Harry Potter and the Approaching Darkness

Chapter 10: Hogwarts Disaster

Harry was pondering how fast the term had gone by, as he observed the ongoing 5th year dueling club meeting. They had been practicing dodging spells, and casting at a moving target. He had drifted farther into his thoughts, until a stunner barely missed his head, drawing his attention back to the class. "Best pay attention, Potter," Malfoy said, "Mr. Hunter obviously thinks you are his partner." Melvin Hunter, one of the brightest fifth year students, by Harry's estimation anyway, proved to be the culprit. His spellwork, if not his aim, was incredibly advanced for his age.

"I'm sure Mr. Hunter was only looking to test himself against tougher competition," Harry said, laughing. He had, surprisingly, come to enjoy having Draco Malfoy in the club. Neville was there today also, although he seemed to spend most of his free periods in the greenhouses lately. Harry had asked him what was so important, once, but Neville had deftly avoided the question. He had decided to leave it alone, Neville would tell him when he was ready.

Harry was also very impressed with the number of students in his younger classes who could produce a patronus charm, to his knowledge, there were multiple first years casting the charm with some success, none with corporeal ones, however. A fairly large amount of second years could conjure a corporeal version, but Harry suspected most would fail to do so in front of an actual dementor. There was truly no way to test this theory, though, as none of the students' Boggarts had turned into one. Harry's own Boggart had changed forms various times in his life, he had no interest in knowing what it would become now.

Harry called a ceasefire to the club and, after the final few stray spells had been dealt with, addressed them from the raised podium. "I have a small announcement to make!" he said, noting the look of curiosity spread across the room, "The votes have been counted, and the champions from each year have been decided." A murmur, increasing in volume, spread across the room, Harry raised his hand to silence the crowd again. "I will be posting the results in my classroom, as will many of the other professors. But, since all of you are here already, it would be a waste to withhold the information any longer. With the wave of his hand, Harry removed the enchantment hiding the lists that had been posted prior to the class. The students, silence broken, nearly sprinted to see the results.

House Champions

Gryffindor

Fifth Year: Dominique Weasley

Sixth Year: Sascha Bell

Seventh Year: Victiore Weasley

RavenClaw

Fifth Year: Roscoe Winthrop

Sixth Year: Louis Achthoven

Seventh Year: Leyton Tipton

Slytherin

Fifth Year: Lynsay Ryley

Sixth Year: Haden Hailey

Seventh Year: Luvenia Killough

Hufflepuff

Fifth Year: Wenonah Phillips

Sixth Year: Billy Driscoll

Seventh Year: Tucker Able

Harry watched as the members of each house congratulated their champions, each of them choosing their respective seconds. It was understood that the position was largely ceremonial, as any spell that disarmed or incapacitated the opponent would result in a win, rendering a second completely pointless.

The term continued to fly by, as students prepared for the tournament, which was scheduled for the next day. Usually, Harry realized, quidditch would be the main topic on the way to watch the first match of the season. The excitement in the crowd was palpable, but it seemed to be a mixture of excitement for the game, and anticipation for tomorrow's event.

Gryffindor was slated to open the season against the defending champion, Hufflepuff. Teddy had a great deal to do with Hufflepuff's dominance, Harry knew, so maybe this year would see their dynasty end. The teams took to the pitch, and the referee, whose name seemingly always alluded Harry, tossed the quaffle high into the air, starting the match.

The match looked lost within the first few minutes, with Hufflepuff pulling to a fifty to ten lead after only a minute of play. The lead grew as the game went on, until James seemingly spotted the snitch, Gryffindor was only down by ninety points at the time, and Harry was sure that James would end the game, he could see the snitch nearly within his grasp, before a well-aimed bludger hit James dead in the stomach, nearly knocking him from his broom. Ginny gasped beside Harry, she and Hannah had arrived shortly after the start of the match. James, breath temporarily knocked out of him, began circling high above the pitch, scanning the area. The Hufflepuff seeker, seeing how much faster James was, had given up on winning the race for the snitch, instead focusing on assisting his chasers. It was a good strategy, Harry thought, with the lead already nearly over one-hundred points.

