A/N: If you need a quick refresher on previous chapters, a summary for the story so far can be found in my profile.
Chapter 9 – Blood on the Table
The Ionian Sea was glittering and picturesque even when inverted and flying at high speed hundreds of feet above it.
Harry, on his trusty Nimbus Two-Thousand, kept pace with Hedwig as she dipped her wing and turned sharply. The owl couldn't match him for sheer acceleration, but she was graceful and quick, even for a messenger owl.
The two of them tore through the sky over the Flamels' island, chasing a mouse with dragonfly wings.
The mouse didn't seem to be quite sure how to use the wings correctly, which made it dance through the air like a drunken housefly, but that suited Harry just fine. He made a wild grab for it as it zipped across his field of vision, the dragonfly wings glinting in the full light of the afternoon. He felt his fingertips catch on the mouse's wiggly pink tail for a quarter-second, and then it slipped through.
Hedwig let out a staccato bark that sounded remarkably like laughter as she arced up, with a powerful, deceptively slow beat of her wings, and snagged the mouse in her talons.
"Outflown by an owl, huh? That can't feel good." Sirius had to yell from the beach, but even his cupped hands couldn't hide his grin.
Harry gave him the finger as he swerved his broom around, wrenching it to a stop.
"You sure you don't want to do something actually fun for your birthday?" called Sirius. "Maybe go for a swim?"
"Maybe later," said Harry distractedly, as he twisted around on the broom, shading his eyes and trying to spot Hedwig against the glare of the sun.
"I was thinking more along the lines of right now," yelled Sirius.
Harry turned his head back towards the beach. "What do you mean by – " Harry was cut off mid-sentence as the brilliant grey light of the Banisher filled his vision, and he was propelled off his broom.
The world spun; he felt a rush of air and saw a vast expanse of rapidly approaching blue-green ocean underneath him. His heart clenched painfully in his chest as the wind whipped at his clothes. The world was a rush of color until a spike of adrenaline clarified things and he wrenched his wand loose from the holster he now wore constantly.
He flicked it sharply. Arresto Momentum. The thought, this time, was different. He'd been practicing the spell nonverbally for the entire summer, and it had always been a clear, voice-in-his-head monotone. This time, for whatever reason, it was less defined, more diffuse – but at the same time more familiar. Intimate, almost.
So enraptured was Harry with the feeling of the spell that he barely noticed himself slow down in midair, the ocean approaching at a more sedate pace.
It was impossible to describe. He mentally flipped through figurative language – casting the spell had been like a frozen cloud, a thousand swirling possibilities crystallized into one shape, defined by purpose, defined by knowledge, defined by –
Of course, Sirius chose that moment to hit him with a Finite.
Harry dropped the rest of the way under gravity's own particular brand of magic, a full twenty feet, and plunged into the Ionian Sea. He came up sputtering, still clutching his wand. He struggled for a second, then started paddling towards the shore. After a half-minute of hard work, his feet touched sand.
"Sirius, you absolute twat," said Harry, scowling at his godfather as he dragged himself out of the ocean, his clothes heavy and wet against his skin.
Sirius was on his knees in the sand, clutching his ribs and cackling loudly. "Your face," he gasped. "You looked so stupid when I hit you with that second one. Bloody priceless."
"About that," said Harry, as he waved his wand over his clothes, drying himself, paying special attention to the leather holster. "I was right in the middle of a magical epiphany, and you ruined it. I'm afraid you're going to have to be punished quite severely for that." He raised his arm, pointing his wand at Sirius.
"Is that right?" said Sirius, getting to his feet. He was still grinning hugely. He held his own wand loosely at his side. "Let's see if all the work this summer paid off."
Harry paused. The timing on this was going to be crucial. He took a deliberate, measured step to the side, then made a whip-crack motion with his wand, muttering a spell under his breath.
The blue jet of light passed harmlessly over Sirius's left shoulder.
Sirius leaned out of the way reflexively, then shook his head. "We're going to have to work on your aim, Harry, if that's the best you can do."
Crossing his arms, Harry just grinned at him.
Sirius frowned. "What are you smiling at?" His eyes widened fractionally. "Oh, shi –"
He had just enough time to turn and get a face-full of feathers as a panda-sized Hedwig knocked him over like a bowling pin. Sirius went down in a tangle of arms and legs, his head half-buried in the sand.
"HOOT!" Hedwig's loud cry was almost ecstatic as she swooped away, her wings casting a huge shadow on the ground.
This time it was Harry's turn to sink into the sand and collapse with laughter.
Sirius spat out a mouthful of sand as he got to his feet. "That's not fair," he said, managing to look half his age with the sheer weight of his petulant expression.
