves squib cousin and produced another set of twins before calling it quits. Her sister had a more modest brood of four with her British wizard spouse.
“Don’t be silly, Percy… Magic sent him here. We must start somewhere… Would you like to hold him before I have Missy ready him for bed?” Portia smiled sweetly as Missy Popped back into the parlour with a now-clean Harry. Percy choked on his drink.
“I’ll pass…”
“You’re the law expert here… Do you think his folks left him anything we should be aware of?”
“We can drop by Gringotts’ when they open…” Percival conceded. Portia was right. Something big must have happened for Magic to just drop a child off like this, especially to such a distant branch of the family tree. Surely the child must have kin closer at hand.
“Maybe this might help…” Portia handed the former Auror a letter that had been tucked into Harry’s baby blanket. Percival frowned as he read the words. What does the current Supreme Mugwump have to do with this child? There was a magical civil war in Britain, but the ICW considered it an internal matter – some Dark Lord wannabe. If Lord Mouldy or whatever had no plans of expanding into the Americas, most MACUSA citizens did not give a hoot.
Mercy Lewis, he needed another stiff drink.
The next morning, a small article on page 2 of the Wizarding International announced that the British civil war was over thanks to some infant. Rising from the breakfast table, Percival Graves strode over to where the child was obliviously nursing a bottle in the baby highchair Missy dug up.
“I don’t suppose you can tell us what happened, can you?” A baby defeating a grown wizard, especially one reputed to be steeped in the Dark Arts stretched the limits of credibility.
Harry only giggled as he bonked the now-empty bottle on Percival’s head.
“Dada, boom! Wan boom!” Harry babbled and blew spit bubbles.
Children should be left in the nursery out of sight and earshot until capable of speaking articulately and walking without tripping over their bootlaces, Percival Graves thought grumpily. Life in the manor would never be quite the same again.
Potter family magic had appointed Portia Jane Potter-Graves as Harry’s guardian. The Brits might moan and whinge all they want but there was no getting away from that. On Monday morning, Portia dragged her in-house law expert, Uncle Percy, over to Gringotts to request the wills of the child’s late parents be read. As per standard procedure, the goblins offered them refreshments as valued clients before informing them of the bad news.
“Sealed? What do you mean some jackass had their wills Sealed?” Portia’s quiet voice echoed through the bank manager’s office with shockwave of a small nuclear explosion. Percival barely had time to put down his coffee cup before being whisked off to the ICW office in New York City. Portia Potter-Graves was a pint-sized spitfire with friends in high places. Gringotts soon sent them an invitation to a Will-reading in their New York branch under ICW exemption. Any British beneficiaries would be notified by post and their bequests discreetly transferred into their vaults without getting the British Ministry of Magic involved.
Harry Potter was coping as well as any toddler who had lost his parents in a traumatic event would. Portia and the house-elves treated him with patience. Healers from St Kitts’ Magical Hospital in New York City were sent for to look over the child. There was a lingering touch of dark magic about him, a residue from the attack which killed his parents. Since he was too young for such invasive healing, they isolated and sealed the residue off from his magical core for now.
The British Potter vault was modest compared to the vaults of the American Potters, the Americans being of a more enterprising bent than their British cousins. Her dear Willy had left behind a virtual business empire with shares still bringing in more Doubloons than she could throw into charitable causes and scholarships fast enough. Portia was no slouch either with her investments. Young Harry would be well-provided for. Portia was content to let Harry’s British vaults remain Sealed until he came of age. She might even open a separate vault for his use once he started at Ilvermorny. Then there was the matter of why none of the other wixen named as possible guardians were given Harry… The Longbottoms were tragically incapacitated. Harry’s godfather…
Percival Graves spotted her coming up to the gazebo where he was smoking after dinner. Portia had all but Hexed him out of the manor for smoking near Harry on grounds the smoke was bad for babies. She never had an issue with his smoking before. Now she approached with a purposeful stride.
“If you are looking at me for his godfather, the answer is no…” Percival warned as he stubbed out his cigarette.
“Harry already has one. Sirius Black… Wonder why he did not take custody? Do you suppose he is that scapegrace nephew of Alfie’s?” Portia blinked her startling turquoise eyes. Eyes that had charmed a generation of American wizarding scions in her heyday.
Damnation! Percival knew she had him hooked on her next project. He hoped it would not involve changing diapers or babysitting. Once again, Percival wondered if he should have accepted Madame Sera Picquery’s proposal in the 1950s to move to Costa Rica to manage her cacao plantation instead of accepting the teaching post in Ilvermorny. Ah well, that owl had long flown.
“Pack your bags, Percy. This might be a good time to visit your old friend Theseus if he would have you for Christmas.’’
She nonchalantly tossed him a bag of Galleons which Percy deftly caught in his free hand.
Notes:
Percy Graves is a pushover where his landlady is concerned. Spoilers! We never saw the real Percival Graves in the 1920s in the Fantastic Beasts movie, since it was Grindelwald from the get-go. Assuming he was acting in character as Graves, we get a very stern, authoritarian figure, maybe old-school in his thinking.
A blow to the funny bone (actually called the ulnar nerve, found in the elbow) is painful and effectively numbs the hand. I was looking for a possible non-magic version of the Vulcan nerve pinch for this rewrite when I whacked my funny bone into a swing door.
Chapter 2: The Dogfather
Summary:
Disillusioned with his treatment in Britain, Black starts over in a new land.
Notes:
Harry’s still a toddler here, even if he is being raised in a very different family. The first few chapters would be focusing more on the adults who will eventually shape Harry’s childhood. Not many changes to the earlier version except for a bit of brushing up. Changes expected in the Hogwarts chapters.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry sat on the nursery rug playing with his trainset. He was two going on three. Sometimes he dreamed of his Mama and Papa, and that scary man. He was not to fly his toy broom indoors or when there was no one about to watch him. He had been a bad boy and did it anyway. Uncle Percy had taken away his broomstick as punishment after he zoomed down the stairs and broke a vase. He was play quietly while Aunt Portia and Uncle Percy went to do their grownup stuff. He was not to bully Missy. Aunt Portia had smacked him when he tugged on her floppy ears.
“Master Percy has brought a guest…” Missy announced as she scooped Harry up. A snap of her fingers saw his toys put away. She wiped his face and attempted to tame his hair before giving up.
“I wan’ walk…” Harry wriggled under the house elf’s ministration. He was a big boy. Missy grinned broadly and offered him her hand. They walked to the parlour where Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. A handsome young wizard was standing there with Uncle Percy and Aunt Portia.
“Padfoo!” Sirius Black turned at his voice and stooped down, arms wide. Harry barrelled into his godfather’s waiting arms.
“Hi there, pup!” Harry had grown since he last saw him. He was a rambunctious little tyke, healthy and above all happy with his American family. His pup was in good hands.
The Chief Warlock, Albus flipping Dumbleass, left him to rot in Azkaban! Sirius had expected some word from their great leader, but not a peep for almost a year - a hellish year of Dementors and feeling his sanity slipping before the first lawyer came. And he was sent to him not by Dumbledore but by friends of his late Uncle Alphard from across the pond. To his horror, he learned that Harry had been sent to Petunia. Thank Merlin for family magic kicking in. Who knew what the spiteful sister of Lils would have done to her magical nephew. Dumbleass promised James to protect his family and look where that got them. The fat liar!
His defence team, headed by Percival Graves and Theseus Scamander, had pushed for him to have a trial and administered Veritaserum. Under Veritaserum, he revealed how the Potters had switched Secret Keepers at the last minute, and Pettigrew’s status as an unregistered rat animagus. He suspected his lawyers knew or guessed that he was an animagus too but skilfully framed the questions to avoid outing him.
“If I hadn’t suggested Pettigrew as Secret Keeper…”
“If I had been there sooner that night…”
“If I had convinced James and Lils to leave Britain…”
He could not help blaming himself for what happened at Godric’s Hollow.
When he finally stepped out of the Ministry a free man, Sirius Black was at a loss. He had nothing left in Britain. James and Lily were dead. Their son was in America. The Ministry had seized his flat for reparations and sold it off with its contents within a month of shipping him to Azkaban. He had checked on his vault in Gringotts. The Ministry had compensated him for his loss and wrongful imprisonment, but it did not change the fact he was effectively homeless. His mad mother would likely Avada Kedavra him on sight. Lupin he had not been heard from since the fall of 1981, though it appeared the Potters’ more personal effects were sent to the werewolf after the Ministry decided to turn Potter cottage into a memorial. Sirius hoped he had not run afoul of his fellow werewolves. His account manager then reminded him of that log cabin in the Appalachians he inherited from Uncle Alphard.
His uncle’s friends welcomed him into their neck of the woods – a hamlet quaintly named Little Pottery. They had a wizarding school nearby – Ilvermorny. His rustic log cabin was a fine hunting lodge decked out with hunting trophies and Muggle firearms, with a well-stocked wine cellar. There was no house elf. Black decided he would manage without one as Lily and Remus did. He wondered why the family had not taken any of the elves who used to work for Fleamont and Euphemia Potter to Godric’s Hollow. Perhaps Dumbledore had something to do about that. An elf could have at least Apparated both Harry and Lily to safety.
Percival Graves was intimidating with his stern, scarred face and his almost military poise, no doubt drilled into him from childhood. He was as cagey as old Moody was when the war started heating up. Black noticed how he cast Scanning Spells on any food or drink before partaking, a habit arising from a past trauma involving a cup of coffee in the late 1920s that saw Gellert Grindelwald replacing him for several months in MACUSA as Director of Magical Law Enforcement. He also cast Scanning Spells on any mail or parcels and any items he deemed suspicious.
Sirius had been furious with Pettigrew. The rat had run to earth Merlin knows where. One of his plans on release had been to hunt the vermin down and kill him. Graves talked him out of it. It was not worth getting thrown back into prison over the rat. Patience. Revenge was best served cold. With a warrant out for him, Pettigrew might have fled for the Continent, as a man or a rat. They could only wait for him to resurface. Graves then ruefully related how his friendly neighbourhood barista and sparring partner had turned out to be a wanted Dark Wizard. Graves had been trapped in an abandoned warehouse after the Dark Wizard had tortured him for information. He had been close to death when his Aurors finally found him, but the damage was done. He could no longer return to his former post. The man was a survivor and a MACUSA legend in his prime. Uncle Alphard had respected him for that. Could be less a stick in the mud though.
Portia often extended dinner invitations to the neighbours, including Sirius Black. It was not long before Black was a family friend. Alfie’s nephew had his own shadows to deal with – losing his friends through betrayal by another friend. He also suffered from the same black moods that sometimes took his granduncle.
Percival would bully him into taking a hike with him up Salem Hill or playing a game of Wizarding Chess. Or Portia would have Black watch young Harry, who enjoyed his godfather’s company, for an afternoon. Black scared the bejesus out of Dolly Potter when he turned himself into a Grim to play fetch with Harry. On learning that he was still unregistered, Percival dragged Sirius Black over to MACUSA’s branch office to file his animagus papers and have them Sealed, a precaution open to most MACUSA-registered animagi as so many were also engaged in Auror work. Black tried to find work with MACUSA, but the competition was stiff for Auror posts. Sirius had always wanted to be an Auror just as James did. They had started on the training before dropping halfway out to focus on Order business. He was still suffering from the effects of being exposed to Dementors during his incarceration and deemed unfit for the rigours of the training. He then applied to Ilvermorny at Graves’ recommendation when a position opened for assistant Quidditch coach.
Sirius was not Alfie, Percival had to remind himself of that. Sirius was like an overgrown puppy. He seesawed from fits of exuberance to the depths of gloom. He needed mellowing out, and maybe less reliance on the whiskey, which Alfie seemed to have stocked in abundance in the lodge. Perhaps it was a family affliction – Alfie had spoken of the Black madness often enough to Graves. He just needed a rudder to steer him, and something to anchor him. Alfie’s had been Junior Auror camp for the youngsters at the Pottery over the summer. Graves and the other retired Aurors in the clan had taken on that mantle after Alphard passed.
Portia Potter-Graves reminded Sirius of his old Transfiguration Professor. She had shared no-nonsense attitude Minerva had. She had been divorced twice. A rarity in Britain where most marriages were for life. Wix in the New World were less strict about that, even if they were only able to marry Muggles or No-Majs legally in the 1960s when Rappaport’s Law was repealed. Not that it stopped couples from simply shacking it or tying the knot over the border and registering offspring under the wix parent’s name if they were magical.
Household help in the new world was an eclectic mix. The Potters and Graves had house elves, The Picquery house had duppies, a more mischievous cousin from the Deep South. Ilvermorny’s grounds were maintained by a tribe of Pukwudgies since the days of the Founders. There was so much to learn about. His application for MACUSA citizenship was approved shortly before his mother passed. He shrugged when Portia asked if he needed to return home to see to her funeral. Walburga would likely jump out of her coffin just to Hex her wayward son to bits.
“Auntie Portia says you were friends with my Daddy. Tell me more about him. I wanna know…” Harry chirped excitedly. He was almost four now, and brimming over with questions after he was shown a photo of his parents by Uncle Percy.
“Say please, Harry…” Portia warned from where she was embroidering a sampler by the window.
“Please tell me about my Daddy, Uncle Sirius…” a chastised Harry pleaded.
“Well, shall I tell you about how we first met at your grandparents’ garden party? I had an elder cousin Bella who thought it would be fun for us Blacks to gatecrash the party… We are all game for it except Cissy and Reggie as they were just little kids then. It was just Bella, her sister Andi and me…” Bellatrix was a fun cousin before the Black madness and Voldemort got their claws into her.
Walburga had ruled her family with an iron fist. Orion Black was too timid to stand up to her and she expected the same of their sons. Sirius chafed at the rules and was often punished severely for his infractions. His mother’s disapproval of the traditionally Light-aligned families only drove him to seek out their company.
“You still hold British citizenship, don’t you?” Percy asked one evening after their monthly dinner. Portia had retired to the parlour with the other witches for tea, leaving the menfolk to their port and cigarettes, even if it was just Sirius and Percy. Active Aurors Whitefeather and Hooper had to leave early due to an emergency call. Then again, Percy supposed being in the same room as Dolly Potter, Mattie Graves and Queenie would drive him mad with their feminine chitchat.
“Yes, never renounced it formally…”
“Do you realize you are still in line for a lordship? Heard from my old friend Lord Theseus that your family’s seat has been gathering dust… If Portia decides to play matchmaker for you, she might flag that,” Percival chuckled as Sirius made a face which reminded him of his departed drinking buddy.
“Can you see me passing the time with a bunch of stuffed peacocks in the Wizengamot and the Ministry? Not sure how things are done in MACUSA, but I expect to find reason to Hex the Chief Warlock on Day one,” Sirius grumbled. The last Black Lord was his grandfather Arcturus and after his mother blasted him off the Black Tapestry, he was not sure who was named Heir. Scamander had been one of the British magical law consultants on his defence team, a necessity given the variations between American and British magical law.
“Wait, how likely is Auntie Portia to play matchmaker with me?”
“Well, you are young, relatively handsome, and comfortable financially even without a Lordship. Do not be too surprised if you get introduced to some young witches at the next garden party… Oh, and you are great with Harry… excellent father material…”
“Am not…” Sirius reddened.
“Uncle Percy! Uncle Siri! Watch this!” a little boy’s voice called out from above them.
“Harry James Potter, get down from the chandelier now!” Sirius yelped. How by Merlin’s pants did he get up there to start with? Should they call for an elf, or summon a ladder?
“When is Harry’s next healer’s appointment?” Percy lazily asked as he waved his wand, levitating the little boy down. Harry looked properly abashed as Uncle Percy waggled his finger. He knew he was to be in bed an hour ago.
Pettigrew was still on the run. Sirius had started to write to Lupin again after almost five years of silence. His friend was working in France where laws governing werewolf employment were laxer. Lupin’s French was passable enough to be a clerk in a bookstore. Remus had wanted to be a schoolteacher like his mother. Sadly, few wix would entrust their children to a werewolf even without a full moon. He hoped the Galleons the Potters left to Lupin would help tide him over any rough patches.
Sirius wrote to Andi regularly, the only Black sister he could tolerate now. He had not seen her or little Dora since he left England. She kept him updated on news back home. Andi bemoaned the lack of funds to send Dora to Beauxbatons or hire tutors to help with the flagging standards at Hogwarts. Ilvermorny was an eye-opener for Sirius in many ways. Ilvermorny was modelled after Hogwarts but not quite. One of the first things Sirius had to do was shelve his anti-Slytherin bias. The school had been founded by a descendant of Salazar Slytherin and her Muggle spouse. Former duelling master and Auror, and current Professor Emeritus of Magical Law Percival Graves was from Horned Serpent. They had four Houses in Ilvermorny, named differently of course from those in Hogwarts. Portia was from Wampus – a Potter family tradition it seemed. There was less inter-House rivalry in Ilvermorny, off the pitch at least. Or when they had a match against Castelobruxo or the Salem Witches. They had law and healing classes for the upper years, and Mastery programmes post-NEWTs. They had sports other than Quidditch – Quadpot, lacrosse, and even duelling. Several of Percival’s students from his time as Duelling Instructor went on to compete internationally. Fleamont Potter had been a father figure to young Sirius growing up, until the Dragon Pox got him. Uncle Alphard was an ocean away for that even though he supported Sirius where he could. Maybe Sirius had found a mentor in Percival Graves.
Notes:
Harry’s guardians are firm with him but loving. They do not want him to grow up a spoilt brat.
Chapter 3: New Orleans
Summary:
Harry makes a trip to New Orleans. His family are worried.
Notes:
Let’s get that piece of Dark Magic out of little Harry, shall we?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Ste Marie di Lourdes had a reputation for dealing with tricky cases. It was Countess Dragmir who suggested Portia bring the tyke to a specialist when the goblin noticed his scar was not healing as it should at his fifth birthday party. Countess Dragmir was no healer, but she could sense something foul about it even with the Bindings set at St Kitts. Her people’s healers could examine the scar of course, but it would be wiser to get an expert like Madam Lucia in early. Goblin-magic could be hard on humans. Portia was taking the advice given seriously.
Madam Lucia was a White Priestess, sworn to the healing arts and lifting of Curse-magic. Portia had brought Harry to Ste Marie in New Orleans once she landed an appointment. The Portkey ride was rough on Harry. He had thrown up over Uncle Percy, to the wizard’s dismay and Sirius’ amusement. Sirius had joined them hoping to experience the Carnival festivities he had heard so much about. The weather was humid this far south. A white-clad junior healer showed them into a cluttered room that reeked of incense.
Madam Lucia was renowned as a healer even back during Grindelwald’s War. She now worked mainly as a consultant, mentoring healers at Ste Marie, a magical hospital hidden in the French Quarter. Her colouring and accent hinted at French Creole origins. Apart from a few silvery streaks, her hair was still raven black. She greeted the three adults warmly as Harry gawked at the myriad feathers, bones and other trinkets that decorated her waiting room. Having exchanged niceties with the adults, she turned her attention to the child.
Harry had noticed a fair-sized cottonmouth in her tank and was speaking to her.
“Ah. You have met the Baroness then?” Madam Lucia smiled and spoke in Parseltongue.
“She wishes to sun herself…” Harry replied in the same language, seemingly unaware of it. “Her tank is too cold…” The priestess tutted and cast a light Warming Charm. The serpent hissed with pleasure.
Lucia noticed the younger wizard flinch and smiled. White men’s prejudices… Parseltongues were far more common outside Europe. The Gift could lie dormant for generations in families. In the dark days of slavery, many would hide their Gift. Many still did outside the bayou and reservations. The child being a Speaker was a welcome surprise to her. She would speak with his family on this. Unbidden, she brushed the child’s fringe aside. Then she saw the scar.
“Sacre bleu! We need to remove this as soon as possible!”
“What’s wrong?” Portia asked.
“This is no ordinary Curse-scar. Even Bound, it risks le enfant’s magic…” the priestess whirled about in flurry of activity, grabbing jars off shelves, and yanking open drawers. All the while muttering angrily in pidgin French and Spanish.
“Does it have anything to do with his speaking Parseltongue?” Sirius asked. Only Dark Wizards like Slytherin were Parselmouths.
“Non, ignorant pup. Speaking snake-tongue has nothing to do with it. I’d have you know it is a respectable gift and a mark of a healer in parts of the Americas, Asia, and Africa. If you go on about this poor bebe being dark, I will Hex you…” the White Priestess explained as she conjured a flock of paper birds and sent them out the window.
Portia pulled a worried Harry close to her side while Percy had assumed an alert stance near them.
“I cannot do this alone. I will owl you when the team is ready… Hopefully, by next week. Some powders and potions perhaps to strengthen the child while we wait…” More scribbling as she decanted and mixed various potions and powders into vials.
Her frenzy exhausted, Madam Lucia collapsed into her rocking chair. Part of her was annoyed she had failed to sense the Dark Magic on the child. The healers up north had done a stellar job binding it, but if her guess was right, it was only a stopgap measure. Horcrux. The ICW must be informed. They had not seen one of those since the Dark Jaguar Emperor back in the 1880s… And to use a living child as a vessel…
“Madam Portia, Messers Graves and Black, perhaps you might wish to fill me on the child’s history while I have my student run some scans on him in the next room?”
It was a dour trio that left Ste Marie. Portia stopped at an ice cream parlour to buy Harry a parfait for a being such a good boy for the healers. She ordered iced teas for herself and her companions. Harry was happily oblivious about the gravity of his situation as they sat outside the shop. A wizard walked out of a nearby bookshop and stopped before their table.
“Sirius?”
“Remus? What’re you doing here?” Sirius rose to his feet and enveloped Lupin in a bear hug.
Dumbledore sent him to the States to contact Black and check on their pup. He was stopping over in New Orleans as he could not get a direct Portkey to New York City. He did not expect to run into his old friend there. The wolf in him could sense the power radiating from the older wix Black was with. The witch was calm and gave him a nod. The scarred wizard was more wary. Pack leaders both, his wolf supplied. Since he Portkeyed into the French Quarter, the deep magic of the land had called his wolf closer to the surface.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?” Portia called out in a twinkling voice. Her companion made as if he wanted to say something, but the witch smoothly trod on his foot in warning. Stilted greetings were exchanged. Sirius was glad to see him, no doubt about it. Portia was courteous in the way he expected a Southern hostess would be. Percival Graves’s expression was guarded but his handshake firm.
Harry was pulled away from his parfait long enough to greet Uncle Moony as Sirius introduced him. He had not seen Harry since he was a few months old, just before he was sent off to contact the packs and the Potters went into hiding. Remus made some excuse about taking a break from his work. Portia asked if he was feeling alright as he looked rather wan. He had come through a rough night even with Wolfsbane and missed the train north that morning, but they did not need to know that he had been seeking Sirius and Harry out. Once his tummy was filled, little Harry was promptly distracted by a passing marching band.
“Come visit us at the Southern Rose, we’re in town for the Carnival,” Sirius blurted out in an unguarded moment as Harry tugged his hand, urging his godfather to follow the band with him. Remus smiled. The Southern Rose. Maybe he could extend his stay just a bit and claim the expenses from Dumbledore or live on bread and water for a week or two. Carnival rates were pricey.
“The child’s core is strong for his age. A protection of love shields it, but not strong enough to last… A father or mother, or sibling by blood would be best for an anchor, but a parent of the heart may suffice.” Madam Lucia had told them.
Hence the potions they had been assigned to take to strengthen their magic. Portia and Percival were old. Despite their magical prowess, a third anchor was needed in Black to ensure the ritual’s stability. It also helped that the younger wix was the child’s godfather and friend to the parents.
The potions were foul and tasted like swamp water would. To prepare for the ritual, they had to abstain from meat, sexual relations, and alcohol – which put a spoke in Sirius’ plans to indulge in the local bars. Three days passed before Madam Lucia’s owl delivered a letter informing them of the date of the ritual. It was not as soon as they would like since the local ICW representative had to be involved to record the Horcrux. The thought still sent a shiver down Black’s spine. Graves had been furious. Portia had looked fearful when the White Priestess broke the news.
There was no guarantee the ritual would work. There were only three recorded workings. Two ended in the subject’s death and those of the anchors. Even the legendary Madam Lavinia’s patient was left a squib though she and her anchors survived the ordeal. The Horcrux would feed on the child’s core and soul like a malignant parasite, subsuming its host. It was fortunate that the shard attached was weak due to the unplanned nature of its creation. Voldemort was still alive in a sense, even if his body was obliterated by whatever ancient magics Lily had called on to protect her son.
Souls did not break apart so easily, unless this was not the first… There were others out there. If they survived the ritual, they would have work to do. An ICW witch called on them shortly after to extract a copy of Sirius’ memory of that Halloween night. Just in case. The sole surviving witness to Voldemort’s apparent demise was too young to have any clear memories. An alert would be sent out to the member states to be on the lookout. If they were lucky, the last breaking of his soul might have shattered it entirely. If not, there was a wraith biding his time out there, gaining strength for a return.
Remus’ visit was a balm to Sirius’ rattled nerves. The old friends headed out to a nearby honky-tonk, where Remus was amused to see Sirius order gillywater instead of a cocktail or bourbon as he would have expected.
“Tell me, Remus. Did Dumbledore have anyone check Harry over before ditching him on those Muggles?” Did he know about that thing in his scar?
Remus honestly had no idea. Black held his tongue. The witch from the ICW had warned them of the severity of the situation. It was a miracle she did not subject them to some magical oath for their silence, trusting instead in former Director Graves’ discretion and that of his family.
As expected, the ritual was rough on them all. They had been ordered to dress in undyed cotton shifts and stand in a ritual circle around Harry while Madam Lucia and her acolytes sprayed them with rum and censed them with smoking herbs. The chanting then started, and Harry started whimpering before dissolving into screams.
Afterwards, Sirius recalled the ritual in snatches – holding onto the little boy as he thrashed about, blood from the reopened scar, the inky foulness oozing from it… A snarling face in the inky smoke before it was sucked into a bottle by Madam Lucia. He must have passed out. He next recalled awaking in Ste Marie di Lourdes.
“How is your magic?”
That was the first question Graves asked from the next bed. He had his reading glasses on and was perusing a Muggle novel Sirius last saw in their hotel suite. Moby Dick. His companions had chanced on a second-hand bookstore a few days before the ritual. Vaguely wondering if it was something naughty, Sirius groaned and tried to summon a glass of water over from the nightstand. It dropped short of his hand, drenching his sheets.
“The healer did warn of that. At least we’re not squibs, but our magic will be shaky for the next few months. Portia’s in the next ward. She came over earlier to pass me my book. Harry’s still asleep, but they got that thing out at least.” That was quite a speech from the normally taciturn Uncle Percy.
“How’re their magic?”
“Portia’s still going strong, stronger than the healers expected. They are keeping her for that pesky heart murmur of hers. Harry’s stable but they can only run the scans on his magic after he wakes up…” Percival replied before scowling as footsteps thundered towards them.
“Pads! I called at the hotel. They told me you were here…” Remus exclaimed as he burst into the room.
“Keep it down, Moony…” Sirius whined as his headache reasserted itself with a vengeance. A mumbled apology as Remus pulled up a chair. Graves glared at the pair before returning to his novel.
Notes:
Moby Dick naughty? Nah, not by a long shot… unless you put any credence into the supposed homoerotic undertones of Ishmeal and Queequeq’s friendship.
What do American wizards read at home? I imagine Percival will gravitate towards serious literature classics, and perhaps Auntie Portia will be reading To Kill a Mockingbird in the next ward.
Chapter 4: A Wise Fool
Summary:
Harry Potter is due to start at Ilvermorny rather than Hogwarts. Refusing to take no for an answer, Albus Dumbledore faces off with Potter's guardians.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry waved away a dragonfly as he lay in the wildflower meadow with his two companions. It was his last summer with Auntie Portia before he went away to boarding school, even if it was just up the mountainside. Ilvermorny beckoned. He would get his own wand to use instead of the kiddie ones they used at summer camp. His aunt made sure he did his own chores like making his bed or putting away his stuff even if the house elves would gladly help him. The Pukwudgies at Ilvermorny were not as easy-going as house elves. Henri informed his friends that having duppies were worse. Leaving clothes lying about instead of in the laundry hamper would likely see them rolled in mud before being stuffed in the wardrobe. One had to obey their rules.
“Miranda, Henri, what do you make of this?” Harry produced the Hogwarts admission letter he had received. “Fifth one so far.”
“Well, maybe your folks had paid for a place there. Are you going?” Henri asked as he executed a backflip. He had been practising his capoeira moves to keep his reflexes sharp. Uncle Percy found the moves too showy compared to the savate he practiced but Harry found it more fun.
“Nah, Auntie Portia has already written back. Not sure why they are not accepting that I have declined…” Harry yawned. He was trying to act nonchalant but the tension in the manor had not gone unnoticed by him.
“Good for you. Their Potions teacher’s nasty – Cousin Lucy told me,” Miranda added. “And the DADA post is cursed. Lucy takes tuition during the summer from Great Aunt Tina for Defense…”
His godfather had been in a fine fetter when the second letter arrived. Uncle Percy had spoken of the ICW and magical guardianship laws before instructing Harry to quit eavesdropping outside the library. Aunt Portia looked set for war going by the grim looks she gave her boys. Missy let slip that they had been instructed to turn away any callers from Hoggy-warts wishing to speak with Master Harry on Madam Potter-Graves’ instructions. Harry had peeked at the calling cards they left behind on the small silver tray in the front hall.
Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Filius Flitwick, Professor of Charms.
Severus Snape, Potions Master.
The children were watching the path to Potter Manor from their spot. It was called Graves House once, but Potter Manor had a nicer ring to it. The closest Apparition Point and Portkey spot was over by the Liberty Teashop run by Dolly Potter. Any uninvited visitor needed to trudge uphill to Little Pottery. They were soon greeted by the sight of a bearded wizard in outlandish robes trudging his way to the manor.
“Mercy Lewis, I think that’s the headmaster of Hogwarts – Albus Dumbledore,” Henri blurted. The trio hastened from the meadow, drawing in any child nearby to join them, or spread the word for others to gather.
Truth be told, Harry Potter was getting quite sick of those foreign wix meddling in his life.
The Three Musketeers were going to stick together, go to Ilvermorny. Harry Potter, Henri Picquery, and Miranda Graves. Henri lived with his Great Aunt Celestine Picquery after his momma died in a Potions accident. His father was out of the picture as far as anyone knew. Miranda Graves lived with her great-grandmother Queenie after her parents died in a flying accident. Her late mama was heiress to the global young witches’ fashion line Angelica. Miranda could be counted on to be well-dressed regardless of the occasion, being groomed to take over the company when she came of age. Underneath the ribbons, she was a tomboy who gave as good as she got. She was the only girl in their savate class, and few could out-perform her.
Harry had taken up savate at the age of eight. After his ritual, he had been left significantly weak both physically and magically. Uncle Percy took him to a friend’s savate gym over in Brooklyn. Miranda’s Uncle Jacques was an instructor there before he fell in the line of duty as an Auror. Uncle Percy felt the sport would teach him the necessary discipline in addition to building his stamina, and it did. Now Harry was on par with any young wizard his age magically. Physically, he was fitter than most young wizards of his age and status. He now sprinted ahead, rousing the rest of the children from the various trees and hollows where they spent their lazy summer days when not in camp.
Albus Dumbledore mopped his brow. His attempts to wrest guardianship away from the American Potters had met with failure, even with the Ministry’s support. Harry was the Chosen One, the figurehead behind which the fight against Voldemort would be rallied. He ought to be brought up in Britain, not in the States. Yet the ICW had ruled that the appointment of Portia Potter-Graves by ancient Potter family magic was valid. Moreover, there was no obligation for her to enrol Harry in Hogwarts, the harridan had informed the three Heads of House he had sent previously. With Harry an ocean away, he would have no means to steer the child onto his path…
Sending Snape first had been a mistake. The younger wizard had allowed his boyhood enmity to cloud his judgement. That brought the interview to an abrupt end when Sirius Black Floo-ed in with Harry after a day out. There was a brief altercation which ended with Snape tied up and left outside the local teashop courtesy of Black. When rescued, the Potions Master had been in a fine fetter, grumbling about pampered brats and delinquents.
Filius was next with his background in magical law, but even the half-goblin had to admit that as Harry was not drawing on the trust fund set up by his late parents for his studies at Hogwarts, he was not obliged to study there. Flitwick had been treated with more courtesy than Snape. Minerva had enjoyed a lovely chat with Madam Potter-Graves but came away without any commitment to send Harry to Hogwarts. It was ridiculous for them to send Harry so far away given they had Ilvermorny almost on their doorstep.
Dumbledore now hoped his status as Supreme Mugwump would convince Harry’s current guardian to send him to Hogwarts, tenacious as it was with the questions about a Horcrux uncovered in New Orleans tied to his actions in the British Wizarding War.
Steel cloaked in silk. The American Potter matriarch was deceptively mild at first glance. It soon became clear that she had no intention of being strong-armed into sending her ward to Hogwarts where Ilvermorny would do a decent if not better job of teaching Harry. His Compulsion Charms ran off her like raindrops off an umbrella. Attempts at Legilimency were greeted by formidable Occlumency shields.
Midway through the discussion, Black and Graves joined the mistress of the manor. His apologies to Black for not having trusted him to ensure a fair trial were brushed off. He had found time to ensure Snape got his day before the Wizengamot followed by an acquittal after all. Looking into his eyes, Dumbledore knew he had lost Sirius Black’s trust.
Percival Graves had watched Albus with guarded curiosity before asking if he knew about how an Obscurus was formed. The mighty Dumbledore should know better, given that his own family had produced two such unfortunates. Graves had checked up on any remaining relatives, Muggle or magical in Britain when preparing for any challenges to Portia’s custody of Harry. He had found the Dursleys, Harry’s only surviving kin in Britain, vehemently against magic. Had the child been left with them, he would likely have turned Obscurial if not killed by their abuse.
His trudge up to the manor had been quiet and solitary. The trip back down not so. Within the hour he was locked in battle of wills with Harry’s three guardians, a small army of youngsters had assembled outside the manor armed with spoons and old pots.
Hoggy-hoggy-wash!
Who wants to go to Hoggywash?
Hogwash! Not me!
The chants and the children followed him all the way to the teashop. It was a dismal outcome to his journey to the States.
On September first, 1991, Harry Potter was enrolled in Ilvermorny and Sorted into Wampus. Miranda was Sorted into Thunderbird. Henri was Sorted into Horned Serpent. Later the same day the trio received their first wands from the Wand Selection Hall. Percival wondered aloud if splitting the Three Musketeers up would reduce their mischief. He was swiftly proven wrong when the trio were caught after curfew trying to sneak off to the waterfall pool for a night swim.
The trio were inseparable outside of class. Harry talked his friends into trying out for the Quidditch team. Harry was appointed as reserve Seeker, Miranda as reserve Beater. Henri’s forte was in duelling after all. He quickly drifted over to the Duelling Club, and dragged his friends along to Black’s chagrin at watching his future Quidditch players ditch the Quidditch pitch for the duelling circle.
“No favouritism,” Percival had warned the first day of school. If anything, Harry was expected to meet a standard above any student who was not a scion of the Potters or Graves. Bearing the name of one of the Twelve meant high expectations. For breaking curfew, the three youngsters ended up polishing the trophies in the sports gallery under Coach Whistler’s watchful eye for the next two Saturdays since Black was certain he would cave and let them off early.
All the children in Little Pottery would have received basic instruction in duelling during the Auror-run summer camp, on top of No-Maj sports like fencing, archery, judo, and boxing. Portia forbade playing Quidditch or Quadpot on the estate after a disastrous friendly match in 1970 saw three of her four greenhouses demolished. Salem Woods was not open enough for a game. Flying there was a test of reflexes and agility given how close the trees were. Black had spotted several possible Quidditch talents among the Little Pottery youngsters, including Harry and Miranda.
Black had been teaching flying as well as coaching in Quidditch since Coach Whistler decided to concentrate on Quadpot as he approached retirement. Black had no interest in the American sport and Whistler had a former student lined up to take over once he retired to Florida. The pay at Ilvermorny was decent. Headmistress Artemisia Flowers was a decent sort. Sure, he had to help in the DADA class once or twice and cover for the Transfiguration Mistress when she went to have her baby. Still, it was a good deal.
It could have been worse, Black thought whenever his godson complained about Uncle Percy or Auntie Portia’s rules. Harry could have ended up with that horrid Muggle Petunia while he rotted in Azkaban. The entire fuss about the Boy Who Lived did not make it across to the States. If Harry was already complaining about how some of his schoolmates were asking him about Uncle Percy and him being the ward of the Potter family head, he would loathe all the craziness back in Britain on Halloween. Putting up with the cheek pinching and kisses from Portia’s fellow witches at the charity galas would be a walk in the park.
It didn’t sit right with Sirius, all the celebrations back in Britain when it was the death anniversary of the boy’s parents. Portia had decided against taking Harry to visit his parents’ graves, unless he asked or when he was older. There was no telling what that old coot might do if Harry were to set foot on British soil. Potter Manor still held its annual Halloween gala for St Dymphna’s Home for the Incurably Insane, but Harry’s attendance was optional. Uncle Percy or Sirius would take him out to the cabin for the weekend. This year, Harry would spend it in Ilvermorny and the Halloween feasts were nowhere as over the top as in wizarding Britain. Thanksgiving was another matter.
The Three Musketeers struck again on Halloween morning when a Muggleborn third year who had been picking on Henri Picquery for his skin colour turned neon green all over at the breakfast table. Black guessed who the culprit was by the smirks the trio exchanged when the hysterical boy was ushered out. He hoped the young man would be more sensible when he met their new healer. Madam Lucia had decided to join Ilvermorny’s staff when Mrs Goodman retired, all the better to keep an eye on her favourite little patient. Harry had kept his Parseltongue ability despite the removal of the soul shard. James did mention an ancestress in the mid-17th century from India when the Potter family had dealings with the spice trade. Perhaps this was some latent gift reawakened?
It was odd that his two best friends were also Parselmouths. The Picquery boy likely inherited it from a long-forgotten slave ancestor from Africa. Miranda claimed she picked it up from her Latina nanny back in California. Thus, the trio ended up forming a unique little clique within Little Pottery. At least they did not bring any snakes back home. Auntie Portia would have a fit if Harry did.
The White Priestess had been checking on Harry Potter regularly. Hand of Fate heavy on this young one… she had said back then after their first consultation.
Notes:
Harry’s academic life would be very different from if he were in Hogwarts. With one guardian on the school board, one on the teaching staff, and his godfather as Quidditch coach, there is a potential for some brattiness. But he Is not going to go about saying he’s going to tell his aunt Draco-style when things do not go his way.
Why savate? I was considering judo or karate at first, but these are wix and they are like a couple of generations behind in fashions. So 19th to early 20th century martial arts in vogue then would be more in tune with what Uncle Percy would recommend. I also decided that Harry should keep his Parseltongue ability.
Chapter 5: First Year in Ilvermorny
Summary:
Hogwarts without Potter.
Notes:
With Harry Potter in the States under the protection of his guardians, there is a conscious effort to protect him from the press to give him a normal childhood. The British have a vague idea the Boy Who Lived was doing well abroad, and he is not interested in any interviews or the like.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Dumbledore watched in dismay as the Howlers flew in. Minerva was glaring at him. He had scrapped the plan when it became clear that Potter was not coming to Hogwarts. Problem was that he needed time to find an alternative trap for Voldemort or the unfortunate vessel he had chosen first before dismantling the defences. The mountain troll had been a blatant attempt to steal the stone. Miss Granger had been critically injured. The board of governors was up in arms. Several had children or grandchildren studying there. He had to disable some of the Wards to allow Quirrell to bring in a troll as part of the defences…
There had been an inquiry. They would discuss his appointment in the next board meeting after Christmas. Maybe he might be replaced. It was unthinkable.
“How is she?”
“Who?”
“Miss Granger…”
“In a coma at St Mungo’s… they say she would live…” Dumbledore replied morosely. The poor girl might never walk again even if she awoke. She might never be the same bright young lady. All that potential wasted. Minerva would not blame the Grangers if they withdrew their daughter from Hogwarts and sent her to Beauxbatons.
“The Wards should have been up, Albus… you promised to have both Quirrell’s troll and Fluffy gone before term started…” You lied.
“W-where’s the S-stone?” Quirrell quavered.
“Destroyed as I promised the Flamels…” Albus replied. Nicholas had been pondering how to dispose of his creation now the Flamels were ready to embark on the next great adventure. He did not wish for it to fall into the wrong hands. Albus had written to his mentor, requesting it as bait to lure Voldemort out of hiding. His plan had gone awry.
No one was too surprised when Quirrell left suddenly after the Christmas holidays without a word. The curse, you know.
Portia tapped her wand on the drawing room wallpaper to change the pattern of tea-roses into poinsettias. A flick of her wand added boughs of holly along the mantlepiece of the marble fireplace and the walls.
“I trust you will be escorting the children back to Little Pottery for the Christmas holidays next week.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Graves grinned. The Yuletide holidays he could live with, especially since he had plans to spend it in old Alfie’s hunting lodge with Sirius Black. There was a chess rematch that was long overdue. Paddy was going to be utterly trounced this time.
“Percy, has Sirius heard anything from his folks back home yet… about the Horcruxes?”
“Only cousin he’s in touch with lives No-Maj. She and her husband are healers. Not exactly in the know about any dodgy business, apart from that troll incident,” Percival’s brow furrowed. Any self-respecting magical school should have Wards against creatures like trolls. A student had been seriously hurt by a troll at Halloween. The school had tried to hush it up. A critically injured student Urgent Portkey-ed into the Emergency ward was something that would not have gone unnoticed by Healer Tonks. Portia thanked magic and the powers that be she had not sent Harry to Hogwarts.
“They’re not Aurors or Cursebreakers. Sirius will be a fool to draw them in on this.”
“I was thinking of Mister Lupin. He is a smart one…”
“I doubt Sirius has let him in on it yet.”
“Pity, a tumbleweed like him might pick things up travelling about as he does… I sense a touch of lone wolf too… He needs a pack…” Percival stiffened at the small witch’s words.
When he met Remus Lupin for the first time. All his hackles had stood up. The mild-mannered wizard was unmistakably a werewolf. Graves could see all the subtle signs. Percy was not so crass as to eavesdrop on Black’s conversation with Lupin, but he did note the uncertainty in the werewolf’s eyes after conversing with Black. There was a niggling suspicion that Lupin had been sent to the States for some purpose by the Brits.
Remus Lupin knew he should be content. Dumbledore had requested he keep an eye on both Harry and Sirius. Sirius wrote to him often, updating him on what their pup has been up to. The incident in New Orleans had been a nasty scare. Sirius had explained it was only a dark remanent of a curse that had stuck to Harry all those years back. Sirius then asked him about what he knew about Voldemort’s background and what was going on in Britain. There had been rumours of a prophecy, the same that had forced the Potters into hiding. Did Dumbledore think it fulfilled that fateful night?
Sirius was doing well in the States as a Quidditch coach. Never played professionally but he was a darn good Beater back in Hogwarts. Sirius had also offered him a place to live in the States, with a secure root cellar for those full moon nights. No, he could not impose on his friend – the same friend he had believed was a traitor for more than a year.
As expected, the Pottery kids gave a decent academic showing in their exams. Harry was no exception, scoring top marks in almost all the subjects he took. He also had his first Quidditch match when the House Seeker took ill. Caught the Snitch within five minutes of the whistle and got ragged about it by both teams for too short a game. He was quickly tagged for possible Seeker for the next year since Pollyanna Evertt was graduating.
Summer camp followed with Uncle Percy and the other retired Aurors teaching Harry and his two friends new spells now they had their own wands. Spells for detection and simple warding. Spells for transfiguration and counterspells. There was even a nifty spell for unmasking an Animagus. Miranda put it to good use when she suspected the grey squirrel hanging out by the girls’ changing room was no simple rodent. The boys swore never to cross Miranda Graves when the outed Peeping Tom was Floo-ed to the hospital after a series of nasty Hexes just this side of legal.
Gran Queenie made a visit to Potter Manor on Miranda’s behalf, concerned that she would get into trouble for over that voyeur. Uncle Percy reassured her that it was all legal and no one would be pressing charges. Gran Queenie brought her famous apple strudel, which aroma drew the attention of one hungry eleven-year-old.
“Tony and Lucy are at Hogwarts, you know… their parents live in Britain… The troll could have easily hurt them too…” Queenie’s voice had wavered.
Dumb Hogwarts and her headmaster. Watching and listening from the top of the stairs, Harry thanked his lucky stars he was not a student there. Headmistress Flowers might not be as imposing a presence as Dumbledore, but at least no one needed to worry about getting killed by a Rougarou or snallygaster in Ilvermorny on her watch. No, sirree.
“My cousin’s Dora has applied to the Auror training programme…” Sirius put down the letter he had been reading.
“The metamorphagus?”
“Yup, seems like just yesterday Andi had me watch her for an afternoon. Turned into a lion, badger, eagle, and snake when I showed her the Hogwarts’ crest. At the same time. Ended up an odd-looking chimera,” Sirius grinned.
“Well, how do her folks feel about it?” The late Alfie had told Percival his family the Blacks shunned the Aurory on principle.
“Andi’s not thrilled, because she only has Dora. She’d still support her little girl’s decision…”
Sirius’ parents had been against his joining the Aurors for a different reason. His mother had viewed the Aurory as an extension of the pro-Muggle Ministry. No son of hers, even if disowned, was going to serve the Ministry.
“Well, have our Musketeers made any plans yet for the future?” Sirius changed the topic. He did not like speaking of his parents.
“I hear from Queenie that Miranda’s set on taking over her late mom’s fashion empire or pursuing a mastery in law as a step into MACUSA. Henri’s looking into potions or professional duelling. Harry’s deciding between professional Quidditch or Aurory…” Graves replied. “Well, if he were an American Potter, I would say it is MACUSA for him too.”
The two wizards perked their ears at the clip of heels on the floor. Portia glided into the drawing room with her gloves in hand. She beamed at the pair as Twinkie appeared to take her hat and gloves. The house elf politely asked if madam would like tea, which Portia accepted and directed to be sent up to her study.
“Great news, Cousin Artemisia has found someone to take that Defense post. He’s a friend of yours, Sirius… That sweet dear - Mister Remus Lupin”
Graves spluttered on his coffee at hearing a werewolf described as a sweet dear.
“No concerns about whether he is spying for the British Ministry?”
“Well, Artie carried out that interview personally. Lupin’s not on his ministry’s payroll. Rather, they are the reason he needs to find work elsewhere. Percy, you can send him to Queenie’s for tea if you are worried…” The wolf had received a very strong suggestion to apply for the position from one Albus Dumbledore, but the boys did not need to know about that yet.
“His inexperience…” Percival made a token protest.
“He has the experience needed, at least to cover the lower levels. Professor Mudd will still be covering the classes from fourth year on. Now if you excuse me, I have a teacup with my name on it calling,” Portia glided out of the room serenely.
“Sirius, how much do you trust your friend?”
“With my life.”
“Is he in Dumbledore’s pocket?” Sirius’ eyes darted away for a second.
“He owes the old man. That is all I can say. They don’t allow werewolves to attend Hogwarts… Dumbledore made an exception for Remus…” Sirius admitted.
Werewolves were allowed to attend and even teach at Ilvermorny. The school also covered the required containment on full moon nights before the invention of the Wolfsbane potion. Now the potion was dispensed to any students and staff who needed it. There were several old tribal families where the werewolf curse was hereditary. Hogwarts sounded positively backwards in that regard. It had been a while since they had a werewolf teaching, after Cosette La Loupe left to get married back in the 1970s. Graves had a pair of brothers in his NEWTs Law class who were werewolves. Decent chaps both.
“Look, Percy. Remus will not be dragging Harry back to Britain if that is what you are worried about…”
“But he might inadvertently write home about the boy…”
“Then we will have to let them know we are doing a terrific job raising and educating him, right?” It bothered Sirius that Percy was right. He could not trust his old friend. “Percy, do you have something against werewolves?”
“Just a healthy fear and respect for the beast,” Percival shivered at the memory. Werewolves were naturally resistant to most magic and most dangerous in the first hour after their transformation without the Wolfsbane. A few even grew addicted to that rush of power and attendant bloodlust, becoming more beast than man. He had been a greenhorn then, one of a team of Aurors hunting a serial killer. Their prey had been a werewolf. It had cost them three good wix, and another two infected, before the werewolf was killed.
The Brits no doubt had their own problem werewolves. The discovery of the Wolfsbane Potion meant that afflicted wix were more able to keep their senses and not succumb to the bloodlust. MACUSA’s Unspeakables were rumoured to be working on a possible cure for lycanthropy. Only time will tell.
“Ilvermorny’s potions department will provide the Wolfsbane Potion each month, even during the holidays, right?” Sirius asked.
“Yes, he can draw it from the dispensary during term, and there is a prescription he can use to obtain it from any were-support clinic during the holidays if out of state.” Percival rubbed his temples. There was no sense taking a dislike to a future colleague without getting to know him first.
Notes:
That is Harry’s first year. Lupin is going to be working in the States.
Chapter 6: Werewolves and Serpents
Summary:
Second year in Ilvermorny. Life in Hogwarts takes a dark turn in Britain.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
James Potter. Remus Lupin stifled a gasp when the second year Wampus-Thunderbird class walked in. He had been forewarned but it was still a shock seeing the young boy he last saw in New Orleans again. Harry Potter looked so much like his father, down to the glasses, but his eyes were Lily’s. He had been warned not to show any favouritism or bias to any of the students. If he wanted to get to know his friend’s son, there was always time after Quidditch practice. Coach Black would not begrudge him that.