The game was nearly out of hand, with Hufflepuff leading by one-hundred and thirty points, and in possession, when James saw it again. Harry watched as his son flew, as if shot out of a cannon, toward the small golden speck near the ground. Too near the ground, Harry realized, with a sense of dread. James continued his dive, undeterred by the realization Harry was affected by. Slightly earlier than Harry had expected, James pulled out of his dive. The snitch would be below his broom when he reached it at this height. Harry heard the crowd, clearly pro-Gryffindor after the years of Hufflepuff dominance, groan as Hufflepuff scored, one possession away from putting the game out of reach. Harry felt the same, but James was still closing on the snitch, albeit a bit too high. At the last moment, James turned his broom over in a barrel roll, releasing both hands to grasp at the snitch. He fell off, which he must have known was going to happen, releasing his broom like that. Harry saw his son's hand close around the snitch, right before the other arm, used to break the fall, buckled and clearly snapped.

Harry was on his feet before his son came to a complete stop, but before he could even reach the edge of the stand, James was back on his feet, holding his remaining good arm over his head, snitch in hand. Gryffindor had won by a mere ten points and the crowd was going insane. Harry was still worried about his son's broken arm, and likely broken ribs based on his expression when his teammates joined him and attempted to embrace their new quidditch hero. Thankfully for James, the new healer (Madam Pomfrey had retired upon James and Fred's second year, stating that "Once was quite enough, thank you very much) arrived on the scene.

Hannah Abbott, or Longbottom now, Neville's wife who had recently applied for the position, was still working primarily at St. Mungo's but would likely be taking over as the school's Matron after the holidays, stood over the third year, who was smiling from ear to ear despite the pain of a broken arm that was bringing tears to his eyes. She aimed her wand at the arm, which seemed the most urgent of the injuries, and healed it almost instantly. Her focus moved from the arm to the broken ribs, which also healed easily, if a bit more painfully. She hoped, against what she already knew about the potter child, that the pain would deter him from any more reckless stunts like the one he had just pulled, so she left the smaller scratches and cuts to remind him not to take unnecessary risks in the future.

Harry watched as his son was swept away by his housemates, no doubt Neville would have to break up the party in the common room tonight, more than once if Harry's time at Hogwarts was any indication of the present state of the houses. Harry, relieved that there hadn't been any lasting injuries, joined in the small celebration in the staff stand. Everyone seemed thoroughly excited by the ending, including his wife, who seemingly hadn't missed a beat worrying about James after he his late game dramatics.

Harry and Ginny made their way home, accompanied by Lily, still chattering excitedly about how thrilling the game had been. Harry thought, to himself, that they may turn Lily into a quidditch player yet.

The next day's classes were cancelled, after all of the professors realized that the only thing happening in their classes was talk about the looming tournament. When Harry made his way to the Quidditch pitch, which had somehow been transformed into a dueling stage, much larger than the one in the practice room.

The fifth years dueled first, with Dominique easily defeating her first opponent, Slytherin Lynsay Ryley. Wenonah Phillips, the Hufflepuff champion, fell after a much more exciting match against the Ravenclaw Roscoe Winthrop. The championship match was much less exciting, Harry suspected this was because Roscoe had quite the crush on the part-veela Dominique. Dominique easily disarmed the Ravenclaw, claiming the Fifth-year championship for Gryffindor.

The sixth-year championship was much more competitive, with Slytherin Haden Hailey eliminating Louis Achthoven, of Ravenclaw, after a nearly twenty-minute bout. Sacha Bell, Katie Bell's daughter, was defeated by Hufflepuff's Billy Driscoll in a short, but competitive match. The sixth-year championship saw Driscoll, who was considerably less tired after having a much shorter match, quite literally running circles around Hailey, defeating the Slytherin much more easily than anyone expected after the show Hailey had put on against his earlier opponent.