Harry glowed with health and happiness. Living with his American relatives suited him. He was a bright student but a bit of a class clown. He had earned detentions with his fellow pranksters, but his mischief was mostly harmless, unlike what happened with Sirius and Snape back then. His new colleagues recommended setting them additional assignments for extra credit to keep them out of trouble. Idle minds and hands made for mischief.
The headmistress did warn that students from Little Pottery had Aurors in their families and would be familiar with most standard defensive spells and wards. He could assign them to tutor their weaker classmates or assist in any demonstrations. Perhaps he should start the class with an introduction to the basic duelling spells, and have members of the Duelling club demonstrate…
Harry was waving his hand.
“Yes, Potter?”
“Why do the Brits have so many laws against werewolves, sir? Why do they classify werewolves as creatures and dark to boot? I mean, if Uncle Paddy is an animagus and runs about as a dog all summer, he is still a wix.” Harry asked solemnly. “You don’t look dark…”
Remus watched helplessly as his lesson plan disintegrated. He had been outed as a werewolf on his first day of lessons.
“Don’t mind the idiot, Prof. We are cool with werewolves. So long as it is not a full moon…” Miranda interjected. “The Beaters on Harry’s team are werewolves. At least until they graduate and join the Aurors.”
“What are the defensive spells we should use against a rogue werewolf, or do we just fly up a pine tree?” a timid-looking boy asked.
“Does silver work like in the movies?” a no Maj-born asked.
“Do you have a pack like the Silvertrees or a beef with vampires?” a halfblood girl asked.
In the end, the DADA professor spent his lesson fielding questions from the students about his condition and what it means to be a werewolf in a prejudiced environment.
Coach Black strode into the staff lounge, dragging a sheepish-looking pair in muddy Quidditch gear. One wore a pair of glasses while the other sported incongruous golden Shirley Temple ringlets. Harry Potter and Miranda Graves had made it through the fall try outs for the Ilvermorny Quidditch team. They were to play their first match against a visiting team from Europe that day. A bit of a rush given the team had less than two months to get their newest members up to speed.
“Black, why do I get to play bad cop again?” The dour Law Professor choked on his coffee.
“Because I am also the bloke half the students come to with their problems… unless you want to discuss wand-issues with the lads…” Sirius coughed. He had not expected to end up informal pastoral care in-charge for the boys. The girls still preferred to speak with the school nurse. “And you know I have a soft spot for these imps…”
“So, what did they do now?” Percival groaned. He would rather have a No-Maj root canal without pain relief than deal with the wand-issues of teenage boys.
“Pranked the visiting team in the showers. Coach Helsing demands satisfaction. Master Picquery has accepted the challenge to duel in ten minutes…” Black deadpanned.
“Wait, a twelve-year-old duelling the Drumstrang Quidditch coach? Black, when I get back, we need to discuss your priorities… Oh, have Master Potter and Miss Graves go down to the archive room after they have cleaned up. Mrs Cotton can use their help updating the filing system there, every weekend for the next month or so.”
“But Uncle Percy…” the pair protested.
“Or you can bar them from Quidditch for the rest of the year…”
That brought more protests from the pair while Professor Graves hastened to head off disaster. Even if Henri Picquery was a national level junior duelling champion, he had no business going up against a more experienced foe.
He found the headmistress had beaten him to defusing the situation by calming Coach Helsing down. The spell cast on the showers was quickly lifted and the afflicted players cleaned up. The trio had bespelled the visitors’ showers to spray them in dyes of various colours. Professor Graves then sent Henri off to the archives room to join his friends in detention.
Harry had been a little disappointed that he did not manage to catch the visiting team’s captain with the shower prank. The older boy had been crowing about being selected to train with the Bulgarian national team and his head could use some deflating. Then there were the many fouls inflicted by the visitors during their ‘friendly’ match. Coach Black caught most of them, but he did miss a few. After a while, he could not send anyone off without ending the match entirely. Viktor Krum did give Harry a real challenge as opposing Seeker. He only caught the Snitch because Harry had to save Miranda from getting jostled off her broom by the opposing team’s Beaters…
“Neat trick with the showers. Where did you pick that gem up, Harry?” Miranda asked.
“A variation on a prank cast by Uncle Padfoot and my dad back when they were in school. They cast it on the Prefects’ pool.”
Harry shelved the yearbooks with a careless wave of his hand, careful to make sure the archivist was not looking their way. They were not supposed to use magic for detention. Given that less than a century ago, students were forbidden from taking their wands home, generations of North American wix had mastered the art of wandless casting. Even now, parents taught their children wandless magic before they even started school. He hoped he still had time to finish up his assignments for tomorrow before lights out.
“Have you started on that Pre-Columbian history assignment yet?”
“Not yet, it’s not yet due until Wednesday.”
“Today’s Tuesday…”
“Horsefeathers…”
“Wolfgang invited me to the stargazing party… and would you know his sister was there…” Remus described his latest social event with the local werewolf pack. Portia had recommended that Lupin socialize with them as they were a decent group of wix who held stable jobs and raised their kids like all regular wix did, apart from those pesky full moon nights. The packs in Britain were secretive and often hostile to interlopers like Lupin. He was an outlier. British children infected were often shunned by their family and raised within a pack, subject to the mercies of the pack leaders. The Lupins had been kinder than most with their son. In North America, the were-clinics were on hand to educate parents of these unfortunates how to care for them and adapt to their new needs. American packs were integrated into the greater magical community, with only a few packs shunning the trappings of modern civilization for life in the woods.
The local werewolf community was glad to have new blood in and opened their arms and hearts to Lupin. Werewolves still faced some discrimination on the dating circuit in the States, especially if their version of the condition was hereditary. They often chose other werewolves or Animagi as spouses. Sirius had gone out briefly with a werewolf once, but she could not put up with his obsession with Quidditch.
“So did she get back to you, Moony?”
“Well, she owled twice. The second time to break it off… Met some surfer chap in Baja. I’m too boring for her…”
"Her loss. Better luck next party heh?" Black clapped his friend on the shoulder. Still, his involvement with fellow werewolves helped Moony get in the touch with his inner wolf in a more constructive way. Remus seemed much happier now, and Sirius was glad for his friend.
The Three Musketeers seemed to have settled a bit after the Quidditch match at Thanksgiving. The last major prank at Christmas involved shampoo gel that turned Miranda’s hair green. The feisty young lady turned the noses of the pranksters Harry and Henri red. The noses had glowed well into the new year despite attempts at lifting the Hex, long enough for Miranda to grow her hair out since the gel also stopped her from turning her hair colour back to normal.
It was the last day of term before the summer holidays. The news owl delivered a copy of the Wizard International to their table.
Basilisk Attacks Hogwarts. Five dead and one missing. More horror on page 2.
Both alumni looked at each other over the table. Seriously, what’s going on with Headmaster Dumbledore and Hogwarts? Why had the earlier Petrifications of students, a ghost and a cat gone unaddressed?
“A-any familiar names?” Remus asked. His earlier jovialness about the next werewolf gathering had evaporated.
“Argus Filch, Gilderoy Lockhart, Alice Fannings, Manuel O’Toole, and Draco Malfoy.” Another student, Ginerva Weasley was missing and presumed dead.
His precious Heir was dead. His Mark twinged painfully. Lucius watched as the sad coffin sank into the earth. No, he was not going to fall apart overseeing this funeral as head of the Family. Narcissa was inconsolable. Sev stood dour and stoic, supporting her. He had been fond of Draco in his own quiet way. If his Mark ached like Lucius’, he gave no sign of it. Severus and Narcissa must not know. Their master had returned in the form of a teenage boy, Tom Marvolo Riddle at the age of sixteen. Lucius Malfoy had unwittingly placed the key to the Dark Lord’s resurrection at Hogwarts, unlocking the Chamber of Secrets and unleashing the Monster of Slytherin on the castle, including his own son. Why had the monster tasked with protecting purebloods not spared him?
Lucius was glad Severus had made it for the funeral given that he had to brew the Restorative Draught for the students Petrified earlier. The Malfoy line would die with Lucius unless magic blessed him and Cissa with another child. Goodness knew they had tried after Draco. Theirs was more a love match than an arranged union. But to bring a child into this world, under the same roof as a monster…
Narcissa was retching onto the grass. Severus was rubbing her back and whispering to her. How odd that she was not offered a potion. Severus always carried a small potions bag on his person. It hit him then. Expectant witches avoided imbibing potions in the first trimester unless under the direst of circumstances. His beloved wife was with child.
Glowing red eyes in a deceptively young face. Hungering for a new body as the life he stole from his young victim slowly drained away.
Notes:
It is hard trying to pack the first three years of Harry’s academic life into 1-2 chapters and updating events on both sides of the Atlantic. Do point out if I missed anything. The events of the Philosopher’s Stone and the Chamber of Secrets played out without Harry to save the day. The Prisoner of Azkaban is no longer applicable as Black has been acquitted.
I know it is a very different Harry here. Not sure how he is coming across – privileged rich kid? Potter princeling? Or regular wizard next door?
Chapter 7: Hogwarts and Ilvermorny
Summary:
Third Year at Ilvermorny and Hogwarts.
Notes:
Some major changes from the earlier version to start from here.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Daily Prophet
Fire at Malfoy Manor – Hogwarts Governor and Wizengamot Lord Killed
Lord Lucius Abraxas Malfoy dead by Fiendfyre in an apparent suicide at his ancestral home in Wiltshire. Fellow lords of the Wizengamot have noticed that Lord Malfoy was subdued of late after the tragic death of his son. The late Lord Malfoy was a governor on the Hogwarts board and much respected by his peers…
Narcissa could not understand what was happening. Her once-loving husband had withdrawn from her after their son’s funeral. News of her pregnancy only brought him dismay. He had urged her to seek out her blood-traitor sister. Topsy, her personal house-elf, had followed her to Andi’s that fateful day. Next, she was a widow. Topsy later reported that Master Lucius had ordered the other house elves to leave and given them clothes before casting Fiendfyre. They had also been ordered not to help the guests escape. Two elves were not fast enough to flee the flames and perished. Narcissa had not been vaguely aware of guests in the manor, but she never pried into Lucius’ business dealings like most pureblood wives did in their husbands’ lives. She had been taught better by Mother.
In the end, Andi had taken her in with nothing but a bonded elf and the clothes on her back. Her husband had all but emptied the Malfoy vault after their son’s death. Her long-neglected personal vault only held a pittance. Her dowry was long gone. The Tonks were kind to her, more than she deserved. She had lost everything, and she had a little one on the way, a possible heir to the Malfoy name. Narcissa was afraid. Dare she hope? Or would this pregnancy end in tears and disappointment as so many had done?
Peter Pettigrew squeaked as he scampered past a forlorn Mrs Norris. The cat was no longer as alert as she once was. He squeezed down a gap between the stones. It had taken him forever, but he was back in Hogwarts again. He had escaped from the Aurors and Black in London, hiding as a regular rat. No one gave him a second look. He found a wizarding family in London – the Macmillans. His cosy life as little Ernie’s pet ended abruptly when Black was acquitted and his arrest warrant was issued, including a description of his rat animagus form. He had snuck into the school trunk of an older sibling to flee London and was conveyed to Hogwarts, where he led a mostly solitary life in the walls, living off leftovers and dodging Mrs Norris.
His life was upended again when his master returned and summoned him to Malfoy Manor. The Dark Lord needed a new host, preferably a baby. The body he created with the Weasley girl’s life energy would not last. Lady Malfoy was to have the honour of providing the vessel. Lord Malfoy lost it and cast Fiendfyre. Peter barely escaped by the skin of his teeth.
Peter scampered towards his old hidey-hole in the dungeons. Snape was coming down the hallway. Term had not yet started but the Potions Master was in early, and he had been drinking. Peter flinched as he smashed the empty bottle against the wall above his rat hole, sending glass showering down.
After they had slain the Basilisk, he had taken a roll call of his little snakes to find one missing. They would find him in the rubble of the East Corridor. Young Draco lying there with his eyes unseeing. There had been no marks or injuries on him. The Basilisk’s deadly gaze had snuffed out his life. Lucius and Narcissa had spoiled Draco as an only child. Snape had to speak with his godson on more than occasion about his behaviour – bullying his half-blood housemates, that ridiculous feud with one redhead lion… He hated having to apologize to his fellow Head of House.
Draco was a good lad inside, under all the snarkiness and bigoted views he inherited from his sire and grandsire. Unlike most of his students, Draco had a talent at Potions, if he could be persuaded to apply himself instead of lobbing random items into the Longbottom-Weasley cauldron.
It had been a miracle there had not been more deaths with the castle’s residents gathered for dinner in the Great Hall when the monster appeared. Fawkes had blinded the beast and McGonagall had transfigured a teapot into a rooster, its crowing slaying the feared creature of legend. On hindsight, they had been careless, lulled into complacency with Hagrid’s removal and his alleged involvement in the last incident fifty years back.
Lucius Malfoy had been a friend to the lonely half-blood he was in Slytherin House. Now Lucius was dead too. How could he have missed the signs that his friend was losing it? A tearful Narcissa had come to him at Spinner’s End. She was left destitute and homeless. The Black townhouse was Sealed and would not be unsealed without the current owner’s permission. Sirius Black was Merlin-knows-where, if not still leeching off Madam Potter like the parasitic worm he is. The only thing he could do for Narcissa was to send her back to the Tonks, who though living Muggle were better equipped to assist the new widow.
Severus Snape was a failure as a godfather, a friend and a human being.
Across the ocean, life continued at Ilvermorny as it had since its founding. Students ebbed and flowed through its halls. Harry Potter was a Quidditch star in the making. He was quick and agile on a broomstick. His good friend Henri won the national junior championship for the third year running. Miranda started her first business on-campus selling self-styling hair ribbons. The enterprise was shut down by an irate Uncle Percy when a poorly Charmed ribbon almost throttled a student at breakfast. The three Musketeers were apologetic and refunded all their customers. The ribbons were destroyed. They spent the next weekend scrubbing cauldrons instead of visiting Greylock Falls, the village nearest the castle.
There were new students transferred from Hogwarts. Theodore Nott and Justin Finch-Fletchley. Their dads were lords rich enough to send them across an ocean. Justin’s French was too hopeless for enrolment in Beauxbatons, where most of the other transfers went. Lord Nott had deigned to send his son to Ilvermorny as there was no way his son could catch up with Durmstrang’s syllabus and he feared Beauxbaton’s art-oriented syllabus would turn his already quiet son soft. They were Sorted with the first years. Henri took Theo under his wing as newly Sorted Horned Serpent. Miranda thought it would be a lark to befriend a future viscount and invited the new Pukwudgie Justin to join their study sessions. Their little study group grew from three to five. The newcomers were in awe when Harry Potter was introduced.
“They got it on backwards. It was my dad and mom who did it – standing up to some Dark Wizard. Not a little baby like me…” an embarrassed Harry explained.
Theo needed to change his perspective drastically. There were fewer distinctions between purebloods and No-Majs, apart from the need to ensure that they were not marrying too close. Students raised No-Maj were given extra resources and classes to adapt to the magical world instead of being thrown in the deep end as in Britain. Egalitarianism was the norm in Ilvermorny. Having a werewolf lecturer raised few eyebrows except for Nott’s. Poor Theo had gone awfully pale. Lord Nott had terrified his son with horror stories about werewolves growing up. It took Henri a while to reassure him that Professor Lupin was harmless. They did not tell Nott the girl he was sitting next to was also a werewolf, albeit a hereditary case. Perhaps Littlefeather would tell him should they start walking out.
Theo had narrowly escaped the Basilisk the year before by ducking under a table to avoid its gaze. He knew one of the students who died. They had grown up together. Justin had been Petrified rather than killed earlier that same year after meeting the creature’s glare through a ghost, a close shave. He had spent months lying senseless in the Hospital Wing. His fellow students helped him catch up with the syllabus via intensive tutoring so he could pass his exams.
Once more, Harry thanked his lucky stars his family magic had sent him across an ocean as a baby to Auntie Portia’s care. He could not imagine studying in a castle where such a cavalier attitude was taken with regards to student safety.
They never found Ginny. Some whispered that the monster ate her up. Bill had checked with the goblins to confirm that his little sister was indeed deceased. Ron had watched helplessly as his family fell apart. His mom was a ghost of her former self. She no longer yelled at them or threatened punishment if they misbehaved. She went about the chores and cooking as usual after the funeral, for a while. There were days where she forgot and set an extra place for Ginny. She would spend hours in Ginny’s room. Bill applied to return to London to complete his Gringotts’ Cursebreaker contract. Likewise, Charlie applied to the Welsh dragon sanctuary to be closer to their parents. Molly Weasley had lost an awful amount of weight. Her husband no longer had the zest for all things Muggle that once drove him at work. He was given extended leave to take care of things at home.
Ron, Percy, and the twins had returned reluctantly to Hogwarts. Percy seemed set to drown himself revising for his NEWTs, spending hours in the library. The twins had no heart for pranks or mischief. Madam Pomfrey had a mind-healer come in but few of the Gryffindors felt ready to speak. Hermione had seen a mind-healer for a while after the troll. She now needed a special chair to move about in, and an elf assigned by the headmaster to assist her in her tasks. The Grangers had wanted to pull her out of Hogwarts, but the headmaster convinced them not to. Wounds from the troll’s club left a lingering infection that would need monitoring. It made her prone to migraines, fits, and moments of confusion. It was common for her to miss lessons and even meals when the illness took hold. She was assigned a special Portkey to take her St Mungo’s if the attacks came during the holidays. She was held back a year as she could not catch up with her year mates.
With a weary sigh, Ron gave the password to the Fat Lady. He needed to get his Potions homework done before Professor Snape made good on his threat to have him cleaning rat spleens. Without Ginny, he was the baby of the family again. Except his parents and brothers were too wrapped up in their own worries to care. He had to make his own sandwiches for lunch. Wash his own dishes abd robes. He missed having his sometimes-irritating baby sister about. When he tried speaking to Percy, his brother just told him to man up, be responsible, study hard… They had already failed Ginny. They could not let their parents down further…
“Help. Ron… my head hurts…” Hermione whispered weakly. She was sprawled awkwardly over one of the beanbags. Her chair was lying on its side. She might have had another fit. Where was the new elf, Dobby or whatsitsname? The previous elf Lopsy had been killed by the Basilisk after dropping a towel over Hermione’s face and sending her to safety in the kitchens. No one had reported dead elves in the papers, though Ron recalled several little shrouded bodies too small to be students in the aftermath. Ron yelled for any house elf in the vicinity. When that failed, he ran for Madam Pomfrey. He knew he should not move his housemate without checking how badly she was injured in her recent fit.
Yet another staff meeting closed with the reports from the faculty on the students in their care. It was no surprise that so many of the families who could afford to had transferred their children out after the Basilisk. Slytherin House had been gutted. Only Davis, Bulstrode, Goyle and Crabbe remained of Draco’s year. Snape complained that it would be a kindness to allow Granger to be homeschooled. There was no way she could keep up with the practical lessons with her current health issues. The castle was not built for the disabled. Getting her up the Astronomy Tower or down to the Potions Lab was a nightmare. Even getting her on and off the Hogwarts Express was a trial. A teacher had to chaperone her to and from the Muggle platform where her parents could pick her up. She had experienced another attack in the lab once and came close to blowing it up. Perhaps a lengthy stay in St Mungo’s was needed to clear up the child’s lingering infection before returning her to school. Snape was firmly but apologetically informed by the headmaster that the hospital had done all they could for Miss Granger. It was now up to her own magic to heal her.
Snape scowled as Sybil Trelawney had the gall to ask if he would like to fetch her sherry the next time went down to the Hog’s Head for his whiskey. His slowly increasing reliance on drink had not gone unnoticed by his colleagues. The chair in his lab where Draco used to sit…
Minerva had expressed her concerns about the Weasleys. Apart from Percy, who seemed set on burning himself out before the NEWTs, the remaining boys seemed to have lost interest in everything, even Quidditch. Wood had complained that his Beaters and reserve Keeper were just not performing as they should. She knew things were hard back home with Molly ill with grief. She never thought she might miss having the twins pull their pranks in class.
Albus popped a lemon drop into his mouth and savoured the tart sweet. The latest DADA instructor Barbara Yaga had been outed as a hag and forced to resign once the news hit the Daily Prophet. Three months before the exams too. Remus, dear boy, had written to inform him that he was adapting well to the States and teaching in Ilvermorny, and that Harry was in good hands.
That was where every scheme Albus had thought up fell apart. It had been bad enough when Harry Potter did not turn up in Hogwarts. So many disappointed children. The Ministry threw a fit. MACUSA refused to have Potter extradited. One did not go about ripping children from their loving guardians, especially one as well-connected as Portia Potter-Graves. The Chamber of Secrets had been long relegated to a myth. No one expected a Basilisk to have survived for so long hidden in the castle.
Voldemort is returning soon. The troll, the Basilisk… Lucius Malfoy’s apparent descent into madness… Remus had let slip that Harry had undergone a magical procedure in New Orleans some years back, a city steeped in the darker magical arts. He hinted vaguely at a Curse removed. Harry had friends in Ilvermorny, friends linked to prominent families in the States. He was well-versed in magic and diplomacy. It had been a wrench being forced to return James’ Invisibility Cloak when the Madam Potter-Graves requested an audit on the Potter vaults. Branch manager Riptooth insisted on it as the Cloak was on loan to the headmaster and should be returned to the Potter estate. Harry will not receive the Cloak until he came of age and took charge of his family vaults.
Dumbledore felt bad about the Weasleys, especially the younger boys. Perhaps he could use his contacts to get tickets for them to the Quidditch World Cup when the finals were to be hosted in Britain the following summer. A little something to brighten up their day.
Notes:
A lot of changes from canon. Hermione seriously injured by troll. Staff and students dead by Basilisk. This is an AU after all. Maybe some of the Hogwarts students growing up sooner in a sense.
A significant change I made is removing Draco’s character entirely from the plot. At 12, I doubt he has the angst and doubts needed to remain as a ghost. If he got killed at 16, then he has reason to be haunting someone. His pureblood worldview has not been challenged with Hermione away from school and no Potter to snub him. No Malfoy redemption arc here. We get guilt-ridden Snape instead.
Chapter 8: Homecomings
Summary:
Harry and friends are growing up and it is time for the Quidditch World Cup.
Notes:
I am swapping the term camper for the more American RV or motorhome.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Narcissa cradled her newborn, a baby boy who reminded her painfully of poor Draco. Little Rigel fussed in her arms. She had Owled her scapegrace cousin Sirius. Rigel needed a noble house’s protection. Sirius had not responded to her letter yet. Sirius had never expressed any interest in taking on the Lordship. Once his rebellious streak started showing, Grandfather had all but passed him over as Heir in favour for Regulus. Her own father was soft in the head and Uncle Orion too weak-willed.
The headmaster had called at the Tonks’ cottage, offering Narcissa condolences on the loss of her eldest and her husband. Rigel Cygnus Malfoy will have a place in Hogwarts should he prove magical. The Wizengamot had a fund to ensure potential heirs would not want for an education. Narcissa was torn between wanting to Hex the old coot or thank him. They needed their cousin to become Lord Black.
“He will be back for the Quidditch Cup. You know how Quidditch-mad he is…” Andi reassured her. They winced at the crash of Dora tripping on her way out the Floo. Unlike her elegant mother, her niece was as clumsy as a newborn colt.
Percy had expected his mom to react more positively to his new job as Mister Crouch’s personal assistant. Molly only nodded and smiled before returning her attention to mending Ginny’s old dress. She had stopped caring about the chores and cooking. Bill and Charlie bought dinner home where they could after Arthur almost burned the kitchen down trying to cook.
Percy went to his room to feed Hermes. His cat miaowed grumpily from his basket. He had gifted the cat to Ron when his parents gave him Hermes. It did not work out. Ginger had been a bundle of joy and mischief as a kitten. Then his happy kitten just went to bed one night and woke up an old grumpy cat, so it seemed. Ginger fought with Mrs Norris in Hogwarts and terrorised the other pets in the Gryffindor Tower. He never took to his younger siblings. Ron wisely decided against bringing Ginger to Hogwarts.
“Ginge, can you watch Mom for us, please?” Percy asked as the cat headbutted him with a huff before loping down the stairs to the kitchen. He had overheard his father speaking to Bill and Charlie. They might need to send their mom to St Mungo’s if her condition worsened.
There was a letter from Hogwarts on the kitchen table. The post owls had learned to leave the mail there and help themselves to the bowl of owl treats and knuts if payment was needed. Otherwise, they would spend a long time waiting for Molly to notice them. His mom seemed to be in a dream world of her own now. Percy scooped the mail up on the way up thinking it was his brothers’ school reports.
He absently undid the flap. Someone needed to keep his younger brothers in line with dad, Charlie and Bill busy with other matters. Tickets to the Quidditch Cup tumbled out before his amazed eyes.
Theo Nott shrugged off his backpack in the hallway. An elf was on hand to take it from him. It had been a tough year being so far from all that was familiar to him. He never thought he would befriend Justin - a Muggleborn and a former Hufflepuff to boot. His father might have a word or two to say about his new Muggleborn friends, not that Theo minded.
Father had been distant from him since his return for the summer. Maybe he did not like the changes he saw in his son after his term in America. There was no Malfoy manor left to host him this summer, not since his boyhood friend died. Growing up, Theo was left to his own devices in the dreary Nott Mansion with Father often away on business. The Malfoys had hosted him so Draco might have a playmate. Oh, he missed that prat. He had Owled Pansy and Blaise, both of whom were studying at Beauxbatons. He had hoped they could meet up. Both sent their apologies - their families already had plans for the summer. He ended up meeting up with Justin and his Puff friends, most of whom were Muggleborn or raised. He went to Muggle swimming pool for the first time and was shocked by how scantily-clad some of the girls were. Wizarding swimwear was still in the 1910s. They had gone to the beach to set off Muggle fireworks, then watched a late movie in town and missed the last train. That did not matter with the Knight Bus, but it was still well after his curfew. He had been surprised no punishment awaited him.
Theo tiptoed past his father’s study. Muffled voices. His father had guests. It would not do to draw any attention. The door was ajar. He could not resist a peek. His father was speaking with two other wizards, whose backs were facing him. A flutter of a black robe. A glint of metal – a mask he had seen once, years back. He had come across it as a young boy. His father had yelled at him then, taken it from him and put it away.
“Folly… at the World Cup… after so long…”
“A reminder of his power…”
“Our master came back…”
“Mere rumours… Too much security…”
“Coward…”
Theo drew away. He did not wish to know what his father was discussing with Misters Goyle and Crabbe.
“It is the Quidditch Cup! The biggest sporting event in the wizarding world and we’ve all got tickets!” Sirius Black hooted and clapped Harry on the shoulder. Henri’s uncle on the ICW Sporting Council had come through with more tickets than expected. They were able to offer them to other Quidditch fans in Little Pottery rather than let them go to waste.
“Oh dear, stop that ruckus or I am withdrawing my offer of the Merry Camper,” Portia groaned as she looked up from her rose bushes. The family’s motorhome was nicknamed the Merry Camper after Black volunteered to fix it up one winter after years languishing in the Potter garage. He painted it Gryffindor red with gold and black trimmings, which had little Harry insisting it was Santa’s new sleigh.
“Have you gotten a designated driver yet?”
“I’m driving,” Black winked.
“No, you are not. You don’t have a license to drive a motorhome. Josef! You have been to Britain before, right? Also, the necessary licenses. You can drive them there.”
“But I haven’t a ticket ma’am,” Josef Kowalski explained as he trimmed the hedge. Miranda’s uncle and an expert Herbologist, he undersaw the landscaping of Potter Manor’s gardens.
“Not to worry. Uncle Percy will give his up. He loathes Quidditch. And I know you want to cheer the Bulgarian team on. That young man Krum, some cousin on your mother’s side, right? Now, Sirius, who else is going?” Portia waved aside Josef’s profuse thanks. Josef’s mother had been an immigrant from Eastern Europe. Hot favourite Japan had lucked out of the competition in the semi-finals with their top players coming down with injuries that would see them out of action for months. This had allowed the Bulgarians to plow into the finals.
“Well, Harry, Henri, Miranda… Remus, Kitty, and her siblings… The MacDuffs and the Lopez brothers… Merlin, this is going to be so much fun!” Sirius danced a little jig.
Portia pursed her lips. She hoped Lupin and the older attendees might be able to keep a lid on what was otherwise a pack of excitable youngsters. That included one dog animagus.
“Portia, I don’t like this at all. Sending Harry and the kids over…” Percival leaned out of the study window, a lit cigarette in his hand. “Theseus wrote to me about recent events. There is something rotten in Whitehall. Have Black or Rico Lopez cast a glamour on Harry…”
“Mercy Lewis, are you volunteering to go with them?” Percival Graves was not one to suffer fools. He might transfigure them all into coffee mugs or hankies.
“Not in a million years,” Percival scowled, Vanished his cigarette, and retreated back into the study.
Harry allowed Rico to turn his hair blond like Miranda’s. He would go by the name James Graves in Britain. The rest of the attendees were informed of the need for Harry to travel incognito and were on board with the idea. Mrs MacDuff even cast a temporary Vision Correction Charm on Harry so he could forgo his glasses for a few hours. Josef shrunk down a set of his dungarees, shirt, and straw hat. Kitty laughed and said Harry looked like an Amish farm boy when they were done outfitting him.
Maurice Picquery had secured a box for his young relative through his ICW connections. Sirius left Harry with Lupin in the box before making his way to the refreshment carts. Andi had arranged to meet him there.
“Wotcha, Pads…” Dora grinned impishly as she handed him a hotdog. His little cousin was dressed in Auror garb. “Ma’s over by the lemonade stand. Good luck, cuz.”
Black picked his way through the crowd to where Andi was waiting. She was not alone. With her was her younger sister. Narcissa had aged after losing her son. Like Andi, she had dressed Muggle. An infant grizzled in her arms. Gone was the pretty society hostess. Narcissa looked dowdy in her faded blue dress and sun hat.
“Siri, Cissy and Rigel need your help…” Andi whispered after casting a Privacy Charm. “They’re Blacks, like you…” And you were Heir once, now likely Lord Black… Andi’s eyes challenged.
“Lucius left us nothing but grief. He signed everything over to his Dark Lord… even our Draco, had he lived!” Narcissa hiccoughed. We need a protector. Take the Lordship.
“I was disowned – Blasted off the tapestry, Andi. I’m only here for the Quidditch Cup.”
He avoided looking the witches in the eye. Grumpy from the heat, Rigel wailed, distracting his mother. Black made use of the distraction to shift into Padfoot and slip away. The sight of the large black dog alarmed several wizards. He had little wish to return to Britain and all the memories she held for him.
Ireland beat Bulgaria. Sirius Black had squirreled a stash of whiskey in the Merry Camper. Josef uncovered it and was drunk when the last of the stragglers made it back from the pitch. Kitty Graves filled in as back-up driver. She had an important convention to attend the next day and no desire to be late. To Lupin’s dismay, the teens decided to have their post-match party in the Extended RV on the journey home.
The Quidditch fans of Little Pottery were miles away when the Death Eaters turned up and chaos broke out.
The disastrous end to the Quidditch World Cup was talk even across an ocean. Hooligans making mischief… Portia had sniffed as she dispensed Hangover Cures to her charges. Most of the teens had imbibed too freely of the drinks and were now paying the price. Given the late hour of their arrival, most had simply slept over in the manor. The elves were on-hand to prepare the guestrooms and transfigure camp beds in the den. Breakfast was provided to anyone who felt like it. Uncle Percy was out fishing. He would have a thing or two to say about the dismal security measures at the event.
The interior was utterly trashed after the post-match party. Twixie and Twinkie had taken one look at the inside of the RV and brought out the laundry basket to their mistress in protest. Had the sisters been duppies, the motorhome would have been a blazing bonfire. Portia had to negotiate with the elves, assigning Mallow to assist and promising the trio an extra night off for next six months. She even threw in a cooking course for the sisters. How did paw-prints get all the way up the ceiling? And the scorch marks on the walls… Were they juggling fireworks?
On hindsight, she should have assigned the chore of cleaning to the teens and their less-than attentive chaperones. She expected better of the grownups. The MacDuffs were nice enough to send an apology with Mary MacDuff’s tea cake once they sobered up. Josef sent a bottle of his mallow extract the following week. Still, Portia would reconsider the next time she is asked to loan out her RV.
They still had the next school year to prepare for. Poor Queenie was getting older and her mind-shielding so much weaker. The born Legilimens could not stand to be with too many people now. The crowds on High Street would overwhelm her. Aunt Celestine had suffered severe spell backwash from breaking a high-level Withering Curse in late spring and was still recovering in St Kitts. Some curses should really be left to professionals. Henri had been occupying the yellow guestroom since despite his claims that he could take care of himself. The Picquery duppies thought otherwise and had him sent to the manor with his clothes and school trunk. Portia would have to take Harry’s best friends school shopping in High Street. Not that she minded the company of Henri and Miranda. Good children both. She could not have chosen better friends for Harry.
Notes:
Some background on how the American characters tie to the canonic ones from Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts:
Percival Graves – former Director of the MACUSA Magical Law Enforcement. Bested by Gellert Grindelwald and impersonated for a few months. Major career switch to teaching at Ilvermorny. He acts as guardian to Harry along with Sirius Black and Portia Potter-Graves
Miranda Graves – friend of Harry, great-granddaughter of Queenie Goldstein on her mother’s side. Lives with her. Cousin to Anthony Goldstein, a Ravenclaw in Hogwarts.
Henri Picquery – great-grandnephew of a former MACUSA President, Seraphina Picquery. Friend of Harry Potter.
Chapter 9: The Fourth Champion
Notes:
A fair bit of this chapter is taken from Another Childhood’s chapter Ilvermorny’s Champion.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Albus Dumbledore clapped politely as the Goblet spat out the names of the Champions. Master Cedric Diggory was chosen as Hogwarts’ Champion, to the delight of Pomona Sprout and her badgers. He was about to speak and congratulate the three Champions when the Goblet flared again.
“Harry Potter.”
Pandemonium.
Disguised as Moody, Barty Crouch Jr scratched his stump. Old Moody had been good, but not good enough. The old coot had not realized that his old friend from the Aurors had been replaced by an imposter. It had been a gamble, but their master had been insistent. They needed blood from the Potter brat for the ritual.
The cowardly brat had an ocean between them. With the Goblet choosing him as Champion, he would have no choice but to return for the Triwizard Tournament or lose his magic, and possibly life. Barty had not expected Peter Pettigrew, a giant snake, and the homunculus hosting Voldemort to turn up once he had shaken off his hated father’s Imperius and put one on dear Father. Payback’s a bitch, old man. The eager redhead assistant was too wet about the ears to recognize anything odd about his boss.
He had to give credit where it was due. After licking his burns in the safety of Hogwarts’ disused dungeons, Pettigrew had gone to Albania where Voldemort had a base, and where his wraith had fled after the fire. Master, servant, and familiar had returned quietly to Britain, seeding whispers of his return in their wake. Had Malfoy still lived, he might have reined in the likes of those eejits who pulled that spot of Muggle-baiting at the Quidditch Cup. Still, the commotion had covered Barty’s escape. Voldemort was furious with Malfoy. His widow and surviving child would pay dearly, but Lady Malfoy had gone to earth with her brat. They could wait.
The Potters and Graves were magical nobility or close to it in North America. That meant expectations to be met. Harry scratched that ugly curse-scar on his forehead and tried to hide it under his unruly hair. The scar, faint as it was, had bothered him to no end. An older student, Bruce Wyham had teased him for it, calling him Scarhead before Coach Black put a stop to that. Miranda tried applying a No-Maj concealer to it, but Harry hated the feel of the cosmetic on his skin. Henri only shrugged and called it a badge of honour, showing off his own collection of scars from duelling. Henri always skimped on the Dittany and Murtlap to ensure that he kept his scars. He had recently earned one from a badly thrown Hex. Miranda kept ambushing him to apply the Dittany Essence on it, insisting that he looked too much like a pirate for her liking. Harry felt he had nothing to be proud. Him surviving the Killing Curse had nothing to do with his abilities, but his mother’s.
Aunt Portia and Uncle Percy had drilled into him the need to present himself properly. However, Harry had yet to master his unruly hair. With a sigh, he conceded defeat yet again. Uncle Percy would be mad at him if he were late for breakfast. Being a Potter and some celebrity over the pond did not entitle one to preferential treatment. Neither did having guardians on the teaching staff and school board. Harry strode into the dining hall briskly, consciously trying not to break into a run. He could smell waffles with maple syrup. The Pukwudgies did not offer refills. If his Housemates were to finish up the waffles, he would have to make do with muesli or whatever remained at their table or beg from the other tables.
“Pads, something’s bothering you…” Remus could smell the unease which clung to his friend after the Quidditch Cup. “Is it the Lordship?”
“Don’t want to talk about it, Moony,” Sirius grouched. He had not minded Andi much growing up. She had the same fascination with Muggle stuff he did. Cissy was that annoying perfect little pureblood witch her parents groomed her into. After marrying Lucius, she became more intolerable. To see her in such reduced circumstances, with a young child…
The news owl glided in and dropped the morning’s Wizard International on the staff table.
Harry Potter to compete in Triwizard? The headline screamed.
Black bit back an oath and grabbed the paper. He skimmed through the article before passing it to Lupin. Percival Graves was at the other end of the table passing the maple syrup to the Herbology Professor. Black strode over, ignoring a greeting from the headmistress. Forget breakfast, they needed to talk.
A red-haired girl from Pukwudgie House greeted Harry with a smile. Her name drifted to Harry’s mind. Mary MacDonnell. He heard from Miranda she was soft on him. She looked pretty enough. Harry wondered if he should ask Mary MacDonnell out for the weekend when he saw the faculty giving him strange looks. Was he in trouble? Did they find out he helped Wendy Morgan get books from the Restricted Stacks without a permission slip? Or the baby Wampus Cat they were hiding in the greenhouse? Miss Morgan broke up with him after Juan Lopez told her about him kissing Nellie MacDuff at the post-match party. He had been drunk and did not recall anything of that sort. Willie Goldstein promised to have his cousin pick up the kitten and take it to a Sanctuary. They just needed to keep it hidden for one more week until Cousin Rolf got back from Peru.
Professor Graves was in conversation with his godfather Coach Black and Professor Lupin when he walked in. Now the three wizards were staring at him.
“Did Miranda turn my nose red again?” Harry strode up to them and asked. He was a Wampus and he would face this head-on.
“No, pup… Someone has entered you into a potentially dangerous tournament,” Black thrust the day’s Wizard International at him.
Being caught up by a magical contract without his knowledge sucked. Refusing to go was out of it due to the risk to his magic and possibly life. Uncle Percy had even called in a team of goblin lawyers from Gringotts to see if there was a clause they could use to withdraw him from the tournament. Headmistress Flowers was in a tizzy. The Triwizard Tournament might be dangerous, but the recognition if their Champion performed well… Aunt Portia called in all her contacts at MACUSA so that Ilvermorny will have their delegation ready. Conditions and terms for Harry’s participation must be clearly listed out and agreed on given the diplomatic sensitivities. She even offered the Merry Camper for their use. It seemed foolhardy that Hogwarts was to host the Tournament given its recent security issues. Hopefully they had sorted their Wards out.
“Do you remember this, Harry?” his godfather asked as he brushed his finger against the lightning-shaped scar.
“Uh-huh…” Harry nodded.
That vacation in New Orleans had been a wonder for young Harry with the Madi Gras festival and colourful costumes. The grownups had taken him to watch a puppet show before bringing him to Madam Lucia. He remembered sitting in a ritual circle with his guardians on the outside. The rest of the ritual was a blur. He had almost died, so his godfather said. There had been a soul-shard from his parents’ killer lodged in his scar.
Madam Lucia recognized it for what it was – an accidental Horcrux. After making the necessary documentation for the ICW, the stone it was transferred to was destroyed with a shot of Basilisk Venom in a secure goblin-Warded facility. They deduced that there were more such soul-shards, Horcruxes if you will, anchoring the Dark Wizard Voldemort to this plane. Harry’s name turning up in the Goblet reeked of nefarious intent. Ilvermorny and his family would protect him the best they can.
Harry had been Floo-ed to the MACUSA Head Office in New York City to submit himself to the Goblet’s binding once the grown-ups had everything set up via the ICW. Uncle Percy and his team of lawyers were there to question the British and European representatives sent to brief them on the tournament. No one wanted to risk his magic or life given the fickle nature of ancient magical artefacts like the Goblet.
They must be careful. Unlike Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, Ilvermorny was sending not just the senior year students, but also several of Harry’s year mates for support. Cousins Miranda and Henri agreed to go with him, just to make sure his head didn’t get too big. Seniors were encouraged to join them and gain extra credit for helping their Champion under the guise of tutoring their juniors. Professor Percival Graves was nominated to lead the delegation and sit on the Tournament's panel of judges. They would need to leave for Scotland before the Wand-Weighing Ceremony. Everything was moving much too quickly.
Oh, Harry had learned about the British First Wizarding War, his parents’ death and Voldemort from his godfather. He had learned about that pesky ‘souvenir’ his parents’ killer left behind in his scar. His godfather had reassured him that the ICW were working on the possibility, however unlikely they deemed it, that there were other soul shards lying about. Some parties in the ICW even considered Horcruxes a myth. With the British Ministry denying that their darkest wizard since Grindelwald might be still alive, they were stymied. Lupin had tried to draw Headmaster Dumbledore into discussion about the dark lord surviving, but the old man kept his secrets close. Or perhaps he was just ignorant of it.
“Be careful, Cousin…” Miranda cuffed him lightly on the shoulder as she passed levitating a string of trunks. “Think I packed enough for the year?”
“Young lady, one can never read enough books…” Aunt Portia’s strident voice echoed through the crisp fall air. Miranda bit back a retort that they were just clothes. “Though you might want to shrink them down a little…”
“But that’ll mess up the Charms!” Miranda gasped in horror. Portia smiled. The girl could always reset the Charms. Miss Graves was a dab hand with fashion-related Charms.
“A-Auntie Portia?” Harry gawped as his guardian swept towards him in a cloud of lavender powder and periwinkle robes. Her elf Mimsy was carrying her battered steamer trunk which Harry knew hid an entire bedroom, study, and bath within. She kissed Harry on the cheek.
“Think I would leave you to these two buffoons?” Her turquoise eyes alit on Sirius and Remus. “Sweet Mercy, you’d run circles about them. And Uncle Percy will likely Hex them into the new year.”
She tweaked his ear fondly and acknowledged Percy with a nod. The preparations for the trip had exhausted the former Auror and he was leaning on his walking stick for support. Sirius would likely have to face his own family issues back across the Pond. If he became Lord Black, he would be an invaluable ally for MACUSA. Maybe they could formally introduce him to Winnie MacDuff’s youngest girl. They had been friendly enough at the last Halloween charity gala.
If she could, she would have formally adopted Harry but there was the issue of the Potter Lordship they would need to deal with when he was of age. She could not possibly cut him off from the British Potter lineage that way. For the tournament, Harry was to be considered a citizen of the States. The diplomatic protections would extend to him as they did to his fellow students in the delegation. The British could not force him to remain after the event, not without causing an incident.
“Auntie, do you think that he might be behind this?” Harry asked.
“Of course, Harry. Let’s flush the snake out and end it…”
Portia tried to sound confident, but she was worried. Harry was still a child, yet he would be facing competitors three years his senior. What she knew of the tournament’s history did not inspire confidence.
Breathe in, breathe out. She sensed her ward doing the same, grounding himself.
“Ready, Harry?”
“Ready as I will ever be, Auntie…”
“May the Great Spirit and the Earth Mother guide and protect you,” she gave his shoulder a squeeze before strolling off to speak with Headmistress Flowers.
“Potter, hear you are going to Hogwarts. We’re coming with you,” Theo Nott poked his head up from behind several brooms he had been helping Coach Black loading into the RV. He was not alone.
“Wendy Morgan has a betting pool in Thunderbird on whether you will be eaten by a dragon or a manticore,” Justin Finch-Fletchley added as he dragged a trunk into the RV. Unlike Theo, he seemed eager to return to Britain.
Theo had been subdued since term started. Black had noticed. Perhaps Lord Nott had been giving his son a rough time back home. Most pureblood families had high expectations of their heirs and failure to live up to them would be harshly punished. Being a former Heir, Sirius understood the pressures. His door was open to Nott, whenever he decided he needed someone to talk to.
The headmistress had coaxed a quartet of Pukwudgies to join them for security. These were fiercely loyal to the Huntmaster, as they called Graves, after he had defended Ilvermorny alongside them in the 1940s and 60s against a dragon and a Sasquatch rebellion. Portia volunteered the help of her elves as the vehicle belonged to her after all. Cooking, laundry, and heavy cleaning would be undertaken by the house elves. The lighter chores would be shared by the staff and students.
Harry’s name turning up had set the cat among the pigeons in Hogwarts. The news was quickly relayed to their counterparts at Ilvermorny where Harry Potter was enrolled. This was the first time Ilvermorny was participating in the Triwizard, no, Tetrawizard Tournament. There will have to be an investigation as to how Harry’s name ended up in the Goblet. Oh, there had been attempts to bypass the Age-Line. Masters Finnegan and Jordan had been caught out trying to cross it with a broom. In protest of the suspension of the House Quidditch matches, the older Gryffindor team members had staged a fly-by and dumped slips marked ‘Quidditch’ into the Goblet.
Surely there was no student or staff reckless enough to put an unwitting child at risk. If Harry had not been informed or was unable to participate… Albus’s gaze drifted to the Durmstrang ship leisurely at anchor on the lake. Igor Karakoff had been a Death Eater but had turned on his former comrades to dodge Azkaban. Where did his loyalties lie now? Severus had assured him that Voldemort was unlikely to forgive Igor no matter what for his past betrayal. If not the Dark Lord himself, the Death Eaters he had outed and sent to Azkaban.
“A most regrettable turn of events, but one we should seize upon,” Dumbledore murmured. Harry would be forced to return to Britain. No matter how prepared he was. It would be a chance to approach the boy, persuade him to transfer to Hogwarts.
“Why would his guardian allow him to transfer, with his OWLs next year?” Minerva asked, bristling like a cat.
“For his sixth year then, I am sure we can accommodate…”
“Albus, the Ilvermorny subjects taught are more comprehensive. They have Healing and Ward Studies. Spellcrafting too. Now, why were those dropped after my time?” his deputy complained. Minerva had taken a good look at their syllabus after that tea with Portia Potter-Graves. The American witch was right. Hogwarts’ standards had slipped alarmingly even when compared to other European schools. The Wizarding War alone could not explain that. Durmstrang and Beauxbaton both suffered during the Global Wizarding War, but they soon bounced back by the 50’s, even if Durmstrang seemed unlikely to shake off its reputation for having spawned Grindelwald any time soon.
“Look, we should make use of this opportunity to compare notes with our American colleagues…”
“It’s for the best…” he quietly cast a mild Compulsion on his deputy. He really did not wish to argue with Minnie over the curriculum. Bring back Alchemy? That was what caused Riddle to delve into Horcruxes in the first place! The old witch blinked once before walking away. She felt something niggling at the edge of her mind but that now felt unimportant.
Notes:
Harry’s going back to Britain, very, very reluctantly. He has his own supporters from Ilvermorny and might make some new friends at Hogwarts. Harry in this AU has bypassed many of the negative childhood experiences Harry in canon went through. He has a stable loving family and a strong backing in the magical world. His guardians are not happy about his needing to be a Champion, but they will be there to support him.
Chapter 10: Hall of Prophecies
Summary:
The delegation arrives in Britain. Harry tests the limits of the British Ministry’s hospitality.
Notes:
This is a significant rewrite from the earlier version.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As it turned out, they did not go immediately to Hogwarts. There were papers they needed to submit to the Ministry in person. Lupin and Black volunteered to take the remaining students on a tour of the Tower of London. They parked the RV outside the city limits and Apparated to Whitehall. Sir Theseus Scamander was there to meet Uncle Percy, Auntie Portia, and Harry, all the better to guide him through the halls of British bureaucracy. It took the entire morning before they were done.
Harry was bored. Sir Theseus had introduced Aunt Portia and Uncle Percy to one Amelia Bones, Director of the Magical Law Enforcement department, and Senior Auror Rufus Scrimgeour. The grownups were busy talking shop and Harry felt quite left out. What did he know or care about hippogriff licenses and some property up in Dorset? That was when he noticed that Niffler leap down from his Auntie’s chair and scamper half-way across the atrium.
The little pest had purloined Aunt Portia’s brooch! It was the one her late husband gave her for an engagement gift and Harry knew it meant a lot to his Auntie.
“Stupefy,” Harry hissed quietly and cast a spell wandlessly. The little thief only dodged the spell and wiggled his backside at the young wizard as if taunting him while cramming the diamond brooch down his pouch.
No more Mister Nice Guy… Harry vaulted over the edge of the fountain to give chase – straight into the elevator.
“Harry! What are you doing?” Harry vaguely heard Uncle Percy cry out before the doors shut. The Niffler was now bouncing off the walls to get away from the spells Harry was firing off in his growing frustration. Distracted, the young wizard did not notice the elevator taking him down to the ninth floor.
When the doors finally opened, Harry was off after the Niffler, past a sleeping guard and a prominent ‘Out for Lunch’ sign just outside the Entrance Room.
“Gotcha!” Harry fished out his wand and cast a Petrification Spell. The little creature collapsed in the middle of the large room. Harry hurried to grab it and extracted the brooch from its pouch. He looked up and realized that he was in a room with twelve identical doors. The doors all closed and spun around them before stopping. Harry frowned. He felt he was paying some fairground game of finding which cup the ball was under.
Was this the way out? Harry chose one of the doors at random. He opened the door and quickly shut it. Brains… He shuddered. Fishing out a bit of chalk, he marked the door before they started shuffling again. The next door did not work. All the same, he marked it before moving onto the next one.
Hourglasses. Another dead end. The next was a creepy chamber with an eerie archway. Nope. He was wasting too much time here. The entire place reminded him of the Wand Selection Hall back in Ilvermorny with its solemn air. Definitely not a place to mess around in.
The next door he opened led to a long hallway with shelves of glass orbs. He was about to step back out when he felt the Niffler stir to life inside his pocket as the Petrification wore off.
“Horsefeathers!” he shouted as the pest leapt from his pocket and dashed into the depths of the hallway, Aunt Portia’s brooch in its thieving paws.
“Lumos! Accio Niffler!” The pest was too far ahead for the Summoning spell to take. The spell did rattle the shelves, causing some of the orbs to start swirling with glowing colours. Biting back a curse, Harry gave chase.
“Accio, Niffler!” This time the surge of magic caused one of the shelves to break and spill its orbs onto the floor in a mess of shattering glass. Harry bit back the start of a Bombardo. He knew he was losing it. Uncle Percy had wanted him about his temper and tendency to lose control under stress.
Meditate, breathe, calm down… Harry fought to rein in his magic. He put aside his wand. Now where was that Niffler?
“Where could he have gone?” Portia cast about with a Point-me Charm. It was not working given the magical interferences from the Ministry’s various artefacts. Madam Bones had assigned her Aurors to search the Ministry for the missing boy. He could have gotten out at any of the floors.
Percival Graves studied the elevator Harry had disappeared into. It was the lunch hour and various wix had ridden it up since. He focused his mage sight and frowned at the lingering traces of recent spells. The boy had really let loose in there. Then he spotted the pawprint on button beside Level 9.
“Madam, what is on Level 9?”
“That’d be the Department of Mysteries. There’s always a guard… I’d call Head Unspeakable Croaker,” Amelia Bones frowned. The Department was full of possibly dangerous magic a teenager should not be allowed anywhere nearby.
When the elevator doors opened, they heard the twinkle of shattering glass.
“Egad, not the prophecy hall…” Croaker grumbled as he led Portia, Graves, Sir Theseus and Director Bones to the Entrance Hall past the now-stirring guard. Bones gave the careless guard a rebuke as she passed. An incantation from Croaker and one of the doors lit up.
“The kid better not be touching any of those orbs or he might need a visit to St Mungo’s,” the hoary Unspeakable muttered.
“Only those the prophecies are about may touch the orbs containing them…” Theseus explained. Percy noticed several doors had streaks of white chalk on them. Harry had definitely been here.
One of the orbs was glowing brighter than the others. This proved to be the Niffler’s undoing. When Harry caught up, he found the Niffler lying stunned on the floor beside the glowing orb.
That’d teach you… This time, Harry cast an Incarcerous, hog-tying the Niffler up. He shook the pest and his Auntie’s brooch dropped out and promptly bounced under the bottom shelf. Muttering under his breath, Harry lay down and reached for it. How far back did these shelves go? He groped about until he felt the coolness of metal. He closed his fingers about it and…
“Harry James Potter! What are you doing?”
Harry leapt at the sound of his Auntie’s voice. He banged his head against the bottom shelf, which sent the entire rack tilting backwards, spilling its contents until it crashed into its neighbour. Then that shelf crashed into the next…
“Protego!” Portia hastily cast the Shield Charm over her ward as the orbs started raining down. Harry cowered, arms over his head and a Niffler in his lap. Once the chain reaction started, there was nothing they could do to slow it.
“T-the prophecies!” Croaker literally croaked as he helplessly watched the orbs fall and shatter. The ghosts of prophecies past and present wafted up to the ceiling in silent wisps, lost for all time. Finally, the last shelves smashed into the far wall.
Harry peered up from where he was squatting on the floor among broken glass. Aunt Portia was furious. He could see the storm clouds in her blue eyes and the ominous thunder of her tapping foot. “What have you to say for yourself running off like that, young man?”
“S-sorry, Aunt Portia… I was just trying to get your brooch back… Look, this one’s not broken!”
“Wait!” Percival shouted when Harry reached for the intact orb. It was too late.
A ghostly figure emerged from the orb in Harry’s hands. A woman with too-thick glasses and too many shawls.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
Startled, Harry lost his grip on the orb. It fell to the floor and shattered.
“Oops…” he glanced at the adults, who all stood there stunned. Out of all the amazing luck, Harry had picked up his own prophecy orb and smashed it as well.
“You fool, what did we tell you about handling unknown magical artefacts?” Graves helped Harry to his feet.
“Er, do not touch?”
“Exactly, you could have been seriously hurt or killed,” Graves said sternly. He took in the destruction. Thank goodness they had the diplomatic immunity papers filed. He would not put it past some persons to use this as an excuse to detain Harry.
“Oh, Harry…” Portia used a Charm to lightly dust the boy off before accepting her brooch back. “Thank you. The Wampus cat is not only a fierce creature, but also a legilimens… We don’t just fight fierce. We fight smart.” She ruffled Harry’s hair fondly. “Next time, think before running off without telling us…”
“Oh Merlin… I think you’ve found my brother’s missing Niffler…” Sir Theseus groaned when he took the shivering Niffler from Harry. It had come to and was letting out squeaks of distress while rubbing its tiny paws. “Newt’s been looking for this rascal all week…”
“So has Mister Scamander agreed to cover Professor Scoops’ Creature Care classes?” Percival asked. One of their delegates had to pull out at the last minute after a disastrous run-in with a Hidebehind.
“Yes, Newt is looking forward to teaching again, but Tina is concerned about his health…” Theseus replied. “They will need a report on this… mess… It’s best you go ahead to Scotland first if Madam Bones does not need to interview Potter…”
“If you would allow, his memory will suffice. A most unfortunate accident…” Madam Bones tutted at the destruction.
“A-Aunt, what that ghost-thing that came out of that orb said… Was it about me?” Harry asked. Uncle Percy snorted. The infallible Potter luck.
“It is called a prophecy, but don’t you put too much on it,” Portia replied as she transfigured a small cage from the shattered shelving to put the wayward Niffler in. “You are not your parents and not some Seer’s words. You are what you make of yourself, young man. Remember what we’ve told you before.”
“My worth is more than blood and magic.” Harry nodded. “It is what I make of myself.”
“While we were chatting with Queen Anne Boleyn at the Tower, you single-handedly demolished the British Ministry’s Prophecy Hall? Can’t we leave you alone for a moment, Harry?” Miranda tutted as she cast a Charm on Harry’s hair to neaten it. It failed to take.
“It was only everything after the 1600’s, but I doubt I am welcome back anytime soon…” Harry groaned. “Wait, isn’t Anne Boleyn like dead?”
“Duh, she’s a ghost. Wizarding Britain is crawling with them for some reason. The queen loves her fancy sleeves and chokers. So, what detention did you end up with?”
“I’m grounded – no outings to Hogmeade or London until Christmas.”
“At least you don’t have to scrub the toilets by hand…” Henri plopped onto the empty seat next to Miranda. He reeked of No-Maj cleaning products and sweat. Miranda popped the window open and cast a Fresh-Air Charm.
“Henri, I did warn you not to tease the guards at Buckingham Palace…”
“It was just a prank…”
“A sssnake up the pants is not a prank, Henri…”
“It was a harmless milk sssnake, not a coral.”
“It was Madam Lucia’s sssnake you took out into London weather… You should be thankful she didn’t Hex your face off… If Scarlett catchesss a cold…”
“Scarlett asked to be brought out to sssee the city…”
“Scarlett has less brainsss than a turnip… Go shower, sstinky…”
The pair were soon bickering in Parseltongue without realizing it. To the other students, it just sounded like soft whispering, but it grated on Harry’s ears. He decided he needed to distract them.
“Guys, there was this prophecy about me and that Voldemort guy…”
Miranda gave a mock gasp of fear. “Don’t say his name, Harry. The Brits are sensitive about it. They call him You-Know-Who, or the Dark Lord…”
“How about Lord Mouldypants or You-Know-Poo?” Harry sniped. Miranda squealed with laughter while Henri chuckled deeply. The earlier quarrel was forgotten as they entered the Scottish Highlands. Henri excused himself to freshen up.
The RV was drawing too much attention from the No-Maj motorists after Black spectacularly botched the recent paint job he attempted outside London. He had tried to redo the Merry Camper in Ilvermorny colours of blue and cranberry while waiting for Harry’s party to catch up. Unfortunately, they ended up with neon purple with bright blue and red swirls instead. The latest Extension Charms the headmistress cast earlier had thrown his Paint Spell off entirely. Miranda joked that the RV now looked like a hippy’s motorhome. The Disillusionment Charm also failed to take. Rather than risk more spells going awry, the delegation leaders decided to leave the RV be until their Arithmancy and Charms professors could work out a working Disillusionment Charm or how to reverse the paint spell.
Thankfully, they reached the outer Wards of Hogwarts just before sundown.
Notes:
The Ministry’s security for the Department of Mysteries leaves much to be desired. Cannot resist inserting some Niffler comedy.
About the new colour scheme of the RV, maybe that might be up Albus’ alley – Just imagine the elegant blue Beauxbaton coach, the brooding Durmstrang ship. Then along comes this cross somewhere between clown-car and hippy caravan.
Chapter 11: Arrival at Hogwarts
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The other two schools had already staked out their places – on the lake and by the groundskeeper’s paddock. Uncle Percy directed the Merry Camper under a sheltering grove of trees near the lake a stone’s throw from the Forbidden Forest. The Pukwudgies would deal with any dangers the Wards failed to deter. The delegation assembled and were escorted to the Great Hall by the large groundskeeper who had to have giant blood.
“You’re Harry, t’en? You look just like your da…” the giant man grinned as Harry hopped out of the RV. Henri and Miranda were quick to button him in. Uncle Percy offered his arm to Portia. The rest of the staff and students fell in line. Black and Lupin went on ahead to speak with Hagrid, who was a friend of theirs since their schooldays.
Harry’s obvious youth drew murmurs the moment he stepped into the hall. The gaudily dressed headmaster welcomed them. Uncle Percy curtly accepted his welcome. Small talk was never his forte, unlike interrogation. Miranda murmured something about Dumbledore having committed a mortal crime against fashion. Henri offered to Hex him if she wanted. The headmaster nonchalantly introduced Percival Graves as the additional judge representing Ilvermorny as well as Harry Potter, the surprise fourth champion before declaring the start of dinner.
The Durmstrang students were scattered among the Slytherins. The Beauxbaton delegation had settled with the Ravenclaws. Hogwarts’ champion was sitting with his Hufflepuff housemates. That only left Gryffindor to host them. They were encouraged to mingle and befriend students from the other three schools outside their classes, which would be held separately. Theseus’ brother would be covering Creature Care. He had written a book on the subject after all. Ilvermorny preferred using Natter Thorn’s textbook series Complete Critter Care Guide to Scamander’s Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
“Isn’t he dreamy?” Miranda whispered as she beamed at a clueless Cedric. Harry tried to keep a straight face while Henri made gagging sounds, until he saw Fleur Delacour. In a flash he was kneeling in front of the part-Veela, summoning roses from thin air like a lovestruck swain.
“Enchantez, mon belle fluer. Je serai tes chevalier!”
“Excusez moi, mademoiselle…” Harry apologized as he dragged his friend away to fits of laughter from the watching students. It was then that he noticed one girl at the Gryffindor table sitting in a wheelchair, some distance from her fellows. She looked ill. Harry had schoolmates who were disabled before. Blind, deaf, or handicapped. He knew he should not stare but he could not help it. Her eyes met his, almost defiantly. A spirited one.
“Come sit with us,” Justin tugged Harry away to the other end of the table. Hermione watched him go. This was not unexpected. Her presence made many of her Housemates uncomfortable. She was not pretty with her bushy hair and protruding teeth, not like the golden-haired girl hanging off Harry Potter’s arm so familiarly. Theo was receiving hostile looks from some of the Gryffindor students who still saw him as a Slytherin. Enough for his Ilvermorny fellows surround him in a protective ring like a circle of musk oxen. United we stand. Ilvermorny looked out for theirs.
“I’m going to sit with my cousin Vince…” Theo conceded defeat and scampered to the Slytherin table where two large boys parted enough to allow him a space. Blaise and Pansy may be at Beauxbatons but at least he still had Cousin Vincent and good old Greg. They might not be the brightest, but he could count on them to shield him from any Hexes.
“Who’s she?” Harry asked Justin and waved at the girl in the wheelchair. Her eyes widened in surprise. She timidly waved back. The redhead boy beside her scowled back.
“Hermione Granger. A troll got her in first year. Been in and out of hospital since. She’s a year behind us because she had to redo her first year,” Justin explained. “The redhead beside her is Ronald Weasley. They say he’s why she was crying in the bathroom when the troll got her… He was a prat to her because she did better than him in class. I hear from Susan the new house elf they assigned to her is rubbish at his job and Ron sorta looks out for her.”
Harry had learned a fair bit about Hogwarts from both Theo and Justin, including the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Both transfer students still Owled their Hogwarts friends to keep in touch.
“Oi, Theo. You missed the fun at the World Cup…” Greg snickered.
“Couldn’t get tickets,” Theo shrugged. He was not that keen on Quidditch.
“There was Muggle-baiting… My da was there…” Cousin Vincent’s eyes glowed with unholy glee. “The Aurors never caught them at it…”
“They arrested Weasley, didn’t they? Mister Diggory said it was his wand that cast the Morsmordre…” Greg interjected and stuck his chin in Ron Weasley’s direction.
“They let him go. Seems he lost his wand running like the coward he is… just like his old da… Whatcha expect from a blood traitor?” Vincent chortled. “His wand’s trash anyhow. Surprised it even worked for someone.”
Theo was starting to feel decidedly uneasy. He never thought much about blood purity, at least not after he started at Ilvermorny. He pushed aside his apple pie. He looked over to the Gryffindor table where Harry Potter was becoming somewhat of a reluctant celebrity.
“Seriously, please… no photos!” Potter scowled as Colin Creevey’s camera flash went off for the umpteenth time.
“But you are the Boy Who Lived!”
“What’s it like growing up in a castle?”
“For the last time, I am just a regular kid!” a frustrated Harry ducked under the table. He was started to feel crowded by the attention. He knew it was a less than dignified exit, but he needed out before he exploded.
“Yo, give the man his space!” Henri called out, recognizing his friend’s agitation. Puberty had hit him with subtlety of a freight train that summer and he was now a head taller than most of his classmates. He seized Colin’s camera when the student refused to stop taking photos and dunked it into the soup tureen. Prefects tried to restore some resemblance of order. They were not helped when the Weasley twins dropped one of their fireworks into the mashed potatoes, but that gave Harry some time to scoot along under the table, until he bumped face-first into someone’s knee. He had reached the other end of the table.
“S-sorry,” Harry squeaked when he looked up and saw it belonged to the wheelchair-bound girl.
“You filthy Yank…” a pair of hands reached down and yanked him up onto the bench by the lapels. Angry blue eyes glared at him. A wand incongruously patched with Spello-tape was in his face before he knew it. Great, the lady has a ginger guard dog. Harry felt like laughing. Dame Fortuna is having her fun with him. He noticed the bit of unicorn hair core was sticking out the end looked singed.
“Ron, it was an accident…” Hermione coaxed. Ron has had a rough time over the holidays – getting separated from his brothers in the riot, being detained, accused of being a casting the Morsmordre… They had let him go after one night in the holding cells, when Headmaster Dumbledore vouched for him, but his wand… He came back angry and snappish, far more than she remembered from before the vacation.
Ron tried to throw a Hex into Harry’s face but that caused his wand to burn his fingers. He yelped and dropped the wand. The wand was wilting, Harry noted.
“Sorry again, miss…” Harry apologized again. “What’s with his wand?”
“Apology accepted, and I apologise for my friend…” the girl gave him a smile.
Two identical redhead boys were hurrying over. “Some Ministry goon snapped it before returning it to him…”
“Claimed it was broken in the riot …” his twin spat.
“Yet they managed a Prior Incantato on it…”
“We can’t afford a new one from Ollivander’s…”
“So Ronnikins has to make do while we save up…”
“That sucks,” Harry frowned. He would be pissed too if that happened to him. “Harry, Harry Potter.”
Introductions were in order. The twins introduced themselves as Fred and George Weasley. The scowling guard dog was Ron, their little brother. Their brother Percy used to be a prefect and was now busy kissing the Ministry ass. They had two more brothers who had also graduated. Between the chatter of the twins, Harry and Hermione could barely get a word in – until a prefect came to usher the Weasleys to see their House Head over the firework and attempting to Hex a guest.
That left Hermione and Harry awkwardly sitting beside each other.
“H-Hi, nice to meet you…” Harry stuck out his hand.
“Hermione Granger…” She slipped her hand into his. It felt cool to the touch. “Is Ilvermorny very different from Hogwarts?”
“Maybe… we have no ghosts…” Or trolls breaking in. Or deadly Basilisks…
Harry would like to chat some more, but Headmaster Dumbledore tapped his glass and called for attention. It was time for the Wand Weighing. Harry and the other competitors were herded to a small room where the Wandmaker Ollivander and the panel of judges waited. Uncle Percy frowned slightly at the sight of his scuffed knees and crooked lapels. The press was denied entry as part of MACUSA’s agreement for Harry to participate. Only a Ministry photographer was allowed. Harry attempted to dust the grime off his robes and straighten them.
He spat on and rubbed his Gordian Knot pin with his sleeve to shine it, allowing the other Champions to precede him in the Wand-Weighing. Cedric Diggory’s - Ash and unicorn hair, crafted by Garrick Ollivander. The wand performed as it should when its maker cast a spell which sent rings of silvery smoke out from its tip. Harry noted that it was a similar make to Ron Weasley’s. Only less beat-up.
Fleur Delacour’s wand was rosewood with Veela hair core, custom made with the hair given by her Veela grandmere. Ollivander had it conjure a bouquet of roses. Viktor Krum’s wand was hornbeam with a dragon heartstring core. It was made by a rival wandmaker Gregorovitch. It was used to conjure a flock of nightjars which flew out the window. The wandmaker almost reluctantly cleared both wands as ready for use. He was about to leave when Graves stopped him.
“You have not weighed his wand yet…”
“Oh, Mister Potter… I was expecting you to come by my store for one…”
“I already have my wand, sir,” Harry replied. He took out his wand from its holster. The wandmaker studied it carefully.
“Most unusual. Redwood, eleven and half inches. Springy. A twinned core of horned serpent horn and wampus hair… embellished with fire opal in the pommel. A wand of this style has not been made since the 17th century.”
“Probably made then, sir. It called to me in the Wand Selection Hall,” Harry replied.
“Let’s test it then…”
Harry watched as the wandmaker conjured wine from the tip of his wand before declaring it fit for use in the tournament to his relief.
The ceremony went off without a hitch. Then it was time to face the reporters who had arrived in the Great Hall, angling for interviews, especially with the Boy-Who-Lived. That was when Auntie Portia put her foot down. She declared Ilvermorny’s Champion will not be interviewed as they had an exclusive arrangement with the Wizard International. It was in another one of the forms they had filed at the Ministry that morning. It also helped that the paper’s British correspondent was a family friend – Martina Scamander, a serious journalist who was now waiting at the RV for her scoop. The Triwizard Tournament was going international. The British papers are free to pay the International for the article after it is written.
“Heads up, Harry… there is this tabloid reporter – Rita Skeeter. Fancy glasses. Mean piece of work. Try to avoid her if possible and ignore any gossip she yanks out of her ass…” Miss Scamander concluded their interview with a warning.
Notes:
Sorry for butchering the French language, but what Henri is trying to say is that he wants to be Fleur’s knight. Poor chap has been hit hard by that Veela allure, and Fleur’s not even trying.
Harry’s wand is American-made and may have been gathering dust in the Wand Selection Hall for more than a hundred years. In the Potterverse wizarding lore, redwood is said to be a lucky wand wood or rather, they find owners who are natural survivors. Opals are believed to be lucky talismans in ancient times.
Chapter 12: Settling In
Notes:
What do the staff and students of Hogwarts make of their American guests?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Their first night at Hogwarts was exhausting. The Ministry was still pushing Aunt Portia for more photo-ops of the Boy-Who-Lived. So far, she had refused to play their game. Uncle Percy warned Harry to be on his best behaviour as they do not know where or when a reporter might ambush him. The Three Musketeers were taught some Scanning Spells to look for any hidden presences, and another one to fry camera films if it came to the worst. Harry chose to ignore the Pukwudgies escorting persistent reporters away from the perimeter they had set up around the Merry Camper before his exclusive interview- and after. He had slept like a baby afterwards. More than one camera met a smashing end going by the sorry remains in the trash bin outside when he got up for their morning exercise.
The following day was to be spent setting up the Duelling Tent and prepping the classrooms. The Ilvermorny students were to take their lessons in the Extended RV, which contained enough classrooms after Headmistress Flowers altered the Extension Charm with the help of Auntie Portia. The RV also had enough dorms for all the students and staff. Harry was bunking with Henri, Justin and Theo while Miranda shared her dorm with three other girls. Climate Charms were set up around the campsite perimeter in preparation for the winter months. Only the duelling arena was separate, as was their mediwitch’s cabin. No one quite knew how Madam Lucia pulled it off, but they had awoken to a small wooden cabin beside the RV in the morning, complete with a small pier sticking out over the lake.
After their morning exercises, Lupin and Black escorted the students up to the Great Hall for breakfast. Meals were to be taken in Hogwarts’ Great Hall. Justin recalled the elves he had befriended from his time in Hufflepuff and the way to the kitchens. He offered to help in the event they needed any snacks. Aunt Portia only tutted and said her elves would be more than willing to provide tea and supper should the need arise. The adults took their places at the high table at the front of the hall while the Ilvermorny students joined the Gryffindors. Harry sat down beside the Weasley twins. Henri was arm-wrestling an older student while enterprising Miranda was showing off her selection of hair ribbons to a knot of giggling girls with Theo Nott assisting her in demonstrating the Charms. Justin seemed to be taking orders for the ribbons.
“Who’s that one-eyed bloke?” Harry nodded towards the staff table where a scarred wizard with a false eye was glaring at him. He did not have the leisure to study the Hogwarts faculty at the high table the night before.
“Mad Eye Moody… He’s the Defence Against the Dark Arts tutor this year…” Fred or George said.
“And he is nuts. Constant vigilance!” his twin replied.
“Sounds like Uncle Percy… without Uncles Padfoot and Moony to rein him in…”
“Wait, you know a Padfoot and Moony?” Fred or George asked.
“Of course, Uncle Pads is our Quidditch coach and Uncle Moony teaches Defense…”
“Wicked!” Fred and George said in unison.
“Where’s Granger?”
“Poor girl’s not feeling well…”
“Ron’s helping her to the Hospital Wing.”
“Oh, I hope she gets well soon…” Harry grabbed a bowl of oatmeal and drizzled it with honey. He then asked the twins about their teachers and Hogwarts.
“Who’s that guy staring daggers at Coach Black?”
“Old Snape…”
“Greasy dungeon bat…”
Harry bleeding Potter was cut from the same cloth as his old man. Snape had sniffed when the Ilvermorny delegation joined the welcome feast thrown in their honour. Cocky, arrogant brat. Black and Lupin no doubt encouraged his mischief. It figured that the Americans had parked themselves at the Gryffindor table. Then he watched Potter get into a scuffle with the younger Weasley before the Wand-Weighing Ceremony. Now Harry was pinned between the prankster twins. He felt unreasonably angry. He had to occlude, be polite… Not fair that Black has his godson while he...
“Young man, be a dear and pass the milk please?” an old lady’s voice snapped him out of his dark mood. He thought it was Minerva, but he then saw it was Madam Portia. The small witch beamed at him and thanked him when he passed the milk jug. As he did so, he felt the ghostly probing of legilimency and slammed his shields down. Portia gave a small smile.
“Whatever history is between you and Black, I do hope you will try to be cordial for the tournament. None of us wished for this…” she said quietly as she buttered her toast. “Least of all Harry…”
“I shall try my best, ma’am…” An uncomfortable wash of guilt. The boy looked like his father, but he had sworn to protect Lily’s son – all that remained of her in this world.
The press was hovering about the edges of Hogwarts like vultures. Students had been cornered and interviewed by reporters about their Champions when in Hogsmeade. Having failed to secure an interview with Potter, the Daily Prophet had gone with a story about his school’s unfortunate choice of transportation. The motorhome was now lavender with red polka dots. Mister Till Eigen swore he almost had the issue licked. Just need to wait for the correct moon phase. Cedric Diggory’s current girlfriend was being mocked for her race while the Beauxbaton headmistress was strongly hinted to be of giant ancestry. An earlier issue had suggested that Krum’s performance or lack of was the reason why the Bulgarian team lost the World Cup.
They finished setting up the Duelling Tent just before lunch, which was fish and chips – Justin had checked with the Hogwarts elves. It was a chance to try some authentic British fare, so he declared. The Three Musketeers made their way to the castle, wary of any prying reporters. The Wards should have been activated after last night’s ceremony to keep reporters off the grounds, but one could not always be too certain.
Theo warned Harry that cheating was very much a part of the Tournament despite the rules and safeguards. He gave Harry a book had he bought in Diagon Alley during the summer – History of the Triwizard. The Champions were not allowed to receive outside help, including from their friends and teachers. Miranda pointed out that in 1792, a Champion was saved by his family house elf. Harry might want to keep on Twinkie and Trixie’s good side. Ever the entrepreneur, Miranda Graves had set up a discreet sideline offering makeovers for the Yule Ball within hours of her arrival. Many Hogwarts girls were interested in the more modern American styles of robes. Uncle Percy would not be able to assist Harry given that he was on the panel of judges, but students would talk. Right now, they were speaking of a part of the forest being fenced off as seen from the Astronomy Tower.
“Traditionally, there will be a beast of some sort,” Cousin Miranda said. “Try not to get eaten or killed. Pass the vinegar please, Henri…” she then proceeded to douse her fish and chips with liberal lashings of the condiment.
“Harry, aren’t you gonna sit with us?” Henri asked between mouthfuls of chips.
“Uncle Percy said to mingle…” Harry replied glibly. He soon spotted who he was looking for.
Hermione was intrigued when she saw Harry Potter for the first time. He had not appeared in Hogwarts during her first year where everyone was expecting him to. There were vague rumours about him being raised by his American relatives. He seemed so sure of himself, one of the cool kids. For one moment, she thought he was going to approach her, maybe make fun of her like some of the girls did. Instead, he just gave her a wave before going to sit at the other end of the table with the more popular kids. Ron grumbled about the snotty git.
Troll poison was horribly persistent. With her magic crippled by the poison, Hermione might not be able pass the exams, even with exemptions made. She had pleading with Professorship Snape to be allowed to return to the Potions lab. Potions was a core subject. Without it, she would not be able to pass her OWLs or NEWTs. Snape refused to allow her back. Harry acknowledging her presence was a surprise. She was even more surprised when he literally ran into her trying to get away from Creevey. Now he was making a beeline for her at lunch.
“H-hi…” Harry slid into place beside Hermione.
“H-hi…” Hermione’s cheeks felt warm.
“Do you want me to continue about Ilvermorny where we left off?” Harry blurted. His tongue felt funny. Hermione’s eyes reminded him of maple syrup… If Mira had slipped something in his orange juice…
“Can’t you go sit elsewhere?” Ron scowled from where he was fiddling with the wheel of Hermione’s chair. It seemed to have melted.
“What happened there?”
“Some git decided it would be funny to set her wheels on fire…” Ron grumbled and cast a Reparo ineffectively with his wand at the wheel. A chip of ash flew off the end when he coaxed finally sparks from its tip.
“Ron, try using mine…” Hermione offered.
“Your wand doesn’t work for me…”
“Hm, I can ask my godpa to help. He Charmed a Harley Davidson to fly once,” Harry suggested. Uncle Padfoot was at the high table, speaking with Professor McGonagall while pointedly ignoring Headmaster Dumbledore.
“What’s a Hurley?”
“It’s a Harley Davidson, a motorbike…” Hermione corrected. Ron muttered something under his breath.
A slightly pudgy boy came over. Neville Longbottom. Black had pointed him out to Harry that morning when they were fetching fresh Dittany from the greenhouse during the Fourth-year Herbology class. In another life, he could have grown up with Neville as his godbrother. Neville’s mom was his godmother but sadly she had been in the Long-term Spell Damage ward at St Mungo’s since the war ended.
“Hi, Ron… Need some help?”
“Yeah, Nev. Can you do a Reparo on this please?”
“Sure thing, Ron…”
Harry winced when Neville’s spell backfired and knocked him off his feet. The wheel turned soft, like melted butter. There just something off with the wand he was holding. How did he end up with such a mismatched wand? At least Ron had the excuse of a damaged one.
The Ilvermorny Wand Selection Hall was intimidatingly vast to an eleven-year-old. Some would find it overwhelming. Most find their wands within the first five minutes. Some may require a bit longer. Harry had taken a full hour, well after all his fellows had left. Spell backfires due to mismatched wands were rare in Ilvermorny. There were few mismatches each year – students who just grabbed the nearest wand without checking their compatibility. These were quickly caught in the first week of class and returned to the hall for a second round of selection. A few students had inherited family wands, but these were rigorously tested first before being allowed in class. Damaged wands also required a visit to the selection hall for a replacement. No Ilvermorny student was going to be caught going to class with a broken wand.
“You mean they just go find their own wands? No measurements or stuff?” Ron asked. Percy had spent a good fifteen minutes having various appendages measured before Ollivander found him a wand.
“Well, only in Ilvermorny… They do fittings or custom-made wands in the stores, but only for grownups…” Harry explained. “It’s a MACUSA rule. No non-school approved wands until you leave school…” Aunt Portia had her Pacific yew wand since she was student. Uncle Percy lost his original wand but got a replacement custom-made from a store in New York. He brought Coach Black there to replace his wand after he snapped it in a broomstick accident.
“How did you find your wand?” Hermione asked.
“Well, it is hard to explain. I just felt it calling to me. Had to climb really high up the shelves to where the older wands were to find it… It felt sort of warm, welcoming to me. I’ll get Uncle Pads to take a look at that wheel…” Harry did not feel comfortable enough not to muck it up further.
Notes:
Harry is a newcomer to Hogwarts despite it being the alma mater of his godfather and parents, but he is making friends and networking fast. Most of the staff and students there have no idea about Harry Potter as a person. Of course, Snape will look at him and think James Potter.
Chapter 13: Duels and Dragons
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Fred and George thought they would never play the fool again after losing their little sister. They had all grieved for Ginny. It was well and good for their older brothers to contribute where they could to the household expenses with their mom ill, but the twins wanted to do more for the family. They applied themselves to working on their prank products like Extendable Ears and Canary Creams. Setting up a betting pool was risky, especially with dark horse Harry Potter showing up as he did. They had already been burned once at the World Cup with Bagman. Somehow, they had convinced themselves they needed another go at it. Money was tight and poor Ronnikins needed a new wand.
Hogwarts loyalty demanded they support Diggory, but the twins felt Potter would likely be a winner given his background. He was raised by a clan of Aurors, so Fletchley-Finch said. Wandless, silent magic, fancy that! That was what the American students were practising by third year, including Potter. His sparring partner was a three-time national junior duelling champ. The pair also sparred Muggle-style on occasion during their practice duels. Few of the students could match off reasonably with the two, even the older ones.
The twins had tried to look for Ginny on the Marauders’ Map that year when she failed to turn up for dinner, but she had simply vanished. They managed to corner Lupin and Coach Black close to curfew outside the headmaster’s office with the Map. Lupin promptly informed them that they should not be wandering the castle at night. He and his friends had been young and foolish in their school days. He did give them a few pointers on Warding Charms not covered in Hogwarts. Coach Black had laughed and offered to give them some pointers in Quidditch on hearing they were Beaters, right before he confiscated their map.
“Been wondering where this old thing went…” He dd give them a Galleon apiece in exchange for a pair of their rubber chicken wands. He also dropped them a hint to get their kid brother’s wand replaced before he did himself an injury. Professor McGonagall could take Ron over to Ollivander’s if they asked nicely.
“Do we warn him of the dragons?” Fred was a little disappointed that the Lupin and Black were not at all what they expected. Just another pair of responsible grown-ups, one in a cardigan and the other in a Muggle turtleneck and jeans under his robes.
The twins had spotted bursts of dragonfire from the Astronomy Tower. Charlie Weasley had been called to assist with the tournament’s first task. That was all he was allowed to share with his brothers. He and his colleagues were now camped out in the forest and would likely remain there until after the task.
“Forge, maybe we should show our American friends about the castle…”
“Including the Astronomy Tower, at night…” The pair whispered conspiringly as they walked back to their tower, not noticing that the adults were still in earshot.
“Poor boys… A shame what happened to the Weasleys…” Lupin shook his head. They had met with Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall to discuss the feasibility of holding a friendly inter-school Quidditch match or duelling tournament to encourage more exchanges between the students. Their suggestions had been met with a lukewarm response from the headmaster. The tournament was already taking its toll on the staff with all the guests, Ministry staff and Aurors. Barred from Hogwarts’ grounds, the reporters were hanging about Hogsmeade in hopes of a scoop. Aurors were posted there to maintain order, including one Nymphadora Tonks. Sirius had taken to avoiding Hogsmeade to avoid his cousin. He had blocked the Tonks’ owls.
Lupin was still on speaking terms with Dumbledore to Black’s chagrin. Black had nothing against the rest of the other Order members, but he was not going to forgive their great leader so readily. He would help the Weasley boys, and his cousins, but on his own terms. Hell with it if he touched the Black Lordship with a six feet pole.
Harry knew he had less than two weeks to prepare for the first task. He found out about the dragons when the Weasley twins took the Three Musketeers to the Astronomy Tower after dinner to see the stars. He did not think to ask why Coach Black was waiting for them with a thermos of hot cocoa when they came down.
Professor Graves had threatened anyone in the Ilvermorny delegation giving unsanctioned interviews with detention cleaning the Camper loos by toothbrush for the remainder of the tournament. After failing to interview anyone from Ilvermorny, Skeeter wrote an article about Potter complaining about being dragged screaming and kicking into the tournament for Ilvermorny’s glory. This article was met with eye rolls and laughter. Leaping onto the Gryffindor table, Harry declared that though he was indeed perturbed by his unplanned participation in the tournament, he would try his best out of respect to the other competitors and in the name of good old sportsmanship. He had then gone over to the other tables and shook hands with Diggory, Delacour, and Krum. Krum’s eyebrows looked as if they were going to shoot off his face when Harry approached him.
Snape bristled at the blatant show while Aunt Portia discreetly applauded her ward. Thank goodness she had started her ward on public speaking when he was ten in the belief it would serve him well should he be inclined to join MACUSA at some point. The boy could comport himself better in his impromptu speech, but he was a fourteen-year-old after all.
They were sidelined the very next morning by…
“Harry Potter engaged to the Heiress of American Fashion Empire?” Under the headline was a picture of him and Miranda Graves entering the Great Hall on their first day. The surrounding students and staff had been skilfully cropped out.
Harry took one look at the Daily Prophet and incinerated the paper in his hand. He was about to leave the table when…
“Harry Potter, I challenge you to a duel!” Henri shouted as Miranda rolled her eyes.
“Ooh…” the students murmured. The last duel in Hogwarts saw Professor Snape wiping the floor with the late Professor Lockhart.
“Henri, you can’t be serious about this garbage…”
“Stand down, Picquery! No duels at mealtime…” Professor Graves snapped as strode over to intervene. “Surely you know your friends better than this…” he lowered his voice as he placed a hand on the young wizard’s shoulder.
“It’s alright, sir. I think a duel will do me good,” Harry rolled his shoulders. He needed a workout. “In the arena at nine-thirty. En plein air, Colonial Rules, first to pluck the rose by hand wins.” He waved his wand and conjured a pair of roses, one white and one red.
“Accepted… No Apparating this time.” Henri took the red rose from Harry and stuck it in his lapel, sealing his agreement. Henry tucked his white rose into his lapel.
“Boys are idiots…” Miranda muttered under her breath before returning her attention to her sales. The French students had underestimated the Scottish autumn, and she was doing a roaring trade in warm gloves, scarves, and stockings.
Word of the duel spread quickly. More than one student had absented themselves from class to witness the spectacle. Professor Flitwick was also present, as was McGonagall. Henri winked at Harry, who rolled his eyes. Professor Graves must have caught on as well. Harry was not too happy about the duel. He had planned to ask Newt Scamander about dragons and carry out his own research in the Hogwarts library. American texts tend towards snallygasters as the only native true dragon in the New World was the Peruvian Vipertooth.
A show of force. After the initial salute and reaffirming of rules, the pair stood back-to-back in the duelling circle drawn by Professor Graves. Fifteen paces, turn and cast, very much the same as No-Maj pistol duels were fought. The rules they set called for an intact rose to be taken from the opponent and for each duellist to defend themselves and the flower. They would also need to get close enough to pick the rose, whether by incapacitating their opponent, by stealth, or by speed. No magic to be used in the taking the rose. That included Apparating.
Professor Graves counted the paces to ensure no one cheated by casting early. On the count of fifteen, both boys cast simultaneously. The spells collided in a small fireball and smoke. Henri made use of the smoke to dart in close. Harry dodged a punch to his gut and cast a Jellylegs Jinx as he spun away, which Henri shielded against. They fought in silence apart from the crack of spell fire. Henri fired a Disarming Spell but Harry Summoned back his own wand as well as Henri’s. Flitwick provided some commentary identifying some of the wordless Jinxes cast. The boys spun around each other, trying to get close and then leaping out of range.
The end came quickly and in a manner that was unfortunately anticlimactic. Harry was so focused on getting close enough to snatch the rose he did not see Henri Summon a rope and apparently discard it in the grass. When Harry was right where his opponent wanted him, Henri snapped out the spell. Harry found himself hog-tied in the dirt while Henri nonchalantly plucked his rose. Henri then presented the white rose to Miranda and the red rose to Fleur. Miranda had followed her French customers out to view the duel.
“Harry, you aren’t even trying…” Henri untied Harry by hand as he could not undo the spell tying the rope. The spectators were slowly drifting away.
“Gee, are you courting Mira or Mademoiselle Delacour? I’m a bit confused back there…”
“Maybe both… Idiot, I was hoping you can impress your squirrelly girlfriend, but she does not seem to be about…” Harry felt his cheeks warm. Was he that obvious?
“If the papers say anything about this…”
“Another excuse for a duel?” Henri’s dark eyes grinned. Dusting his clothes off, Harry hastened for the library grumbling under his breath about incorrigible duelling champions.
She was in the library. He spotted her bushy mop peeking over a stack of books. Harry swallowed. There was no sign of the redhead. Steadying his stack of tomes on dragons, he approached the reading table.
“H-hi…” Hermione looked up from her work. Harry noticed the pinch-faced librarian hurrying over. He waved his hand and created a Privacy Bubble over them. Madam Pince paused, then spun round to return to shelving books.
“Privacy Shield with a light Notice-us-Not…” Harry explained.
“I am busy…” Hermione scowled as she attacked her parchment with a quill. Had she read the newspaper? Did she think he and Mira were an item?
“Oh… I just wanted to let you know Mira’s just like a sister…” Harry fumbled with his books.
“The Daily Prophet lies all the time…” Hermione frowned as she referred to one of the twenty or so books stacked around her. “They blamed Hagrid for the Basilisk… And accused Madam Yaga of eating her students, even though the students who left her class were those who transferred out during term.”
“Oh, I see… What are you reading?” The book Hermione was looking at seemed to be more advanced than any third year Arithmancy. Possibly NEWTs level even.
“I am working on a project for extra credit to make up for not being able to do practical magic thanks to that troll…” Hermione huffed. It was frustrating. Already she was starting to feel the start of a headache, which could mean another fit and a week wasted in bed.
“Oh, can’t the healers do anything?”
“St Mungo’s said they had done all they could… Either my magic core bounces back or not…” Hermione stifled a sob as the top book on her stack teetered before succumbing to gravity. Harry cast a Hovering Charm before it impacted the floor. He returned it to the table.
“Maybe you can get a second opinion? Our school nurse is a retired healer… She removed a tricky curse from me when I was little…” He put down his book on dragons.
“So it is dragons for the first task?”
“Yeah, I think so… I do not fancy fighting one…” He saw that the Hogwarts Champion Diggory was also poring over a tome on dragons – specifically the Chinese Fireball. He should try to get close enough to the pens to identify which breeds they were.
“Whatcha doing here?” Someone shoved Harry from behind. The Notice-us-not must have worn out.
“We’re discussing homework, Ron…” Hermione replied. “Do you want to join us in discussing the Arithmancy theorems behind Gamp’s Law?”
“As if he’d know,” Ron murmured and slung his bookbag next to Hermione.
“Hermione, I really think you should see Madam Lucia… She’s from New Orleans’ Ste Marie di Lourdes… Aunt Portia says it is one of the top centres of healing…” Ron gave an outraged gasp.
“Mom says that place uses Dark Magic… well, before…” A shadow passed over Ron’s face. Harry sensed his welcome was running out.
“It’s been nice discussing Gamp’s Law with you, Miss Granger. I must get to my own classes now… Perhaps we can continue at dinner?” Harry took his leave as politely as he could despite the urge to Hex Weasley. He liked the twins, even though their brother’s a prat.
Once Harry left the library, Hermione turned to Ron. “What was that all about, Ronald? Potter’s a friend…”
“Mione, you know he’s only here for the Tournament… You can’t possibly be…”
“Be what? Can’t I make new friends?” It was hard enough making friends given her condition. Most of the Gryffindors, including Ron, felt sorry for her. Some bullied her, especially during the classes they shared with the Slytherins. The socially awkward Longbottom and somewhat odd Lovegood were her only other friends besides Ron. Longbottom would hang out with her in the common room or help her with Herbology since she was not able to go to some of the greenhouses for lessons. Luna was a fellow outcast in her own way. With Harry, she felt he saw past the wheelchair and the wall of books.
“But he’s the Boy-who-Lived! He can’t possibly want to be with the likes of, well, us…”
“Ron, are you jealous?” Hermione whispered. Ron’s face flushed red at her words.
“Who, me?”
“I wonder if I should get a second opinion from the New Orleans healer…”
“But Mom says that place using Dark Magic! You could have your soul stolen or worse!” Ron yelled and stopped mid-sentence when he realized a dozen other pairs of eyes were looking at him. Irma Pince was staring at them. In grim silence, she pointed them both to the door. No one had noticed the Privacy Shield expiring after Harry left the room.
How to survive a dragon. Correction – how to survive stealing eggs from a furious mother dragon.
The Champions had their work cut out for them. Percival Graves scowled as he Vanished his cigarette butt. The presence of three dragons did not go unnoticed for long. Even more so when the fourth, an elderly Welsh Green mother, having just arrived in broad daylight. Graves walked back to the Merry Camper, which was now teal with red polka dots. They had written to the Ilvermorny headmistress for a detailed list of the Extension Charms she cast to work out how to safely fix the botched Paint Spell.
“What should Harry do for the competition?” Lupin and Black asked. Graves’ colleagues had been waiting just outside the Duelling Tent. They were worried, understandable after having witnessed a cranky Welsh Green light up a pine tree like a Roman Candle. The large groundskeeper had put out the fire and was hauling away the charred skeleton.
“Harry’s main goal should be to survive this entire farce,” Graves pointed out. “Mademoiselle Fleur’s maternal grandmother is a leader of the Veela in Marseilles. Her grandfather is on the French Grande Council. Viktor Krum is not only a rising Quidditch star but a scion of the powerful Varana clan in the Balkans through his mother. Diggory’s father holds a senior post in the British Ministry. All three are skilled for their age for the Goblet to pick them. Should anything befall the visiting champions, it could cause a diplomatic incident.” Graves had compiled information on the two other visiting delegations but ruled out any possibility of them tampering with the Goblet. The two other visiting Champions were politically well-placed through their families.
As a judge, it would be unethical for him to share any more of the task with Black or Lupin, even if he disagreed with it. Snatching eggs from nesting mothers was asking for huge trouble, especially if the mothers are dragons.
Notes:
I am doing my own take on a wizard’s duel. The boys set their own rules on for win. Henri Picquery is the better duellist in this case, but at least Hermione is not around to witness Harry’s embarrassing defeat.
I have expanded more on the developing relationship between Hermione and Harry. Still early stages for them. They are 14 after all. Poor Ron is clueless. He doesn’t realize he is attracted to Hermione on some level and is acting up with Harry because of it.
Chapter 14: Dances with Dragons
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry tried to befriend his fellow Champions. As a teen, he was entitled to that bit of normalcy at least. Cedric Diggory was friendly enough. He also commiserated with Harry about his love life splashed over the front page. Fleur came across as a little snobbish, but it might just be the accent. Krum still remembered that Quidditch match at Ilvermorny and apparently still bore a grudge. The Beauxbaton students were friendly enough once they were conversing in French. Most found conversing in English awkward. The Durmstrang students were standoffish and hardly mingled with anyone. Theo Nott had a cousin in the delegation and invited him to sit with them for lunch. At seventeen, Cousin Maksim was taciturn until they got him started on their headmaster. It seemed everyone hated Karakoff, the least of which for lazing in his quarters while his students rowed the ship.
Henri had been trying to ask Fleur out since the first time he saw her. The French witch had declined, so far. With the help of satisfied customers, Miranda started posting notices for sales of stylishly modern dress robes and alterations at reasonable prices for the Yule Ball. She wrote to her grandmother to have more goods shipped over through Cousin Rolf. She volunteered to provide Ron with suitable dress robes after the redhead confessed that he only had his older brother Bill’s cast-off robes to wear and was thinking of skipping it entirely. Harry noticed that Theo no longer sat with his cousins at the Slytherin table but beside Longbottom or Justin. The talk about pureblood superiority and mudbloods must have put Nott off entirely since his best friend now was a newblood.
Newt Scamander was not pleased with the tournament using nesting dragons. They brought forward the lesson on dragons to before the First Task. They would do the Kelpie lesson after the Christmas break instead. There would be no swimming with a Kelpie, not in winter. Their instructor brought a fossilized Horntail egg for the lesson. The baby had died after the nest was abandoned or the mother was killed. Harry felt sorry for the little creature.
The dragon pens. Poorly guarded and an open invite to all and sundry to come have a peek. Gossip had it Mademoiselle Delacour had taken on her Veela bird form to check them out. Or that might be a stray hoo-hoo or fwooper. The Durmstrang headmaster as well as the Beauxbatons headmistress had been spotted near the pens. The Hogwarts groundkeeper practically lived alongside the dragon-keepers and was on good terms with them. Longbottom explained it that to do with a dragon egg Hagrid had somehow come into possession of during their First Year. The hatchling had gotten loose and burned down a greenhouse. The dragonkeepers had to be called in to remove it to a reserve in Romania.
On a bright afternoon, the Three Musketeers took out their brooms from the RV broom locker and took to the air. The dragon-keepers were having a siesta or laying cards in their tents. They flew over the dragons unchallenged. There were four of them and they appeared to be snoozing over their nests. Harry flipped through his copy of A Guide to Dragons. He quickly identified the Chinese Fireball, the Swedish Short-Snout, the Welsh Green and the Hungarian Horntail.
“Do you want to try talking to them?” Miranda asked in Parseltongue.
“Do dragonsss ssspeak ssnake?” Henri asked.
“One way to find out…” Harry took a deep breath and dipped his broom. Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus… Justin had mentioned the motto of his former school. Now Harry was going to do just that.
“I am not going to esssplain to Uncle Percy and Aunt Portia why you ended up burnt to a crisssp…” Miranda dipped her broom with his. Harry glanced up and saw Henri had his wand out and was circling overhead. Harry had selected the old Welsh Green, said to be the most docile of the four for his experiment. Her sleepy eyes opened a crack as she studied the wizards who dared trespass on her domain.
“Greetingsss… we come in pea… Holy Moly!” Harry shot into the air like a rocket, closely followed by Miranda as they dodged the flames. The dragon was roaring in apparent displeasure.
“Abort!” Henri shouted as he fired a Fire-swirl Spell at a corner of the pen to distract the dragon. The commotion had roused the dragon-kkepers who were running out from their tents. The Three Musketeers shot off back to the castle with Miranda’s cloak ends and broom bristles lightly smoking.
“W-was that Parseltongue?” Harry asked. It had reminded him a little of Fleur or Viktor’s English.
“C-can’t tell… might be plain Welsh…” Miranda was pale. Henri cast a Aguamenti to put out her smoking broom bristles and cloak.
“Do we try again?” Harry and his friends alit near the RV.
“Definitely not!” Miranda scowled as she took in the damage to her broom and cloak. At least they know it is possible to outfly a dragon on a broom, if you were fast and agile enough. More so nesting mothers who would not leave their nest unattended for long.
Harry had a bad case of nerves the morning of the First Task. He had been sick at the breakfast table. A house elf Vanished the mess and Scroungified the floor beside him while Mira rubbed his back. Aunt Portia murmured encouragement into his ear and slipped him a vial of Stomach Soother. She firmly turned down his request for a Calming draught. He needed a clear head with dragons involved. His Ilvermorny fellows and new friends wished him luck before he was whisked off with the other competitors to the holding tents.
Hungarian Horntail. Well, he had to get the most aggressive of the four with his luck. Harry lacked Mister Scamander’s aptitude for dealing with animals. He doubted he could charm it the way Newt Scamander did an Occamy at his first lecture. He hoped he would not need to hurt the dragon or her eggs. Uncle Newt would have a fit, and Aunt Tina would toast his behind if Newt’s heart conked out.