The seventh-year students were much more advanced than their sixth-year peers. As such, the duels were much longer, and more exciting than the previous groups had been. Victiore, true to her name, ended victorious in her first match against Ravenclaw Leyton Tipton after almost of back and forth which seemed to be the most well-matched pairing so far. Not to be outdone, Slytherin Killough and Hufflepuff Tucker Able put on one of the most fun displays of non-verbal casting that Harry had seen from people their age. The Slytherin came out on top, ultimately, after managing to freeze the stage below his opponent and knock the Hufflepuff off balance just long enough to stun and disarm the surprised seventh-year. The two remaining combatants were given a short break, that was unexpectedly extended.

As the two finalists took to the stage and bowed to each other, all hell broke loose. Darkness fell in midday, and a still fell across the grounds like nothing Harry had ever seen for a moment, before the spells started flying. A man Harry recognized from his time at the ministry, but couldn't quite place, cast the first spell, directly at one of the American students. To the boy's credit, he was ready, and reflected the red bolt directly at the attacker, who blocked it, but not Harry's stunner. The red streak hit the man directly in the back, and he crumpled.

The battle wasn't over, however, as the school's wards, temporarily weakened for the tournament, started the loud warning sound that there were unwanted visitors. Harry, knowing time was short, took control. "Prefects!" He yelled, his magically amplified voice carried over the grounds, "Take control of your houses! Bring them to the Great Hall and lock the door!" He noted that some of the Gryffindors in the sixth and seventh years decided to not accompany their fellow students, instead drawing their wands and joining the adults in moving toward the forest, where a group of men in black robes had started emerging from the tree-line.

Harry, flanked by Neville and Undercliffe, led the charge, already casting defensive spells on his destination. A large group of students, led by Malfoy, went toward the broom shed, instead of following Harry's group. Kicking himself for not thinking of it first, Harry set to work as a distraction. He, with help from Neville, pulled the ground up in front of them, forming a thick, shoulder high wall of stone and dirt. This barrier came just in time, as it were, at that moment the intruders attacked at once with a barrage of Killing curses. The majority of them landed harmlessly against the newly formed wall, barely even chipping the stones. Harry reached into his robes, how had he forgotten, he grabbed the new coin Hermione had given him and pressed hard on either side.

Harry, going on pure instincts, attacked with a flurry of stunners and cutting spells, aiming the majority of the latter at the legs of the attackers. So far, he thought, no one had died, save a few of the assailants. At this thought, Harry looked up at the sky and saw a large group of students and professors on broomsticks, attacking the intruders from above. What happened next would change the course of Harry's life, and of Hogwarts, indefinitely. The golems, Harry had gathered what they were by now, seeing that they all cast at once, in waves, cast a barrage of killing curses, at the students flying above. Most of them flew, harmlessly, through the moving targets. One, though, would have found its mark, had it not been for the quick thinking of the headmistress, who used an Accio charm on the flying student's robes, pulling them from their broom toward the barrier. Harry turned just in time to see what happened next. The headmistress, focused entirely on saving the student, was hit by a green light, a single green light that had been cast directly at their position. Harry watched in horror as the light connected, and all life left the woman's body, leaving her lying, lifeless, on the ground.

An anger, unlike any Harry had felt in many years, filled him at that moment and he jumped from the cover of the wall casting a spell he hadn't ever cast, but knew exactly what it meant if he couldn't control it. The Fiendfyre sprung from his wand, moving straight at the figure that had cast the spell. Harry watched as the figure smiled just before the fire overtook it, disintegrating it on the spot. Harry allowed the enchanted fire spread over the group of attackers, they were still casting killing curses, but the eagles that continually sprung from the fire intercepted the spells, stopping them in their tracks. As the final attacker fell into a mound of ash, Harry could feel his control over the fire waning quickly, he ended the spell with a great effort, and watched as the fire pulled itself back into his wand, leaving a large burnt area where the attackers had been just before. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was the mournful scream of a large puma, as the cat felt the loss of it's master.