Would Madam Lucia be able to help if that happened? Madam Lucia had Newt Scamander on her to-watch list and has been slipping Aunt Tina potions for his heart murmur or something. The White Priestess had been keeping to her stove-side. The Scottish climate was too chilly for her liking even with the mitigating Climate Charms. She carried out her lessons on Healing in her shack and had her meals sent over from the castle when she did not cook. Maybe Auntie was still concerned about that Curse-scar, even though Madame Lucia had given him a clean bill of health years back.
Calm down. He was not due to compete yet. He hoped his fellow competitors were doing well or surviving at the very least. Viktor Krum had drawn the position before him and was now facing off an angry mama dragon. Harry closed his eyes and started mediating, calming himself and reviewing his plan. They were only allowed their wands. He hoped Miranda had done what he asked her to. Otherwise, he could be toast quite literally. It was Henri had given him an idea with his remark about the dragons speaking, but he would use it only as a last resort. They had been warned Parseltongue had a bad reputation in Britain thanks to Voldemort. Would he need to speak to the dragon? Would she even understand him? What would his hosts and new friends think?
Percival Graves hated his current job – sitting on a panel of judges for a tournament lacking in common sense. At Newt’s insistence, he had gone to the dragon pens to cast an Unbreakable Charm on the eggs once they learned the fools would be using actual eggs in the task. The dragonkeepers gladly looked the other way when he cast the Charm. He promised to cancel it out after the tournament so the babies could hatch. The precaution proved well-founded when Krum’s dragon stumbled onto her own nest in the throes of a Conjunctivitis Curse. The Quidditch star made it out with the golden egg with only minor burns and scrapes– a pity. Karakoff was hopelessly biased in favour of his student. Graves would have disqualified the young man for hurting the dragon. It was their champion’s turn now.
Black was distracted. He had succumbed to nostalgia and visited the Three Broomsticks for old times, only be cornered by both Andi Tonks and Dora. The Black womenfolk needed his protection, especially Narcissa and her infant son. Lucius’s strange behaviour and suicide had cast suspicions on his widow. Cissy was in hiding from his fellow Death Eaters. Somehow, Sirius had allowed Andi to almost bully him into taking on the lordship. He had claimed the Black family vaults which were his birth-right but stopped short of taking up the Lord’s ring. The Black townhouse would provide more protection than the Tonks’ residence. Except that when he brought the witches and baby Rigel to Number 12, they had been greeted by a wave of dark magic far darker than anything Sirius had encountered growing up there. Black thanked Graves for honing his Mage-sight. Andi lacked the talent. Cissy had grown too inured to dark magic living at Malfoy Manor. Horcrux. It had felt like the one they extracted from Harry.
Madam Lucia and Aunt Portia had been informed. The White Priestess was now readying a Cleansing Ritual in preparation for their own task. The older wizards had agreed not to tell Harry just yet. Poor boy had enough with the tournament going on. Sirius was brought out of his musing by Remus elbowing him.
“It’s Harry’s turn…”
“Accio, Comet 2001!” Harry dodged a jet of flame before throwing up a Shield with his free hand. Simultaneous casting required the utmost concentration. His dragon had emerged in a fine temper, riled by the noise of the crowd and the bouts before them. No broom.
“Accio, broomstick!” Harry yelled as he ducked behind a rock. His Shield would not last long. His fellow Musketeers were running out of the arena. Something must have gone wrong with their plan – like someone locking away his Comet.
“Mira, why didn’t you bring it in?” Henri gasped. The broom was not where Miranda had left it up a tree with a clear path into the arena.
“Too many people… Do you think the elves locked it away?”
The pair dashed for the Merry Camper and the broom locker in it. Harry’s broom was thumping against the locker door. Henri hastily unlocked the locker with a charm and the broom shot out straight through a window, smashing it. Henri cast a quick Reparo on it before they ran back to the arena.
Ten minutes of dodging flames, shielding, and trying to summon his broom were taking its toll, even with the stamina instilled in him by his duelling instructor’s gruelling training regime. Harry was trying to launch a Plan B while staying alive. Except the dragon was in no mood to hear him out. Uncle Padfoot saw that he was in trouble and was being restrained by Uncle Moony. How much flame can a Horntail spout before she runs out?
Finally, his Comet zipped across the arena, straight into a jet of flame. Oops. Harry groaned as smouldering cinders landed at his feet.
“Run!”
It was his godfather’s voice that snapped him out of his trance. Harry ducked behind a rock as flames shot overhead. The original plan had been to use his agility on a broom against the dragon, but now he needed to improvise. Dragonfire was the greatest danger now. Harry could see the wooden spectator stands start smoking despite the Fireproofing Charms on them. Newt taught them the flames of a Horntail burned the hottest among the dragons. Harry reached out with his magic to the lake with his free hand, spinning the waters in his mind’s eye into a large ball. All the while he held up a Shield with his wand against the flames.
“Sorry, girl… you really need to cool it!”
With a surge of his magic, he lifted the large volume of water skywards and released it over the arena and the dragon. The shock of the cold lake water would stun her for a bit. Hungarian Horntails were not attuned to water unlike the Vipertooth and Opaleye. The dragon coughed out globs of smoke. She was more sluggish after her drenching.
“Oh fiddlesticks!”
The mother dragon staggered back to her now wet eggs and wrapped her body around them to keep them warm with her body. She regarded the wizard suspiciously but did not snap at him, chilled into a torpor.
“Ssssorry, ma’am… Can we talk, pleasssse?” Harry put away his wand. Professor Newt had sworn that dragons were intelligent and capable of understanding, so long as they are shown the necessary respect. They were not mindless wizard-killers. Then again Newt was Newt. He could charm a wild nundu, so Anthony claimed. Harry cautiously approached the dragon, his arms outstretched to show he was unarmed. He had encountered young Snallygasters on a reserve in Yukon one summer with his godfather. He hoped what he learned that month would work on a mother dragon too since Newt claimed they were the more intelligent species.
“I am sssorry to bother you and your babies, but there is sssomething in your nessst that doesss not belong. I just wisssh to remove it… Yikes!” Harry rolled out of the way as the dragon swatted at him half-heartedly with her spiked tail. The dragon sniffed at her eggs. She rooted among them before delicately lifting the Golden Egg out. It was vibrating slightly after the drenching. With a soft huff, she placed the offensive object on the ground before Harry.
“Thank you most kindly, ma’am…” Harry politely bowed low. The dragon bobbed her head in reply. He placed both his hands on the ground and sent soft pulses of Warming and Drying Charms towards both dragon and nest. The mother dragon rumbled her approval like a purring cat as her nest warmed up enough to dry her eggs. Professors Graves and Newt would have his hide if the dragon or the eggs were hurt. The dragon settled contentedly on her nest. Once Harry was certain the dragon was safe, he picked up the Golden Egg and exited the arena to thunderous applause.
“Sorry, guys… can you keep it down please?” Harry called out with his Sonorous Charm as the dragon reared her head up at the noise. Then she sneezed a great jet of flame which singed the back of Harry’s robes and sent him scrambling for safety. So much for his heroic exit.
“Pup, don’t ever do that again!” Harry was crushed in a group hug by Uncles Pads and Moony once the Hogwarts mediwitch had seen to his minor scrapes and burns.
“Was that Parseltongue you were speaking out there?” Theo asked uneasily. “That’s Dark Magic, isn’t it?” He had heard whispers of the Musketeers being Parselmouths, but this was the first time he actually heard Harry speak Parseltongue.
“Sorry about your broom, Harry…” Miranda and Henri soon came into the Healing tent. “Professor Graves docked points for your almost giving a dragon hypothermia. You nailed the judges too with your water bomb. That Karakoff stick cut points for that. Uncle Percy made up for it with points for your Warming Charm.”
“Are you intending to join the Firewizards? That stunt was wicked!” Henri added. “Think of the forest fires you can put out…”
“Nah, it took a lot out of me…” Harry replied and accepted the sandwich Uncle Moony took out of his pocket. Philly cheese and beef jerky, stuffed with chips and curds. He tore into it with gusto. His core was low now and he needed to replenish his energy.
“Harry, what were you thinking expending your magic like that?” Auntie Portia glided into the tent.
“I did try to pace myself…”
“If the Summoning Charm didn’t take, you should have gone on to Plan B…”
“Well, I had to think of how to launch Plan B first… she was not listening.” Harry grinned sheepishly. His head was starting to ache now his magical exhaustion was catching up. “Was anyone hurt?” Or dead?
“No, thank the Stars. Walking wounded only. Diggory got the worst of it with his burns, but he would live. Let’s go have Madam Lucia look at you after the scores. Can you walk or do we need to carry you out?” Portia asked. Harry opted to walk, with the support of Henri Picquery.
To his surprise, Harry tied with first place with Viktor Krum. The Three Musketeers went back to the dragon pens once Harry was able to walk without aid. Newt Scamander went with them to ensure that the dragons were unhurt from participating in the tournament. Harry apologized in Parseltongue to the mothers on behalf of his fellow Champions. The Fireball replied about wanting to roast Krum slowly for hurting her and risking her babies. Could he be a dear and ask that boy over to apologize in person? Tempting as it was, Harry had to decline. They then met Charlie Weasley and chatted about the dragons. They were moving the Welsh Green and her eggs to Wales where the climate was more suitable for her breed. The Welsh Green was pleased when Harry informed her of it. She would not have to worry about the more aggressive Horntails and Ironbellies back in Romania now.
Notes:
Whee, A long chapter covering the First Task. Harry is interacting more with his childhood friends than his new friends for now.
Chapter 15: Start of the Hunt
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione had missed the entirety of the Tournament’s First Task due to being stuck in the Hospital Wing with a mild fever. Ron and her fellow housemates had to fill her when she was finally allowed to return to the dorms. Stealing eggs from mama dragons, what were they thinking? People could have died! Diggory still sported bandages on his arm and cheek and would continue doing so the next few days.
“H-hi,” Harry approached Hermione. She was alone in the library and would be for the rest of the afternoon as Ron had been given detention by Professor Snape for blowing up a cauldron. He waved his hand and cast a Privacy Shield so they could chat. He really should not be doing any magic with his levels still on the low side, especially after a bad night’s sleep.
“Harry, I was so worried…”
“I survived… Now I just need to work out how to open this without blowing out everyone’s eardrums…” Harry gingerly took out the golden egg he and the other Champions had been presented with after the completion of the First Task. It was a clue to the next task. “Henri thinks it is a Rougarou crossed with banshee. Mira suggested decoding and translation spells, but nothing works…” The racket could be heard throughout the RV and an irate Uncle Percy had ordered Harry to quit tinkering with the egg until morning so everyone else could get some sleep.
“What does the egg sound like when you open it?” Hermione asked.
“Awful screeching, like nails over a chalkboard… High-pitched…”
“Hm, maybe you need to immerse it in something denser than air, to lower the pitch… water perhaps? If the next task is taking place in something other than air…” Hermione smiled and glanced out the window where the Tournament organizers had cordoned off a part of the lake shore.
“Hermione, you’re a genius. I must go try it…” Harry surprised her with a hug before running off, darting back to pick up his book bag and the egg which he had forgotten in his haste.
12 Grimmauld Place. Sirius shuddered as he stepped over the threshold. They had left Remus and the other Ilvermorny teachers to take the students over to Edinburgh on a school outing. They would explore the both the Muggle and Magical cities. Madam Lucia and Aunt Portia were with him. Three was a magical number after all, even so Black felt exposed.
“Call him, Black,” Portia ordered. Even in the day, the townhouse was oppressive with dark magic. The goblins had confirmed that the old Black house-elf was still in residence. The place looked disused.
“Kreach…”
“Blood Traitors! Filth!” The curtains over Walburga’s portrait whisked open and the late Black matriarch started hurling abuse at her son and his visitors.
“Pardone, Monsieur… may I?” the dark-skinned priestess asked.
“Be my guest,” Sirius smirked. The priestess yelled out a spell and the Black matriarch froze in mid-taunt.
“Don’t hurt Mistress!’ Kreacher popped into the hallway. He glared at the prodigal Black son and his guests but did not evict them. He recognized Sirius as his new master, however reluctantly. Portia nudged Black as she closed the door behind them. It was imperative that Sirius guarded his tongue with the house-elf.
“Kreacher, we need to have this place cleaned up for Cissy to move in with her baby.”
“Miss Cissy’s baby? Young Master Black?” the elf blinked his eyes. His expression seemed to soften.
“Yes, old man. We need anything that can hurt Cissy or Master Rigel out,” Sirius beamed. “Madam Lucia and Lady Portia here will help dispose of anything the Dark Lord left behind…” The elf visibly shuddered. He Disapparated and returned with a box of dark artefacts, but nothing dark enough to be a Horcrux. The witches started Cleansing what they could and setting aside those they could not Cleanse themselves to be brought to Gringotts for or purification or destruction.
“Kreacher, there is something else, isn’t there?” Black asked sternly. “Don’t make me punish you if Master Rigel gets hurt by it…”
The ancient elf blubbered something about Master Regulus and his last wish, and how he could not tell the family.
“What happened to Master Reggie?” His younger brother’s disappearance had gone unsolved despite Black’s attempts to look for him after he was settled in the States. Deep in his heart, he suspected the worst when Reggie just vanished without leaving a word with their parents. Perhaps he had hoped Reg was in hiding all these years. Now their old elf might know his fate.
“Kreacher promise no tell family!” the elf sobbed. “Kreacher no break promise…”
“I’m not a Black. You can tell me,” Portia Potter-Graves said as she stooped to look Kreacher in the eye. The elf had been exposed to much Dark magic from his time in the house and was half-mad from it. He would need a Cleansing himself. In fact, Portia would recommend Sirius have his family home razed to the foundations, and the ground cleansed before rebuilding if they had the time. The amount of Dark magic residue accumulated was impressive. It was a wonder not more of the family had gone raving mad.
“This is it?” Sirius stared at the locket where it sat in its lead box. It had taken a while for Kreacher to relent. Poor Reggie never had a chance. Portia nodded grimly before she shut the lid. This Horcrux would need to be destroyed off-site. There was no telling how the Curses placed on it would interact with the magic-laden townhouse. They would take it to Gringotts to have it destroyed. The legendary locket of Slytherin. Still, it was too risky to do otherwise.
Their job was almost done. Madam Lucia proceeded to weave her wards over the box before turning her attention to Kreacher. She chanted the incantations of Purification as the house-elf swayed on his feet. His eyelids drooped and he slumped down. Within minutes, he was snoring.
“Let him sleep it off. He will wake when ready…” the priestess summoned a white tea towel and wrapped it about the poor creature. “Sirius, you his master now. Treat him well. Get house Cleansed for your cousin Cissy and her baby.”
Death Eaters. Percival Graves sniffed in disdain. He had gone to London to meet Sir Theseus Scamander for a covert trip to the Ministry archives. The most fanatic supporters bore the Dark Mark on their arm, a brand rendering them at their master’s beck and call. Grindelwald did not need such petty spells to bind his followers. Portia had suggested that they might use the Dark Mark to track Voldemort and his Horcruxes down, but they need one to work on. Lucius Malfoy had one in life. A pity his body was consumed by Fiendfyre. Another Marked Death Eater who escaped Azkaban was Severus Snape. In one of his blacker moods, Sirius had offered to kidnap the wizard from his Potions lab. They just needed his arm, right? Moron, it must be the inbreeding. Percival doubted Dumbledore would be pleased if his spy got hurt, even if Percy doubted the man’s future efficacy as a spy in the Death Eater ranks given his spying for the Order had been revealed at his trial. Unless… He was a horrid teacher and clearly hated teaching. Portia had volunteered to speak with both Dumbledore and Snape, because Graves definitely would not waste time on that.
The madhouse of characters tied to Hogwarts and the Tournament made his head swim. Mad-eye Moody was an eccentric retired Auror, too eccentric for Graves’ liking, but Theseus had vouched for him. There was something about the wizard that just felt off. Perhaps his demonstrating Unforgiveables to a class of students Harry’s age? Theseus was on the Hogwarts board, replacing Lucius Malfoy. He had received complaints from various parents after their little ones wrote to them about the DADA session. There was also that case of one lad being transfigured into a monkey and swung about the room by the tail for being too cheeky. But everyone knew the post was cursed and finding good instructors was hard enough.
Bartemius Crouch was an annoyance. He seemed in a chronic daze much of the time. On most days, it was his redhead gofer who did his work. Health issues, the lad had said. He should have remained retired as he was in no state to organize anything. Ludo Bagman was a slippery customer Graves was convinced had some con on the side. He had asked Harry to warn the redhead twins not to get involved with him. From what he knew of the Weasley boys’ situation, they could not afford any trouble.
Percival scanned through the names of those acquitted but bore the Dark Mark. Theodorus Nott. That would be young Theo’s father. Percival frowned. He did not know where the man’s loyalties lay. Theseus had described him as reclusive after the First British Wizarding War. Theo was a decent boy, even if he had arrived in Ilvermorny with all that pureblood baggage to be shed. The wizard had sent his only child across an ocean. During his time at Ilvermorny, Theo had spoken little of his family. Black had hinted that there was something troubling the boy when he returned for his fourth year. Perhaps they should engineer a meeting with the elder Nott. Given the close family ties among the British purebloods, it was not surprising to learn that at least two of Lord Nott’s cousins were also acquitted Death Eaters. He had glimpsed the Mark on Karakoff at dinner when his sleeve rode up a bit. A dark, ugly thing.
Percy’s thoughts wandered back to Grindelwald. He had come so close to being persuaded to join his cause back then. Grindelwald had approached him under a false name and face. He had fallen for the guise of Antonio, friendly barista. Witty, charming, and warm-hearted Antonio. Until that mask fell when he rebuffed his attempts to recruit him for the Greater Good. Grindelwald’s vision was simply not tenable, wix were outnumbered by No-Majs, even after the epidemic of 1918. Even their technowizards were constantly being outpaced by No-Maj science. Now his Voldemort with his pureblood elitist visions… A madman. If they were to offer Nott Senior an out, would he take it? Or was he a fanatic like those sentenced to Azkaban for their crimes in the first war. They did not know enough about this Lord Voldemort who seemed to have popped up out of nowhere in the 1970s.
Albus Dumbledore. Graves hoped Portia would have better luck extracting information from the old man. He had been sharp enough in his heyday, but age catches up with everyone. Graves felt the twinge of pain in his knee from his old injury. Black’s family home was a cesspool of Dark Magic going by what the animagus told him. They would like to place his cousin in a safer place. Perhaps Scamander House in Dorset? Theseus never married after Leta passed. He had inherited the estate from his father and the manor had sat empty for decades since he preferred living in London. His younger brother Newt only used the gamekeeper’s cottage on the grounds. If Theseus was willing, they could put Mrs Malfoy up there instead of the Black townhouse. She had a bonded elf, and Black had inherited one if he could be persuaded to leave Grimmauld Place. They would need to speak with Harry soon about the Horcruxes, maybe after the Yule Ball if not sooner.
It was a battle of wills. Portia nodded to the Pukwudgie beside her chair. He shook his head. The Huntmaster had instructed that Lady Portia not be left alone with their guests. For good measure, he rattled his quiver. Portia relented. With a curt nod, he stepped back into the shadows of the potted palm.
“Beaky-nose and old fool have arrived, ma’am…” Twinkie announced the arrival of the Hogwarts headmaster and his Potions Master. Once the pair were sitting, Portia proceeded to pour out her spiced tea and offer them sugar cookies. One needed to play the role of hostess before getting down to business. The younger wix regarded his tea with suspicion before taking a tiny sip. Earl Grey with a dash of cloves and cinnamon. It seemed to meet with his approval. The headmaster helped himself to the cookies before taking up his teacup.
“Horcruxes, did you at least guess at the nature of Harry’s scar?” Portia said nonchalantly as if she were discussing the weather. No sense beating about the bush. She hid her smile behind her raised teacup as Dumbledore spluttered.
“A H-horcrux?” Snape went a shade paler than Portia would have thought possible given his already cadaverous complexion.
“Yes, a foul bit of Dark magic, which we incidentally have removed from Harry’s forehead when he was a child. I suppose the Supreme Mugwump has more important matters that to pry in the ICW’s day-to-day running…” The incident report was probably lost in the bureaucratic shuffling in ICW New Orleans, never making it up to the Mugwump, if ever.
“Potter had a Horcrux in him?” Snape shot a glare at the headmaster.
“I have suspected, but given the circumstances… I thought we could wait…” Dumbledore blustered.
“A Horcrux! Merlin’s balls, it could have taken over Lily’s son! Her sacrifice…” Snape looked decidedly ill. He rubbed his hand over his face. Silent waves of anger radiated from him.
“Madam Lucia has taken care of that pesky thing, but we believe there may be others… We were fortunate the shard was weak, likely an accidental splitting…” Portia continued. “I’d also like to add that Mister Black has recently uncovered a Horcrux in his family home, which has been sent to Gringotts for destruction. A pity about the locket of Salazar Slytherin it was lodged in. Has this lunatic made himself felt in any way in recent years? The Basilisk incident perhaps? Do you require a Calming Draught, Professor Snape?”
The Potions Master declined. Portia shrugged. Men. She hoped he was not going to work himself into an apoplectic fit. She motioned for Twinkie to switch the spiced tea for chamomile.
Lucius Malfoy’s death, the Basilisk… the loss of innocent children… Lucius acted oddly after Draco’s funeral. He had retreated from the public eye. Snape had believed it was due to grief. Even when he brewed potions for Cissy, Lucius had declined to allow him to set foot on the grounds. Instead, Snape had to wait for one of the elves to meet him at the gate. He had not spoken to his widow since Lucius’ suicide.
“Harry’s name appearing for this tournament is no accident. Someone is out there working towards his return. And we mean to stop him from ever returning.” She daintily replaced her teacup on its saucer and lowered it to the table, barely holding it in so the cup did not shatter from her roiling magic. “We will need to work together towards this goal. So, are we in agreement?”
In times of yore, the grandmothers had sat on the war councils in times of tribulation and strife for their roles as weavers of peace and alliances. By removing the more volatile wizards from her initial discussion, she was extending the proverbial peace pipe to both Hogwarts faculty. They needed information which the British had kept close.
Another compulsion. This time directed not at her but the Potion Master. She noticed the slightest furrow on the young man’s brow. Good. He was fighting it. If they could get Snape out from under his thumb…
Now she would turn the conversation back to the Tournament or the Yule Ball if Dumbledore proves not to be forthcoming.
Notes:
Dumbledore has been caught out. Snape might not be so trusting moving on.
Chapter 16: Tea with Portia
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“This room is Privacy-warded. Now, sir, who exactly is Lord Voldemort?” Portia asked. She had chosen Madam Lucia’s parlour as a meeting place. Twinkie had refurbished the interior in the style of a Southern hostess’ parlour while Lucia kindly moved her stuff into the backroom for the afternoon. Snape shuddered at the name. Portia tutted. They really should do something about that silly affliction. It was not as though the name had a taboo attached after so many years.
“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” the headmaster replied. “So it has been confirmed Harry is a Horcrux?”
“Was, how many pieces did Riddle split his soul into? Do we have any idea? Three or perhaps seven, or even nine?” Portia asked. The use of the locket hinted at someone who valued magical symbolism. The one in Harry was likely an accident.
“Nine would destabilise the soul too much…” Dumbledore replied as he helped himself to the cookies. “Given that he used an artefact of Salazar…”
“Hogwarts had four founders. If they left any significant artefacts… I’d put my bet on seven. Riddle is not an old pureblood name. What do we know of the man’s past?” Portia’s eyes gleamed. Know thy enemy and thyself.
“Not much, I fear, after he graduated…” A blatant lie, and one his companion was aware of. Portia could see the twitch of a vein in Snape’s temple. Snape was not the type of wizard given to fits of temper, but he would be fearsome when his ire is raised. He looked as though he might say something contrary, then held his tongue. He drained his tea and put the saucer back on the table, curtly declining a top-up. An impressive occlumency talent to rein in his anger so quickly.
Dumbledore seemed determined to play the dodderer to Portia’s annoyance. There was some waffling about how Tom Riddle went bad despite being an exemplary student, his origins as a half-blood orphan, and his eventual seduction by the Dark Arts.
When Portia quizzed him on the artefacts of the founders, he shrugged them off as myths like the Chamber of Secrets. Except the Chamber’s monster turned out to be very real, even if the Chamber is now lost once more. Salazar’s locket, if it did indeed belong to the founder, might have been passed down through his descendants. Likewise, the legendary Cup of Hufflepuff, Sword of Gryffindor and Diadem of Ravenclaw. They could have been lost over the centuries. He could enquire as Chief Warlock of course…
Finally, Portia decided she was getting nothing more out of Dumbledore, and he had not given her cause to trust him enough to collaborate in the Horcrux Hunt. A pity that. She thanked the pair for their time and asked Twinkie to show them out.
Once they were gone, she lifted the teacup and saucer used by the younger wizard. Under it was a worn name card – Borgin & Burke’s Purveyors of Magical Antiques. On the other side were the words – Ask A Malfoy. Asking him back so soon would be risky. If only they could get Black to meet up with his old schoolmate without a duel breaking out. Percy did not trust Lupin still. He might accept him as a teacher, but not enough in his loyalty. Poor man still feels he owed his former headmaster. A utter scoundrel indeed.
“Ma cher, you coulda ask me to slip Truth Serum into his tea…”
A grinning Madam Lucia emerged from the backroom. Twinkie had already packed away the tea things and Southern-style furniture, exposing the hidden ritual circle under the plush rug.
“The Supreme Mugwump he lost his way…” Madam Lucia tutted. “To play so recklessly with the lives of others, especially children…” She slipped the small vial to Portia and deactivated the spell.
Portia smiled. She had not lied when she claimed the room was Privacy-Warded. What she neglected to tell her guests was that Madam Lucia had set the ritual circle to unobtrusively record anything within it to a glass phial in the backroom – a helpful tool where she might need to review a spell or treatment for her patients. Her healer’s oath protected the privacy of her patients, but in this case, the oath did not apply. This would make for interesting viewing for Percival, as well as the ICW should it come to that.
Portia would love to go to Hogsmeade for a taste of old Scottish village kitsch, but someone had been leaking information about Harry’s grades and lessons to the press. The Ilvermorny students and staff and sworn on their magic that it was not them. Percy was pissed, especially when sections of Harry’s essay on the ICW was repeated almost word for word. Referring to the current Mugwump as a nosey old fossil was a bit on the nose. It did not come across as diplomatic in the least. The students were also complaining of bugs of the six-legged variety in the classrooms and outside the RV despite the Pest-deterrence Wards put up. Maybe she should Floo-call the Scamanders and see if they got the permits ready to move that Kelpie from Loch Ness. It would be good to meet up with Porpertina again for tea sometime.
After thanking Lucia for her aid, she glanced at the pier where two of the three Musketeers were holding a third upside down with his top half in the lake. What manner of tomfoolery were they up to? Frowning, she took her shawl and went out.
“Got it this time? My arms are getting tired…” Henri hoisted Harry back onto the pier. Miranda quickly cast a Quick-dry Spell on Harry, which made his hair stick out like porcupine quills. He was holding the egg from the First Task in his hands.
“You could borrow the facilities in the castle… I got the password for the Perfect’s Bathroom from a friend. They have, like, a spa in there with a heated swimming pool…”
“Mira, you could have told us before I asked Henri to dunk me…” Harry complained.
“More fun to watch you get dunked.” The curly-haired girl shrugged.
“I’d advise you three to get into the RV and ask Twinkie for some hot cocoa. The weather’s turning,” Portia advised. She could feel the chilly wind on her face. She took out her wand and cast a Hair-smoothing Charm on Harry’s hair.
“Yes, Auntie!” The teenagers hastened to obey.
Shelving away the Merfolk’s riddle to solve another day, the teens started worrying about the Yule Ball over their mugs of cocoa. Rumour had it that Viktor Krum was going with a Durmstrang schoolmate– one Sonya Ivanova. Fleur had accepted the offer by Richard Davies of Hufflepuff. Justin informed Harry that Cedric Diggory was going with his girlfriend Cho Chang.
“Miranda! You owe me for that broomstick… Can’t you at least…”
“I am going with Henri… I like my toes unbruised, thank you. You’ll get a new broom from Uncle Pads for Christmas, a Firebolt 3000 I bet.” She fluttered her eyelashes extravagantly. Harry noted she had bespelled them to be lusher than her natural eyelashes. And were those sparkles? It was bit disconcerting how the tomboy he had sparred with in savate class was now showcasing her femininity.
“Pardone, mon ami…” Henri shrugged and flashed a charming smile. “Your reputation in the ballroom precedes you.”
“But I must bring a date, and I don’t know who to ask!” Harry had hoped he might attend alone, or avoid the Ball entirely, but no, he was expected to lead.
“You can ask Aunt Portia or Coach Black to set you up with a nice British witch…” Mira suggested with a grin.
Percival Graves returned to his room in the RV after the organizers’ meeting regarding the Second Task in a sour mood. Miss Delacour was part-Veela. Given the historic enmity between Veelas and merpeople, it was risky having her in their element, but the others insisted it was too late to change the tasks. Headmaster Dumbledore went so far as to vouch for the merfolk. Could the chieftainess keep the more volatile elements in check? A millennium of ill-will between the two species? As a Auror, he had been in emotionally charged situations before. Shit happens. One wrong look, then someone’s slinging Hexes, some sod gets AK-ed… He grabbed his whiskey bottle and poured himself a generous shot before downing it.
“Problems?” Portia peered in the open door. For the sake of decorum, they had separate rooms with a connecting door in case they needed to discuss matters in private. The door had stayed locked from Portia’s side most nights until now.
“The bloody tournament. I’m expecting a riot between the merfolk and any Veela in attendance.” Enough of the task had leaked out that anyone with two brain cells to knock together knew it would be held in the Black Lake.
“Have them put up viewing screens, I have a cousin in MACUSA’s media communications office… He still owes me a favour or two.” Portia firmly Accio-ed the whiskey bottle away from Percy. Having the audience as witnesses might forestall any allegations of misconduct on the merpeople’s part or cheating on the part of the Champions, including Miss Delacour.
“Percy, I want to get Lupin in on this Horcrux hunt. Theseus’ sister-in-law too.”
“Tina? But she has been retired for so long… And Lupin might prove a liability.”
“Well, I still think we should give Remus a chance. Also, can you have Theseus help verify what Dumbledore told us and check this possible lead?” She slipped the card from Snape to Graves.
In the headmaster’s office, Albus Dumbledore fumed. After their visit to Madam Potter-Graves, Snape had been treating him icily, much like Black. Ingrates. Minnie had also started showing more interest in Granger after she spoke with Snape after the last staff meeting. Potter was developing a fondness for the girl. She could not be sent off to the States. He had been dropping hints of Dark Magic used in healing outside Britain, but Minnie was considering speaking to the Ilvermorny delegation’s mediwitch.
They knew about the Horcruxes. They had removed one from Potter, no doubt using some form of Dark Magic. The information he had given them could easily be found in the Ministry records. Should he involve them in the Horcrux hunt, make use of their resources to end Voldemort? Maybe he should speak with Moody on recent developments. Or maybe not yet… The boy had a role to play, the prophecy said so. Except that prophecy orb was now smashed. Sybil had yet to produce another true prophecy since. Only a bunch of sherry-induced mumbo-jumbo. Sir Scamander on the board had been pushing to review their Divination Professor’s credentials. She had none. The board had also been pushing to get a team from Gringotts to try breaking the curse on the DADA post. That should fix itself once Voldemort was properly dead.
The Americans know nothing. Dumbledore reassured himself. The Horcrux found by Black was a lucky fluke. Perhaps he could work on Remus, convince him it was better for Harry to be educated in Hogwarts… The werewolf was always a pushover.
“Pup, you alright with the Yule Ball? Got a date yet? I can speak to Dora…” Sirius asked when he spotted a nervous Harry trying to slick down his hair outside the Great Hall.
“Nah, I’m going to ask someone else… Say, Pads, what have you and Uncle Percy been up to outside the tournament and lessons? Anything to do with this?” Harry pointed at his scar. He had noticed his godfather’s frequent absences from the RV and Hogwarts visiting his cousin or doing the legwork for Graves’s leads.
“Don’t you worry, pup… We can handle it.” Sirius knew he or Graves should have made more effort to cover for Moony’s lessons on those days after a full moon. Moony had reassured them he could manage. Harry’s grades had been flagging a bit with all the disruptions to his regular lessons thanks to the tournament, but their top priority was him surviving. Horcrux hunting was inherently dangerous.
“Some crazy is after me, right? I want to know…”
“Later. Say, why don’t you go ask your girl to the dance?” The entrance to the Great Hall was not where one should be discussing Horcruxes. Harry nodded and made a beeline for the end of the Gryffindor table where Hermione was reading her book. Ron sat nearby, watchful.
“Miss Granger, will you do me the pleasure of allowing me to escort you to the Yule Ball?” Harry flicked out a single pink rose. Ron gave a squawk that sounded like a choking chicken before being shoved unceremoniously below the table by Fred and George.
“Oh, but I can’t dance…” Hermione replied sadly as she accepted the flower.
“Well, I can’t either,” Harry grinned.
“Hermione, you can’t be serious! You can’t even stand!” Ron yelped as he popped up from under the table.
“Well, Madam Pomfrey did say I should be moving onto leg braces…” Hermione picked at a loose thread on her robe. She could have started the braces at Halloween, but she dared not. What if she fell over? Her parents had been warned that she would likely limp for the rest of her life at the very least… Her condition was stabilizing, but she had encountered setbacks before. What if something went wrong during the Yule Ball?
“Miss Granger - Hermione, will you please consider my request?” Harry asked. His green eyes seemed to look into her soul.
“It will be my pleasure…” Hermione replied. There was no time like the present. Perhaps she would speak to Madam Pomfrey about being fitted with leg braces that afternoon after the afternoon’s Transfiguration class.
Watching the exchange, Sirius grinned. That rascal.
Notes:
Harry will be a very busy boy with the tournament, lessons, trying to brush up his dancing – then add that Horcrux hunt… He is more confident as a person, enough to ask Hermione out. He hoping to avoid an actual dance is one reason.
Chapter 17: The Yule Ball
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Why her, Harry?”
“Because it isn’t fair for her miss out on the ball…”
“You weasel… You’re trying to dodge the dancing, aren’t you?” Miranda teased. The trio were sitting on the perimeter wall of Hagrid’s paddock.
“Well, maybe. But really like chatting with her – when her red-haired carer’s not about.”
“Whatever. Uncle Percy’s expecting you in ten minutes, so go now,” Henri gave him a light shove in the direction of the Merry Camper. “And save us some johnny cakes if Twinkie has made any.”
The pair watched as Harry loped off in the direction of the RV.
“Think he has figured it out yet? Poor fool…” Henri whispered with a shake of his head. His guileless friend was slow on the uptake when it came to matters of the heart.
“Think it is serious this time?” Miranda leaned over to pat the nose of a curious Abraxan. “I mean, we’ll be leaving after the tournament. I mean, remember how he was after Mercedes Rosario called it quits after moving to Brazil in third year?”
“I will prepare the Butterbeer, ice-cream, and hankies. Then we’ll schedule some duels to burn it out of his system…”
Harry was passing the Duelling tent when he ran into one-eyed Professor Moody.
“Good afternoon, young man. Have you solved the riddle yet?” the retired Auror licked his lips.
“Perhaps,” Harry replied warily, his mental shields snapping into place. Was he spying on the competition for Hogwarts? They already knew Madame Maxime and Headmaster Karakoff had few qualms giving their Champions a leg up.
“Just be careful. How familiar with you with our Black Lake?”
“Oh, it contains a merfolk colony, Grindylows, a giant squid, and Uncle Sirius might have mooned the Slytherins through their dorm windows once. Swimming in winter ill-advised without Warming Charms,” Harry replied tartly. “Excuse me, sir, but I have detention with Professor Graves.”
Harry omitted the Black Lake now had a Kelpie. Newt Scamander had brought the young Kelpie over from Loch Ness two weeks before the lesson to allow her to acclimatize to the Black Lake. She was corralled in a Warded-off section of the Lake near the pier. Would you know that dipping a magical artefact like the egg near the Wards weakened them enough for the creature to escape? They were only trying to work out the riddle… Newt had been informed of the damage but deemed it safe enough to allow the Kelpie to remain where she was. Kelpies were skittish in adolescence and would not travel far from home. Recasting Wards near the Kelpie now would spook and drive her off. The Musketeers had taken to feeding the young Kelpie to keep her near the Ilvermorny RV and Madam Lucia’s pier. Naming her Kelly, they trained her to come when called using a whistle.
From his exchange with the Hogwarts DADA professor, Harry guessed it would do him no harm to brush up on his Bubblehead and Warming Charms. Using Gillyweed would mean he had to stay under until it wore off. Henri also promised to teach him the Diving Charm that would help him in deep dives and protect against the bends. They did not know how deep they would need to go for the task.
“Hermione, you’re walking! And you are gorgeous!” Harry gaped like a goldfish when his date came down the stairs, assisted by a Hogwarts elf. He had narrowly missed making a faux pas. She was wearing an off-shoulder hyacinth-coloured gown that flared out at the hips. Her hair was piled up in an up-do and her teeth seemed just a little less prominent.
“I have Madam Pomfrey, Madam Lucia and Miranda to thank for this,” Hermione smiled shyly. She had been practising walking with the braces in hour-long sessions under Poppy’s watchful eye. The magical ones would not work given her troll-venom exposure. Miranda had devised a cut of gown that hid the bulky braces, while fixing her hair with charms. She had been assured the charm on her teeth was permanent. Miranda had brought in their own mediwitch to see to that. Miranda had also taught Hermione Charms for taming her busy hair. Madam Lucia had also asked Hermione if she would like to come over to her shack for a more thorough check-up on her legs as she was sure the British Healers had missed something. But for tonight, she was told to enjoy herself.
“Hurt her feelings and I will kill you,” Ron Weasley warned from where he and his twin brothers were meeting with their dates. Ron’s date was a vapid-looking blond in a frothy pink gown. His maroon second-hand monstrosity of a dress robe had been replaced by a charcoal-grey one of a more contemporary cut, on loan from Miranda’s selection. The three Weasley boys had entered a business arrangement with Miranda Graves. In exchange for helping with her sales, advertising and basic tailoring charms in the rush up to the Yule Ball, she provided them with enough to cover the cost of Ron’s new wand and free loan of dress robes for the ball.
“Hi t-there…” Neville Longbottom stuttered and tugged at his bowtie. He introduced his date as Luna Lovegood. The blond girl smiled dreamily in her sunshine yellow dress. Radish-shaped earrings hung from her ears. Together, they headed for the Great Hall.
“Champions and their partners this way please!” Professor McGonagall called out. Harry took Hermione’s hand in his. It felt cool in its satin glove as they waited for the Ball to start.
“Well, Harry… have you solved the riddle yet? Word has it Diggory’s cracked it…” Hermione whispered.
“So I hear from Justin… We have an idea what the next task is about, but I am afraid who will be…”
His words were drowned by the fanfare of trumpets announcing the start of the Yule Ball. The great doors swung open, and the four Champions and their dates strode in. Harry offered his arm to Hermione to lean on if she tired. Both had no intention of dancing. Maybe a few spins about the floor and a discreet retreat to the sidelines.
Their waltz was clumsy with Hermione’s leg braces slowing her and Harry trying not to tread on her feet. He wrapped an arm about Hermione’s waist to support her. The whispers and snickers started when their clumsy dancing was noticed by the attendees. None of the other couples were facing any problems dancing. Viktor might be a bit stiff with his date, but Fleur and Cedric were naturals. Then a swirl of midnight blue and yellow as Neville and Luna whirled past them. Luna gave Hermione a wink as she passed. Other couples were now joining the dance. Harry carefully steered Hermione the side of the hall near the refreshment table and Summoned a seat.
“T-that was harder than I expected…” Hermione thankfully took the glass of Gillywater Harry offered to her. The music had moved from a leisurely waltz to a more energetic tango. Harry grinned. That could only be Henri and Miranda’s doing. Sure enough, his friends were burning up the dance floor with their fiery Latin dance moves to roaring applause. Hopefully, their performance would overshadow his sorry waltz. On hindsight, it was just as well Mira and Henri went together. Harry would not be able to keep up with Miranda. Now they just need to settle into some people-watching and fend off idle chitchat.
The Hogwarts groundskeeper was wearing some hideous fur rug-thing. His partner Madam Maxime had her nose scrunched up from the too strong cologne Hagrid had doused himself in, or it might be the mothballs, as they bopped across the floor. Madam Lucia had deigned to shift herself from her stove for the night and was conversing animatedly with Karakoff. The Durmstrang headmaster reminded Harry of a cornered rat. Uncle Pads was chatting to his cousin Dora, never mind if she was on official duty as an Auror. Professor Lupin was serving out drinks by the Refilling Punchbowl to ensure no one spiked it. Or it might be to avoid dancing. He made a face when Professor Moody thunked past him and took a swig from his flask instead of accepting the punch offered. Lupin turned and offered the drink to McGonagall instead. The greasy-looking Potions Master was sneaking out the side door. There was no sign of Auntie Portia or Uncle Graves.
Theo’s two cousins had gone stag and were sulking by the fairy cakes. A prankster had Charmed the backs of their robes to flash ‘Dumb and Dumber’ in neon pink. Theo was dancing with a former classmate he had introduced as Tracey Davis. Justin had paired up with Susan Bones.
Harry leaned towards his date. Something caught his eye. There was a beetle perched on her shoulder. He had seen a similar one perched on Uncle Pads’ shoulder, just before that Prophet article about Lord Black’s return and Harry Potter being named his heir. All baseless rubbish of course. Sirius had been discussing the Black lordship, but he preferred life in the States, as did Harry. They had learned to ignore the local papers in favour of the Wizarding International.
“Excuse me, ma’am…” Harry deftly Transfigured his empty glass into a sturdy mason jar. With a deft sweep, he trapped the beetle in the jar and cast an Unbreakable Spell on it for good measure. Now, what was that spell Mira used on that voyeuristic squirrel? He should hand the bug to Uncle Percy to deal with.
With everyone away at the Yule Ball, the corridors were empty. Snape met up with the American pair outside the Great Hall and ushered them down to the dungeons where his rooms were. The younger Slytherins would have turned in for the night by now. On entering the office, Percival Graves and Professor Snape cast Privacy Wards about the office. What information they had to share was too important to fall into the wrong hands.
Dumbledore was reluctant to share his information on Tom Riddle with them. Portia Potter-Graves had offered up a memory from Narcissa Malfoy in exchange. It was this they were to view tonight. Portia had taken time to settle Narcissa and her son in Scamander House. A spot of tea and a listening ear had Narcissa spilling her worries and fears to the American witch. Lord Malfoy’s death was not a simple suicide brought on by madness. What he did in life, what his lady chose to be blind to…
“Shall we?” Portia took out the tiny vial from her reticule. She looked Snape in the eye. The man nodded grimly. Graves produced from his pocket the Penseive they had borrowed from Ilvermorny for the duration of the Tournament and returned it to its full size, filling it with water.
Malfoy Manor, a house in mourning for its heir. Sorrow permeated the memory like a dark pall. Narcissa was distraught but she knew she had to be strong for the little one growing in her.
“Luc?” she tapped on the study door. Her husband had been distracted, even the news of her pregnancy… Maybe he feared the same story repeating itself. That this child would not be brought to term…
“Luc, may we speak, my love?” she rapped more insistently. It was unlike him to lock the door. Fear gripped her heart. She wanted to call an elf for the keys. Finally, the lock turned and the door swung open.
“Go away, woman!” her husband scowled at her. “Can’t a wizard discuss business in peace?”
Behind him, Narcissa saw a young man, flanked by two other wizards. One of them was their family lawyer, Selwyn. The boy bore a smug look on his face which greatly unsettled her.
“Well? Go already!” He did not meet her eyes as he firmly shoved her away before locking the door. Selwyn’s presence could mean only one thing. The bite of betrayal was bitter on her tongue. She knew Lucius had sown his wild oats before marrying her, her mother had warned her all pureblood wizards did, and she was expected to smile and tolerate it. But to bring one of his by-blows into his home so soon after Draco’s death…
“This incident took place about a week before Lord Malfoy’s suicide,” Portia added as they emerged from the Pensieve. She deftly lifted the memory strand and returned it to the vial. Snape did not make any comment until the Penseive was emptied, shrunk and put away.
“I trust you have been making enquiries about a former student?” he drawled. Cissa was a friend. She had been kind to him when he was still a student. Was she safe? She had dropped out of sight after Lucius’ death.
“Tom Marvolo Riddle, son of Merope Gaunt, descended from Slytherin. During his time in Hogwarts, there was a crisis in this castle – the legendary Chamber of Secrets was opened and a student, Myrtle Warren, killed. Later employed by Borgins and Burke as a store clerk. During this time one of their clients was apparently accidentally poisoned by her house elf. Hepzibah Smith, the rumoured owner of Hufflepuff’s Cup. Oddly, the Cup was not among the items listed in her estate. We believe the deaths to be tied to the creation of certain artefacts…” Percival gave an expression of distaste. Theseus Scamander had not only opened his family home to the Malfoy widow but also trawled the extensive archives under the Ministry under the pretext of writing his memoirs.
“Miss Warren’s demise occurred while Riddle was still a student. If he had used her death in creating his first Horcrux, he might have been able to return in the form of a teenager by latching onto a host’s life force, as unstable as the vessel would have been…” Portia continued. “He applied for the post of DADA tutor but was declined by Hogwarts in the early 1970s, I believe. Shortly after, the curse on the post appeared to come into force. Are we right in our deductions?”
“You have come far enough…” Snape stole a glance at his arm. The Mark had been darkening recently. As much as he did not wish to admit it, their master was returning to strength. Igor had been acting nervous.
“You know nothing of these Horcruxes, Potion Master Snape?” Portia asked mildly. “We understand that one young wizard, Regulus Black, was entrusted with providing the means to hide one such item… The brave man later defected…” They had yet to share the full story behind how Slytherin’s Locket came to 12 Grimmauld Place.
“No, I was not honoured enough to be trusted with his secrets, unlike the Lestranges and Lucius… Lucius is dead. I doubt Bellatrix will be cooperative, even if she has yet to be lost to the Black madness or Azkaban…” Snape continued, it was as if a shadow passed over his face. “Then again, he kept his secrets close. I doubt they would have even realized…” Soul-related magics were not to be trifled with, especially the darker aspects like Horcruxes. Most seasoned Dark Arts practitioners would balk at maiming their soul.
“We need someone who knew Riddle before he became Voldemort. Since Dumbledore is not speaking, we must turn to another. A schoolmate perhaps, a brother… A Malfoy. The only living Malfoy by blood is just cutting his teeth. We are looking for a ghost,” Portia concluded. “From chatting with Narcissa, we understand that one of her husband’s first acts on becoming Lord Malfoy was to cast out portraits of his sire, living or otherwise, from his home. However, one portrait might have survived here in Hogwarts. May we have permission to view the Governors’ Gallery?”
“Of course, come with me. If you find any of the portraits in need of repairs, feel free to take them with you…” Snape grinned as he led the pair out of the dungeons to the gallery where the living portraits of deceased governors of the board were housed.
“Ingrate! After all I did…’
“You ruined us, father!”
“Oh, put a sock in it already, both of you!”
Snape opened the door to the gallery. Two of the portraits were yelling insults at each other. Both of whom were blonds with similar features. Governors Malfoy. Most of the other frames were empty, the occupants having fled for more peaceful portraits housed with family. Lucius’ relationship with his father had always been strained. Even as he sought his father’s approval, he chafed at his attempts to control every aspect of his life. Abraxas viewed his son as too soft and flayed him with his cutting words if not his cane. Since Lucius’ portrait awoke, he had been at it with his father. It made matters worse that they had no other portraits to escape to. On becoming headmaster, Dumbledore had cut off access for the governors to other portraits in the castle citing their meddling. Few bothered coming to this part of the castle. Snape was too caught up with his teaching after Lucius’ death. He was not sure if Lucius had a portrait made until now.
“Sev? Is that you? How’s Cissy?” Lucius seemed to brighten up when he saw Snape. His friend’s portrait was likely recent, finished shortly after Draco’s demise.
“Your little wife? Probably as mad as that sister of hers…” Abraxas needled. “Though with her looks and classy airs, she’d make fine addition to Madame Zabini’s bordello… And all our friends from the club will gladly show her what it means to be a real woman… unlike you…”
“Just shut the fuck up!” Lucius yelled. Snape cast a Silencing Spell on Abraxas.
“Luc, Cissy’s fine. She’s in hiding with the baby. You have a son… She named him Rigel,” Snape tersely updated Lucius before detaching his frame and shrinking it down to fit in his pocket. If he could, he would like Narcissa and Rigel to have it. He then lifted the Silencing Spell on Lord Abraxas.
“Oh, if it isn’t Luc’s half-blood pet… You’re getting all uppity, Snape… Got tired of sucking up to Dumbledore?”
Percival looked at Portia, who nodded. He fired a Burning Hex at the corner of the canvas, eliciting a howl of outrage from the occupant. “Any rudeness to the lady and you will be burned,” Graves warned.
“We have questions, my lord… and we will leave you when we get our answers… Now who exactly is Tom Riddle and what do you know of his Horcruxes?” Portia smiled sweetly.
It was Abraxas who had brought Tom Riddle into the upper echelons of British wixdom. They had a fraternity back then the Knights of Walpurgis, formed with the goal of teaching the old ways to the younger generation in secret, including magics long outlawed under the Chief Warlock’s influence. It suited Abraxas to throw his support behind the promising young wizard and scion of the derelict House of Gaunt. It was a lark until young Riddle consolidated his power and influence with Abraxas’ backing. Then the roles were switched – the benefactor and mentor then became his protégé’s thrall. Abraxas had swallowed the ideals of Voldemort hook, line and sinker, espousing them to his offspring and grandson even after the end of the First Wizarding War, until his death from Dragon Pox.
“Perhaps Lucius might be more amendable…” Snape suggested when it became clear Abraxas was being evasive. They needed to return to the Yule Ball soon before they were missed.
Notes:
Yes, Skeeter has been caught. No one besides Lucius Malfoy and Tom himself was aware of the diary Horcrux destroyed by Fiendfyre. The Horcrux in Harry was destroyed, as was the locket Horcrux found in 12 Grimmaud Place.
Chapter 18: Holiday Luncheon
Chapter Text
The morning after the Yule Ball. Wearing her leg braces, Hermione was seated at the Gryffindor table on the bench. Ron scowled behind her.
“Merry Christmas, Hermione.” Harry carefully placed his present before Hermione. Her eyes glowed with delight. Hogwarts – A History. Behind the Legend. The leather-bound book was old, printed before the turn of the century.
“Found this in my godfather’s library. He says I can have it… You should have it. We have Scanned it for Curses and removed them.”
“Were there any?” Hermione asked out of curiosity as she stroked the gold embossed leather. So soft, it felt like calfskin. It was a piece of bookbinding artistry.
“Yes, a Hex to prevent it from being removed from the family house. Makes the would-be thief break out in boils. Not to worry. Uncle Pads removed it before letting me have it,” Harry felt his heart swell as Hermione eagerly opened the covers. “Part of it was in old English and Norse Runes. I had Uncle Moony cast a Translation Charm on the pages to make it easier to read.”
“Oh, it’s got illustrations of the founders and their treasures. Is that a map of the original castle? Look, it even has a mention of Salazar Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets and theories on its location…” Hermione gushed. There was an illustration of the founder with a giant serpent in some cavern, perhaps his basilisk. “Harry, can you have the Translation Charm disabled please? I want to compare the original language and runes with what I know from the new edition.”
“What? You’ll fry your brain trying to read old runes, Hermione…” Ron complained. “Don’t you ever take a break?”
“But I am already taking Ancient Runes, Ron…” Hermione scowled before returning her attention to Harry. Ron had been difficult over the electives she had chosen. “This book is beautiful… I can’t possibly accept…”
“Please, Hermione. I don’t have any use for it in Ilvermorny, and Uncle Pads has a copy from his Uncle Alfie. One that does not scream abuse at him whenever he opens it… He scribbled on it as a kid and book still remembers.”
“Oh pish! Books don’t do that!” Ron had grabbed Johnson’s cup of coffee and tried to pour it on a page. The book flew up and smacked the redhead in the face. It started chasing the hapless redhead around the hall, smacking him over the head and shoulders.
“Call it off!”
“Try apologizing, Weasley!” Harry suggested. The book seemingly tired of chasing the boy and flew back to Hermione, smugly settling on her lap.
“I think it likes you…” Harry remarked as Ron moaned about Jinxed books from the other end of the table.
“Harry, what happened to that bug we caught?”
“Oh, Uncle Percy and Aunt Portia’s taken care of that pest,” Harry grinned impishly. No one had expected Harry to catch an Unregistered Animagus crashing the Yule Ball. Rookie Auror Nymphadora Tonks had the honour of calling in the arrest after Harry brought the beetle to Uncle Percy once he had walked Hermione back to her common room. Auntie Portia tartly suggested they ought to feed it to Nev’s pet toad, but it might upset Trevor’s delicate tummy. They then Floo-called their friend Miss Scamander from the Wizard International for a scoop on a colleague, complete with a colour photo of the beetle transforming back to Rita Skeeter in the Hogwarts staff lounge at Auror wand point.
Auntie Portia and Uncle Percy had accepted an invitation to Scamander House for the New Year luncheon. The other professors could chaperone the Ilvermorny students for the holiday weekend though a few like Justin Finch-Fletchey would be spending the holiday with their families in Britain. Portia was entrusted with the only surviving living portrait of Lucius Malfoy to be passed on to his widow.
“As a rule, I am not a gambling man, but I would wager that Malfoy took out at least one Horcrux when he destroyed his home,” Snape said dryly. “I have spoken with Lucius. He will answer your questions in exchange for protection for his widow and son.”
“Master Snape, we would love to invite you again for tea sometime. Or perhaps New Year luncheon?” Portia offered.
“So much as I would love to accept, it may be more prudent for me to remain in the castle,” Snape declined. To keep an eye on a certain headmaster. Portia accepted his response with the slightest tilt of her head. He was a spy within the Dark Lord’s inner circle. He might be called on to return to that role should Dumbledore’s fears come to fruition.
Portia watched the dour man go. Justin and Neville had told the Three Musketeers that the man was a terror among his students. Poor Neville’s boggart was his potions professor. How much was the real Snape, and how much a mask? Only Theo Nott had anything good to say about him, given his favour towards his own House. Harry had been chafing at the bit, wanting to play a larger role in the Horcrux Hunt. It concerned his wellbeing after all. They would bring him in soon and see if the boy had enough steel in him to face the challenges ahead.
Dora Tonks was on duty for some Ministry event. Newt and Tina were having their own family gathering in their cottage at the other end of the property thanks a recent bout of illness. They had discussed who else in the Order they could trust to invite. Sir Theseus’ choice had been Alastor Moody but Percy veto-ed the idea. Not unless he installed a wash of Thief’s Downfall at the front door or Floo for Moody to walk through. Stewed lacewings had a very distinctive odour. There was one potion where stewed lacewings were a main ingredient… Remus Lupin confessed he might be mistaken since Potions was never his best subject in school, but Percival Graves doubted it. Werewolves had a heightened sense of smell when in tune with their wolf-side, even in human form. Remus needed to be more confident in his wolf instincts. Remus had declined to join the luncheon, staying behind to mind the students. Black had suggested extending an invite to the Head of Gryffindor House and the current deputy headmistress. Minerva had accepted. They would need to discreetly Scan her for Compulsions.
The Black sisters share hostess duties during the meal. Narcissa was back in wizarding robes, but of a lesser quality than she once wore. Andromeda was unapologetically contemporary in her garb. Her husband had a shift in St Mungo’s. Theseus might have hosted the luncheon, but he retreated to his study complaining about urgent Board matters once he had finished his main course. Henri and Mira had written up a list of Water-related Charms and were revising them with Harry in preparation for the Second Task. Sirius had transformed himself into a dog to entertain young Rigel, until the tot was ready for his nap. Narcissa excused herself to tend to the baby. McGonagall chatted animatedly with Aunt Portia on some new Transfiguration theory. The dog stretched his paws and shimmered. Then it was a wizard standing there, rubbing his back.
“Cissa, what have you been feeding Rigel? Harry didn’t feel that heavy at his age…”
“It’s your age, Uncle…” Miranda grinned. She yelped when Black lightly Hexed her for her cheek.
“Study, now,” Percy glanced at his pocket watch, rose and motioned for the others to follow him. A reluctant Narcissa was urged to join them once she handed Rigel to her house elf. Narcissa’s primary focus was her surviving child and Heir Malfoy, if there was anything left of the Lordship when he came of age. After much argument, Percy had relented to include both Miranda and Henri in the meeting. The Three Musketeers could never keep secrets from each other.
Theseus was waiting in the study with fresh Privacy Wards laid. He greeted Minerva with a curt nod. He was holding a roll of parchment in one hand. He handed the parchment to the old witch.
“Ma’am, I will strongly encourage you to make an appointment for a thorough Cleansing at Gringotts. At Madam Portia’s request, I ran a discreet scan on you during lunch. We beg your pardon for our presumption. If you have any jewellery with protection against being compelled, do wear them if not for yourself, for the safety of your students.”
Minerva paled at the long list of compulsions cast upon her while Theseus instructed his elf to bring some tea for their guests. The scan did not reveal who cast them, but judging by the frequency and time under which she was compelled, it had to be someone close to her for a very long time.
“Minnie, do take a seat. Perhaps a restorative?” Portia urged. The Transfiguration Mistress sank into a plush armchair, shaken. Black poured her a brandy from the selection in Scamander’s liquor cabinet. Percy went about the study layering his Privacy Wards on top of the existing ones cast by his friend. Theseus then draw back a curtain on the wall to reveal Lucius Malfoy’s portrait back in its original size. The space had been previously hosted the late Madam Artemisia Hortense Scamander. Lucius’ portrait was dwarfed by the space vacated by the larger-than-life portrait of the late mistress of the manor. The grand lady had agreed to allow Malfoy to borrow it for a meeting with his widow and to speak with the guests.
An hour later, the Three Musketeers were looking decidedly pale, even the ebony-dark Henri. Many of the adults looked ill too. Black and Graves had to stop and take swigs of their brandy-laced tea during their narration. Portia seemed to drift off into a meditative state when things got too intense. After relating his brother’s part in stealing the locket from Voldemort, Sirius had swopped his tea for a straight brandy on ice, surrendering the next ten minutes to Graves. Theseus had gone over to clap the animagus on the shoulder and whisper in his ear. Andromeda gave her cousin a hug. Then a seemingly remorseful Lucius took over the narrative, relating how he and Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black had been entrusted with a book and a cup to be hidden away shortly before the Dark Lord’s apparent demise. In his folly to rid himself of the book he was given and get the Weasleys in trouble, he had inadvertently set the events in motion that caused Draco’s death. The normally demure Narcissa had screeched bloody murder and had to be restrained from reducing Lucius’ portrait into a charred patch on the wall. Graves then presented a summary of what he and Theseus had uncovered from the Ministry archives and discreet investigations into activities of Tom Riddle and his suspected supporters. When Graves’ last sentence died away, it was well into the evening.
“What madman goes about tearing his soul to pieces and stuffing them into random trinkets?” Harry grumbled and ran his hand through his hair, exposing the pale scar on his forehead. “So we have an unknown number of Horcruxes still out there waiting to be destroyed before Lord Mouldy is properly dead. And we can assume that he’s been trying to regain his strength during this time.” It was starting to look like this Tournament might just be the death of him.
“Percy, I still do not trust Snape or Malfoy. How can we be sure the Horcruxes were only given to Bellatrix and Lucius? Snape might be sitting on one,” Sirius downed his brandy.
“No, not Sev,” Narcissa insisted. “He has nowhere to hide it even if he were inclined to do so. If he turned for the sake of his mud- Muggleborn friend, he would have turned it over to Dumbledore by now. Bella, on the other hand, could have hidden the cup in the Lestrange manor, or in her vault. The Lestrange manor was destroyed when they arrested them after the Longbottoms… Sirius, you must take the Lordship!”
“Why?” Black frowned.
“To access her vault, cousin. As Lord Black, you can offer to make weregild to the Longbottoms from her vault. The goblins will have to make an audit of the contents. Any Horcrux in there would be found out,” Narcissa explained. And the goblins would not take kindly to being tricked into hosting such foul magic. She had pursued a mastery in law before her marriage.
“Hogwarts is not safe. Lupin got a whiff of stewed lacewings at the Yule Ball. You know it is used in Polyjuice,” Percy explained. “Anyone could be the imposter…”
“The Marauders’ Map!” Black slapped his thigh. “We can use it to see who is in the castle that should not be… If I can only remember where I put it… Ah, what fun we had after curfew with it…”
“What map, Mister Black?” McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. Black coughed awkwardly. “Do you have any idea who the imposter might be pretending to be?”
“Alastor Moody,” Percy interjected. “That’s the reason why I did not wish for him to be with us today…” His eyes met Theseus’. His suspicion about Moody was a bone of contention between them.
“But Moody’s a war hero… H-he…” the former Auror stuttered.
“Is that the same Moody in Hogwarts now? For all we know, the real Moody might be held prisoner by the imposter… Sirius, find this map of yours and see if it can be of any use.”
“Is there a possibility of Scanning for Horcruxes in the castle? The building is old. The Wards may not have been refreshened to the same extent as when they were when first built. A dark artefact could have been smuggled in. To have dragons so close, the Wards would have to be weakened to allow it,” Portia put her teacup down with a light clink. “There is that legend about Slytherin going Dark… The discord between the Founders would have weakened the Wards. But of course, I am no expert on Ancient Wards…” Portia would not put it past the vengeful wizard to Curse his alma mater in some way.
“The castle keeps her secrets. I will be surprised if Albus knows half of them,” the deputy headmistress admitted. “The location of that monster’s den, for instance…” She refilled her glass with Ogden’s best – Theseus respected McGonagall even if he did not have the pleasure of being taught by her.
“They never apologized for what they did to poor Hagrid back then…” Black spat. The injustice rankled. If he took the Lordship, could he help Hagrid to resume his magical education? Would the half-giant find it welcome? The groundskeeper was happily content breeding his Skwerts or whatever they are called. The Ministry gave him clearance too. Maybe it has to do with the blasted Tournament. Black thought those little terrors should be drowned in the Black Lake or blasted with Fiendfyre. Manticore and firecrab. Which idiotic… Newt had worked himself close to apoplexy when he stumbled over the breeding pen two days ago, having pushed the Bill banning such crimes against both nature and magic. His no-nonsense wife needed to Floo him St Mungo’s with his poorly heart. They hoped they might have him back in time for the Kelpie lecture. Kelly was still swimming about the Black Lake. When full grown, she might challenge the Giant Squid and no one wanted that.
“So our naughty boy Tom used his journal to create a Horcrux when he was still a student. And Slytherin’s Locket, which he may have inherited given his ties to the Gaunts and Salazar Slytherin. I find it more likely that he would use some object of magical value where possible. Some heirloom…” Portia continued.
“Gaunt’s ring. I recall that case… Attacking Ministry representative… It stuck in my mind because the crest on the ring was so like the Grindelwald’s sign of the Deathly Hallows. I recall we revisited the case after New York… but no evidence linking the family to Grindelwald,” Theseus’ face took on a faraway look.
“Fairy tales for children…” Percy Graves muttered. A chill ran through his frame. “Tom Riddle might have inherited the family’s ring and could have turned it into a Horcrux. We just don’t know its location. It could be at the family’s last known address…”
“Little Hangleton? The Riddle Manor has passed through two other families since. Both never stayed long. Reputation of being haunted, given the murders. It might be a Horcrux causing these ‘hauntings’…” Theseus extracted a folio from his desk. “The Gaunt shack or what’s left is located nearby.”
“Well, we will need to be Purified and the necessary rituals for protection made. Goblin-trained Cursebreakers preferred…” Portia clapped her hands for attention.
“Can we just go have a look first?” Harry asked. “No sense dragging everyone out on a wild goose chase… Uncle Pads and I can...”
“Not without one of us,” Portia said firmly. “And no arguments, young man. Now if Percy might excuse himself, Harry can tell us how his preparation for the next task is coming along.”
Notes:
Sorry if Newt is taking a more background role. All his adventuring has taken a toll on him, and he is slowing down for health reasons. Theseus has his ministry connections to help them. Black is still reluctant to take his title as the sole male-line Black left. The timeline for when Minerva studied or was taught at Hogwarts is also a bit iffy, she might be old enough to be at school with the Scamanders whether as an older student or even a young teacher. No one can blame Narcissa for turning harpy on her husband seeing his bad decisions got their eldest killed. Does it count as domestic violence if it’s on a portrait?
Chapter 19: Here be Monsters
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Kelly’s really settling in, isn’t she?” Harry stroked the reedy mane of the Kelpie as she nuzzled him. They were practising his water charms in the lake when the young water-horse decided to join in the fun. Both Henri and Harry had Warming Charms on and stood chest-deep in the water. Well, chest-deep for Henri and neck-deep for Harry.
“Your Bubblehead Charm barely holds for forty-five minutes underwater. You need to practise recasting it – in the water,” Henri pointed out. “It might be the water pressure affecting it. We ought to test it at different depths, but they cordoned off the deeper part… we can’t test the Decompression Charm to protect against the bends… So you need to stop…” Henri had scuba-dived recreationally before in the Bahamas. A miscalculation nearly killed him. His uncle had to Emergency Portkey him out to St Kitts for treatment before he was crippled.
“Well, that proves that the task will be held there. At least…” Miranda shrugged. She was bundled up in her warmest cloak on the shore. It was freezing cold out. Justin came over with a large flask of hot chocolate and mugs. He was accompanied by Theo Nott and Anthony Goldstein.
“Spying on us for Cedric?” Miranda teased.
“Nah, Tony wants to see the Kelpie,” Justin replied. “I hear from Susan Bones Cedric’s going with the Bubblehead Charm too. He’s got the warm and cosy Perfect’s Bathroom to mess about in, with his lovely girlfriend I must add. Marie Nettleby’s miffed the other prefects can’t use it with those two in there. Crabbe and Goyle were with us… until they ran into a Pukwudgie. Didn’t anyone tell them they aren’t house-elves and are liable to take offence if treated rudely?”
“Oh dear, what happened to them?” Miranda frowned. Over by the Durmstrang ship, the students were playing broomstick tag with the Giant Squid. Viktor Krum was zipping between the waving tentacles on his broom, and likely scouting out the lake. If they were lucky, a stray tentacle might knock him into the water… There was no sign of the Beauxbaton Champion Fleur Delacour.
“Sleep-darted. We left them with the groundskeeper. They will wake in an hour or so, right?” Theo replied. He had tried to warn his friends to be nice. At least they close to Hagrid’s warm shack and the half-giant had been glad to help them. Poor Vince and Greg made quite a sight tucked under the large man’s arms like two sacks of potatoes as he carried them into his shack and set them on the hearth rug beside a curious boarhound.
“I heard from Aunt Tina Uncle Newt’s feeling poorly after a meeting with the tournament organizers. No Kelpie riding until spring. Wow, is that her? She’s a beauty!” Anthony cast a Warming Charm on himself before wading into the shallows.
“Steady, girl… He’s a friend…” Harry reassured the Kelpie as she reared at the new arrivals. “Better give Kelly her space.” He took hold of the bridle. He glanced back to the shore to see four more Hogwarts students arriving for a look at the Kelpie – his godbrother Neville, his date from the Ball and the pair of redhead twins.
“Pay up, Nev… I told you Ilvermorny had a pet Kelpie,” one of the twins slapped Neville on the back.
“Technically, she is not a pet. She is an endangered species on loan for teaching purposes…” Harry frowned. The twins were up to something. He could sense it.
“And recovering from a run-in with a No-Maj speedboat. Uncle Newt wants her to build up her strength here before returning her to Loch Ness,” Miranda added.
“My mistake – have a cookie, Nev.” The other twin handed Longbottom a biscuit. When he bit into it, there was a poof. A large canary stood where Neville was. Three seconds later, a dazed Neville was standing in a pile of shed yellow feathers. He was making soft chirping sounds.
“I think we made the charm a bit too strong, Forge…”
“Back to the drawing board, Gred… Nev, how do you feel?”
“A bit woozy… Wait, did you just prank me?” The power of human speech had returned to Neville.
“Sorry, mate. We were looking for Ronnikins to test it on but he’s hiding somewhere. We were thinking to leave a plate out for the snakes, but that would be too much work. No hard feelings?” One of the twins grinned. Fred, Harry’s brain supplied.
“Try the library – behind the Transfiguration stacks. The Nargles got him…” Luna dreamily picked up a yellow feather and tucked it behind her ear. She stood on tiptoes to give Neville a peck on the cheek.
Henri helped Harry out of the water. With such a raucous crowd gathered, Kelly had swum off into deeper water. Harry had allowed his Warming Charm to peter out and was now chilled to the bone. Miranda bundled him into a fluffy towel and poured out a mug of hot chocolate for him.
“Cookie?” Fred offered. Harry shook his head. “Come on, we tested them on ourselves and had Professor McGonagall look through the Transfiguration formula… Maybe we can do one that will allow you to breathe underwater.”
“Actually, you can use gillyweed for that…” Neville interjected.
“Thing is, we’d like some help get something back from Mister Padfoot – the Marauders’ Map,” the other twin added.
“Geez, I am not stealing anything from Coach Black.”
“Can’t you persuade him to give it back? I mean, it can’t be much use in Ilvermorny…”
“Maybe after the Tournament…” Harry relented. He could see how the grownups intended to use the map for the remainder of their sojourn in Hogwarts.
“Moody has been in his room all day. Crouch has been visiting him… Oh, is that him in a classroom?” Portia indicated the Marauder’s Map on her worktable. Black had found the map and handed it to Percy. The Marauders were a cheeky bunch. Young Masters Black and Lupin were a far cry from the wizards they would grow into. Well, perhaps not much has changed for Sirius Black. Black and Lupin had already briefed them on the map’s workings and limitations.
“Have you spoken with Crouch about the task? Veela and merfolk – that is a diplomatic explosion in the making,” she lifted the embroidery she had been working on to light pouring in through the window. The window was Charmed to show Little Pottery in spring. That fluttering butterfly on the right looked a little off.
“Sorry, I haven’t seen hide or hair of him since the First Task. He did seem a little peaky. Black insists he was not the type to call in sick. Maybe he really has been ill… Understand that the tasks were set before the Tournament and non-negotiable.” Percy Graves studied the map. A gaggle of names crowded into the classroom. “Wait, is he giving a class?”
Crouch had no business teaching a class. The dot marked ‘Bartemius Crouch’ was walking to and fro in front of a dozen students, including Tony, or Anthony Goldstein II, if one wanted to tell him apart from his grandfather. What was his fellow judge playing at? A niggling thought gnawed at Percy’s mind. He rose from his chair. Portia was already at the Floo, throwing in the Floo Powder and calling out a name.
“Theseus, what do you know about Bartemius Crouch?”
“I agreed to this, but I don’t have to like it…” Sirius scowled as they stepped into the chamber at Gringotts’. If he had his way, one Hogwarts headmaster would be outside, but they needed two British wix of good standing as witnesses to him taking on the Lordship. To his surprise, Dumbledore seemed quite amiable to his taking on the lordship, albeit with strong hints that he ought to return to Britain with his godson. The new laws disqualified his good friend Lupin as a witness by denouncing all werewolves as being of dubious character. That will be the first Bill Black will want to have tossed out. The Chief Warlock will formally present him at the next Wizengamot session in spring. The other witness was his former Head of House. Both his cousins had declined. Pretenders to the Black Lordship had met grisly ends on attempting to claim the title. Inheriting the Black vaults did not translate to succeeding to the title. Despite the unofficial nature of Sirius’ disownment, neither wanted to take the risk that Aunt Wally had somehow completed the process before passing. For that reason, his godson was also absent. He was not going to risk traumatizing Harry if things went south.
“A straightforward process, Mister Black. Just put the ring on and let’s see if you live…” Bloodaxe sneered.
Sirius glared at the Black ring winking at him from its case. Onyx set in gold. His mage-sight showed it shimmering with magic, but not Dark. Taking a deep breath, he lifted it from the velvet cushion it rested on. Magic tingled in his fingertips. The last lord had been his grandfather Arcturus, a large man with thick fingers. Sirius slipped it onto the little finger of his wand hand, as per family tradition. He felt it resizing to fit him perfectly.
Sirius released a breath he had not known he was holding. He looked about the room. Dumbledore was looking sombre. McGonagall was stoic. Remus looked discomfited. Everything seemed, well, normal. The initial hum of magic had faded from the ring. There was no bells or whistles or whatever he was expecting.
“Well, did it work?”
“You are alive, aren’t you, Lord Black?” the goblin smirked. “Now, what will your first order of business be?” The witnesses and other guests were being ushered out by a lesser goblin. What transpired next in the office was private business between Lord Black and his account manager. Dumbledore hesitated but Minerva firmly steered him out. Black noted that she was wearing an agate cameo brooch he had never seen before. The old witch had likely taken Theseus’ advice to heart.
“To reinstate Andromeda Tonks nee Black, and her offspring as members of the House of Black. To bring her, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black and their children under the protection of the House…” Sirius closed his eyes and felt the tingle of family magic reaching out to the witches and their offspring. There would be papers to be signed by both sisters to accept the protection offered.
“Next, we wish to review the marriage contracts of both Narcissa and Bellatrix, as well as their dowry vaults… Narcissa is recently widowed, and Lestrange has conducted himself in a manner that might constitute a violation of contract.” Well, that was a polite way of insinuating that Bellatrix was being pimped out to the Dark Lord by her husband, even if Sirius suspected Bella leapt willingly into his arms. As Lord Black, the welfare of the womenfolk fell under him.
Bloodaxe summoned a ledger and flipped through the pages. He turned pale and let loose a string of invectives in Gobblegook. Lucius Malfoy must have bribed some foolish goblin in the bank to allow him unfettered access to his wife’s vault. If so, heads would roll literally. Even if Narcissa had been refurbishing her wardrobe each season, she could not have exhausted her vault in such a short time. Aunt Dru and Uncle Cygnus were generous with the dowries of the daughters they did not disown. He might set aside a little something for Andi and Dora once things had settled.
“Is something amiss, Sir Goblin?” Sirius asked mildly.
“Apologies, milord, we will need to carry out an inventory, with your permission, of the two vaults. Rest assured due punishment will be dealt…” Bloodaxe had summoned a lesser clerk and issued orders to him. The clerk scurried off. If Bella did hide something nasty in her vault, they would hear of it soon from the goblins.
“Oh, I will wish to offer weregild to Lady Longbottom in recompense for the harm caused to her heir and his lady-wife to be made from Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault…”
“A statement will be sent to you. Do you wish for us write to Acting Regent Augusta Longbottom?”
“That can wait until we have sorted out the inventory, and after we make my Lordship known…” Sirius smiled. With a bow, he took his leave of his account manager after running through some investments he had made on Andi’s behalf. He was not stumbling over the ritual courtesies like he had feared. Maybe his training under his grandfather as a boy had paid off after all. Or it might just be the Black family magic. He should try his hand at removing his mother’s screaming portrait sometime. It might just work.
The three Musketeers had teased the newly minted Lord Black when he returned from Gringotts with his Lordship ring. It had been annoying finding his coffee replaced with Earl Grey tea. Over the years, he had developed a taste for the bitter brew Graves enjoyed. Miranda cheekily asked if he would be switching from Quidditch to the more genteel polo or golf. Not in a million years. He did stop by the Black townhouse to attempt removing the portrait. It failed, then he asked Kreacher if they could move it from the hall to the drawing room. That worked. Kreacher did not seem to like him any better as Lord Black or after his Cleansing. His modern manners must irk the old elf. They agreed that Kreacher should continue caring for the house, which looked marginally better with the Horcrux gone. At the very least, Deep Cleansing would be needed before Cissy and Rigel could move in. Knowing the powerful protective Wards built into the house, Black was reluctant to demolish it and rebuild.
The goblins replied within the week. A Horcrux was found in Bellatrix’s vault. Would Lord Black wish to be present for its destruction? As storing Horcruxes was a violation of the bank’s charter, the contents of the Lestrange family vaults would be confiscated. In recognition of the debt owed to Lord Black alerting them to the threat within, he would receive the remaining contents of Bellatrix’s dowry vault instead of having it forfeited. More than enough to make restitution to the Longbottoms, he hoped. He might not be able to make up for young Neville losing his parents, but at the very least he must ensure the boy could pursue his studies without any financial difficulties. Poor kid seemed to be using Frank’s old wand according to Minnie, and it did not seem to be doing him any favours.
They witnessed the destruction of the Horcrux in Gringotts’ ritual room. Portia insisted that the three Musketeers be allowed to attend in addition to all those involved in the Horcrux hunt. An ICW representative was there to document the item and its destruction. Sir Theseus was present as a representative from the British Ministry of Magic. From Hogwarts, they had invited the deputy headmistress and the potions master to bear witness. Sirius grinned when Snape scowled at his new robes and the Black Lordship ring on his finger. Bitter dungeon bat…
Yet the family magic was prodding him. Something about boyhood wrongs to be put right. A truce to be declared. Snape was no angel, but he was Draco’s godfather in life and friend to Cissy. Sirius sighed. As Lord Black, he was expected to be responsible. He could not turn away a possible ally.
Harry felt slightly ill. Uncle Percy had been training him to use his mage-sight and he could see the darkness choking the inherent good in the Cup. The three Musketeers were to recognize the feel of a Horcrux in the event they should encounter one.
The Cup of Helga Hufflepuff gleamed inside its Stasis Sphere. The goblins carefully lifted the lid off a vat of liquid. A masked, gloved goblin used a pair of tongs to lift the cup from the Sphere and lower it into the liquid – pure Basilisk venom. There was a horrific scream, bubbling and a foul dark smoke, then nothing.
“Do you think he can feel it when we destroy his Horcrux?” Harry asked his godfather. The ICW representative spoke with Portia and Theseus before leaving.
“I doubt it,” Black replied firmly. Another one down. That left two, maybe three out there to be discovered…
“He’s fractured his soul too many times. Losing a piece now, he should not feel it…” Percy added.
“Pity, I was hoping it’d hurt like the blazes,” Harry smiled wanly. “When can we go check out the Hangleton place?”
“Not yet, Harry… Besides, you have the task tomorrow to think of,” Uncle Percy reminded him.
After much consideration, the trio had arrived at the conclusion that the Champions would need to rescue a person rather than an object. Theo’s book on the tournament’s past incarnations suggested that. Hostages and their Champions had perished before in the Rescue task. Not even Uncle Percy knew who the Goblet would choose as Harry’s hostage.
They arrived back at Hogwarts in time for tea. Mira and Henri could take care of themselves. Moreover, they decided to stick together outside the Merry Camper. It was Hermione whom Harry feared for.
Hermione was hopefully safely squirreled away in her dorm given the cold weather. It made her condition act up. The Weasley twins had agreed to watch out for her. After losing Ginny, the brothers had taken Hermione under their wing, almost as a sister. When not ill, her research and theories helped the twins with their inventions. Her Hogwarts’ carer elf was hopeless. Ron suspected that Dobby was likely brain-damaged from working under the Malfoys. British wizarding law had little protection for house elves with abusive masters.
Harry expected to get a good night’s rest before the task. That was when his plans went awry. It all started with a challenge between a Slytherin upper-year and Theo Nott.
Notes:
Sirius Black is now Lord Black. He will be expected to act maturely for the good of his family.
Chapter 20: Midnight at Myrtle’s
Notes:
Needed to go back and correct some continuity errors due to changes from canon. I was debating on whether the Weasleys should get some answers about their missing sister. Hence a new chapter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The RV now sported a bright red coat of paint with black and gold trim, an improvement on previous colour schemes. The grown-ups seemed to have finally sorted out the Colour Charms issue and this paint job was sticking even if Professor Graves claimed it looked like an off-season Santa’s sleigh. Everyone had returned to the Merry Camper by curfew, buzzing with excitement for the coming day’s task. Well, almost everyone. Justin frowned when he glanced at his watch, then at his bunkmate’s empty bed. Theo had gone off with his cousins after dinner and not yet returned. Surely, he could not be the hostage. Not all his former Housemates had taken kindly to his friendship with Muggleborn Justin. Maybe he ought to ask Professor Graves for help… Or will Theo get in trouble for being out after curfew? Henri and Harry were just stumbling in after being dismissed from the student lounge. Here goes nothing….
“Harry, Henri, Theo’s missing. It’s not like him to stay out late…” Justin blurted.
“Gee, maybe he’s staying the night with his cousins…” Harry suggested.
“Is there any way we can ask someone to check?” Justin asked. “Like Coach Black?”
“I can check with my godpa…” Harry agreed.
They found Coach Black in the RV’s staff lounge. Black ordered them to stay put while he fetched the Marauder’s Map. They quickly found the dot marked Theodore Nott in a bathroom – Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. The dot was motionless.
“I-is he alright?” Justin asked.
“Well, he’s alive, but possibly hurt…”
They had to check on Nott. Black closed the map, but not before Harry caught a glimpse of the name Bartemius Crouch walking along a corridor. Wasn’t he one of the organizers? Perhaps they were meeting the judges at Hogwarts before the next task. They had not seen Uncle Percy after lunch…
“Can I come along, please, Uncle Pads? I mean, you did say you wanted to show me the castle’s hidden passages…” Harry wheedled. Black laughed and ruffled his hair.
“Well, I’ll need someone to help me with Theo. Justin, you coming?” he turned his attention to Justin.
“Of course, Theo’s my friend…”
“I’ll go inform Madam Lucia she might have a patient…” Henri volunteered.
“Good, let’s go, lads!” Black grinned. It had been a long while since Padfoot prowled the halls of Hogwarts out for adventure.
Someone had Petrified Theo Nott. The hapless boy had been lured to the bathroom with a love letter purportedly from his Yule Ball date where he was nailed with a Petrification Hex to the back. A note naming him as a blood traitor had been stuck to his back. The idiots could not even spell, Black noted that ‘Blood Traitor’ was misspelled as ‘Blood Taitor’. He was slightly hypothermic from having lain in the flooded bathroom. Then it seemed he had also been Hexed with a Babbling Curse. The resident ghost was making snide jabs at the wizards. His patience worn thin, Black yelled at Myrtle to shut up and she went diving down the toilet, sending a geyser of foul-smelling water over the wizards.
“Ew, gross!” Harry groaned. Half-blinded, he stumbled to the sinks. He tried the tap to no avail. Justin was chafing Theo’s hands to warm them up while Black fumbled over a Warming Charm. Harry grumbled as he tried to turn the tap on. Frustrated, he leaned against the sink and yelled.
“Open! You damn… Argh!” He noticed that the tap had a snake design on it before the floor fell away under him.
Black thought he heard a hissing sound. He turned to face his godson in annoyance. They had spoken about not using Parseltongue in Britain given its unfortunate connotations to a certain Dark Lord.
“Eh, Harry? Where did you go?” Instead of a row of identical sinks, there was yawning gap at one end. Blasted secret passages… Black warily approached the opening, wand at the ready. He cast a Lumos and found himself peering down a slide. “Harry?”
“I’m okay...” Harry’s voice echoed back to everyone’s relief.
“Justin, get Theo over to the Hospital Wing and have Madam Pomfrey fetch Madam Lucia,” Black swirled his wand, Summoning a rope from the Ilvermorny RV. Theo should be able to walk a little, but he might need help getting back to the RV. Maybe Pomfrey would let him stay the night. He watched the pair go before tying the rope securely to a sturdy-looking pipe. Then he ventured into the darkness with a Glow-light aloft. The cavern at the end of the slide reeked of stagnant water and rot.
“I look a mess… We better get back before Uncle Percy notices…”
Harry had his own wand lit with a Lumos. His pup was unhurt, if a little slimy. Black cast a Tergeo on the teen and checked him over. Nothing more than a few scrapes and bumps.
“Where’s your sense of adventure, pup? This might be the fabled Chamber of Secrets,” Black joked. His curiosity was piqued by the serpentine decorations on the walls. A little exploration might be due, but not now. They still had a task to attend to tomorrow…
“Let’s get going then… you first…” Black took hold of the rope and urged Harry to go up before him. Harry took hold of the rope, felt it tighten as he started up the slide. He was almost at the top when he heard a snapping sound. The rope went slack.
“Aaieee!” Harry slipped and slid back down. Despite his best efforts, he careened into his godfather. The pipe had given way. To complicate matters, water was now flooding the bathroom and gushing down the slide, forcing both to scramble for dry land. The cavern was slightly drier further in, where there was a surprisingly well-preserved giant snakeskin.
“Basilisk skin… What a prize…” Black murmured. “There got to be another way out.” Then he noticed the skeleton wearing the ragged remains of a Hogwarts robe. A wave of sadness washed over him.
“I think someone didn’t make it…” Harry said sombrely. The gushing water had slowed to a trickle, but they were both drenched to the skin. Their rope had been washed away in the flood and was lost in the centuries of debris and mucky water. They were trapped.
“Patronus. I will send one out for help…” Black grunted as he waved his wand and cast the spell. There was a flash of white from his wand-tip, the merest shape of a hound appeared, then quickly fizzled out. “Sorry, seem to have sprained my wrist. I’ll take another shot… Harry!”
“Expecto Patronum!” Harry had cast his own patronus Charm and a glowing mountain lion was bounding up into the girl’s bathroom with a roar.
“Shouldn’t have done that…” Sirius chided. Casting a Patronus message took a lot out of any wizard, and Harry needed all his resources for the coming task.
Portia was making her rounds of the Merry Camper when she was surprised by her ward’s Patronus. Spelling on her outdoor cloak, she roused Lupin. Henri offered to come along but was firmly denied permission. Together, the grown-ups rushed to the castle. A rescue was quickly carried out with the aid of the deputy headmistress and the groundskeeper. The bedraggled pair were hoisted from the Chamber with the aid of the half-giant. Black requested Aurors be called as they might have discovered the remains of a missing student in the Chamber. He also rolled up the shed Basilisk skin and brought it to the deputy headmistress, discreetly inquiring about Finder’s Law in Britain. Madam Lucia and Madam Pomfrey were called to treat the pair for any injuries despite Harry and Black’s insistence that they were fine.
The healers had deemed it best Theo Nott remained in the Hospital Wing overnight for observation. Black and Potter were relatively unscathed, if filthy from their misadventure in the Chamber. They were allowed to leave with the application of Murtlap Essence and Dittany on their scratches, to guard against any infection. Hagrid agreed to walk Justin back to the RV with a note from Lupin excusing his being out after curfew as it had long lapsed. The resident ghost Myrtle turned up and made a royal pest of herself while Aurors Tonks and Shacklebolt were interviewing Black and Potter.
“It was a red-haired girl with a boy’s voice. Went in and never came up… Thought she might hang around… I get so lonely…” the ghost girl moaned. McGonagall paled at her words. The only redhead in recent history to go missing in Hogwarts was Ginny Weasley, At least the family might have some answers now, if not all.
“Basilisk skin… why, it’s a rare potions ingredient… makes for formidable duelling armour too. A snake that size…” Poppy shuddered. The events of two years ago were still too fresh in the memories of the Hogwarts staff. Even a shed skin was worth its weight in gold. They had rendered the dead serpent but all proceeds from the sale had quickly dried up between the repairs and covering the shortfall in fees from the loss of students and increasing costs.
“I am sure we can work out something with old Snivell- Snape,” Black grinned.
The Potions Master had been looking a little worse for the wear recently. He seriously needed to get his head sorted out. There had been whispers down at the Hog’s Head that Snape had taken to drink after losing his godson. At least Remus was getting his Wolfsbane from Madam Lucia. For now, he was still performing his duties well enough to retain his post both as Slytherin House Head and the resident Potions Master. Black had been there once, eaten by guilt over what happened to James and Lily. He might have drowned himself in a bottle if not for his godson.
If he were honest with himself, he was not looking forward to speaking with Snape. There had always been something about his schoolmate that rubbed him the wrong way.
It was well past midnight when Black and Harry plodded back to the RV for a bath and to snatch whatever sleep remained to them. Justin was already sound asleep, but Henri was still up.
“Harry, what happened up at the castle? Justin was saying things about Aurors, bones, and some secret chamber…”
“Oh, I’ll tell you all about it…” he gave a yawn. “Tomorrow.” His bed felt like a nice comfy cloud. Too comfy perhaps.
In his room, Black studied the Marauders’ Map with Percival Graves and Lupin. Bartemius Crouch and Moody were apparently roommates tonight. Except the Crouch Black knew could barely tolerate Moody before the war turned him all paranoid, and it was unlikely he would grow more tolerant over the years.
“Rescue mission, guv?” Black raised a brow.
“Too risky…” Percival stubbed out his cigarette on the ashtray he had transfigured from a newspaper. He hated to leave a man behind but at least they knew who the imposter was. If they tipped their hand too soon…
“If only we can get someone in Hogwarts to help…”
“House elves?”
“They answer to the headmaster, don’t they? How about McGonagall? We will need a healer on standby too…” It struck Percival as odd that Dumbledore had not suspected anything amiss of Moody. Then again, maybe like Grindelwald once did with the entire MACUSA New York office, the imposter had managed to fool the headmaster. It did not help that the DADA professor was new to the faculty. Bartemius Crouch had not turned up for the penal meeting before the task. The redhead dogsbody Percy Weasley sent apologies on his behalf.
“I’d try speaking to the elves…” Lupin ventured. “He is still teaching…” Moody was a competent DADA tutor at least. It one overlooked his in-your-face demonstrations of the Unforgiveables and questionable discipline methods.
Crouch was known to be staunchly against the Dark Lord. He had levied the heaviest sentences, including sentencing his only son to Azkaban where the boy later died. That decision had cost him dearly. His wife died of a long illness soon after her son did, and Crouch resigned from the DMLE. What would have caused him to act against a former colleague and meddle in the tournament for nefarious purposes?
“Sleep on it. We have early day tomorrow…” Graves advised with a twinge of regret. Black nodded and returned the Map to him before walking him to the door.
The following morning dawned grey with a promise of freezing rain. The Champions were up bright and early, except for one Harry Potter.
“Harry, get a move on already!” Henri roughly shook his friend.
“Just five more minutes…” a muffled voice sounded from under the pillow as the bed’s occupant rolled over. Justin and Henri exchanged looks across the bed. Justin was still in his yellow and black stripped pyjamas while Henri was already dressed in his Ilvermorny uniform ready to face the day.
“Pardone, mon ami… Aquamenti!” Henri barked and pointed his wand at the sleeping figure. Harry gave a yelp and sat up under the onslaught of cold water.
“Krum’s been up doing laps in the lake since six o’clock, off Madam Lucia’s pier. Is Mister Sleepyhead up yet?” Miranda popped her head round the door without knocking.
“I’m getting up! Has Kelly eaten Krum yet?” Harry wiped his face and fumbled for his glasses and wand.
Miranda shook her curls as she flounced into the boy’s room. “Nah. Madam Lucia sent Kelly off so Krum can do his morning exercise. I think she’s a fan. Next morning call’s coming from Auntie Portia and the Pukwudgies…” Harry grumbled and staggered off towards the bathroom. He did not want to find out what methods Pukwudgies used to get students out of bed. Auntie Portia might just Portkey him and his bed to the middle of the Great Hall or the lake. Henri nodded curtly and left the room.
“Oh, Justin, those pyjamas are a fashion crime… makes you look like a walking bumblebee,” Miranda snapped her fingers and transfigured Justin’s pyjamas to a midnight blue with his monogram in silver over the breast. “There, nightclothes fit for a viscount.”
“Gee, thanks…” Justin grinned and grabbed his uniform. He thumped the door of the bathroom.
“Harry, do hurry up! I still need to change. And I am not stripping to my boxers in front of a lady.”
“Sorry, tummy ache!” Harry whined. Miranda voluntarily left the room and joined the rest of the Ilvermorny students already making their way up to the castle for breakfast. That allowed Justin to change into his uniform before Aunt Portia knocked on their door to check if Harry was ready for breakfast yet.
Notes:
Harry will not be performing at his best for the task ahead given the late night he had.
Chapter 21: The Black Lake
Notes:
The Second Task. Some lines are crossed for better or worse. I am making some changes to the hostages and how they were selected.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Champions knew what was coming, but it did not prepare them for the shock. Historically, the tournament included a rescue. They had hoped that with the changes to make it safer… Well, they should have expected it. The First Task was dragons after all, with the Welsh Green being diverted from her transfer to make up the shortfall. One would expect the judges to be better prepared. Families of the Champions were invited to watch them at the tasks.
Harry found Justin and Theo in the Great Hall, with Theo’s cousin. Both Ilvermorny and one Durmstrang student had joined the Gryffindor table for breakfast. Cousin Maksim had draped his fur-lined cloak over his cousin as Theo was still suffering from the night before. News of Theo’s misadventure had spread at breakfast, A concerned Cousin Maksim had gone looking for his younger cousin. Madam Pomfrey had strongly advised Theo against viewing the Second Task given the weather, but Theo insisted on supporting Harry. Justin agreed to help Theo with his Warming Charms and get him indoors if the weather turned rainy.
Viktor Krum’s grandmother had come to support her grandson and had gone missing. The Beauxbaton headmistress was busy reassuring Fleur’s parents. Their younger daughter had gone missing in the night. No one from the Ilvermorny delegation was missing. Coach Black and Lupin conducted roll calls in the morning, just to make sure anyone who wandered off into the Forbidden Forest came back, Black added half-jestingly. Professor Graves had reminded all the students that anyone caught out in the forest without permission will scrub cauldrons sans magic for the rest of the term.
Harry’s heart sank when he did not see Hermione at the breakfast table. Was she ill again? He also noticed that not a single Weasley was in sight and that their Head of House was missing from the High Table. It figured that with last night’s discovery… Harry stifled a yawn. He was exhausted. He caught sight of Mira slipping out the side door. He headed towards the Gryffindor Tower and ran into a flustered-looking Neville and two Gryffindor girls their age.
“Hermione’s missing, Harry…” Neville said. “Lavender and Parvati have not seen her since last night… She’s not in the Hospital Wing or library. You don’t suppose…”
“We’d have to save her then… and the other hostages…” Harry replied grimly. His stomach was twisting painfully. Forget breakfast. Fleur was in tears and was being consoled by her friends. Viktor had thrown a punch at his headmaster and was being magically restrained by a pair of Aurors. He had apparently discovered his grandmother’s disappearance after returning from his morning swim. The Ravenclaw table was abuzz. One of their number had vanished in the night from her bed. Professor Flitwick was appealing for calm.
“It’s all my fault…” Cedric murmured as he pushed away his bowl of oatmeal untouched. “I was thinking of asking her out…”
“Her birthday is today. I was thinking what to get her… Gabby’s just a little girl!” Fleur wailed in French. Viktor was yelling in Bulgarian at his headmaster.
“Oh boy, Krum’s ticked off. His Baba should never have travelled here… She’s very old, and ill… Cousin Maksim thinks Karakoff allowed her to come watch the Second Task as he didn’t want to risk Sonya Ivanova Vladimsky being chosen as the hostage. Her father is on the Durmstrang committee of governors…” Theo added in a whisper. “Mira’s gone scouting. I think she was expecting something like this to happen…”
“Bubblehead Charms only?” Percival Graves glared at Bagman, who shrugged. Percival Graves hated the part he was required to play. The Tasks set for the Tournament could not be altered and the Goblet’s magic had chosen the luckless hostages. Mister Crouch was absent again, leaving one Percy Weasley to cover his duties with Bagman. The young man was out of his depth and floundering. Graves wondered if anyone had told him about last night’s discovery yet. It might take some time to confirm whose remains were in the Chamber…
The hostages had been placed under a Stasis Spell by the Goblet’s magic, to awake at the end of the task. That was what concerned Graves. The Bubblehead Head Charm would need to last for more than hour. If they were still in the lake’s depths when the Stasis Spell wore off, they could drown. Dumbledore had sworn that the merfolk would bring them back to shore if their Champions failed…
He ran a scan over the hostages. Magic had snatched them in the night. All save one were in their nightwear, which provided little protection against the freezing lake waters. Warming Charms should be cast on them. Miss Granger had not changed for bed yet, but she wore her heavy leg braces. Rescuing her would be difficult. The oldest was Vera Krum, ninety-seven and suffering from a chronic lung ailment. Catching a chill could be the death of her. The youngest was a quarter-Veela child not even old enough for school. The merfolk had already expressed their unhappiness about hosting a Veela in their village, even for an hour. Dumbledore was trying to calm the merchieftainess by the llake.
“Monsieur and Madame Delacour weren’t expecting zer daughter to be taken…” Maxime entered the tent where the hostages were held with an armful of robes. She cast a spell to add the robes over the three witches in their nightwear, for modesty’s sake. Miss Granger was still in her full school robes and had probably been caught up studying late. Percival nodded approval and cast Warming Charms on the hostages. They could not remove Granger’s leg braces. The magic would not allow it. They cast the Bubblehead Charms last since they tend to be the first to go.
“They are not happy, but they have sworn that the hostages will come to no harm in their village…” Dumbledore announced. “Will those projection things work?”
“We first used them in MACUSA for viewing the Walk of the Qilin, sir. Our technowizards have improved the Charms since…” Percival smiled. “It would not be fair to have the audience watch the lake’s surface guessing what is happening below…” The projection screens were a new addition to the tournament courtesy of MACUSA, and at Portia’s prompting.
“May I also suggest having gillyweed on hand, to be distributed to the Champions in event of the hostages encountering any difficulties?” Graves suggested aloud. He knew his suggestion would be shot down, but it was his right to voice his concerns. His concerns about Professor Moody and Mister Crouch had been dismissed by Dumbledore as unfounded. Short of locking the former Auror in a cell and relieving him of his flask, there was nothing they could do to prove their suspicions.
Nice Disillusionment. Points to Thunderbird. Graves switched to his mage-sight to witness Miranda Graves scrambling away from the tent. He had recognized her magical signature oozing off the robes – a Tracking Charm and a Fitting Spell. If anyone needed a robe at short notice, it would be likely be from Miranda’s collection. If the French headmistress had not been so distracted, she might have noticed the Tracking Charm.
“Why you be asking me for gillyweed?” Madam Lucia asked in Parseltongue. After Miranda's return, they had raced to Madam Lucia's shack. The healer used it in some of her salves.
“For the hostages, ma’am…” Harry replied. He would need to join the other Champions at the lake soon. Miranda had returned with the news as soon as she could about the task, but time was short. He explained as concisely as he could the task ahead.
“Shoulda save some for yourself… have enough for four doses,” the White Priestess warned as she rummaged through her shelves and found a jar. “Use only when needed. Take an hour to wear off… mebbe less in dem cold water.”
“Harry, take the whistle… Remember Kelly is your friend… Now go, brother,” Henri took the whistle from around his neck and passed it to Harry.
“Merci, Henri…” Harry prayed that he would not need to use the gillyweed or whistle. He ran off to join the rest of the Champions at the lakeside. He found them already waiting in their swimwear.
“Vere have you run off to?” Viktor had calmed down after his scene at breakfast, but he was gruffer than usual. He was the only one wearing swim trunks. The remaining Champions had secured wetsuits from the Ilvermorny delegation’s resourceful Miranda Graves. Fleur’s was the same shade as her blue uniform. Cedric was in Hufflepuff colours, and reminded Harry of a bee.
“Here, gillyweed. In case…” Harry panted as he changed into his own wetsuit, which was a shocking bright cranberry red. Thanks, Mira. Next time, I will pack my own.
“Baba’s allergic… I vouldn’t need it…” Viktor was trying to sound confident, but Harry could see how he nervously clenched and unclenched his fists as he looked out over the water.
“It doesn’t work for us with Veela blood.” Fleur shook her head. Even before entering the water, the cold air was affecting her. Her lips were bluish. She cast a Warming Charm on herself.
Only Cedric took two sprigs from Harry and pocketed them in his wetsuit pouch, just as the bell for the start of the event sounded.
Harry cast the Bubblehead Charm and dove into the water once the whistle sounded. Viktor had partially transfigured himself into a shark and was streaking ahead of the pack. Fleur was lagging while Cedric was matching Harry stroke for stroke. They got tangled in a patch of Strangle-weed but managed to free themselves. The merfolk’s village was in the depths of the lake. Harry cast a Lumos to see into the murky darkness. The lake bottom was thick with weeds and silt. Where was it?
They had already been in the water for thirty minutes. He was surprised to see a Hogwarts student float by. Hermione? No, it was the ghost from the girls’ bathroom. She was pointing him and Cedric in the direction of the village.
Three hostages were tethered to a post in the village centre. Krum had already rescued his granny and fled for the surface. They could not blame him given the old witch’s poor health. Harry’s Bubblehead Charm was still holding. He could see the hostages also had the bubble of air around their heads, but their Charms were already wearing thin. Where’s Fleur?
Cedric had caught up and was untying Cho Chang. Harry took a while longer to free Hermione as the rope kept getting caught on her leg braces. Still no Fleur. The little girl’s Bubblehead Charm was looking thinner than it should.
Blasted Grindylows! Harry swatted a tiny water demon off the Veela child’s bubble. The mermen assigned to watch the hostages were ignoring the danger posed by the pests. Harry swatted another Grindylow that was starting to gnaw on his bubble. Cedric cast a Revulsion Jinx to help Harry chase off the creatures. He held Cho close to him to keep her from drifting away in the current. He motioned to Harry that they should go. Their hour was almost up. Harry reached for the last hostage’s tether, but a merman pointed his spear at him.
“Take yours, no one else’s…” The guard swung the spear dangerously close to the hostages’ bubbles. Harry held up his hands. Cedric and Cho were already heading for the surface, kicking free of a swarm of Grindylows that had emerged from nowhere and were giving vicious chase to the pair.
“Gabrielle!” Fleur swam weakly into view. Her side was bleeding. The witch was at the end of her strength. Whatever had delayed her had wounded her badly.
“What happened?” Harry asked as he pressed his bubble against hers to communicate. He did not know if healing spells would work at depth.
“J-jellyfish…” she gasped and worked clumsily at freeing her sister. Harry handed her a sharp rock to cut the tether seeing her hands were too badly stung to undo the knot. Hermione’s bubble was dangerously thin now. He cast a fresh Bubblehead Charm on Hermione before shouldering her dead weight. The hostages were starting to stir as the Stasis Spell ran out. They were almost out of time. Fleur took her sister and started kicking for the surface.
Harry’s Bubblehead charm was too thin for his liking, but he was getting exhausted from using his magic and the cold which had seeped into his wetsuit. Hermione’s eyes fluttered open.
Harry? What- Are we in the lake? She mouthed as she glanced about in confusion. Harry pressed the gillyweed into her hand and motioned for her to swallow it if her bubble pops. She nodded. Harry tried casting a Featherlight Charm, but it would not take. Hermione could not swim. He had to drag her weight along. Her hands were too cold to remove the braces weighing her down. They heard a distant scream.
Viktor was first to surface and return to the platform with his Baba. Madam Pomfrey quickly wrapped Baba Krum up in a Drying blanket and whisked her away from the cold. The Warming Charms had been shed the moment they broke the surface, leaving the confused grandmother shivering like a leaf in her sodden clothes. Diggory and Cho were the next pair to emerge. They managed to cast Warming and Drying Charms on themselves. Diggory had suffered minor Grindylow bites that needed treatment.
“Time’s not yet up! There should be five more minutes!” Graves shouted when they saw from the projection screen that the remaining hostages were waking up. Something had gone wrong with the task parameters. To make matters worse, the smell of blood had drawn the attention of a pack of Grindylows now surrounding the Delacour sisters.
Lord Black tried to dive into the lake but was held back by Lupin. Time was not yet up for the task. To interfere now risked one’s magic and that of the Champions. The audience could see Fleur Delacour trying to fight off the frenzied Grindylows. One water demon snatched the Beauxbaton Champion’s wand from her. Then little Gabrielle’s bubble popped. Madame Delacour fainted into her husband’s arms.
Notes:
A bit of cliff-hanger for now. Seriously, in canon, they had a laissez-faire attitude to child safety in the Wizarding World. Leaving minors in a Scottish lake in February for sport?
Chapter 22: To Ride a Kelpie
Summary:
The Second Task goes awry. Harry ends up rescuing more than he expects.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry turned at the sound of a scream that was cut off halfway. Hermione grabbed his shoulder and pointed at the Grindylow swarm. The creatures had separated Gabrielle from her sister and were carrying her limp form into the depths. What should they do? There was no sign of any rescue forthcoming from the mer-village. Hermione had her wand still, tucked in a pocket of her school-robes. She fished it out and tried to use it to cast a Featherlight Charm on herself. It did not work. Her wand was still bound by the tournament rules. She was tiring and sinking fast. She motioned for Harry to leave her and go save the little girl. Harry’s bubble was also thinning. He might run out of air before he could return for Hermione. His hand brushed against the whistle around his neck. He grabbed it.
Kelly! Harry silently pleaded as he took a deep breath and blew a shrill blast. His bubble popped. He was going to drown. The surface was too far away. Hermione grabbed him and pulled him into her air bubble. He felt her breath on his face.
“You’re not going to die, Harry… No one is…” she sounded fierce. Harry held her and started kicking upwards. He could not see where the sisters were now. He needed to be in shallower waters to cast a fresh Bubblehead Charm on himself to counter the pressure.
Kelly neighed as she swam into view, curiously nosing Harry and Hermione. The Kelpie dove and came up under the pair, lifting them up to the surface as they clung to her reedy mane. When they were almost at the surface, Harry pulled out of Hermione’s bubble and recast the Bubblehead Charm on himself. He had spotted the blue of Fleur’s wetsuit. The part-Veela had fought free of the swarm and was diving after her sister.
“Take her up, girl.” Harry whispered, patted the Kelpie, and let go, diving down after the sisters. Black and Lupin were waiting at the platform to grab Hermione off the Kelpie when she emerged. The Bubblehead Charm had worn off. Auror Tonks grabbed the bridle of the water-horse and made soothing noises to calm the creature down. Hermione spluttered as she landed on the platform with a thud. Then her eyes rolled back. She started fitting in front of her rescuers.
Viscous buggers! Harry cursed as fired another Revulsion Jinx at the Grindylows. There were larger ones coming from the depths, never seen before in the shallows. Fleur no longer had the strength to go on the offensive. They had snatched Gabrielle back, but she had been without air for at least three minutes. It was now a race to the surface. Fleur hugged her sister close as she kicked for the surface. Harry covered their retreat. The hour was up, but it no longer mattered. They were fighting to survive now. A large Grindylow smacked onto his bubble and started digging its claws in. Harry knew if this bubble popped, he could not cast a new one. He was exhausted. He reached for his remaining gillyweed. To his horror, he found that it had fallen out of his torn wetsuit. The water-demon was gnawing on his bubble, and he could not pry it off. Harry reached for the whistle again. Fleur was starting to slow. They would not make the surface in time.
Kelly, come! The Kelpie tore free of Auror Tonks’ grip. She dove and circled Harry, delicately nipping the stubborn Grindylow off and chomping it down for a snack. Harry’s bubble popped as he took one last breath of air. He straddled the Kelpie and took hold of her bridle, bringing her round to Fleur and motioning for her to get on with her sister. They raced for the lake surface. Black spots started appearing at the edges of Harry’s vision. His lungs were on fire. Just a few more feet… He was blacking out…
“Harry!” Black shouted. The Kelpie broke free of the surface in a leap which unfortunately sent her riders flying.
“Arresto Momentum!” Fleur gasped as she made a desperate attempt to save her sister and fellow Champion without a wand. The wandless spell caught the little girl, just barely. Fleur clipped the edge of the platform and would have fallen back in if not for Graves yanking her to safety by the back of her wetsuit. She had injured and possibly broken her wrist.
Harry ended up back in the lake. His godfather dove in after him while the Kelpie circled him protectively, deterring any further Grindylows from attacking. The press and audience were going crazy. Madam Pomfrey was already working on the unconscious Gabrielle, leaving Graves to render emergency first aid to the French Champion. Madam Lucia was working to control Miss Granger’s fit. One of the Hogwarts professors, a middle-aged black witch, had dragged their Potions Master from whichever hole he was hiding in. Black thought Snape looked a little worse for the wear. They would need to administer an antidote for the Grindylow bites. It was a disaster.
“Rennervate!” Black whispered after laying Harry on the platform with Lupin’s help. No response. Harry’s core was likely spent from the night before…
“Need to get the water out first…” Lupin pressed on the boy’s chest and cast a spell to aspire any fluid from his lungs. Harry coughed out a flood of lake water. His eyes flickered open, just barely.
“Hiya, Pads… How’s Herm…” He blacked out again.
Snape’s mind was awhirl although he kept his face an inscrutable mask. The damned tournament was proving to be a lot more deadly than Dumbledore expected. Black was shouting for help as he held his godson in his arms. Lupin tried to cast a Rennervate but his wand arm was shaking too much. The mediwitches from Ilvermorny and Hogwarts were running over.
“Well, I suppose that is the end for those two Champions…” Igor smirked at his elbow. His Champion was glaring at him from the platform amidst the pandemonium. Snape could sense the anger rolling off the young man like an incoming storm. Not good.
Emotions bypassing logical thought. Snape felt the weight of the missive in his robe. Hand-delivered by a sullen house-elf escorted by the Slytherin head-elf. Black’s, or rather, Lord Black’s. A formal offer of apology to be made in person, along with an offer of alliance. To cap things off, he had included a request from Narcissa to stand as godfather to her surviving son. As if Snape had not failed one godson already…
A dark tunnel, lit solely by his Lumos. The heavy smell of earth around him. The Shrieking Shack. The monster at the end of the tunnel intent on ripping out his throat before Potter yanked him to safety.
The headmaster had sworn him to secrecy afterwards about Lupin’s furry problem. Black got the merest slap on the wrist for attempting to kill him. The headmaster had Black apologize – a mealy-mouthed, grudging apology extracted with threats to inform the elder Potters who now stood as guardian to Sirius Black. He had never thought about it back then why the elder Potters were acting as guardian to a Black. The Blacks in Slytherin were close-mouthed about what went on behind closed doors, as was the norm for so many of their peers. Only the brash Sirius would openly denounce his family’s traditions. Then there was that Life-debt which James Potter never pursued, no doubt at the headmaster’s urging.
The vindictive side of him wanted to swat aside the olive branch offered. The pragmatic side wanted to suss out Lord Black. Had he truly changed, repented? Portia had suggested as much, as did the seemingly forever sombre Graves.
Snape watched as the wounded were quickly Portkeyed to the Hospital Wing. Black ran past him, slipping seamlessly into his animagus form of a black dog. The judges were conferring about the scores. Snape walked away in the direction of the castle. Poppy would need all the help she could get. As for Lord Black, he would think on it further before penning a reply.
Harry awoke in a warm bed in Hogwarts’ Hospital Wing. He felt all woozy. He sat up. His godfather was slouched in a chair by his bed. Night had fallen, with a late blizzard howling outside the window. He groped for his glasses and put them on. He recognized a crestfallen Krum sitting by the bedside of his grandmother. The old witch’s breathing was laboured. Little Gabrielle was swamped in her bedcovers, but she was alive. A beautiful blond woman who could only be her mother stroked her hair. Fleur was in the next bed, slathered in healing salve. Hermione was in another bed, looking decidedly glum. It seemed only Diggory’s hostage had emerged relatively unscathed from the task.
“Pads, how’s everyone…” Harry nudged his godfather, who only gave a snort. Someone swept in a billowing black cape.
“Ah, Potter. You’re awake. I trust you must be hungry…” Snape smirked as the boy’s tummy rumbled.
“Yes, sir. Could you please send word to Uncle Percy and Auntie Portia that I’m alright?” Harry groaned. He felt sore and hungry. He had burned up a lot of magic. Professor Snape summoned a tray of gruel and beef tea from the kitchens. There were potions to be restocked for Poppy.
“Shouldn’t he have something more filling? Roast beef and mash perhaps?” Black was awake now.
“Only if you want him sick,” Snape replied. “It has been two days since he last ate… We’ve already spelled in the Core-Stabilising potions. If Poppy’s not back from St Mungo’s in an hour, you are leaving this ward. No arguments.”
“Two days? How did the task go?”
“Krum got back first, followed by Diggory. Technically you and Miss Delacour failed the task, but the judges gave bonus points for your rescue of your fellow competitor and her hostage, so that places you in front of Diggory…” Black explained.
“How’s Kelly? When will Professor Newt have the Kelpie lesson?”
“Oh, you missed it. Professor Newt had the Kelpie lesson yesterday. He’s treating Kelly for a tummyache. Poor girl was feasting on Grindylows like candy after the task. The merpeople are pissed at losing their livestock. Dumbledore agreed to have her removed from the lake. Henri and Mira have gone to say goodbye to her and thank her for saving you.”
“Why didn’t the merpeople help us when the time ran out?” Harry asked.
“Technicality. They guaranteed the headmaster the safe return of any hostage still in their village, but you have left by then. Plus, larger Grindylows do feed on the occasional humans,” Snape grinned unpleasantly. Harry put aside his half-empty bowl of gruel.
“What a mess,” Black whispered. “We almost lost Gabrielle. No heartbeat and as cold as ice when they got her out. Thank goodness Madam Lucia managed to revive her. Hermione had a fit on the platform. Seems there is some lingering poison in her triggered by exposure to the lake’s natural magic. Madam Lucia and Madam Pomfrey have gone to St Mungo’s to discuss her treatment, as well as arrange for Baba Krum’s transfer. Granny has taken a chill to the lungs from being in the lake and is not doing well…”
“Black, let the patient rest…” Snape said dryly. His eyes met Black’s. A telltale tic in Lord Black’s jaw as his meagre Occlumency shields tried to reassert themselves. Snape allowed himself a small smile. They had a tenacious truce, but Black still doubted his loyalty and had no wish to allow him that reassurance. With his standard of Occlumency, Black would do better using his Animagus form and mind to guard against any attacks by a Legilimens.
“Oh, I’m not so crass as to poke about that cesspit that is your mind…” Snape rebuked. Unlike a certain headmaster….
“Seriously, Sniv – Snape, I am surprised you still have that tongue of yours…” Black parried. Under the terms of their truce overseen by Portia Potter-Graves, they were forbidden to draw wands on each other or strike each other physically, but the witch had kindly allowed a loophole pertaining to the trading of barbs. And the pair had made full use of it.
The Floo flared. Poppy was back, to Snape’s relief. He had no wish to oversee the Hospital Wing with its elves and patients for the rest of the night. He took his leave of the ward. Those potions would not brew themselves. Poppy did not return alone. She had brought a healer from St Mungo’s. The pair of healers - senior healers judging by the badges on their robes, started casting diagnostic spells over Baba Krum. Harry thought it did not look good. True enough, the Hogwarts mediwitch had a quiet word with Viktor before they Portkeyed his grandmother, bed and all to St Mungo’s where hopefully, the old witch would have access to stronger spells to strengthen her lungs.
The healers next turned to Hermione. They shook their heads as they ran the scans. Her magical core was so low she was a step away from being a squib. Harry could see the glowing scan results from his bed. Harry felt awful when the girl burst into tears. He wanted to walk over and hug her, but that might be too presumptuous of him. Instead, he Summoned his wand, half-buried under the stack of get-well cards received from his Ilvermorny school mates. A quick Orchideaous and Wingardium Leviosa later, Hermione was staring at a bouquet of pink and white striped roses. I’m sorry, Harry mouthed when she looked up at him. Blinking away her tears, she replied with a shy smile.
Then all too soon, a Portkey was dropped in her lap and activated. Both healers, the bed and its occupant Hermione Granger were gone.
Notes:
I just could not write a full scene with Black and Snape airing out their differences without it turning into a Hex or punch fest, even with someone acting as mediator. So, I am leaving them with a tentative truce. They still have ill feelings over their past but are forced to work together out of necessity.
Chapter 23: Little Hangleton
Summary:
Somehow this version of Harry is turning out not to be as mature as I hoped, especially when there are grown-ups around to protect him from worst of the happenings at Hogwarts, the tournament and do most of the heavy work when it comes to Horcrux hunting. This Harry just wants to a regular guy and has no drive to excel. He is dangerously on the edge of a spoilt rich brat territory and he knows he can charm some of his family some of the time.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Aunt Portia… I want to talk,” Harry rapped on the door of his guardian’s suite in the RV. A frowning Trixie had informed Master Harry that Mistress Portia was taking tea with Professor Graves and Lord Black.
“Gracious, child. Should you even be out of bed?” Portia exclaimed when she opened the door.
“I want to be in on whether you are planning.”
“Your job, boy, is to survive this tournament,” Uncle Percy harumphed.
“I am fourteen! And not a child!” Harry protested.
“Well, you are technically underage…” His godfather rubbed his eyes. There were dark circles under them. Unbeknownst to Harry, Black and Graves had returned to the Chamber of Secrets while he was recovering in the Hospital Wing in hopes that Voldemort had hidden one of his Horcruxes there. They had come up empty. Their next course of action was to have a Parselmouth join them in canvassing the Chamber in hopes of uncovering any hidden rooms they might have missed. Graves wanted an adult – Madam Lucia, while Black felt Harry should have the honour. Then there was the issue of whether they could rescue Moody and capture Crouch or whoever the imposter was. Dumbledore refused to entertain the suspicions unless he had a chance to speak with Harry in private and Portia’s reply to that was blistering. Due to privacy concerns, Minerva could not enter her colleague’s room without an invitation and given this was supposedly paranoid Moody, no one wanted to test his defences.
“Not where the Goblet is concerned. The tournament was open only to wix of age, right?”
“The Goblet was compromised somehow…” Sirius protested. “Leave the Horcrux Hunting to us grown-ups…”
“Actually, young Harry might have a point. In medieval times, a young noble would start his training as a page at seven, become a squire at fourteen and be recognized as a knight at twenty-one. It would not be amiss for a wix of that era to be pursuing a mastery as an adult by fourteen… but what brought about this, Harry?” Portia ushered the teen in and sat him down in a chair.
“Hermione got hurt because of me…” Harry replied. “I don’t want anyone else to be hurt.”
“There should be only the labyrinth task left. No more hostages,” Percy said dourly. Anything could go wrong in the task given how all the safety measures had failed.
“Krum is ahead. You are tied with Diggory now… As for Mademoiselle Delacour…” Fleur Delacour had lost her wand in the second task. Yet the magic of the Goblet was still forcing her to compete. The Delacour family found that out when the Beauxbatons delegation tried to leave Britain. The poor girl was stricken with severe pains that only eased when their coach returned to Hogwarts. This turn of events had shocked all the judges as the loss of a wand should mean automatic disqualification. The shaken Champion now had an appointment with Ollivander to weigh her replacement wand, borrowed from her mother.
The British Department of Mysteries were waiting to get their hands on the Goblet to figure out what went so wrong. All the safeguards that Crouch should have written into the contract had gone awry, and the wizard himself was nowhere to be found. Theseus had gone directly to the Minister’s Undersecretary requesting a copy of the contract that was approved. She had only recently got back to him and to everyone’s horror, the safeguards that were written in the contract were not recorded in the Goblet. At least for the labyrinth task, it was unlikely that anyone would be able to sneak in a minotaur as all the creatures in the maze would be provided by the host. The panel had gone over the list of creatures with their handlers.
“Uncle Percy, I want to do more… This lunatic is gunning for me, right? He killed my mom and dad…” Harry stifled a sob. Portia’s heart melted.
“Oh, Harry…” she hugged her ward. Percy rolled his eyes as Harry smiled sweetly over Auntie Portia’s shoulder. The poor little boy act was getting old where Percy Graves was concerned.
“Say, pup… do you want to visit your little girlfriend in St Mungo’s?” Black coughed. If Harry was pulling the poor kid act, he must really want to be involved. Plus, he had come alone without Mira or Henri. The pair would tease him otherwise.
“Yes, please…” Harry replied. “How’s she?”
“Magical exhaustion. Madam Lucia is giving a second opinion… A wonder that her parents didn’t pull her out of school…” Percy growled and reached for another cigarette before thinking the better of it.
“The Ministry Education Decree. They made it compulsory for all magical children in Britain and Ireland to attend Hogwarts after the Basilisk incident, unless you can pay a hefty fee to transfer out or get exemption for homeschooling. That was to stop Hogwarts from having to close due to insufficient students. Incidentally, this means most Muggleborns have no other options unless their parents are multimillionaires like the Finch-Fletcheys… or risk losing custody of their children for truancy,” Sirius Black explained. The entire lordship thing was hard work. Some of his Wizengamot colleagues had pointed out that Harry Potter should be returned to Britain to comply with the decree. No one is going to press the issue until after the Triwizard Tournament and Potter’s diplomatic status expires.
“I had a chance to speak with the Grangers. No one told them of any other magical hospitals other than St Mungo’s. Which honestly, is well behind the times…” Portia added. Most newblood families in Britain seemed to be entirely clueless on their rights and options.
“Hermione is better, isn’t she?” Harry pressed.
“Well, not quite… I’ll be honest. Madam Lucia notes her magical core is low,” Black responded.
“Then we should ask Madam Lucia to treat her. Take her to New Orleans or some other hospital!” Harry exclaimed. “When can we go visit?”
“Theseus, why did I allow you to talk me into this?” Percival Graves grumbled as he plodded through the slush. Portia would have a fit if she knew they were out in this foul weather, even if the snow had stopped falling. They were going behind Portia’s back while she and Black were taking Harry to visit his friend in St Mungo’s. Portia would also be assisting the Grangers in obtaining magical treatment for their daughter.
“Because we are not leaving the young ones to come stumbling over whatever is in there…” Theseus Scamander tilted his chin at the derelict Gaunt shack. They had no time for any protective rituals when Graves informed them that Harry would be away. Graves would have preferred having Tina about to back them up, but she had other matters to attend to.
“Anything odd, Lupin?” It was two days before a full moon and the wolf was ascendent. Remus sniffed the air. The place looked abandoned. It smelled abandoned too. The old Riddle house loomed on a slight rise above the ruins of the shack.
“Reeks of magic – bad magic…” Remus’ eyes darted from the shack to the manor house. After mingling with American werewolves, he was more aware of his wolf instincts. Right now, they were screaming at him to run. He had approached his former professor with their suspicions about Moody. Dumbledore insisted he must have been mistaken. There were other potions that used stewed lacewings, often used to treat ailments of a socially embarrassing nature. As for the Map, it must be faulty – he had been a student when he created it with his fellows.
Mister Crouch was known for being against Voldemort, enough to send his only son to Azkaban where junior died. If for some reason… Remus shook his head. He needed to be alert, to guard the backs of the two older wix.
Theseus took out the runestones provided by the goblins as they neared the shack. Percival switched to his mage-sight to better see the lines of magical power. It had been a while since either of them were active Aurors. Now for the second time in their lives, they were out to thwart a Dark Lord. They had no wives or dependants to worry about. It was better this way should anything happen. There were several Curses which Graves and Theseus deftly dismantled. They posed no obstacle to two experienced former Aurors. Lupin pitched in where needed. They should complete their task and be back for dinner before anyone missed them.
Hermione was leaving for the States. Madam Lucia had discovered a rare magical parasite left from the troll attack in her which St Mungo’s had overlooked. To be fair, it was a species more commonly seen in the American sasquatch rather than European trolls. The troll might have picked it up in the illegal critter market. Left untreated for close to three years, it had already spread to her core and was draining her magic. They needed to act soon before it turned her squib. Only the specialist healers in New Orleans could carry out the operation to save her magic. The Grangers had been informed as far as possible under the Statutes of Secrecy. Portia Potter-Graves had volunteered to stand as Hermione’s magical guardian in the States. She promised to be back for the final task, once she had set things up for the Grangers.
“You will be leaving on Tuesday then…” Harry fought to keep the disappointment from his voice. Hermione bit her lower lip and nodded. Harry moved closer but a cough distracted him. The headmaster had allowed Granger’s friends to visit her in St Mungo’s, to say goodbye before she left.
The Weasleys had returned after the second task, after they had buried their little sister. Ron Weasley glared daggers at Harry across the room. His godfather and the twins had left the room to allow them some privacy. Harry only wished Ron could take the hint.
Harry sighed. After the tournament, he would return to Ilvermorny. After her treatment, it was likely Hermione would return to Hogwarts if her magic still allowed. Otherwise, she would return to the Muggle world a squib though physically hale. He had his share of puppy love before, but never had he felt so… She was smart and witty, when not ill. He felt comfortable with her, yet it was a different feeling from when he was hanging out with Mira. Mira was like that annoying kid sister at times. Did Ron Weasley fancy Hermione, or was it some misplaced guilt over what happened to his sister? He would like to be on good terms with Ron, like he was with the Weasley twins.
They had run into Neville visiting his parents in the Long-term Spell Damage Ward while visiting Lupin and Hermione. Neville’s grandmother had spoken with Aunt Portia and Madam Lucia about the possibility of treating poor Nev’s parents abroad or inviting healers from the States. The treatment might take months. Even so, they might not recover fully to how they were before the attack. Harry could barely recall his parents since he was so young when they passed. He only knew them from Uncle Moony and Pads. If Nev’s parents recovered, at least his godbrother might have some good memories with them.
Here goes nothing…
“Hermione… I do believe I am in love with you…” Harry blurted. Ron made a gagging sound while Hermione blushed.
“Oh, H-Harry…”
“Hermione! Don’t fall for it -gak!” Ron yelped as he was shoved aside by his twin brothers. Followed by a beaming Black.
“Pay up, Fred. I told you he’d tell her…” Black laughed and slapped the nearest twin on the shoulder.
“I’m George. He’s Fred!” the twin pointed at his brother, who was waving a flesh-coloured tube with an ear at the end.
“Whatever, my pup’s first real crush! What do you call these again?” Sirius chuckled as he took the tube from the twins. Both Harry and Hermione were flushed with embarrassment.
“Extendable Ears!”
“Come, lads. These might have some potential…” Black beckoned the twins over to a corner of the room where he had Conjured up a writing desk. If he was going to stay in Britain as Lord Black, he might as well put his Galleons to use, and the Weasley twins look like a good investment opportunity.
It was under the rotting floorboards. An inky blight. Lupin was tasked to remain outside the shack to keep watch. The two wizards carefully lifted the boards over it and prepared the lead box to hold it until as and when it could be documented and destroyed.
Levitate the ring out and into the box. Shut lid. They agreed that they should avoid any contact with the Horcrux.
“Theseus?” Percival lifted the last board over the ring out. His old friend had let his wand arm drop to his side. He was reaching for the ring. His eyes were glassy.
“Do you still remember what the Stone does in the Tale of the Three Brothers, Percy? What if this is it?”
“No!” Percival tackled him, knocking him to the ground. Wearing the ring would be death. Theseus snarled and fought back like a man possessed as Percival tried to restrain him. He could see with his mage-sight the inky tendrils coiling about Theseus and reaching for him. Friends lost in battle, crossed over too soon… The commotion drew Lupin’s attention. The younger wix hurried in.
“What’s going on?” he blinked.
“The ring! Get it in the box without touching it!” Graves shouted as he fought to pin his friend down. The siren song of the ring was reaching out to him as well. Lupin nodded and drew his wand. He cast a Levitation Spell and deposited it into the lead box. Once the lid was shut, the spell over Theseus broke.
“W-what happened?”
“A curse,” Percival panted, catching his breath as he scooped up the lead box and placed it within a dragonhide bag. Lupin was by the door, listening. He looked worried as he backed away, wand drawn to face an unseen threat. They were being hunted.
A rustling. Scales on brush and warped floorboards. Percival sensed it – a dark malice. Another Horcrux. Then they saw the serpent. It was huge. Lupin shoved the door shut, but the snake smashed through it, reducing it to kindling.
“Portkeys, now!” Graves ordered as he seized his Gordian Knot pin with his free hand and grabbed a stunned Theseus with the other. Portia had given them the pins at the start of the Tournament in event of any emergencies. He pulled his friend close as the Portkey thankfully activated.
He caught a glimpse of Lupin trying to fend off the snake with a volley of Cutting Hexes before everything swirled away. He hoped Lupin had the presence of mind to activate his own pin and soon.
Notes:
Up at the Riddle House, someone is probably wondering where his snake has gone.
Chapter 24: Maledictus
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Graves had no idea where he would be Portkeyed to. Portia Potter-Graves had not specified the destination, but he trusted her without any question. He was surprised when he and Theseus stumbled into the healer’s shack, directly in the ritual circle which formed the floor of Madam Lucia’s front room.
“Sweet Marie Laveau!” Madam Lucia cussed as she and her guest leapt up from their chairs in shock at the intrusion. Tea was spilled on the dark wood floor. Same cloche hat, same bob haircut, same jacket, fiercely intelligent eyes. Tina Scamander, Graves registered, did not see the need to keep up with fashions once she found one that worked for her.
He pulled Theseus free of the circle with Tina’s help. Something else was coming through. Another surge of magic. Remus Lupin appeared in the ritual circle, bleeding profusely, and he was not alone. A huge serpent was coiled about him. Tina fired a Stupefying Hex at the snake, loosening its coils enough for Lupin to scramble free. Once the werewolf was out of the circle, Madam Lucia sliced her palm with a ritual knife. She slammed her bleeding palm on the ritual circle, charging it with her intent – to hold the snake in place.
“Oh Mercy Lewis… it’s Nagini, isn’t she?” Tina gasped. She recognized the serpent. The rattling of the shack had ceased. It seemed impossible that the building could possibly remain standing after two powerful surges of raw magic.
On Theseus’ advice, she had met with a friend from the Ministry for lunch, and to obtain permission for the next part of their plans. Having submitted the exhumation request forms, she had gone to consult Madam Lucia about her husband’s ill health. Newt had not aged well, unlike his older brother. They had blamed it on his lifestyle in his youth – constant travel and exposure to unknown magics and creatures. The White Priestess had pinpointed the root cause of Hermione Granger’s ailment and formulated a possible cure for the child. Newt could have picked up some magical parasite St Mungo’s missed.
“Mebbe, Seen this Curse before. Nasty one. Not sure if anything of her you know left…”
Madam Lucia Summoned several vials of Blood Replenishers for Lupin. His leg had been shredded by Nagini’s fangs. She switched to Parseltongue to converse with the snake. The runes of the ritual circle flashed red, signalling a malice contained within. They would need an antivenom, which should be made from the snake’s own venom. After several minutes of attempting to converse, the healer shook her head.
“Poor gal is possessed not only by the Curse, but a Horcrux… it is taking over whatever soul still left. A month or so then no more…”
“Is there anything that can be done for her?” Tina asked. Nagini had simply slipped out of their lives during the War against Grindelwald. She had left with Kama after Credence joined the Alliance. Kama had found a Healing-House in Warsaw willing to take her in when the transformations became too much for her. No one expected the No-Maj weapons or war to destroy the old city so completely. They had thought her dead like almost the entire wix community in the city then.
“We can separate the Horcrux from her, can’t we?” Theseus asked quietly as he slowly recovered from his shock. The healer shook her head.
“She more beast than human now. No anchor of blood or heart strong enough. We can use Ignis Sanctus… Mebbe can still save her soul.”
“Wait… can you please ask her who put the Horcrux in her?” Percy asked as he fought to staunch the bleeding from Lupin’s shin using a torniquet. The standard potions and healing charms were not working.
“She met a wizard. A very sick wizard. He did it to her to extend his unnatural life. Lives in the house near where she attacked you…”
The door to the healer’s shack flew open. Portia, Black and Harry stepped inside. Portia had been alerted as soon as the Portkeys were activated. They had taken their leave of the Longbottoms and hastened back. Miranda and Henri followed behind. They had overhead the commotion from where they were lounging on the pier. Henri put himself in front of Miranda when he saw the snake.
“Percy, whatever were you up to?” Portia sniffed into her hanky at the smell of blood. “Didn’t you think to ask Joshua or one of his fellows to join you?” The Pukwudgies were there to protect Ilvermorny students and faculty.
“I cannot draw them away from their duties to the students,” Graves replied as he produced the lead box holding the ring Horcrux with an apology. They had not expected things to move so quickly on what should have been a mere scouting mission. Portia rolled her eyes. They were to wait for her Cursebreaking contacts at the Gringotts, but the wizards had gone off half-cocked instead. She assessed the situation and took charge. Lupin was starting to look sickly pale, from blood loss or venom. His leg did not look good.
“Miranda, please get word to Madam Pomfrey. Professor Lupin needs to be Floo-ed to a proper hospital if he’s to keep his leg. Black and Theseus, you go with him to the Hospital Wing. Tina, might your Newt have any antivenom on hand? Send word to him to meet at the hospital. Lucia, do you need anyone on guard here?”
Miranda sprinted out to notify the Hogwarts mediwitch ahead of the incoming patient. Tina Scamander hastened to the RV’s Floo to call her husband, as well as to notify the local ICW representative of the two Horcruxes they now have in their possession. After his near-miss with a potentially fatal curse, a shaken Theseus needed a Calming Draught and some quiet in the Hospital Wing himself.
It was decided that the Parselmouths work in shifts to assist Madam Lucia with maintaining the wards. Harry was to take the first shift with Madam Lucia during the strengthening process. Henri and Mira would rest until it was time for their turn to keep watch with Graves and Black. Nagini was slowly being driven mad by the Horcrux inside her. Now and then, she would hurl her bulk at the edges of the circle, causing red sparks to shoot out. With mage-sight, Harry could see the inky blackness choking her like bars of a cage. There were some snatches of lucidity, but most were confused ramblings. She was losing her sense of self and starting to view herself as an extension of Tom Riddle. Harry shuddered. If it were not for the weakness of his Horcrux and the protections set by his mother…
One thing that was clear is that Voldemort wanted Harry Potter dead, preferably killed before his followers, after he had served some purpose. That much Harry would make out. It unsettled him. There was the final task left. He had escaped death thus far by dumb luck. Or was it something more? Was there some trap waiting to spring? Asking an increasingly confused Nagini was no longer yielding any results. She did mention the grave of a father and some rat-servant tending to Voldemort. There must be someone inside the tournament to put his name into the Goblet in the first place. The rat-servant might be the traitor Pettigrew.
“Madam Lucia… What spells need stuff from a grave? Dirt or bones maybe?”
“Very dark magic, boyo. You don’t go mess with dem!” Madam Lucia admonished as she worked on an herbal tisane for Theseus Scamander and Percival Graves to mitigate any potential ill-effects of exposure to a cursed ring.
“I just want to protect myself, ma’am, from this Voldemort, Tom Riddle or whatever he calls himself,” Harry explained. He hoped he would be able to visit Hermione one more time before she left for New Orleans. Heck, he wanted to with her in New Orleans once the tournament was over and done with.
“Ah. I see… What do you know about Ignis Sanctus?”
Lord Black scowled. He had returned to Hogwarts after leaving Lupin in St Mungo’s. Due to his furry problem, they had Lupin placed in the secure wards normally used for the violently insane. Never mind that he should be docile enough If kept on this Wolfsbane potion regime. Black had clocked one of the healers for daring to suggest that with his furry condition, Lupin was better off dead. Both Scamander brothers had to pull him off the fool. Newt had reassured him that he did have a recipe for an antidote for Nagini’s venom from years back. It should still work if there had been no significant changes in the venom’s composition. Madam Pomfrey had also roused a grumpy Snape from his lesson preparations to assist Newt in concocting the antidote. Until then, all they could do was to dose Lupin with Blood Replenishers every few hours to keep him from bleeding out.
“Keep your thieving vermin out of my lab!” Snape’s voice growled.
Black caught the Niffler that came flying out from the dungeon bat’s potions lab. Unable to sleep, he had come down to Snape’s to check on their progress. The little creature tried to pry his signet ring off his finger and was promptly zapped.
“Can’t help yourself, can you?” Black grinned. Newt Scamander emerged from the lab, wearing goggles and clad in dragonhide gloves and apron. His face was weatherbeaten from a life spent mostly outdoors.
“I must apologize for Rascal, the little kleptomaniac…” Newt gently took Rascal from Sirius and shook him. A silver stirring rod and set of scales clattered out.
“How’s the antidote?” Sirius asked.
“Almost done. Just need to stew for another hour…” Newt smiled as he levitated the loot before him. They walked into the lab where Newt returned the scales and stirrer to Snape’s worktable.
“Seventy-five minutes, to be exact… I have made some adjustments to allow Lupin to continue with his Wolfsbane in a week’s time,” Snape called out from where he was putting aside his copper stirrer and adjusting the burner to a low flame. Newt kept a firm grip on his Niffler as he softly admonished him. A bowtruckle peered out from under his collar.
“Messing about with the recipe, what if it ends up harming Remus?”
“I do not poison my patients, Black,” Snape replied sardonically. “The next full moon will be rough on him with his injury, but the addition of Knitroot and feverfew should promote healing and relieve pain…”
“I trust you, Potion Master. I hear the Wolfsbane is a tricky one.”
“Yes, a fiddly potion. Any errors will render the potion useless,” Snape conceded. He stifled a yawn.
“Snape, would you like me to watch the potion for a bit while you catch a nap?” Newt asked.
“Let me do it, sir. You look asleep on your feet… and kindly remove this pest…” Snape Summoned Rascal from where he had been trying to make off with a jar of gold flakes from his ingredients store. The Niffler had given the magizoologist the slip again. Newt apologized and took Rascal out of the room.
“Well, aren’t you leaving too?” Snape asked Black. Black shook his head.
“I’ll help you keep watch for a half-hour. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable and get some shuteye…” Black sat down on a wooden stool. He cast an alarm spell for thirty minutes. The furnishings in the lab were spartan at best. Comfort must have been the furthest thing from the Potion Master’s mind when outfitting his lab.
“As if I’d risk napping…” Snape yawned as he sat on a wooden chair. However, he was soon asleep. Sirius kept watch until the alarm went off and he woke Snape up.
“Is he really coming back?” Sirius asked as Snape inspected his cauldron’s contents.
“The Dark Lord? Of course, he is… Prophecy or not, I doubt the boy is ready yet… Assuming he survives this idiotic tournament.”
“Do you know any place in Hogwarts where he might have hidden something? Somewhere like the Chamber of Secrets? Surely your House must have some idea…”
“Black, you dunderhead. No one found the Chamber’s location until your godson literally tumbled into it. Now keep quiet or leave. I will inform Poppy when the antidote is ready…” Snape bristled.
Black took his leave, pitying any unfortunate students who had Potions the next morning – heck, morning was only a few hours away. Snape should really find someone to cover his lessons. A sleep-deprived Snape made for a grumpy wizard. He changed into Padfoot and ran through the corridors, burning off the excess energy.
After his formal presentation to the Wizengamot by Dumbledore, Black had tried to reach out to Lord Nott, but the old lord declined to meet as was within his rights. He had secured an alliance with Regent Longbottom. Most of the old families were leery of him with his American ways and his youthful reputation as a rebel. There was also the Blacks’ reputation as blood elitists and inclinations to the Dark Arts. If he were to change their motto, would it be a step too far? He did not want to be cast out of the Wizengamot before he could make any changes to the stagnant British magical society.
On the upside, Tina’s friend had come through. Her request had been approved and a date fixed for their visit. Azkaban. Black shivered. The answers about the false Mad-eye Moody might just lie there. If it was any relief, Moody was still alive for now based on the Map.
Black stifled a yawn as he changed back to his human form. He ought to have one of his colleagues take the morning exercises for the Ilvermorny students and get back to his bed lest he dropped off to sleep in front of his students.
Notes:
I am really tempted to write an entire series on Ilvermorny student Harry Potter and the characters starting from his first year to his graduation, but I should keep things on schedule within the tournament, while somehow fixing the Horcrux hunt into it as well. Harry’s trying to be more proactive, but he has no idea what to expect.
Chapter 25: Ignis Sanctus
Notes:
A bit nervous as I am approaching the point in this fic where everything has been falling apart for the last 2 versions of it. Tempted to just place it on permanent hiatus as I am not sure if the endgame I have planned pan out well.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The antidote was ready just before the full moon and administered to Lupin, to Black’s relief. He had feared they would have to watch Remus literally bleed out as a werewolf without the means to safely administer the Blood Replenishers every few hours keeping him alive. After the antidote, the bleeding had stopped. The leg seemed to be mending. His friend was going to survive and be discharged from St Mungo’s. Part of him was angry at Graves and the elder Scamander for roping the werewolf in on their ill-advised scouting mission. Part of him was relieved that they had accounted for two more of those bloody Horcruxes.
The leads they had been chasing so far on what hopefully was the final piece of Voldemort’s blighted soul had turned up dead ends. Portia had Hermione transferred to New Orleans’ Ste Marie di Lourdes via international Floo and placed her in the capable hands of the healers there before returning to Britain via Portkey. The Grangers would fly over on the next flight. On arrival, they would be met by a medical representative at the airport terminal who will explain to them their daughter’s condition and options for treatment available. As a minor, MACUSA will require Granger’s parents to give their consent to the inherently risky procedure. Once they had signed the necessary forms, the healers would start the treatment. It helped to involve a Newblood’s No-Maj family if they were supportive. It seemed that the Grangers wholeheartedly supported their magical daughter, a blessing where so many Newbloods were shunned by their own kin for their magic.
“I spoke to the mother over the phone… Surprised how little they knew about the magical world, even with the Statutes in place… Mercy Lewis, no one told them there were other places for magical healing besides St Mungo’s…” Portia had not been impressed. “The cost will be coming out of the Needy Newblood Medical Fund…”
“Wait, does she even qualify as a British citizen?” Black asked.
“Oh, the fund is open to all Newbloods in need receiving treatment in MACUSA territories… Just keep that in mind, Lord Black.” International Portkey travel across time zones always made Portia feel all out of sorts. Perhaps she should have stayed and waited for the Grangers to arrive, but she needed to be back in Britain lest her boys got into further mischief. Hermione and her parents would be in good hands. Even if the procedure was successful, they expected Hermione to remain in a magical coma for at least three months.
Harry had been cut-up he had not been able to see Hermione one more time before she left. She had written a letter for Harry. Pen on paper. Harry had snuck off to read it alone after Portia handed it to him. Black did not know if it was a promise to meet again or a farewell. Neither did he wish to pry.
Sacred fire. Or ignis sanctus as it was known to the wix. Only the pure of heart and purpose may cast it and emerge unscathed. The ICW and Aurors have been informed of the snake. A Warded circle was prepared out by the lake. They could not cast the spell inside the White Priestess’ shack. Not without burning it down. A straight-faced Portia had lied to the faculty and British Aurors about the snake being a stowaway in the Merry Camper from the Americas afflicted with a malevolent spirit. Only a the ICW representative was aware of the truth. The ring Horcrux was quietly taken to Gringotts by Lord Black and destroyed there in the presence of the same ICW representative.
The White Priestess had discussed the spell’s theory with the Three Musketeers, Auntie Portia and Uncle Percy. Madam Lucia had full faith in her abilities to cast the spell and underwent the necessary purification rituals.
It was a dangerous spell, born out of desperate times. Thankfully, the sacrifice was going to be blood from a dozen black roosters this round in accordance with her calculations. Harry wondered if his mother had used an equally desperate spell to generate the vaulted protection that saved him from a Killing Curse as an infant. And if the sacrifice had been his parents’ lives. His godfather had cuffed him lightly on the head when he said that in passing. It was not his fault they died.
Nagini was a mindless beast now, liable to lash out blindly. Harry felt his teeth tingle at the dark magic roiling off her as she thrashed against the barriers of her prison. Word had spread among the Ilvermorny delegation, who had turned up in force. There were a few students from the other schools as well. The gathered students and faculty shrieked in alarm until Professor Graves barked an order for silence. Unruffled by the snake’s attempts to attack through the barrier, the White Priestess walked clockwise around the ritual circle, chanting under breath her intent to cleanse and purge the evil. Harry could sense the magic being woven into place. Once she had completed the third circle, she lifted her arms in the air with a mighty roar.
“Ignis Sancta!”
Blue fire burst within the ritual circle. The snake shrieked and writhed as if in agony. As they watched, dark tendrils peeled off the dying beast to be consumed by the flames. A young woman stood bewildered, yet seemingly unaffected by the flames. Nagini held her hands up before her in wonder. It had been too long since… Credence? A voice from beyond the Veil. Guiding her, easing her passage… She glowed from within and then dissipated into golden motes to be swirled up into the sky as the last of the flames died down with the snake’s corpse reduced to ashes. The Horcrux had been destroyed.
Harry and Henri moved as one to catch Madam Lucia as she staggered and almost fell to her knees. Mira had ready the restorative potion of herbs and rum. The spell demanded much of the caster. Lesser wix had been known to exhaust their cores in the attempt. Madam Lucia was utterly spent. They had to help her back into her shack and put her to bed. Of the trio, only Harry had sufficient reserves for such an attempt. During a training duel, Henri had suggested he work with Portego Diabolica since Fiendfyre was too destructive. Uncle Percy cut in and stated categorically that Harry should work on evasion and defence. Professor Graves and Henri then had a debate on whether Portego Diabolica was a defensive or offensive spell.
Harry closed his fist over his Gordian Knot uniform pin. One more Horcrux was likely out there, along with a dark wizard who wanted him dead since he was an infant. He breathed in and out steadily. He could face this, with the help of his friends and family. Where would the last Horcrux be? Even one Horcrux would prevent them from destroying Voldemort. There was little he could do for now.
People will be hurt, even killed. Innocents, like his fellow Champions. People he cared about – Uncle Moony, Hermione. Even experienced Aurors like Sir Theseus and Moody had fallen prey to the enemy. The upside was that he now knew to keep his guard up around Professor Moody, once Uncle Pads had warned him not to be alone with the man. Not that the man did not give him the creeps before then. He felt sorry Nev and the other Hogwarts students who had to put up with his lessons.
A wizard’s duel.
Henri had declared it was the only proper way to settle the score with Lord Mouldypants. Not that Voldemort would be playing fair. After all, he had gone after a baby the first round and got blasted to kingdom come for his pains.
“You are not applying yourself!” his tutors had declared many times in class. Harry Potter did not want to some hero. He just wanted to be an average kid. Let Henri and Mira get all the attention for being smart, good-looking, magically skilled… But now things had changed. Like it or not, he was Ilvermorny’s reluctant Champion. Patience, as much as it chafed. He could only be patient. Instead, Harry focused on preparing for the coming task. Harry had to win for everyone’s sake, he sensed that. Some unseen force was pushing him to take the Cup, the same that had put his name in the Goblet. What followed was unlikely to be pleasant. He owed it not only to Ilvermorny, but to his clueless fellow champions to win. Tempting as it would be to allow the hyper-competitive Krum to win and ruin whatever plan Voldie had…
“Portego!”
Harry was flat on his back staring at the clouds above. The Stunner had flown through his Shield as though it was tissue paper.
“You got to mean it. Really mean it. Intent!” Henri snapped. “Your heart’s not in it!” His heart was an ocean away in New Orleans.
“Maybe he needs more time to recover…” Mira coaxed. “Can’t wear him out before the third task…” The task that was likely to result in him being captured and killed in some dark ritual. Madam Lucia had made it abundantly clear any ritual involving blood, bone and grave-dirt was likely to be magic of the darkest order. Likely to involve a human sacrifice…
Word had spread somehow among the Ilvermorny students. Whispers after lights out, gossip among friends…Theo had come up to apologize on his father’s behalf. The younger Nott was certain his father was involved somehow, but Nott Senior had all but cut him off. Theo slipped him a worn tome of Most Potente Magick – Dark Arts, which was promptly confiscated by Uncle Percy as it was banned in at least fifty-four magical domains, including Britain. Well, it was the thought that counts.
Justin had asked if he needed a lawyer he could trust to draft his will, or if he would be arranging that with Gringotts. Harry only laughed and scribbled down a note on the flyleaf of his journal leaving his duelling kit to any child Henri Picquery might sire. He wrote that he left his aged hippogriff to Miranda to care for. The worst was when Sally Hooter, the sixth year who tutored them for Arithmancy, suddenly hugged him and broke into tears. Of course he was too young to die.
The grownups, at least Coach Black, were keeping him in the loop on their Horcrux hunt, which seemed to be going nowhere after they sent Nagini on her way into the Afterlife.
The tensions within the tournament had risen. With Mademoiselle Delacour all but out of the running, it was between the three wizards. Their hosts had cooled to Durmstrang and Ilvermorny. Theo and Justin still visited their old friends, but to a lesser extent. Justin had donned a Hufflepuff scarf to indicate his support of Diggory as well as Potter when sitting at his old House table. Diggory suggested a friendly Seekers’ match on Saturday to let off some steam, but alas the tournament organizers got to the pitch before they did. Instead, they made use of Ilvermorny’s duelling tent for a friendly sparring session involving mostly Hogwarts and Ilvermorny students. Krum had declined insisting he needed to train with his tutors on the Durmstrang ship. Theo heard from his cousin that Krum’s grandmother was doing poorly, but the young wizard was not the type to accept sympathy. Lupin was still hobbling but he agreed to referee the sessions.
Only Ilvermorny had opened its duelling tent for the use of students and faculty from other schools. The Merry Camper, with its dorms and classrooms within remained by invitation only. So far, only Aunt Portia had visited Madame Olympe in the Beauxbatons coach at her invitation. The pair had left with a promise to discuss a new exchange programme between Ilvermorny and her American counterpart. Karakoff had not extended any invitations to his colleagues and forbade visits by non-Durmstrang faculty and students to his ship. Nott suggested that it might be to avoid any trouble with the Aurors since they might have Dark artefacts on board given the institute’s reputation.
“Sphinx and blast-ended Skwerts… there might be other challenges in the maze,” Harry whispered to Diggory when he handed him a glass of water. Lupin had suggested they mix things up a bit with paired duels. The Weasley twins were facing off with Theo and Fleur. The mixed pair were slow to gel, but once they got into the rhythm, they made a formidable duo. The twins would win by the skin of their teeth. Henri volunteered to take on Ravenclaws Anthony Goldstein, Corner and Boot blindfolded to give them a fighting chance. Lupin nixed the idea and had Henri pair off with Boot against Goldstein and Corner.
“Those skwerts turned out to be cannibals. Hagrid has only one left – so Susan tells me,” Justin added. “But Hagrid has, well, connections with the spiders in the Forbidden Forest…”
“There might be a Boggart as well…” Cedric added. “Cho saw its cabinet being moved from the DADA classroom.” The older student grinned. They were all in it to win. He still had a chance of catching up with Krum and Potter.
“Diggory, something is off about the entire tournament… It might be best if we be on our guard… I do not think winning will be for the best…”
If his foes wished to strike, the third task would offer the best chance. The work on the Quidditch pitch resembled the beginnings of a maze. They had a similar one in the Pottery each Halloween to amuse the visitors. They included a Portal built into the maze’s heart so they could go directly from there to the front door without having to backtrack the entire way. Of course, the organizers could just Vanish the maze once someone got to the finish line but having Sphinxes and other critters about weighed against that course of action.
“Are you backing out? Because I am not. We’re all in it to win…”
“Then I will have to get there before you,” Harry shrugged. “Are you up for another duel?” It was going to be a showdown. Part of him wanted to leave Krum or Diggory to deal with Voldemort’s goons or his lackeys, but it was his fight after all thanks to some idiotic prophecy tying Harry Potter and the Dark Lord together. He wished his godfather was around, but he away doing Lordship stuff.
In Azkaban’s miserable graveyard, Black shivered while his godson wondered where he was. A few Dementors floated lazily around the prison’s dark walls above, ignoring them for now. They had exhumed the grave of one Bartemius Crouch Jr. The Scamanders – Theseus and Tina, watched the proceedings grimly as witnesses. The Unspeakable with them took a bone from the remains. Magical scans would be run in the Department of Mysteries. The older prison guards recalled the young man who had suddenly sickened and died shortly after his imprisonment. His mother had passed around the same time, though the family had foregone a funeral. Mrs Crouch had been terminally ill, so it was not unexpected. Maybe her son had inherited her infirmity, or he simply could not cope with the Dementors and harshness of prison life. The mother had been cremated and her ashes scattered at sea, so Mr Crouch reported to her family. There was only a memorial stone in the Crouch family cemetery to remember her by.
“Lord Black, you will have the results by tomorrow…” Unspeakable Croaker shook Sirius’ hand once he had the sample secured. Being Lord of an Ancient and Noble House had its perks. Tina had recalled a case she had worked on where a witch had used Polyjuice to impersonate her brother. She had been killed by a backfiring spell while under Polyjuice and misidentified as him. It was a shock for all when her brother came to the MACUSA office from Kansas to prove he was still alive so he could apply for a Mastery in Spellcrafting two years later.
If someone else was in Crouch Junior’s grave and Old Barty had not sold out his principles… The presence of Bartemius Crouch in Hogwarts’ DADA classroom might make deadly sense. They would need to be careful not to spook him to ensure Moody’s safe return and the continued wellbeing of the students. It was ironic that demonstrating the Unforgivables and traumatizing the likes of Longbottom aside, the man might be the most competent DADA tutor Hogwarts had in a long while. Perhaps it was time to force the old goat of a headmaster to act reasonably for once? Could the board remove him?
Notes:
Harry Potter in this fic is far more aware of the wizarding world and its machinations than in canon since he was raised in it and the adults around him are actively watching out for his safety. At the same time, rather than being spoilt by a privileged childhood like it was suggested his father was, he has been raised with a sense of responsibility to his family and friends. He is willing to take calculated but not foolhardy risks to protect his friends. He does not see himself as a hero, but just an average wizard.
Chapter 26: Strange Encounters
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Do you think I am making a mistake with our American guests, my boy?” Dumbledore asked. Snape kept his face expressionless. Inside, he was seething that the headmaster had seen fit to summon him to his office when he had potions to brew and essays to grade.
“Harry is not what I hoped he would be,” the headmaster sighed.
“James Potter’s son is exactly what we should expect him to be,” Snape replied dryly.
“Ah. Do they know anything about Voldemort?” Dumbledore was probing again. “Might Lupin’s recent mishap have anything to do with Horcruxes perhaps?”
“Why would you think that?” Snape sneered. He could feel the headmaster pushing against his shields. So he wishes to be updated on whether the Americans made any progress in their Horcruxes…
“Is your Mark any darker?”
“Same as Igor’s…” His Mark had darkened over the past month. Surely the headmaster knew that. Karakoff has been acting all skittish.
“Perhaps I have been remiss in dismissing the Americans out of hand… Might it be possible to invite Madam Portia and Mister Graves for a chat?”
“I’m sure you can ask Minerva to extend an invitation… If you would excuse me, I have some Calming Draughts to brew.” Portia and Minerva had grown close between comparing Ilvermorny’s and Hogwarts’ syllabus and arranging for Granger to be finally sent for medical treatment abroad.
“Oh Severus, did you ever find that room again?” Dumbledore called out. Snape paused at the door.
“What room, sir?” he asked before leaving.
The Room of Requirement. He had not thought of it in a long time. He had all but forgotten about it. It was in his fifth year. His protector Lucius had left by then. MacNair and Mulciber had turned their attention to him. His paltry belongings were stolen, Hexed, or thrown into the lake. Even in Slytherin House, he was an outsider – dirt-poor, half-blood with a Muggle father. They had set his books alight. Books he could not afford to replace. Frantic, he had paced the corridor in a deserted part of the castle. He found a door he could have sworn was not there. Behind the door was a library of old textbooks dating back to the 1700’s. He had taken the books he needed to study for his OWLs and fled. The history textbook had the name A. Dumbledore on the flyleaf. He did not realize it until the headmaster pointed it out and asked where he found his old textbook.
A hidden room… If only he could remember where that corridor was.
Watching his spy leave, Dumbledore sighed. He had allowed his ICW correspondence to fall by the wayside. If he had been more alert, he should have paid more attention to a ICW missive which described the discovery of a suspected Horcrux in the Americas years ago and acted sooner. The entire basis of the prophecy seemed to have gone awry. The prophecy orb itself was destroyed in a freak accident. Was it too late to offer his guidance to the Americans? The curse on the DADA position had arisen after he rejected Tom’s application for the post. As headmaster, he knew of the legendary room, also referred to by the elves as the Come-and-Go room, a repository of discarded or lost items in the castle which might prove useful someday, like his old textbook appearing for young Snape.
The guileless Newt had been most helpful, when he encountered the bleary-eyed magiozoologist in the Great Hall, mentioning in passing the truce between Black and Snape. It would appear the Americans had subverted his pet spy somehow. Maybe Snape cared more for Lily’s son than he ever let on. Though without a Horcrux in him, it would not be necessary for Harry to die. Which throws the entire prophecy into question.
The Cleansing Ritual with the snake…. Whispers had trickled back to him from the Aurors that at least some of their American visitors, including Madam Lucia, were Parselmouths. The tongue of serpents was viewed as a blessing in their part of the world. Nagini, that maledictus companion to his unfortunate nephew… She must have succumbed entirely to the beast side of her curse. He doubted she was a stowaway in the RV, and that Lupin had been attacked there.
Ah, he had planted the seeds in Snape’s mind regarding the presence of a Horcrux within the castle. Now he would have to let the cards fall where they might. As for the American witch’s’ allegations regarding Moody… Dumbledore shrugged. Safer the devil you know. He would keep an eye on the DADA professor all the same.
The betting pool for the final task was underway. As a compromise, they had met behind Hagrid’s shack after Snape caught the Weasley twins taking bets in the Great Hall. A gaggle of students had gathered at the pumpkin patch. Most wore Hogwarts’ robes. A handful were from Ilvermorny and Drumstrang. The Beauxbatons students were moping since they knew their Champion had no way of catching up.
“Odds of two to three on Potter winning,” Justin placed his two Galleons down. Fred jotted the odds in his notebook.
“Tch, I am betting on Krum… Harry’s been all over the place with his girlfriend gone…” Theo added as he perched on the fence. An Abraxan in the paddock ambled over and started nibbling on his hair. Justin hurried over to shoo the large horse away before she knocked Theo off.
“O ye of little faith…” Miranda Graves shook her golden curls and placed seven Galleons down on Harry Potter. Henri Picquery was busy helping Potter with his training in the last remaining days to the task. She gave the twins each a peck on the cheek before leaving.
“Krum of course, the headmaster will likely arrange something…” Theo’s cousin Maksim from Drumstrang said ominously. He gave both Theo and Justin suspicious looks. Theo was wearing Muggle sneakers and jeans under his robes.
“Theo, your old man will whip you for having a mudblood as a friend…”
“Father doesn’t care if I go Muggle. Maks…” Theo shrugged. “We’re going to catch that new movie about dinosaurs this summer…” Nott tried to keep his voice level. Lord Nott had not been paying much attention to his heir after transferring him to Ilvermorny. He seemed distracted. Then there was that unsettling business of the Quidditch World Cup and the Death Eater mask.
“What’re dino-sauces?” Maksim frowned. He did understand movies were some sort of Muggle play.
“Giant lizards that went extinct millions of years ago… My Uncle Joe’s a palaeontologist,” Justin replied. “Some are larger than a dragon! If you want, I have a book on them my uncle sent last Christmas… We can see their fossils in the British Natural Museum…”
The Weasley twins watched a reluctant Durmstrang student follow the Ilvermorny boys to the RV out of curiosity about dinosaurs. They took a few more bets from their schoolmates. Cedric was a hot favourite, or maybe they were supporting him out of school loyalty. With daylight leaving, they tallied their bets and packed up.
To avoid Professors Babbling and Vector on their sundown rounds, they would skirt the edges of the Forbidden Forest. That was when they heard another human voice in the stillness of the darkening forest.
“Weatherby? Where’s that fil… No, I must warn… Tournament. Oh, Bertha! I’m sorry… Must warn Dumble… Weatherby!”
Fred and George paused in mid-step. It was a familiar voice, weak but familiar…
“Mister Crouch?” The older wizard was dressed in little more than a dressing robe. He looked horribly dishevelled. He babbled incoherently. He stumbled into the pair.
“Forge, I think something bad happened to Percy’s boss.”
“You’re right, Gred. We better fetch help…” Supporting the older wizard between them, the pair turned towards the castle. They did not sense someone emerging from the shadows of the trees. The figure lifted his wand.
Fred went down like a sack of potatoes. “Gred?” George only had time to say before he joined his twin on the ground.
Ron looked around. Without Hermione to watch out for, he was more aware of the conversation at mealtimes and in the common room. Oddly, trying to help Hermione with her homework meant he was revising his own, even though it was often a year behind. Hermione often had questions about his homework, when she was on one of her good days. He also helped her fetch the books off the shelves she needed. If she did recover, she would want to catch up to their year. Ron tried to read his Potions textbook, but it was too noisy. He saw his brothers were missing from dinner. He had not noticed Hermione’s absence that Halloween feast, or his sister’s disappearances until it was too late.
“Did Fred and George get detention again?” he asked aloud to be heard over the commotion of the Gryffindor dinner table.
“Nope, I last saw them at Hagrid’s pumpkin patch… well,” Lee Jordan fidgeted. Everyone knew Snape had taken the pair to task earlier for their betting pool. It had been an hour and a half since they closed the betting. They might have dropped in on Hagrid and forgot the time, except Hagrid was over at the end of the hall presenting the Beauxbatons headmistress with her a bouquet of cabbages. The groundskeeper had a crush on the large witch.
“Maybe we should go out look for them or tell a professor…” Angelina Johnson stood up. The pair had been carrying a small fortune from the bets on them and away from the castle’s protective Wards…
“What’s with the long faces?”
An oblivious Harry Potter and Henri Picquery arrived fashionably late at the Gryffindor table for dinner. Harry grabbed a roll off the table and started devouring it between mouthfuls of mashed peas and roast beef. They had been so engrossed in training they lost track of time. Lord Black was making own apologies at the high table at the far end of the hall. Since it was a full moon, Lupin was sitting out his transformation in the safety of his room within the RV. The Potter elves would leave him a dinner suitable for a wolf. Ron haltingly explained his brothers’ absence. Harry motioned for Miranda and Henri to join him in a huddle. They roped in the acting Quidditch team captain and quarter-mistress Johnson to formulate a plan.
“Hang on… Expecto Patronum!” Harry waved his wand almost casually.
A large silvery cat leapt out from Harry’s wand and pounced on the high table before a startled Lord Black. Snape rolled his eyes. How typical of Potter to show off. The cougar whispered the Weasleys’ predicament to Black, followed by his plan of action. Sirius frowned. Their Unspeakable had returned to them late in the afternoon with news that the magical signature on the skeleton they exhumed was female without a doubt, but beyond that, it was too degraded to fix an identity to it. It was further confirmation that Barty Crouch Junior might still be alive somewhere. The absence of the Weasley twins from dinner was disturbing as teenaged lads unlikely to pass up a meal.
Black had sought out Snape for help in garnering the headmaster’s permission to detain the likely Polyjuiced Moody and search his rooms. However, Snape was unable to confirm any role the self-confessed Death Eater had played in the war for the Dark Lord, or if they had concocted any plans to affect a return. What the spy could confirm was that Tom Riddle had attempted unsuccessfully to return at least once in the past few years. Dumbledore still seemed convinced Moody was not an imposter.
“Snape, we may have need of your assistance… the Weasley twins are missing. I’d go look for them,” Black whispered in passing as he excused himself from the table. Harry’s little stunt with the Patronus had created a stir – a welcome distraction from his exit. He shifted to his dog form and sidled up to Miranda just as Harry’s Patronus did a casual lap of the hall to delighted squeals from the students.
“Sorry, Uncle Pads… their teammates got their gear from the Quidditch store…” the witch held up the vests so Sirius could get a whiff. There was more than enough scent to track.
Sirius loped out of the castle, tracking the scent. He soon found the pair, but not before Karakoff. The boys looked a tad dishevelled and reeked of firewhiskey.
“A likely story… pah, lies!” the Drumstrang headmaster fumed at their protests. With him was one of his students, not Krum, and Moody. The boy looked a little like Theo, perhaps a cousin. Sirius stifled a growl. He shifted back behind a tree and strolled out nonchalantly from his hiding place.
“Now what is happening here?” he asked as if he were just on an evening stroll.
“Just two drunk miscreants…” Igor Karakoff spat, but there was something like fear in his eyes. False Moody looked faintly amused. Black stifled the urge to Stun that smug look off his face and have him Bound until any Polyjuice wore off. There were three innocent youngsters present and Karakoff was not to be trusted.
The twins were babbling and tripping over their words. Sirius could make out ‘Mister Crouch’, ‘hurt’, and ‘warn headmaster’. Firewhiskey had been doused down their fronts and some poured down their throats, enough to render them halfway drunk. Or it could be a Drunkenness or Tongue-tie Hex. Snape should have some Sober-up Potion on standby the way some of the professors took their liquor and could administer a Counter Hex on the pair where needed. The important thing was to get the twins away from two possible Death Eaters.
“Come along, you imps. Ron’s worried when you didn’t turn up…” Sirius shrugged as he took both twins by the elbows. “Boys will be boys, eh? I’ll take care of Arthur’s lads. No need for alarm,” he winked at Karakoff. He slid his wand out of his holster into his wand hand, just in case. He had caught a whiff of something else as Padfoot – the stink of a recent Avada Kedavra. Someone had died in the vicinity less than two hours ago and he had no intention of adding to the list.
He looked over his shoulder to glimpse Moody, Karakoff, and Theo’s kinsman following them to the castle and no doubt dinner. Never mind, he knew the castle better than they did. He could shake them off in the entrance hall and bring the twins to Snape at the Hospital Wing as they had agreed on for emergencies. He would send his own Patronus to inform Harry and Ron the twins had been found safe.
Notes:
Dumbledore is up to his old tricks, trying to manipulate Snape. He has given him some important information but not simply for altruistic reasons. Harry’s patronus is not a stag but a North American cougar in this AU. He does not yearn to have that connection to his father as he has his American family to support him. He is also confident in his friends and family’s ability to take care of themselves in most instances where he has grown up with them.
Chapter 27: Inferi and Peeves
Notes:
I was wondering if I should let Moody live this round.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Snape’s lip curled in disdain when he smelled firewhiskey upon the arrival of the twins. If Black had fished them out of the Hog’s Head…
“They have been Hexed, not sure which spells used. Oh, we have someone firing a Killing Curse very recently at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Don’t we track the casting of Unforgiveables near… Wait, dumb question – Moody had the Wards disabled, right?” How the heck did the headmaster approve that lesson plan? In Ilvermorny, they were only allowed to demonstrate the Imperius Curse in DADA and under strict supervision by a MACUSA representative. And they never Cast it on students like what happened in Moody’s fourth year class.
“Leave Messers Weasleys to me… the Aurors should be called to search for our – victim…” Snape waved his wand over Fred, or was it George?
“Mister Crouch… He was with us...”
“Acting all weird, apologizing to some Betha and needing to warn the headmaster…”
“Then he was gone when we came to…”
Whenever Counter Spell Snape cast on the twins had untangled their tongues. He also handed the phials of foul-tasting Sobriety Potion to them which both boys swallowed with a grimace. Black sent one of the Hogwarts elves on duty in the Hospital Wing to notify Ron Weasley his brothers were safe. It was unlikely the students had finished dessert yet.
“Did you see anyone suspicious nearby besides Mister Crouch?” Snape asked. The boys’ memories showed no sign of meddling. Whoever attacked them might have been interrupted or deemed it not worth the trouble of Obliviating them.
“Whoever did it hit us from behind…” Fred replied. He dug his hands into his pockets, paled considerably and gave a squeak of alarm. “I-it’s gone!”
His twin dug his hands into his own pockets and yelped. “W-we’ve been robbed of the bets!”
“Detention for you two, and I will be informing Professor McGonagall,” Snape folded his arms crossly. “You will be expected to return all the money you already collected.”
He had already warned them about their little ‘investment plan’. He would have them pay back all the bets they had already collected immediately but with things as they stood, the boys would need their dad to bail them out assuming Arthur Weasley had anything to spare with his wife’s Healers’ bills. Molly had not shown any change for better or worse after they buried Ginny. Perhaps she was already too far gone in her grief.
“Dad’s going to kill us…”
Black shook his head as he stepped out of the room. He quietly cast his Patronus, a large mastiff, and dispatched it to fetch Dora Tonks from Hogsmeade where she was posted. They would convene at Hagrid’s paddock. His baby cousin could be trusted, unlike some of the Aurors on tournament duty who were incompetent or under Minister Fudge’s thumb. He cast a second Patronus to inform Lupin of developments. The second Patronus almost bowled Professor McGonagall over as she came down the hallway. News of the twins’ misadventure had spread. Some claimed they were robbed by a gang of Durmstrang pirates. Others claimed they were fooling about with stolen firewhiskey from The Hog’s Head. Black hoped the twins’ account might persuade Dumbledore to take a closer look at Moody. Or they might blame the incident on former Death Eater Karakoff or one of the Durmstrang students. It’s not as though the Aurors could search the ship given diplomatic immunity granted to the participating institutes for the duration of the tournament. As for the twins, he might offer them a loan and have them work for him over the summer to pay it off. With their ideas for pranks and novelties, he might want to invest in their business should they wish to take it further.
“Wotcha, cuz!” There was no way he could miss that shock of neon violet hair. Auror Tonks was leaning against the fence. Cousin Dora was not alone. With her was her more experienced partner – Kingsley Shacklebolt. Sirius acknowledged the other Auror’s presence with a nod. They had crossed paths at the Auror training academy before Black dropped out.
“So where was this Unforgiveable cast?” Dora shifted partially so her nose was that of a bloodhound.
“Padfoot only caught a whiff. I think it is between the two beech trees and the oak. That was where the boys found Mister Crouch,” Sirius replied. He could not shift into his animagus form and continue a conversation. “He mentioned something about a Bertha…”
“Might that be Bertha Jonkins, his secretary? Arthur’s boy was filling in for her while she’s on vacation. Except she never came back to work…” Shacklebolt replied. “Or so Crouch claims… Yet my Eliza was sure she ran into her on Diagon Alley the Sunday before she was due back, gushing all about her vacation and how she was looking forward to the Tournament…”
“A most peculiar business…” Sirius conceded. He had never liked Crouch. The man had sentenced him to Azkaban without a fair trial. Crouch Junior was in Ravenclaw, two years behind the Marauders and did not leave much of an impression on Black or Lupin. His academic record had been reasonably flawless – almost the top of his cohort. No one had expected him to be a supporter of Voldemort. They should have the twins’ memories of their encounter with Mister Crouch extracted with their permission for the record.
The real Moody was being held somewhere. Polyjuice needed the subject impersonated to be alive when providing the key ingredient. Snape had assured Black that using the hair or nail clippings of a dead subject would have detrimental side-effects. If they spooked Crouch Junior, they could end up killing Moody. If only he could break into Moody’s rooms for a thorough search… Oh perhaps they were already too late…
“Found something!” Tonks waved as she scraped at the dirt. A bone. It was still echoing with magical residue. The victim must have been transfigured to hide the body. An animal from the forest or even Hagrid’s boarhound would have made short work of it were it not found.
Sirius Black wished he had paid more attention in class to Professor Flitwick or McGonagall. Would a Revelio work? Or was there some specific Counter Hex? Shacklebolt was cautiously casting a spell on the bone, but nothing was happening. With Lupin still sitting out the full moon, he would have to bother Snape again, and he already owed the greasy git more favours than he wished.
Auror Shacklebolt had all the documentation done on the bone Tonks found before sending it to the Department of Mysteries. They needed a neutral party instead of Snape or Black to witness the reversal, Shacklebolt explained. It took a while before the Unspeakables reversed the Transfiguration to reveal the corpse of Bartemius Crouch Senior the following day. As requested by Lord Black and at Shacklebolt’s discretion, the death was not publicized. A discreet personal owl was sent from Tonks to her Cousin Pads, dressed up in a pink envelope doused with her perfume. Cotton candy stood out from the floral-fumed love letters he normally received from young pureblood witches smitten with the rakishly handsome Lord Black. Still, Black scanned it for spells before touching it, just to be safe. Little Dora had been a bit of a prankster. Who could forget that Muggle whoopie cushion under his seat at the Tonks?
Blame Peeves.
The poltergeist was a meddlesome and sometimes malicious spirit. Minerva groaned when she heard the pest singing a ditty about Mad Moody locked in a trunk by himself. Peeves’ voice echoed about the Great Hall, announcing his little discovery to all and sundry. The headmaster choked on his pumpkin juice and turned an alarming shade of grey. Lupin shot a Silencing Spell at the sprite, but he was too fast and agile. Who knows how many corridors Peeves had been singing his song in and for how long before his grand entrance into the Great Hall at breakfast. The sprite somersaulted over the Hufflepuff table, swooping down to upend a pot of porridge over Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang. Shrieking with laughter, he flew off.
Now, the headmaster had no choice but to act, but it was too late. The sly Crouch Junior had caught on that the gig was up. He had not turned up for breakfast. Black checked the map he now carried constantly on his person. It had been several hours since he last checked. There was no sign of Crouch on the Marauders’ Map now. More ominously, Alastor Moody’s name was also gone.
Black insisted on joining Dumbledore, Flitwick and McGonagall in their search of false Moody’s room. They Scanned the room for any traps. The room was littered with clutter of Moody’s belongings, including the Foe-glass and Sneakoscopes. His eye and wooden leg had been left on the bed. A stoic Minerva picked up the items and wrapped them in a blanket before excusing herself from the room. Moody had been a former student and a close friend. They found the trunk under the bed. Professor Flitwick undid the complicated Locking Charm and disabled two Hexes along the way.
“A shame… he was a bright lad. Never expected that of him…” Flitwick murmured dolefully. The Charms Master was fond of his students. Donning dragonhide gloves against any hidden curses, he carefully lifted the lid. A whiff of fetid air hit Black.
“Get back!” Lord Black seized the pint-sized Professor by the back of his collar and yanked him to safety, as the inferius clawed at him. He tried to kick the lid shut but it was too late. An unnaturally strong arm shoved the lid open.
“Damn! I hate inferi!”
That bastard Crouch had murdered the real Moody and turned him into an inferius. The inferius hauled itself out on its one leg, jaws snapping. There were few spells that could stop a Inferius.
“Get out!” Dumbledore shouted as he raised his wand. Still holding onto Flitwick, Black backed out the door. He could feel the magical energy crackling about the headmaster and the castle’s Wards reacting to that rage.
A whip of fire emerged from Dumbledore’s wand and hit the inferius across the chest. It screeched as the flames started consuming both it and the room. The headmaster stepped out of the room. His rage spent.
“Rest in peace, old friend.” He shut the door behind him and felt the castle’s Wards take over. The fire would burn within the room for the next hour or so, cremating its contents and Cleansing it of any lingering Dark magic. Moody had no family to inherit his ragtag collection of belongings. A Viking funeral. Moody was going with all his worldly goods on a pyre like some Norse chieftain. Suddenly weary, Dumbledore leaned against the wall to catch his breath. He could feel the low heat of the flames through the stones. Crouch had eluded them and there was no telling who he was disguised as now in a castle full of students, staff and visitors for the Tournament.
“Are you hurt?” a startled Minerva asked. Black and Flitwick had barrelled into her in their hasty exit. Dumbledore shook his head. Flitwick had received a scratch from a claw that would need treatment in the Hospital Wing. Fresh inferius tend to inflict wounds prone to festering. Black looked grim.
“If anyone sees Crouch or anyone who might be him, Stun them immediately, no question asked.”
The real Crouch Senior was dead but there were other ways to disguise oneself. Human Transfiguration perhaps? Crouch Junior had been a top student. Black hoped Dumbledore might be able to persuade the organizers to see sense and possibly call off the last task or add more safeguards. However, he knew the Ministry had too much invested in the event. Not to mention a pesky magical contract involving one accursed Goblet of Fire. It felt like he was watching his godson going as a lamb for the slaughter.
Notes:
Crouch has flown the coop. He can appear as anyone now. And there is still one Horcrux out there.
Chapter 28: Locked Rooms
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Dear Harry
I must be brief as they need to start the procedure immediately if I am to have any chance of recovery my magic. I am scared… that I might wake up a squib, or never. The healers here do not believe in sugarcoating things. I wish we had more time…
Harry would have read the letter to pieces, if he had not cast numerous preservation spells on it. There had been no new letters after it, not when Hermione was still in a magical coma.
They were working on wandless, silent magic now. Harry focused his magic on the sphere of fire between his hands before hurling it at his partner’s shield. It split into a dozen smaller fireballs which then fizzled out on contact with the Shield.
A frustrated Henri Picquery dropped the Shield he was holding and zoomed in for a roundhouse kick which Harry swiftly leapt clear of. He stumbled as he landed but recovered enough to throw a shaky Freezing Hex which went wide. When Henri resorted to No-Maj fighting during a magical duel, it generally meant he was royally ticked off with his opponent’s lack of commitment to the duel.
“Time out!” Professor Lupin called. “Harry, is something wrong?” He had noticed his student’s lacklustre performance since Miss Granger left.
“Mon ami, it’s no fun if you are not serious!” Henri grumbled as he took off his dragonhide duelling vest. “Heck, I don’t even need this…” He threw it in disgust in the dirt. Lupin insisted on Harry’s duelling partners wearing the full set of duelling protections given Harry’s naturally strong magical core and at-times shaky control over his magic.
The sidelines, normally packed with interested students and staff from the four institutions were now empty apart from a few stalwart supporters. The earlier duels had been exciting and much anticipated, especially between Potter and Picquery. Even Professor Flitwick had turned up to view the practice. Shortly after the First Task, Professor Graves had to impose a quota on the attendees due to the sheer numbers curious to see Harry Potter in action. The cold winter months which followed dissuaded most, until spring came round. Then the numbers started rising again with friendly practice duels held under a professor’s supervision.
“Harry… you are still not back to form after that incident in the lake… Do you need a mediwitch to look you over?” a concerned Miranda asked. “You seem, well, distracted…”
Harry groaned and rubbed his face. He was distracted indeed – worried about the final task, his friends and fellow Champions, and whatever plot that crazy wizard and his followers had waiting for them. And above all, Hermione.
“Harry, pup…” Lupin let his mien of duelling instructor slip and ruffled the boy’s hair. “If you are worried about the hunt, we’ll take care of it… You just concentrate on getting through the task…” He turned to the spectators and students.
“Class, practice is over! The help will be cleaning the tent shortly, please leave in the next five minutes…” he announced.
“There’s still one more out there. And no one knows where…” Harry grumbled under his breath.
“Harry, take the rest of the day off. Go to the Three Broomsticks with Henri and Mira for Butterbeers. Or visit Longbottom and your friends in Hogwarts,” Lupin added. “Just be back in the RV before nine-thirty…”
“Or Uncle Percy will have my hide,” Harry completed.
Uncle Percy had been busy with whether it was tournament judges did. Harry had not seen him for almost a week. Uncle Pads had been keeping him updated on the Horcrux hunt, up until that fiasco with the twins getting attacked. He got a grudging thank you from Ron Weasley, far more than he expected given the redhead’s dislike of him. Hey, stuff happens. He did not mean to steal his girlfriend, which he ever much doubted Hermione saw herself as such. Knowing how things were with the Weasleys… Well, Harry had his limits. If Ron pushed too far, he might just find his socks combusting.
Uncle Moony almost got killed by a giant snake hunting for those soul shards. He was still limping even now. Then the twins got attacked, and even though Black did not give him any information on the ongoing investigations, Harry doubted they were simply mugged. He heard from Neville that the twins were stuck scrubbing cauldrons or gutting flobberworms every evening for the next two weeks.
“So Theseus, nothing can be done at all?” Percival glared at the Triwizard Cup ensconced in its crystal case on a high shelf in the Department of International Cooperation. On the day of the final task, it would be transported from its current location in the Ministry of Magic where it had sat since it was ceded to the Chief Witch by then Headmaster Calamatis after the disastrous tournament of 1792 on grounds that having it within Hogwarts brought too many bad memories about the disaster.
“Sorry, old friend, I have gone over the contract and parameters. We cannot stop the Tournament or risk all four Champions’ magic. Can’t change the tasks neither. The Cup always Portkeys the winner from the labyrinth task to the podium as the official end to the tournament. The organizers would have set the Portkey parameters in place before the Drawing of Names…” Theseus explained.
“Thought so. I am more concerned about who set those parameters…” Percival pointed at the signatures at the bottom of the scroll he was holding. Ludo Bagman and Bartemius Crouch. It was a magical agreement, requiring the wix’s actual name, which counted for little if both father and son shared a name.
“Bagman’s an idiot off the Quidditch pitch – he probably needed someone to check his spell to make sure our winner does not end up in the lake instead of the podium,” Theseus tutted.
“Is there any way we can protect those youngsters?”
“Well, they are only allowed their wands… Wait a sec…” Theseus leafed through the records of the past tournaments. “Hm, the tournament allows the Champions to use their raiment… In 1565, one Champion used his belt which was a transfigured Bridle of Taming to wrangle a Kelpie. We might have a loophole.”
“If we can slip a Tracking Spell or a Portkey into Harry’s uniform… But the rest of the Champions will also be in danger…” Graves growled. “I doubt Karakoff or Maxime would take kindly if we were to hand out buttons to their Champions.”
“Forget a Tracking spell. All the Champions will be tracked within the labyrinth. Spell interference.”
“We introduced them to the screens for a reason…” Graves complained as he fidgeted with his Ilvermorny-issued tie pin. The Gordian Knot. The brooch worn by all Ilvermorny students. Perhaps they could give Harry an emergency portkey.
Their Master was in a rage. His pet snake Nagini had gone missing, so soon after they dealt with that Jonkins witch. Pettigrew trembled as he brewed the potion. Maybe he could find a Muggle to distract his master with. A pity about the old caretaker. He must be so careful not to waste any of the venom they had already collected. Where else could they find a Cursed venomous snake?
There had been a commotion at the old Gaunt shack before Nagini’s disappearance, but the traces were gone by the time Pettigrew got there. His Master had been furious. He had been punished for it, Crucio-ed by his partner on the Dark Lord’s instructions. They had only stopped because he was needed sane enough to brew the Resurrection Potion. Pettigrew fumed when he read from the Daily Prophet that Sirius Black had made good and was now the highly eligible Lord Black. Life was not fair. Black got to wine and dine with pretty witches while he tended to his master’s needs.
“Pettigrew! I need to go!” the sibilant voice managed to sound petulant. Pettigrew cast a Stasis Spell on his cauldron.
“Coming, my lord,” Peter hastened to the bedroom where his master now resided. It would not improve his temper if he were left lying in his own poop. There had been no further updates from Barty. Peter hoped all was ready for their master’s return.
Henri was still sulking over the duelling circle. Harry decided to leave his friend to cool off a bit longer before apologizing. He hated to get on Henri’s wrong side after ending up with duck-feet after he accidentally made his friend late for an important duelling meet by cancelling his Tempus Alarm as a prank. Miranda was getting a bit tiresome with her mothering. He gave her the slip when a gaggle of French students approached her eager to place orders for California-style casual robes.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Harry almost ran into a witch with thick glasses wrapped in garish shawls. “Are you alright?” He helped pick up the bottles she had dropped.
“Oh, thank you, dear child…” Professor Trelawney suddenly went all stiff and spoke in a sonorous voice laden with magic.
“The Dark Lord and the Chosen Champion must face each other on a field of the dead. To cleanse the evil, great sacrifice must be made. Neither can live while the other survives…” Trelawney blinked her eyes owlishly and snapped out of her trance. “I’ll be fine, child. Just a touch of sun…”
More like a bottle of sherry… Harry had gotten a good whiff of the stuff from the empty bottles. The witch hurried on her way after taking the bottles from him. If that witch was the castle’s resident Seer, he really ought to tell an adult about the prophecy, but it was so vague as to be useless.
Harry found Neville, Luna and Ron playing Exploding Snap during their break in the Great Hall at the Gryffindor table.
“Any news of Hermione?” Neville looked up from his cards.
“They are still waiting for her core to stabilize after they removed the parasite,” Harry explained glumly. Aunt Portia had regular updates on Miss Granger’s condition from New Orleans.
“So even after all your fancy healing charms you cannot help her?” Ron snarked.
“Healing takes time. St Mungo’s have been trying to treat my mom and dad for years now,” Neville slammed a card down. “Are you nervous about the final task?”
“Of course, the people got hurt in the last one. People not even involved in the tournament,” Harry replied. “Look, Weasley… I’d rather be friends than enemies with Hermione's friends. Can we just call a truce on this? I mean, you weren’t courting her, right?”
“C-courting?” Ron turned red. “You got it wrong, mate! Look, you come waltzing in with your fancy American ways and we know you’d be gone by the end of the year…”
“I think what Ron is trying to say is that he is worried about you breaking Hermione’s heart by leaving her after the tournament…” Luna added.
“No one asked you, Looney…”
“Weasley, I will strongly suggest you apologise to Luna,” Neville said in a quiet voice. “Unless you want spiders in your bed… She’s right. I mean, you didn’t really care much about Granger after the troll incident apart from the Get Well card and apology your mom made you give for bullying her. It was only after the Basilisk incident and Ginny that you started looking out for her in a big brotherly way…”
“Sorry, Luna. Someone in our House had to. That elf Dobby is a fool…” Ron mumbled. His friends were right. He spent much of his second year playing the fool with Seamus and Dean when he should have been watching out for Ginny. Percy was walking out with a fellow prefect and the twins were constantly in detention for their pranks. He was the closest to Ginny after all. He liked Granger, but he did not know if it was in a like-like way.
“Look, I am serious about Hermione… I am not sure how to make a long-distance relationship work, even with owls… Aunt Portia will never allow me to transfer from Ilvermorny. Maybe I can get pointers from Mr and Mrs Scamander since Mister Newt was a great traveller when younger,” Harry explained. “Can we shake on this as gentle-wizards?”
“Fine, break her heart and I will Hex your ass off…” Ron reluctantly took the hand Harry held out to him.
He knew better than to let Dumbledore’s words get to him. But once he was reminded of that strange room, Snape would not get it out of his mind. Dumbledore had retreated to his office after Moody, leaving an outraged Minerva to deal with the paperwork and Aurors. Tonks had been heartbroken at the news of Moody’s demise. She had trained under him in the Auror Academy before he was forced into retirement between his growing paranoia and over-zealousness. Maybe the old man did care for the crazy old Auror after all. Which was a far cry from how Snape stood. A convenient tool, a pawn to be kept close until needed.
Snape had declined an invitation to the Hog’s Head from Kingsley after Minerva signed all the necessary forms and the witnesses had given their statements. Too many memories there. Moreover, the little get-together would likely disintegrate into drunken memorial for Mad-eye Moody. Instead, he had paced the myriad halls and passageways of the castle to no avail.
Hogwarts kept her secrets well. Where was that room? He stopped before a tapestry of dancing trolls for a breather before continuing. The Horcrux, if it existed, was not in the Chamber of Secrets. Black, Graves and Professor Flitwick had canvassed the place after the Second Task. However, they did uncover Slytherin’s old office with several Potions tomes they ceded to Hogwarts’ library.
“Severus, my boy, did I err in not trusting the Americans?” Dumbledore had asked him earlier when they crossed paths in the staff lounge. Severus chose not to respond then. The headmaster had been obsessed with doing things his way, leading everyone like puppets on strings. Now the puppets had broken away from him. Snape had his resignation letter drafted. Ready to be handed in once he had found a trustworthy successor to care for his snakes.
Dancing trolls… Something prickled at his awareness. He had hidden his memories using Occlumency. So much that he feared he might have lost some for good under the thick mantle he was forced to don as a spy. Could he coax out the forgotten strand of memory? After losing Draco, he had allowed his mental discipline to slacken. Was there another Legilimens powerful enough he could trust to assist him? He dared not open his mind to the headmaster anymore.
Notes:
Did Trelawney give a prophecy? Dumbledore has lost control of his spy.
Chapter 29: Race to Finish
Notes:
Feeling quite conflicted about this as I will be forgoing a fair bit of what Harry would become in canon. He is just a 14-year-old here and should not be dealing with all the Master of Death and other stuff from canon. Though maybe he does get to end Voldemort.
Chapter Text
“No, Fiendfyre is out of the question! Even a grown wizard could lose control…”
“How about Ignis Santos?” Harry was revising his repertoire of spells to be used in the final task with his Defense tutor.
“You mean Ignis Sanctus? Its core is ritual-based magic. You don’t just go Casting it willy-nilly…” Lupin replied as he rubbed his leg. The slight twinge and limp that resulted from Nagini’s bite would likely remain with him for the rest of his life.
“But Madam Lucia went through the basics with us. We can forgo the ritual bits. She says it is the purpose and purity of the intent…”
“Harry, if anything feels off, just bail out… one shouldn’t go experimenting with spells at this time.”
“Where’s Coach?” Harry deflected the topic.
“He’s busy,” Lupin replied. Black and Snape have been taking turns searching for what they hoped was the last Horcrux tethering Voldemort to this world. They needed someone on the Hogwarts staff to grant them access to the castle. Professor McGonagall was too busy with the Triwizard Tournament, most of the logistics of which had been delegated to the deputy headmistress.
“Any luck finding it?”
“No, but we will.”
They were running out of time as the third and final task neared. Dumbledore was still acting cagey. He was now trying to push some exchange programme with Ilvermorny but Auntie Portia doubted that was his only purpose. Maybe he was still trying to get Harry Potter to transfer to Hogwarts as Britain’s boy hero. Chief Warlock, if you know anything about where a Horcrux might be hiding, appreciate if you tell us. With the diplomatic immunity conferred through their participation, the Ministry had no reason to detain Harry Potter. Once the tournament was over, Uncle Percy suggested Harry be Portkeyed out of Britain like a bat out of hell. Oh, they would update him on the status of the other Horcrux and Voldie’s sorry soul, if they trusted him – which they did not.
There had been some half-hearted attempts at love potions. After Hermione left for treatment in New Orleans, some fangirls thought it might be a good idea to fill the void. Other gifts smacked of Compulsions for him to act recklessly or remain in Britain. Harry had the afflicted letters and gifts Banished. Black sent reports of the attempts to his cousin Tonks to be filed with the Aurory. However, Tonks had replied that no one was really looking into those cases or else writing it off as childish hijinks. Most of their attention was consumed by the security arrangements for the tournament, especially after they lost Moody.
It was going to be a huge event diplomatically. The Bulgarian and French ambassadors would be attending. As would Vice-President Fisheye Pollack of MACUSA. Almost all the Wizengamot would also be present. It appeared that Minister Fudge had sought to recover Britain’s tattered reputation after the Quidditch World Cup by using the Triwizard Tournament. There had been great interest in the tournament’s surprise champion. His performance in the previous tasks only fuelled their interest.
All too soon, it was the day of the final task.
“Be careful…” Diggory warned Harry. “Dad says there will be reporters mixed in with the lot…” Krum gave a grunt which could mean anything. Surprisingly, he then moved in between Fleur and a young man with a camera, spoiling his shot. The French Champion was looking decidedly peaky. The Beauxbaton delegation had closed ranks around their own to support her. Still, there were times when Fleur needed to be in contact with the public, like now when they were invited to lunch with their very important visitors.
“Her sister vas not vell. Her parents took her home to South France…” Krum explained. A dousing in the Black Lake in winter would do that. Unlike Harry, not all the foreign Champions expected their family to be with them through all the tasks. Viktor’s Baba still languished in St Mungo’s. Cedric Diggory grimaced when he saw his father was beside Minister Fudge. He reminded Harry of a startled rabbit, on the verge of bolting.
“That’s my boy!” Amos Diggory slapped his son on the shoulder and pulled him over to be introduced to Vice-President Pollack. As if irritated by the wizard, Pollack pointedly ignored Cedric after a perfunctory handshake, instead turning to Fleur and asking her in French about her sister’s health. Mister Diggory then dragged his son over to the Bulgarian ambassador. Harry pitied Cedric as the cameras flashed. Mister Diggory’s antics were making fine fodder for the reporters.
Harry frowned. A camera was being levitated near him. Lumos. Harry grinned as he silently cast the Lighting Spell as the camera went off, ruining the shot. There was a flash of navy blue as a security wizard from Vice-President Pollack’s detail Transfigured the offending camera into a flower and stuck it into the table centrepiece.
“Harry, good to see you all grown-up. You were a mere tiddler when we last met…” Pollack shook his hand warmly. “All the best with the coming task, young man!”
“T-thank you, I guess…” Harry tried to recall the wild-haired, bug-eyed wizard. Maybe he had been at one of those galas Auntie Portia hosted. The wizard pressed something into his hand. A replica of the Ilvermorny Gordian Knot brooch. Harry frowned as he tried to place the wizard. Could he be an imposter? “Where was it we last met?”
“Christmas party 1987 at Rocky Fells. You climbed the tree, slipped and landed on my Gloria May. Swap it out… this one has a No-Maj tracking beacon, just in case…” Pollack whispered to Harry and nodded to Uncle Percy across the room. Harry winced as he recalled how the Skye terrier Gloria May had sunk her teeth into his leg. Uncle Percy acknowledged the greeting with a nod of his own. MACUSA had their security teams using no-Maj tech to track the beacon at several key locations they had compiled from their research – Little Hangleton and former Death Eater residences still standing like Nott Manor. Fisheye had come through in the end with the security clearance, redirecting part of his own security detail to protect young Potter. Fisheye was distantly related to Portia – a stepson-in-law or step grandson, and fond of the grand old dame.
Too bad they still did not have a handle on who Crouch Junior could be hiding as. There was no feasible excuse for them to force all the attendees to walk through Thief’s Downfall, not to mention the costs and time needed to secure enough of the potion. He studied the delegates, students and faculty. Sir Theseus Scamander approached him. The former Auror was covering for both the late Crouch Senior and Bagman after the latter’s dealings with the goblins during the Quidditch World Cup returned to haunt him. The Ministry might declare Ludo Bagman dead in absentia if they do not hear from him in seven years. Or the goblins might do them the courtesy of announcing Ludo’s crime and penalty under goblin laws.
“I have spoken with Bones and Scrimgeour. The Aurors will be posted outside the maze itself. If anything happens, they can only intervene if red sparks are seen…” Scamander explained. Red sparks were the agreed-on signal for aid.
“I suppose they will intervene if, let’s say, a Champion gets savaged by a manticore on the viewing screens?”
“Well, I suppose so. The tournament’s messed up. We do not know how much we are allowed to intervene.”
“Sir Scamander, your seat, sir!” Percy Weasley waved from the other end of the table where Sir Scamander’s seat was. “Shall I pour the wine or the brandy?”
After his ill-fated stint under Crouch, Master Weasley was back to brown-nosing his way up the ladder. The young man was like an eager puppy, eager to please. Percival Graves chuckled while Theseus rolled his eyes. The former Auror made his way to his seat. Lunch was about to start.
They had found the room, chockfull of junk from Hogwarts’ long storied history. Snape groaned inside while Sirius grumbled vocally. It had taken them several days to work out the Room of Requirement after Professor McGonagall tipped them off to the location behind the tapestry of dancing trolls. Finding the location was easy, it was getting the room to work that was the tough bit.
When Black tried it, he ended up walking into what appeared to be a Quidditch supplies warehouse. Then it was a wonky cross between a British pub and a Las Vegas cabaret. He had been thinking about the refurbishing the Ilvermorny Quidditch team the first round and where to take Remus Lupin for his birthday surprise the second time. Snape ended up with a storeroom full of rare potions ingredients and tomes. As much as the Potion Master would love to delve into the rare books, there were more pressing matters.
Lunch had long slipped them by and before they knew it, it was almost time for the task. At least they had ended up with Come-and-Go room as the elves called it. Now they must sort through the mess looking for a possible Horcrux – the Diadem of Ravenclaw. They had seen it in a picture – helpfully provided by Miss Lovegood, a friend of Longbottom. The Ravenclaws had a replica in their common room atop a marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw.
“Where’s Black?” Graves asked as he scanned the crowd. One would expect him to be present for his godson, unless he was still caught up with the Horcrux Hunt. DADA instructor Lupin was giving a last-minute pep talk to their Champion. Harry looked so much younger standing between the much taller Diggory and Krum. Being in the lead, Krum would enter the maze first, followed by Harry and Diggory. Mademoiselle Delacour would go last.
“I last saw him with Snape, before lunch,” Portia murmured. Madam Lucia was waving a stick of burning sage over Harry to bless him and seek protection before the annoyed Mister Diggory insisted that she be escorted away from the Champions. The smoke was making his son’s eyes water. The headmistress of Beauxbatons was reassuring Fleur. Dumbledore had maintained a hands-off approach in public when it came to his Champion, so his absence at the starting line was no surprise. What was surprising was Karakoff’s absence. The Durmstrang headmaster had been hovering around his champion anytime Krum was in the public eye. Theo Nott made a dark joke to Justin Finch-Fletchey about Krum finally putting his headmaster in the Black Lake over what happened to his Baba.
“If there is any truth about the Dark Lord returning, being eaten by the Giant Squid will be a walk in the park compared to what they will deal out to traitors…”
“Do you really think he will come back?”
“I think that’s what Father believes,” Theo shrugged. “I am not sure Father is keen on that now though.” Not after what happened to the Malfoys. There had been whispers about what really happened to Lord Malfoy among certain pureblood circles… Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
“Break a leg, Harry,” Miranda gave him a peck on the cheek after she and Henri had dodged past the Aurors, Madam Lucia and Lupin.
“I’d rather not,” Harry rebutted with an impish grin. He yelped as Henri slapped him on the back.
“Stand strong, brother.” With a curt nod, Henri led Miranda back into the crowd. The Final Task was about to start.
Mage-sight did not work. It was like something was stifling the dark magic of the Horcrux. Perhaps the Founder’s diadem was containing the evil of the Horcrux. In desperation, Black had transformed into Padfoot, hoping to use the dog’s keen sense of smell to locate any traces of the Horcrux. They had already tried Summoning it but that failed. There must be some Charm on it preventing Summoning.
They were running out of time. Theoretically, if they could destroy all the Horcruxes before Voldemort could obtain a new body, the weakened wraith would simply wither and die. There was a risk of possession of any willing vessel, but he could not keep it for long. If they failed… Voldemort might return with a new body to continue where he left off, and Harry might be dead or worse.
“Black, I do hope it’s not fleas…” Snape sniped as Padfoot stopped for the umpteenth time to scratch behind his ear.
Sorry, I itch whenever I get nervous, Padfoot looked apologetically at Snape before scratching his rump against am old cabinet. Assorted items fell off the top as Padfoot jostled it, narrowly missing the Potions Master.
“Clumsy mutt…” Snape growled as a bowling ball came within inches of braining him. Padfoot transformed back into Sirius Black.
“Sorry… Well, well, look here…” Black gave a low whistle. Among the items which had fallen off the cabinet was a diadem. Now they needed to destroy it somehow.
Chapter 30: The Maze
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Abandon hope all ye who enter.
The entrance was an ominous dark maw. For a moment he was reminded of the Tombs in New York. Uncle Percy had taken the Three Musketeers there as an object lesson to what awaited them if they were caught flouting the Statutes of Secrecy. That was in the summer of their second year and Miranda had hatched the highly questionable idea of peddling Cheering Potions to No Maj kids in Brooklyn. They had been caught loading the vials onto their bicycles. Uncle Percy was a firm believer in scaring them straight. Viktor and Cedric had already gone ahead of him. A nervous Fleur was biting her lower lip though she held her classic Beauxbaton poise otherwise. Harry took a deep breath, drew his wand and stepped through. Harry snapped round as the hedge closed behind him. The sounds of the crowd were abruptly cut off. He was alone now, apart from his fellow competitors.
Something skittered in the shadows. He cast a Lumos. He had been in a maze before. Place one hand on the wall and follow it through, like the maze at the Pottery. Except the maze back home did not have critters out to kill them… The source of the skittering came close. Harry flicked his wand and dealt a Cutting Hex to the dog-sized Acromantula. The spider leapt back and spat out its infamous web to snare its prey. A Incendio to destroy the sticky threads. The spider was gone.
Harry wanted to stop, but he could not. He doubted the Dark Lord would spare Krum or Diggory. The only way was to beat them to the Triwizard Cup. The only way out was through.
“Think he will be alright?” Portia clutched at Percival’s elbow as they watched the screen. Percival inclined his head but held his tongue. Too many variables. Too many uncertainties. Krum was slashing a path through his obstacles to cheers from his schoolmates. The Bulgarian’s competitive spark refused to be quenched. On the other hand, Mademoiselle Delacour was proceeding with the utmost caution. Her strategy was to outlast the task and come out alive. Lupin was sniffing the air.
Okay, that is worrisome. Still, he could not draw attention to the werewolf by leaving his seat to go to him. He patted the witch on the hand and whispered into her ear.
“Portia… Something’s up with Remus. Speak with him.” Portia nodded and pulled away from Graves. Heels clicking, she strode over to Lupin.
“Lupin, what’s wrong?”
“I smell stewed lacewings… like at the Yule Ball…” Lupin frowned. Someone in the crowd could be an imposter, like the false Moody. His eyes scanned the crowd. Could it be one of the diplomatic guests? An Auror? A student even? Beside the VIP box, two youngsters wearing Gryffindor colours were bouncing with excitement. The pair must have slipped out of the stands reserved for the students. The older child was unofficial photographer for their House and had been taking photos of their honoured guests during the opening. The younger boy was pointing at the screens and exclaiming at the obstacles. Minister Fudge was discussing something with the French ambassador.
Diggory must have answered the sphinx’s riddle wrongly as he was now fleeing the creature. Krum was blasting one of Hagrid’s firecrab-manticore hybrids with some serious Curses. Delacour had stumbled into a gauntlet of Venomous Tentacula. Harry must have abandoned his plan of keeping track of his route and had been turned round. He had passed the same fork twice, otherwise the maze had some form of Confoundus on it.
“Lupin, where’s Cousin Snuffles gone to?” Auror Tonks drifted over. “I need to hand him an invite to Rigel’s Naming Ceremony…”
Ah, Mrs Malfoy must have relented to carry out an official naming for her son or the combined weight of both Malfoy and Black tradition had forced her hand. Most old families who still practiced it waited for a child to be one before welcoming them into the family fold given the high infant mortality. For a family of the Black and Malfoy’s standing, it would be a social event, but Lupin suspected Narcissa would prefer to keep it small, just family and few close friends. She could not hide her son away forever.
“I honestly have no idea.” Black could be busy with the Horcrux hunt, but to miss Harry’s final task of the tournament…
“Do you smell lacewings, dear?” Portia asked mildly. Tonks changed her nose and mouth to that of an anteater’s long snout. A good choice since anteaters were insectivores who relied on scent for hunting and foraging. She delicately scented the air with her tongue, to the amusement of the younger Gryffindor. The older child stiffened and placed a hand on the younger boy’s arm as Tonks nodded. The snout did not allow for speech.
“Oh, I must have spilled my medicine earlier,” Portia dithered, taking on the mien of a mild-mannered grandmother. The older boy seemed to relax.
“Young man, can you please call the headmaster over… Professor Bumblemore?” she tottered to the younger boy.
“It’s Professor Dumbledore, ma’am,” Dennis Creevey grinned.
“I believe he’s with his students. Here’s a Chocolate Frog for you. Off you go…” she gave him the well-loved candy from her purse.
The younger boy tore free of his brother and scampered off. The Hogwarts headmaster was noticeably absent from the judges’ box. Karakoff had been replaced by a dour-looking wizard, likely his deputy. A weary-looking Minerva was plodding over to fill the empty seat. She had likely been sent for when they realized the headmaster had gone missing. It was most unusual having two judges replaced at short notice, but they could not stop the task. The Chief Warlock had been hobnobbing with the Minister earlier.
Once Dennis had gone behind the VIP box, Portia tapped her wand lightly on the remaining boy’s head. Colin Creevey crumpled to the ground.
“Oh my stars, the excitement must be too much for the poor thing. Lend me a hand, will you?” she flapped her hand motioning the Auror and Lupin over.
“Ma’am, what just happened?” Lupin gaped. The stewed lacewing smell seemed stronger when approached them.
“I had to knock him out,” Portia shrugged. Her eyes were sharp again. “No serious harm done. Does he smell of lacewing?”
Tonks leaned over the child. Her anteater snout twitching. She changed her face back to allow for speaking.
“There’s stewed lacewing on his breath. And a stain on his sleeve smells of some soporific potion,” Tonks whispered. She motioned for Lupin to carry the still-unconscious boy away from the maze and the VIP box. They must secure the imposter somehow, identify the impersonated child and find him using the Map before it was too late. Someone ought to remain to inform Dumbledore when he arrives. Like the rest of the spectators, Percival Graves was staring stoically at the screens, keeping his eyes averted from them. Or maybe not.
“Thank you, Fawkes… rest for now,” Dumbledore dismissed his phoenix. Snape’s absence as well Igor Karakoff’s from the venue of the task was worrisome. He would not put it past Igor to cut and run, but Snape? If he were lucky, Snape might have had a confrontation with Igor, and both were now lying injured somewhere. He had summoned his familiar to Apparate him from the back of the stands to his office. Bless those lions. They nary gave him a look when he walked past. Any other House of students might have noticed and asked awkward questions.
He needed to set things in motion to stop Voldemort’s return, even with a reluctant Harry Potter. It was fortunate Mister Pollack was known to blab after a few glasses of elf-wine. He had managed to copy the tracking spell off Harry’s brooch thanks to Arthur Weasley’s son. Young Percy had been flitting among the guests at lunch, refiling their glasses and making small talk. Harry had allowed him to come close enough to copy the brooch’s magic into the Charmed notebook Dumbledore gave him. The boy would be rewarded. A transfer to the Magical Transportation Department, followed by a swift promotion…
He unfurled the map of Britain before him and hooked the Tracking Spell from Weasley’s notebook to it. A red dot showed somewhere in the Scottish Highlands. Harry Potter.
“Kid’s name is C. Creevey. Lucky he had it on his camera strap,” Rufus Scrimgeour grunted. They had their suspect bound, but they would have to wait for the Polyjuice to wear out naturally. Tonks and Scrimgeour had commandeered Hagrid’s shack as a base of operations. Hagrid was busy at the task. It was his duty to wrangle any creatures who escape the maze. He was all too willing to offer his shack as a quiet place for a sick child to recover when asked.
“Creevey…” Lupin scanned the Marauders’ Map. There was a dot labelled Dennis Creevey darting frantically about the Great Hall, possibly on his wild goose chase. Albus Dumbledore was snug in the Headmaster’s Office. Lupin growled. How dare he when Harry Potter and the other Champions were risking their lives in the maze.
He finally found what he was looking for – Colin Creevey. The child was alive and in a classroom in a little-used wing of the castle.
“Found him,” Lupin waved Tonks over. “We’d need a member of the staff…”
“I can get Professor Sprout. I know she’s not at the task because the moonflowers are due for harvest. She’ll be in the greenhouse,” Tonks volunteered. If the boy had been drugged, they might need a mediwitch. For this reason, Madam Lucia had also been called. The White Priestess arrived with two vials of Veritaserum from her own stores, just in case.
Wonder how Harry’s doing… Portia tamped down her worry. There was another child who needed rescuing. Barty Crouch had kept Moody subdued with a mix of Imperius and high doses of Sleeping Draughts for months. Even if he had not been killed, they expected him to be left comatose for the remainder of his life. Now there was a child in danger.
“Someone better tell Dennis we don’t need the headmaster,” Lupin added wryly as he watched the dot representing Dennis Creevey run up the Astronomy Tower.
Destroy a Horcrux. How difficult could it be?
“What do you mean you don’t have Basilisk venom in your pocket?”
“Black, why would I walk about a school full of children with a vial of the deadliest poison known to wizard-kind?”
“You should know with the new security measures after Moody, I cannot bring my dagger into Hogwarts…” Sirius groaned as he attempted another Bombardo from behind their barricade of old desks and chairs. Not a scratch on the diadem. The original plan was to use a Basilisk venom-infused dagger from the Black vaults to destroy the Horcrux in the event it could not be brought to the goblins. That dagger was now sitting in the DMLE pending a review of Lord Black’s application for permits to hold a dark artefact. How was he to know his Lordship rights to hold the dagger did not extend beyond Gringotts and he needed a separate permit?
“We should find a lead box, lock it away, then send it over to the goblins to dispose of,” the Poison Master suggested. “Before you bring down the flipping roof on us!”
Black cast a Tempus and groaned. The task must be well on its way by now and they were not making progress. Snape was digging through a pile of junk for something he could transfigure into a box and apply Wards to something that could hold the diadem until they reached the goblins.
More giant spiders, answering riddles, and some fire-breathing, acid-spewing monstrosity just enough to keep him from feeling like a hairy-footed character in the Hobbit. Harry groaned as he cast a healing spell on his calf after flushing it out with Aguamenti. He was not expecting that last spurt of acid. The burning that remained was troubling. He would need to have it properly cleaned out later by Madam Lucia. Limping, Harry turned a corner.
Snakes. They dumped a literal snake pit in his path. The hedge had closed behind him. He needed to get to the other side. Could he levitate himself over? Freezing the entire pit? Should he talk his way out of this? But the British were touchy about Parseltongue… Ah to heck with it.
“Hello friendsss… May I passss?”
“Ssspeaker! A ssspeaker!” The snakes writhed and undulated as if dancing in joy. There were boas, cobras, adders and other snakes Harry did not recognize.
“Free ussss!”
“Too cold!”
“Help usss!”
Harry chuckled as he cast a light Warming Spell on the pit. He then focused his magic on altering the smooth sides of the pit, adding a gentle slope at the nearest end and rough ladders on the sides so the serpents could escape their prison. That was when the snakes literally surged out of the pit like a tsunami.
“Thanksss, Ssspeaker… the way is clear for you…”
“Go… while we are ssstill sssane…” the snake gasped as if in pain.
Sane? Harry did not hesitate but dashed through the now empty pit.
Outside the maze, the spectators gasped aloud at the drama unfolding on the screen while Percival Graves buried his face in his hands. Foolish, thoughtless child. Now they had snakes, some of which were venomous, roaming the maze at will. Then the screaming started, and sparks started flying.
“That is not good, right, Forge?” Fred nudged his twin. On one of the screens, Krum had been surprised by a large boa and was now wrestling it after losing his wand. A cornered Fleur had transformed partially into her Veela form and was lashing out a several cobras with her talons while sending red sparks into the air with her wand.
“Snakes don’t behave this way! Something is wrong!” Professor Grubbly-Plank exclaimed as she leapt to her feet.
“Where’s the headmaster when you need him?” George looked around. He had been certain he saw that awful purple robe earlier near their House stands.
Miranda and Henri exchanged looks. They were unable to hear what Harry and the snakes were saying from the screen, but the switch in the serpents’ demeanour was unmistakable. Someone had Cursed the snakes!
Notes:
Harry didn’t think that one through at all.
Chapter 31: Showdown Time
Notes:
This is a rewrite as I was not too pleased with the first version.
Chapter Text
Harry dashed into a clearing in very heart of the maze. In it stood a pedestal on which the Triwizard Cup was gleaming. At the foot of the pedestal was a pale-faced Diggory. He looked very, very wrong. His lips were blue. Her was clutching his wand arm. Nearby were the two halves of a snake Harry recognized as a black mamba, one of the deadliest and fastest snakes in the world.
“I’m bit…” Diggory slurred out. His eyes were drooping as the venom coursed through his blood. Where was a bezoar or general antidote when you needed one? Or antivenom? Harry sliced a strip off his sleeve and fashioned a crude tourniquet. He considered whether he should Cast a Timed-release Spell on the knot and decided against it. Better to risk losing the arm than having the poison reach his heart, if it were not already too late.
Once someone grabbed the Triwizard Cup, he or she will be Portkeyed to the podium while the Wards on the maze would drop, allowing the organizers to retrieve any remaining competitors. He could hear distant screeching and see red sparks fired into the sky. They went on for far longer than he expected. Why were the Aurors not intervening? Was it the tournament rules? Or did someone rig the maze to keep them out? More snakes were closing in on them. Harry fired off some red sparks into the sky. He hoped the Aurors would get to Diggory in time.
Taking a deep breath, Harry grabbed the Cup and felt the familiar pulling sensation.
Auror Shacklebolt and his team fired another Hex at the maze. They were stuck outside. A few of the snakes had crawled out from under the hedges. These were swiftly Petrified and removed by several student volunteers at Percival Graves’ direction.
On the screen, they saw Harry fire off the red sparks before grabbing the Cup. Then he was gone. Everyone turned to the podium as the Aurors finally broke into the maze to rescue the rest of the Champions. Where was Harry? The Minister looked around in confusion. He had been expecting Harry Potter to arrive before him with the Cup so he could shake his hand. The reporters’ cameras flashed all the same, catching Minister Fudge gape-mouthed like a stunned fish.
Pandemonium broke out as an angry sphinx tore through the now-wilting hedges. She was followed by a mass of large spiders, the smallest of which were the size of dinner plates. The Blast-ended Skwert skittered out and headed straight for the VIP box.
“Shields!”
At least five different security teams reacted and started Casting in confusion. The glowing shields jostled each other, allowing a crack that was just enough for the monstrosity to blast flames at the Italian, or was it the Czech ambassador, lighting the elderly wizard up like a firework before someone used a Aguamenti to quench the flames. A flash of green light hit the acid-squirting creature. It rolled over stone dead. Everyone pretended not to see or hear the ambassador’s equally ancient wife just use an Unforgiveable.
The panel of judges had set aside their differences to deal with the situation, and to protect their students. Minerva McGonagall fired off at three Cat Patronuses. One to instruct the Prefect to get the students back within the castle, and one each to Snape and Pomfrey to have any bezoars, antidotes and healing potions ready for the injured. She did not notice that one of the Patronus remained long after the other two had flown off. She had Summoned a broom when she saw her lions were not going back to the castle as ordered but attempting to fight the snakes and spiders. With that lot, it was a wonder her hair had not turned white sooner. After running about the judges’ table a few times, the confused cat patronus faded away.
Madam Maxime had Cast some Spell that encased most of her students in a large protective bubble-like shield that rose from the earth and encased the Beauxbaton stands. She then batted away a large spider with her bare hand and went to help Hagrid with the young Erumpent. She kept an eye out for any blue-uniformed stragglers who might have left the stands for a comfort break or refreshments. She hoped that these had the good sense to hid in their well-warded coach.
The Durmstrang students acted with military precision. Most of their party retreated for their ship led by Karakoff’s deputy while six remained. One transformed into a goshawk and started flying and diving above the maze. The remaining five students formed a line and sliced their way towards their wounded comrade under their animagus friend’s direction. They soon made short work of the snake and carried a wounded Krum out. Durmstrang always took care of their own.
Fleur had taken to the air the minute the magic holding the maze’s enchantments together collapsed. She spotted Cedric Diggory, swooped down and carried him to safety. The pair landed on top of the Beauxbaton coach where Fleur transformed back and Summoned a bezoar from her luggage. She forced the bezoar down his throat and massaged it until he swallowed. The colour started to return to his skin. The Hogwarts Champion would live. She Vanished the crude tourniquet and frowned at the state of his arm. She was too spent to do anything more, not after having to transform as she did.
The Ilvermorny teachers started ushering their charges back to the Camper once the hedges containing the beasts started failing. Only a handful of students remained to assist the staff, among them Parselmouths, Henri and Miranda.
“Where’s Harry?” Miranda asked as she Conjured a sack to collect the Petrified snakes.
“No idea. Isn’t he on the podium?” Henri replied as he set a spider ablaze. The pair kept up their conversation as they fought off stray spiders and petrified snakes. Once the Merry Camper was securely Warded, the Ilvermorny Pukwudgies joined the wrangling of the more dangerous beasts with under Professor Graves’ direction.
“No. Do you think he’s d-dead? Harry?”
“Nah, he is like a cat with seven lives…”
“Shouldn’t it be nine?”
“Seven, I think he used two up already this year…”
“Uh, shouldn’t it be more?”
“He gets a reset each July, so my grammy says. Or he wouldn’t have made it so far…” Henri jested. His bespectacled friend had a knack for getting into trouble and wriggling out of it unscathed. Maybe his luck would hold.
In the headmaster’s office, Dumbledore saw the dot marked Harry Potter flicker out and reappear far south of Hogwarts.
“Take me there, Fawkes!”
The phoenix inclined his head and trilled. He fixed his master with a quizzical eye. Seriously? The bird cast a beady eye out the window.
“Please, Fawkes…” the wizard wheedled. Fawkes only clacked his beak, shook his head, and scratched under his wing.
“Ah well…” Dumbledore Cast a Location-Revealing spell over the map. Little Hangleton. He had been there once, a very long time ago when the Riddles were murdered. He hoped he could still Apparate there, or close enough to it.
There were cries of alarm from the direction of the maze. The headmaster peered out of his window. It seemed that the creatures within the maze were now escaping and the Aurors were hard pressed to deal with them. Hagrid was making a valiant effort wrangling the spiders. Flitwick seemed to have engaged the attention of the Sphinx and was calming her down through a game of riddles. Dumbledore grumbled as he recalled belatedly that Apparition from within Hogwarts was impossible without Fawkes. He would need to trot down the stairs and over the very edge of the castle’s Wards. More than sufficient chance of being delayed with the spiders, snakes and what-nots running riot.
“Lucia! Some help here?” Portia yelled as she parried an attack from a pair of runespoors. The White Priestess was administering the antidote to the boy Barty had kidnapped. Colin was lying on the floor in the front room of the shack on a rug while the mediwitch dripped measured doses of the antidote into him.
“One cannot rush Wiggenweld, Portia!” the mediwitch grumbled. “Try transfiguration!”
Colin Creevey was just coming to, but he was too disoriented to understand the danger they were in. Madam Lucia helped him sit up. With a snap of spellfire, Portia transfigured the snakes into scarves. Chaos reigned outside the shack. She hoped that her contacts in MACUSA have managed to get someone to track Harry. Fisheye’s delegation had Portkeyed out at the first sign of trouble as usual. Can’t be helped that when their President would be legally blind without the use of magical glass eyes. She hoped at least some of his agents would be able to find Harry in time. She was too old for this.
A breathless Auror Tonks came running into Madam Lucia’s shack.
“Bad news… One of those snakes bit our prisoner before we could finish interrogating him. He might be allergic. Barty Crouch Junior’s dead before we could get an antidote in.”
“Too bad, but I am not going to do any necromancy just so you can interrogate him,” Madam Lucia shrugged. “Anyone else needs a bezoar or general antidote?”
They were interrupted by Percival Graves limping into the shack. He was bleeding from the leg and bore a gash on his brow. He looked as grim as death. He thought they had accounted for all the skwerts and spiders when a spider the size of a big dog leapt on him.
It was what he saw before he was surprised by the spider that disturbed him. And Portia had to know.
“Portia, I saw the headmaster heading for the edge of the Wards. I think he might be after Harry.”
“But how by Merlin… Is there any way to get hold of Pollack?” They had to know where Harry was now. If they were lucky, Pollack’s security team might have whisked him off to the old 1960’s MACUSA safehouse in London – a record store named the Stars and Stripes, if it was still standing. Or they might have taken him straight back to New York.
“Percy!”
The former Auror stumbled. His leg was like raw hamburger and his pant-leg was soaked red.
“You sit this one out,” Madam Lucia immediately set to work counteracting the Acromantula venom.
Chapter 32: Little Hangleton Again
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry knew he was in for trouble when he felt the Portkey take hold. What royally ticked him off was being Stunned from the back by some smelly excuse of a wizard and waking up tied to a tombstone. Where was the fair play in that? And of course, there must be some creepy ritual in a cemetery using his own blood that ended with Lord Voldemort popping out of that cauldron like some monstrous jack-in-the-box. Harry did not even want to think about that other chap lopping off his own hand for that. Like all movie bad guys, Voldemort had to give a lengthy speech to gloat after summoning his goons. Harry felt like he had landed on the set of one of those American movies featuring some-over-the-top supervillain.
To think that when the school year started, his biggest worry was passing Ancient Runes or whether Mary O’Connell or Mary Donalds would go out with him for the Yule Ball. Heck, he could even recall her face after he met Hermione. Where was the cavalry when needed?
Then that pale-faced walking corpse glided over with his wand…
“Any last words, Potter?”
“Well, I was wondering how your public relations will spin this – The mighty Voldemort too chicken to face an opponent in a fair duel. As if the Brits ever stopped laughing about you picking on babies…” Harry sniped. “For a prophecy that might not even be real…”
“The prophecy? You do not believe the prophecy?”
“Spoken by some mothballed seer more drunk than sober. Cryptic as all prophecies are. Even Granny Wickerman makes more sense after chugging a bottle of Babbling Potion without her dentures in. I bet there are more likely candidates for the ‘Chosen One’ than one can shake a stick at… You’re the one who came to my parents’ house…” Harry screamed as a Crucio hit him. All his nerves were on fire. Then it faded.
“That can be easily remedied…” Voldemort looked thoughtful. “I will defeat the so-called Boy-who-Lived and prove once and for all… A duel!”
“Duel! Duel!” the masked and cloaked lackeys were chanting. It would not be a fair duel, not with his muscles still tingling from that Crucio and his leg still sore from the acid of blast-ended skwert. If he ever saw a manticore or a firecrab again in his life, it would be too soon. The ropes magically slithered loose with a flick of Voldemort’s wand. The smelly bloke who had sacrificed his hand for the spell threw Harry his wand. Harry was glad they had not snapped it or anything of that sort. That would be a bummer.
A formal duel… He started with the bow. The courtesies must be observed…
He felt the hair stand on the back of his neck and dove to the ground split seconds before a flash of green flew overhead. That was against protocol! Now, Harry Potter was furious. He could feel his magic surge forward in outrage at how this sorry excuse for wizard had disregarded the formalities of a wizard’s duel. Quickly disillusioning himself, he broke through the circle of followers. His spell did not hold when he bumped into a Containment Ward.
“There he is!” a woman screeched. Curing, Harry took off running, taking cover behind tombstones and trees as the Death Eaters gave chase. He fired off Tripping Jinxes and Diffindos to slow them down. Two of them soon caught hold of him and dragged him back before their master.
“Not so brave now, little boy?” Voldemort mocked and lifted his wand.
“Ignis Sanctus!” Harry shouted. He felt his wand resonate with the spell.
Two streets away from the Litte Hangleton cemetery, a baker’s van screeched to a halt. The pair of MACUSA Aurors gaped at the tower of glowing white light that just shot into the sky. Oh boy, they would be filing reports at ICW until the next Ice Age, after they were done with the Oblivations.
“Do you think that Potter kid is the cause of that?” They had been closing in on the signal until it just blipped out on the screen. They could have been attending that tournament Ilvermorny was participating in for the first time. Pollack might run a tight ship, but he believed in feeding well, that also includes his men. No cucumber sandwiches or canapes like under President Fontaine. Instead of Philly cheese sandwiches, they were stuck with cold meat pies and insipid coffee from a gas station. Thay had been scanning their monitor, waiting for something to happen to break the monotony, when their wish came true. Though technically, they would have preferred something less dramatic – a stray unicorn in the road perhaps, a mysterious young lady hitchhiking.
“Are you kidding? Of course he is in the middle of it… Now do you have a shilling or whatever for the parking meter?”
A pop of Apparition made both Aurors turn. An old man with a Merlin-sque beard and a bright violet robe was standing in the middle of the main road, somewhat confused. The road had seemed quieter and there were only a few cottages back then. He did not see the lorry speeding his way.
“What out, gramps!”
Dumbledore could not react in time before the lorry ploughed into him and sent him flying into the hedges.
Bloody hoodlums… Farmer McDonald took another swig of his scrumpy as his battered lorry juddered alone. Fool me once… He had felt a right fool stopping and getting out of his vehicle on Halloween to be greeted by a scarecrow and a knot of laughing youngsters. Well, he was not stopping this round… Not when Mrs McDonald was expecting him back for supper.
“Merlin, is he still alive?” the American Aurors came trotting over. Hit-and-run. The driver had not even bothered to slow.
“Barely… but watch his neck… I’ve sent for back-up…”
Dumbledore groaned weakly. Everything ached. The old man soon lost consciousness.
“Just drop it into a box, then send it over to the goblins…” Snape snarled. They were still caught in a stalemate over the diadem. Black’s spellwork had done little more than add new piles of debris to the room. Snape had located a suitable lead box to contain the diadem. It appeared sturdy enough and Snape’s Scans for Curses on the box did not return any alarms. It was a leaden casket in a style that was fashionable in the last century. The lid bore the name Pandora in scrollwork.
Black frowned when he saw the box. There was something he read once in Aunt Dru’s library. Some Greek myth that he decided was all bunkum… They had long run out of time and would still need to make their way through the maze of towering junk back to the door. Maybe it was already too late…
“We need to destroy it now, Snape,” Black grumbled as he glared at the offending headwear. Still, he levitated it into the air as Snape opened the box with an Alohomora. There was a roar as a jet of white flame shot up into the ceiling. Both diadem and box fell onto the ground.
“Argh! What’s that!”
“Fiendfyre! Someone locked Fiendfyre into that box! The spellwork needed to contain…” Snape sounded excited.
“Snivellus, let’s get out of here so you can do any academic studies later!” If it was any consolation, the flames would consume the room and all its contents, including the diadem and two foolish wizards.
They could not hope to outrun the flames hampered as they were by mountains of discarded furniture. Maybe they could outfly it… Black grabbed a broomstick from a pile of similar discarded broomsticks and hopped onto it. It felt serviceable If antiquated.
“Get moving, Snape! We’re flying out!”
“You’re crazy!”
Still, Snape followed his example and grabbed another broomstick. Both wizards shot skywards as the flames roared after them. Black shot ahead. He was almost to the door when he looked over his shoulder. Snape was faltering. His face was a grimace of pain. He held his left arm close to his chest. His broom was less flightworthy and constantly dipping. Soon the cursed flames would catch up.
“Watch out!”
Snape made a valiant attempt to kick his broom upwards, but the flames pounced on him.
In Azkaban, an alarm went off in the guardhouse, startling the guards who were listening to the chaos of the Triwizard Tournament on the Wizarding Wireless. It happened a few times before – normally some Dementor getting too free with the prisoners or on rare occasion, an escape attempt.
“If anyone is to be Kissed, let’s hope it’s the Lestranges…” the chief warden grumbled as he grabbed his cloak. A North Sea storm had blown in and lashing rain pounded the island. He Cast his Patronus. His colleagues followed his example. Inhuman screams tore through the air when they entered the prison complex, chilling them to the bone more than the rain or icy winds did.
The Dementors had wafted away at the approach of the guards’ Patronii. The screams were coming from the Death Eater cells.
“What by Morgana’s tits…” the warden started. He needed back-up. His Patronus peeled away from the pack and headed for the prison’s Healing Wing. The guards could only stare as they watched the Death Eaters clutch at their Marks, screaming as if they were being burned alive. Was it a Curse? Or something else? Would their mediwizard be able to decide if it was illness or something else?
Then the nearest prisoner, one of the Lestrange brothers, just gave a gasp and keeled over, stone dead.
“Send a message to the Ministry and St Mungo’s!”
White. Blinding unforgiving white.
The last thing Harry recalled was shouting out the spell. Watching as a beam of white light shot out of his wand, then belatedly remembering that he did not have a ritual circle as a focus. He had made a hash of things. True, he had been bleeding from his arm where they took his blood, but there was way he could have dripped a blood circle around Voldemort. His magic surged and poured out like an angry beast.
The spell’s purification aspect must have had some effect. The creature that had crawled out of the cauldron screeched like some beast from hell. Then his vision was overtaken by whiteness.
The whiteness was clearing like a fog. He was in a hall every bit as spacious and grand as the Wand Selection Hall, but less cluttered. There was a table in the centre with a beautiful lady seated at it. In her hands she held a set of scales. Her hair was black as a raven’s wing. Her skin was brown like mocha. Her eyes were like fathomless pools of black when she looked up at him.
Harry dropped a bow. Instinctively, he recognized her – or rather, the aura around her.
“Harry James Potter… you have really made a hash of things, haven’t you? Magic must have a balance… Your little Cleansing ritual has not only wiped out the magic of our little Dark Lord, but also that of his loyal followers. What will you offer to balance the scales?”
My life? My magic? What was Lady Magic demanding of him? He had to get back to Hermione…
“My magic…” It would be a wrench, letting of his magic.
“Not enough, boyo…” the lady shook her head. She smiled at him, showing off the points of her teeth. “You need to offer more…”
Notes:
I am imagining this version of Harry Potter is being somewhat rash. And in this case, it has come back to bite him. Maybe his luck will run out?
Chapter 33: Goodbyes
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
New Orleans
An elderly wizard nonchalantly flipped through the day’s newspapers as he sat by the bed. It would figure that despite their best efforts, there would still be casualties.
Five Dead, Many Injured. British Minster with Egg on Face after Triwizard Disaster.
Durmstrang Headmaster Found Dead in Muggle Railway Station. Heart Attack or Dark Mark Curse?
Extinction of Multiple Ancient Bloodlines. Wizengamot Calls for Emergency Session. More Seats to be Opened to Muggleborns?
Lord Black Announces Regency of Nott Seat
Harry Potter Still Missing, Presumed Dead
“Incendio…” Percival Graves incinerated the Daily Prophet. He felt a twinge of pain in his leg as he gripped his walking stick and stood up.
Reckless, foolish boy… He glanced over to where Harry lay in a coma. Madam Lucia said it was a miracle he was even alive. One never cast Sacred Fire from within the circle, not unless one had a death wish. And for the magic to go haywire as it did… The Hitwizards from Pollack’s team reported that when the light died down, they had found the boy lying unmarked in a large circle of ashes and scorched earth. There was no sign of any other beings about. Thank Circe they had thought to pack Harry into their van and skedaddle before the Aurors came. They had to leave the injured headmaster by the roadside to be picked up by an ambulance but that was another matter. Within the hour, they had Harry back in the States for medical treatment while the Ministry had a standoff with Portia Potter-Graves demanding to search the Merry Camper for the missing Champion. They had to allow the search, though Portia had one of the teachers send a discreet owl to the ICW office in Geneva with a complaint. Graves had to order the Pukwudgies to stand down before someone got seriously hurt or killed. The Pukwudgies had yet to forgive him for allowing the British Aurors to trample on the sovereignty of Ilvermorny.
Harry’s magical levels were so low as to be that of a squib when they admitted him into Marie di Lourdes. He was not showing any signs of waking up. Madam Lucia said that they would need to let him heal quietly as much as his magic would allow. Sirius Black had remained behind in London to deal with the fallout. As did one of their students – young Theodore Nott, now a Lord in his own right after the demise of his father. The goblins had confirmed the deaths of at least two dozen wizards, mostly suspected or known followers of Lord Voldemort. Lord Black felt he needed to do something, a sort of atonement for the disastrous Horcrux hunt within the castle.
They had found a lightly singed Black in one of the castle’s many corridors, clutching a partially charred broom. He was coherent enough to confirm the destruction of the last Horcrux, and the death of his fellow Horcrux hunter.
“The flames were just too fast. Couldn’t get to him…”
Severus Snape was not yet done with Hogwarts or Hogwarts with the Potions Master. Professor McGonagall, or rather, the acting headmistress, reported that within a week of his demise. Professor Snape’s ghost was seen by several members of the faculty in the Potions lab, staff lounge and various parts of the castle. He had not yet deigned to speak to anyone yet. However, those who did see him stated that he seemed far more peaceful and content than he was in life. They hoped he might still move on. One ghostly teacher like Binns was quite enough. Dumbledore was recovering from his accident. At his age, the healers recommended that he resign as headmaster.
It did not escape the wizarding public in Britain that those who wore the Dark Mark were dropping dead like flies or ending up as squibs. After much pressing, the goblins announced the final death of Lord Voldemort aka Tom Marvolo Riddle the halfblood. Yet there would always be conspiracy theorists. Some claimed the dark lord escaped to the Continent after draining the magic from his followers. As for the damage left in Little Hangleton, the Ministry blamed it on a gas explosion. The Muggles believed it was a UFO or a meteorite crashing.
“How’s Harry?” Hermione Granger asked as she stepped into the ward. She had awoken alive but with her magic whittled down to a mere nub. She was able to walk unaided now, but it seemed unlikely she would achieve her full promise as a witch. More likely, she might need to return to the Muggle world. Graves shook his head sadly. Such a waste.
“Percy! Miss Granger…” Lord Sirius Black blundered into the room, still reeking of ashes from his International Floo.
“Black, I thought you would be with Nott.” Graves’ knee threatened to give out. The younger wizard caught him as he stumbled. He helped Graves over to the settee, leaving Hermione to occupy the chair by the patient’s bedside.
“I have Theo settled in with Cissy. She’ll be helping him with her being the Malfoy regent until Rigel is of age. We hope to get them to allow Andi or Ted on the Wizengamot in a Commons seat.”
“Never thought you would take on a Regency…”
“Not my choice. The Blacks and Notts had an Alliance declared way back in the Middle Ages. We are responsible for the welfare of any children of the other clan if the clan’s adults should be incapacitated. Apparently, it still applies. Theo came to me with the original agreement from his dad’s library. The other option was going to stay with his Russian relations, whom I understand make Voldie look like a teddy bear. Smart kid. I guess we could work things out.”
“So young Nott’s returning to Hogwarts?”
“No, we have discussed this. He will continue in Ilvermorny. Any networking needed can be done during the summer… Hogwarts’ standards are still not up to par, even with the old man set to step down… Believe me, I think the boy has the social and politicking bit down pat… How’s Harry?”
“No sign of waking up yet. His magic’s all but gone. Still, him being alive is a miracle in itself.”
As the wizards chatted, Hermione held Harry’s hand. She had been updated on the fallout of the Tournament. Magical Britain was in turmoil, but she would not be a part of that. Not with her magic on the fritz. Her parents and Madam Lucia had discussed her future with her. She would not be able to continue in any magical school. With her intelligence, she should be able to catch up with the Muggle syllabus in whichever school she would join as a transfer student. The ICW would help lay a paper trail to explain the years she spent in Hogwarts. If needed, they would assign a squib tutor to help her catch up. She recalled the wonder of learning she was a witch, the relief of learning that all the strange stuff that happened around her was nothing but accidental magic and perfectly normal for a young witch. Then the headiness of doing spells before that horrid troll… The healers had offered the option of Memory Alteration, but Hermione did not want to forget all the friends she had made. She would miss her magic. She had cried when they told her she had lost it.
Her loss seemed so insignificant now compared to Harry. Comatose, without any magic...
She was due to return to England. Her parents must reopen their dental practice soon. Now that her condition was stable, they had no reason for her to remain in America. She had hoped she would be able to speak with Harry before she left. It seemed this was not to be. Black had promised to write to her to update her on his godson, if she wished. She could write to him through the Tonks, who lived Muggle, without the need for owls.
“Goodbye, Harry… I hope you will recover soon…”
Dare she? Hermione glanced at the two wizards. Black and Graves were in earnest discussion of some developments in the latest Wizengamot meeting or some ICW investigations into the Tournament. Not that magical matters would concern her anymore once she left New Orleans for Muggle London…
Screwing up her courage, she leaned over the sleeping Harry and kissed him softly on the lips. Suddenly bashful, she hastened away before the tears could get the better of her. Her parents were waiting in the lobby downstairs, and they had a plane to catch.
Was he alive? Was he dead?
Harry’s eyes fluttered open as he glimpsed someone leave the room. Everything hurt. His memories were hazy and distant. He gave a weak croak.
“Percy! He’s awake!” Black yelped when he saw his godson move. Healers were crowding round him. Wand-light shining in his eyes. Graves sent a Patronus message to Portia, whom Lupin had escorted back to the inn to rest at his insistence after having held vigil by her ward’s bedside for close to two days. It had been two weeks before the healers allowed Harry visitors.
Harry frowned. He should know that voice, but the speaker eluded him. The healers were waving their wands over him. Scrolls were appearing in midair to fall onto the bed. Nothing was making sense. The pain was growing worse. It was too much. As he drifted off into oblivion, he recalled a girl with bushy hair and a softness on his lips.
“His mind’s been ripped to bits by all that wild magic. His memories are scrambled. Some might come back in time. Others…” Madam Lucia frowned as she read the diagnostics. They had all gathered in the head healer’s office to review Harry Potter’s scans. The head healer, a short rotund wizard with a bald pate was muttering under his breath as he compared the various scrolls.
“We should start him on therapy. It will have to be no-Maj given his condition. Start him walking and moving, maybe speaking. I will not lie. It will be a long hard road ahead,” the head healer suggested.
“We’ll see it through, wouldn’t we? At the Pottery?” Black tried to sound light-hearted. There was no way he was allowing Harry to return to Britain. Let them think him dead.
“Well, there is something else we caught on that you must know. Harry has developed the beginnings of a magical hypersensitivity, almost like an allergy. That appears to be causing his healing to slow. It is small for now, but it would best if we keep him away from high concentrations of magic while he heals. We will be transferring him to the No-Maj hospital now that he is stable. Be warned though, this may worsen as he heals physically and will remain likely with him for life.”
A grim Graves held Portia as she sobbed into her hanky. Black cursed and punched the wall. Lupin looked stricken. With his new magical hypersensitivity, Harry Potter would never be able to step foot in the magical world again. Heck, if his condition proved serious, none of them might be able to visit or interact with him safely.
Portia took a deep breath to ground herself before speaking.
“Graves, do you still have the address of that squib nephew of yours?”
Harry frowned as he sat in the hall in front of Magic herself. Ignis Sancti would not burn itself up so poorly contained. Magic explained that it would blaze through the British Isles, not only cleansing all traces of Dark Magic, but burning up their vessels and their bloodlines, rendering future wix of the line squibs from birth. His snakey Lordship had done quite enough turning on his followers and draining their magic through his Mark. There had to be a balance. Something must encircle the flawed ritual circle to mitigate the damage. There would be a reckoning once Magic was done with Harry’s mis-cast spell.
“What do I have to do to make sure everyone is safe? Is my magic not enough?”
“You can’t save everyone, boyo… even with more than your magic…”
“Does this mean I have to d-die?”
“Sometimes dying is the easy bit…” Magic lifted her clawed hand. Harry could see a tangled skein of gold and silver peel away from his body and into it. With her other hand, Magic shaped the threads into a glowing lasso. She threw it up into the air and it Vanished.
“Will I remember this conversation?” Harry felt his sight go hazy. His strength had started going with the first of the threads yanked from him.
“It will be better if you don’t, boyo…”
Will he see Hermione again?
Notes:
I am ending this fic soon, possibly in the next chapter. A bit conflicted about removing the couple from the magical world due to the fallout of the tournament.
Chapter 34: Ten Years Later
Summary:
This is the epilogue tying off this fic.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
British Columbia, Canada
Harrison Potter smiled as he took in the autumn sunrise. He was now a forest ranger like his Uncle Benny. His uncle had taken him in when he was a teen, after a terrible fire left him in hospital for months and took away his grandparents. Messed up his head as well, Uncle Benny said. He had to take his lessons by correspondence since he was so far behind his age group and had chunks of his life literally missing. He probably redid a few years of classes. Everything from his past went up in flames. Sometimes Harry wished he had a photo of his grandparents, or the parents who died in a car crash when he was a baby.
He often got strange dreams about flying broomsticks and elf-like creatures. Strange fits too, like when his Californian pen pal Miranda Graves came to visit him in the tiny town of Little Berkshire, Canada. He had been physically ill, chucking up his lunch over the lino floor. Miranda had been horrified and ran out of the café. Afterwards, she called to apologize. Perhaps it was her perfume he was allergic to. They still wrote, but she never visited again. His other pen pal from Mexico tried a video call. Henri Picquery cheekily claimed he had an arrest warrant in Texas with his name on it for smuggling dragon eggs. Harrison hoped he was only joking and not referring to illicit substances. The connection was awful, and the video kept blinking out. Still Henri and Miranda were distant if bright stars for a lonely teen in rural Canada.
Visitor Centre duty. Harrison made the final adjustments to his uniform. They were expecting a group of British scientists to come for the climate studies. They would be staying in the cabins near the lake. Harrison wondered if there would be any students his age. It was entering winter and most of the tourists and recreational hunters had gone at first snowflake. He was surprised to see a Land Rover bumping its way up the track so early. The driver must have foolhardily started out in the dark. He parked the vehicle before emerging with backpack slung over his shoulder.
No, she. Harrison felt his breath catch. Bushy curls spilled out from under her wool hat. She grinned impishly at him. She was gorgeous, even in the shapeless winter gear. Long, slender legs… lithe arms…
“Good morning, ma’am… You’re early.”
“I know, thought I’d get my pick of the rooms this round. Hermione Granger, I’m doing my postdoctoral with the Cambridge geology department. Now, where can I get some coffee, Mister…”
“H-Harrison Potter…”
“Nice to meet you, Harrison…” Harrison felt his heart flutter at her voice. A distant memory stirring, another life…
“The cafeteria’s this way. I’d recommend the poutine if they have any…” Maybe he could get Milton to cover him for the next hour or so. Already he was feeling an inexplicable connection to Miss Granger.
Hermione hid her smile. She had not expected to run into Harry, no Harrison, ever. Then to see him standing there before her… She had given up hope of seeing him again, even after leaving the magical world. Madam Portia had buried Harry Potter well. Black’s last letters had hinted that Harry had recovered and was living in rural Canada, but he did not know where. That Harry had lost most of his memories of magic. That he was now deathly allergic to magic and needed to live entirely Muggle with a distant squib cousin of the family.
Hermione tried to keep in touch with her few friends from Hogwarts, but their lives were just too different. In the end it was not sustainable. Ron tried to keep in touch well into adulthood, going out with her in Muggle London as friends. He tried blending in with Muggles, often poorly like when he turned up for a movie in coattails. They grew apart when he got engaged to Lavender Brown and Hermione went to university. Her other friend, Luna Lovegood popped up at the oddest moments and in the most unexpected places.
Seer stuff, Ron had shrugged when they encountered her at a café in London’s East End. Luna had nonchalantly asked Ron if he heard from Lavender yet. The next weekend a flustered Ron told Hermione he was marrying his girlfriend so he could be a proper dad. He was also dithering over the Muggle parenting books in the bookstore. Hermione somehow knew which course she should take when she run into Luna in park near her place the week she was to apply for university. The blonde had handed her a pendant and asked her if it was jadeite or nephrite.
“Maybe you will see him again, someday…”
Funny thing, Fate. Harrison tripped over the top step at the cafeteria entrance. Hermione stifled a laugh. Harrison smiled as he accepted her hand to help him to his feet. Perhaps they could start over.
Hogwarts Castle
Lord Black grinned impishly as he transformed back into his human form in the Great Hall after having loped in as Padfoot. There had been so many changes at the castle since Headmaster Dumbledore was forced to step down both as headmaster and Chief Warlock. The old man spent his last days in St Mungo’s still convinced that Lord Voldemort was out there waiting to return. Minnie had recently stepped down, citing poor health. The new headmistress was the respected Lorrianne ‘Lola’ Prince, a French-Canadian half-blood witch who specialized in Potions. She graduated from Ilvermorny instead of Hogwarts, a conscious decision by the board to better the standards of the school since the syllabus had been in shambles for a long time.
“Black, if you are looking for Rigel, Cissy has taken him and his friends out to Hogsmeade.”
A black-clad figure drifted down from the ceiling. There had also been a change in the two of the House ghosts. The two longest serving, the Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron, had both expressed a desire to move on and resign their posts. Severus Snape had filled the Bloody Baron’s shoes while the new Ravenclaw ghost was a former Ravenclaw student known as simply as Simon. Thankfully not Moaning Mrytle. Professor Binns had also been persuaded to move on, allowing the board to hire a new History teacher.
“Ah, Sevvie, I trust you are pleased with Auntie Lola?” Black could not resist a grin.
“She’s not that close to me or my mother… Perhaps if we had met in life…” the ghost shrugged. “Oh, don’t call me Sevvie, mutt…”
Sirius Black plonked himself at the Gryffindor table and took a moment to admire the ceiling. “Thought you might want to know how your little snakes are faring… Theodore Nott’s engaged to Susan Bones of all people. You know, Minister Amelia Bones’ niece? I swear one or both have their sights on the Minister position or Chief Warlock in the future… Vinnie Crabbe somehow managed to land an apprenticeship with Ollivander… Parkinson called off her engagement with Zabini again…”
The ghost hovered near the animagus, a smile gracing his face as Black related the events of the latest Wizengamot and how the last of the werewolf laws were repealed to allow the those suffering from lycanthropy a fairer chance at education and employment. Perhaps Remus might be persuaded to fill the DADA post on a permanent basis now the curse seemed to be lifted. They could not have Aurors coming in on six-month contracts. After Moody, no one was willing to risk taking a full year despite reassurances from the goblin-trained Cursebreakers no Curse remained after Voldemort’s death. Percival Graves finally released Harry’s whereabouts to Sirius Black on his deathbed, having outlived the formidable Portia by two years. The other two Musketeers had deduced Harry’s location on their own much sooner and Mira came close to killing Harry by turning up to see him in person. Graves had tasked Black to make sure the two morons did not try anything rash or flout the Statutes of Secrecy in their letters to Harry now he was effectively No-Maj. It sucked not being able to be there for Harry.
“Snape, sure you don’t need to cross over?” It was odd how he now considered Snape a friend. Black wished he could have wrinkled out more news about Harry. Miranda informed him he was doing well for a No-Maj, but the presence of any magic is enough to make him sick. Blasted allergy. He guessed Snape would also want to hear what became of Lily Evan’s son. He only wished they had more news.
“No, why should I, Black? I have a purpose here… I belong here… guiding the students, especially those who need…” the ghost stopped and glanced over to where three large boys had a smaller and very terrified student trapped against the wall. A spell sent the books in the bag he was gripping to his chest spilling onto the flagstones to laughter from his bullies.
“Filthy mudblood…”
A familiar scowl appeared on the ghost’s face. “Excuse me…”
“Gentlemen, what do we have here?” Snape drifted over and placed his ghostly hand on the ringleader’s shoulder. The boy let loose a shriek and started running, closely followed by his two cronies. The bullies’ victim made his profuse thanks before gathering up his scattered belongings.
“Try a Reparo, boy…” Snape called out as the student hurried away.
“I’ll bring you mouldy coffee beans next time. Do you prefer Ecuadorian or Colombian?” Black chuckled. “Have they come up with some name for you yet like poor Simple Simon?”
“I prefer Ethiopian coffee. No one has given me a nickname yet… Simon is not simple. He just chooses not to speak like his predecessor. At least without good reason… I spoke with the Baron before he moved on. It is odd, but I feel quite content for a ghost, almost peaceful. He believes it is because all the chains holding me back in life were burned away.”
“Cousin Padfoot!” Rigel came running into the hall and barrelled into Lord Black in a blur of red and gold.
“Rigel, your manners!” Narcissa exclaimed. His cousin’s hat was askew as if she had run after her wayward offspring. Snape gave a curt nod before floating off serenely, another ghost in the castle.
Notes:
I hope this ties things up. Harry and Hermione are young adults and meeting in the Muggle/No-Maj world. Once more, Harry is smitten and there is a chance that their relationship might progress further. Snape is in an odd way more at peace as a ghost than he was alive, keeping watch over the students. And channelling his discipline master vibes. I was considering omitting the second part of the epilogue, but I decided the magical world needed some closure as well.
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