Harry was too busy laughing to answer. When Hedwig landed next to him (with a noticeable thump of displaced sand), it took a few tries to say Reducio around his chuckles.
Ignoring Sirius for the moment, Harry looked at Hedwig speculatively, reaching out and nudging her wing for a modified high-five. "You want another go, Hedwig?" She hooted affirmatively. "All right. I'll sit this one out, I think."
Harry flicked his wand and Summoned a stone from the edge of the beach. Working quickly, he transfigured it into a mouse, this time adding sparrow wings for novelty's sake.
As he worked, his mind wandered back into abstraction. It was strange, when he thought about it. Mice didn't know how to use wings. Harry didn't know how to use wings. The knowledge was coming from somewhere, or the thing wouldn't be able to fly at all. Granted, Hedwig's flying snacks didn't fly particularly well, but they flew.
Again, that feeling of almost, but not quite reaching an insight tickled at his brain. Shrugging it off, he turned to Hedwig as he completed the transfiguration.
"Don't fill up on empty calories," he said. He nudged her. "Get it?" Hedwig just stared at him. The mouse-bird zipped into the air, and Hedwig took off, chasing it.
"Well, I thought it was funny," said Harry, stowing his wand.
Sirius came up beside him, still brushing sand out of his clothes. They both craned their heads and looked into the sky, watching Harry's owl chase an anatomically impossible flying mouse.
"You're getting better," said Sirius eventually. He turned to Harry. "I was kidding around, before, but you're improving a lot."
"Am I?" said Harry. His voice dropped a little. "It doesn't feel like it, sometimes."
"Hell, Harry," said Sirius, turning to look at him, "you're doing things with a wand I didn't even consider until I was out of Hogwarts. You could probably breeze through the practical parts of the O.W.L.s right now. Don't worry so much."
"I can't help it, though." Harry sat down heavily on the sand, and Sirius joined him. He looked out at the water. "It's a lot of pressure, you know? You all assume if I keep working at this, I'll turn into Dumbledore. That if I keep going, it'll just click for me. But you said it didn't click for my mum until she was finished with Hogwarts. I don't have that kind of time, Sirius. And… and what if it never does? What if I'm just good, not great?"
The words felt almost dragged out – it was an effort to voice them. It was a secret fear, something Harry rarely admitted to himself.
"Then you won't be as great as Albus Dumbledore," said Sirius ruefully, drawing his knees up and leaning forward. He shook out his long, dark hair and showered the beach with a light dusting of sand. "Join the club. Membership is limited to pretty much the entire wizarding world."
Harry sighed. "I know it seems arrogant. I know I have a lot of advantages. I work hard, but it's not like everyone else gets private lessons from people like Albus and Nicolas. And Snape, I suppose." That last bit came somewhat grudgingly. "It's just… it's about potential, I guess. I just want to live up to… well, everything."
Sirius gave him a guarded look. "I'm starting to think Remus and I did you a disservice by talking so much about how amazing your parents were." On Harry's scowl, he backpedaled. "No, no, don't get me wrong. They were great, wonderful people. James was my best friend. Lily was a dream. But they certainly weren't perfect, either of them."
"I know they were real people, Sirius. Not statues."
"I just mean…" Sirius scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I'm so bad at this," he mumbled to himself. "I mean, listen, just because Lily may have been on a path to play in Dumbledore and Voldemort's league, maybe, with another few decades of experience, doesn't mean you should stress about not getting there on your thirteenth birthday. Happy birthday, by the way."
"Thanks," said Harry. He let his head rest on his knees and thought about it. He felt better, but Sirius didn't quite get it. The root of his insecurity didn't have so much to do with the fact that he wasn't moving fast enough, it was more about the question of getting there at all. Sirius and the others acted like if he just avoided making any mistakes, avoided limiting himself, he'd get there. But it wasn't that certain, not at all. If it were that simple, Albus Dumbledores would be much more common.
"Are you having second thoughts about the plan?" asked Sirius. He was looking at Harry carefully – probably, thought Harry, reading some of the worry there and misinterpreting it.
"No. The plan's good. And it's too late to change it now, anyway. Nicolas left this morning."
"It's risky," said Sirius. "Aberforth and Snape will be the only ones in a position to help, and, well, I'm not thrilled with that."
"I'm aware," said Harry dryly.
"Remus and I don't exactly have easy access to Britain. And Dumbledore… well, if he even puts a toe on British soil, he triggers an alarm at the Ministry so loud they'll think it's an air raid."
"I know, Sirius. It was my plan, mostly."
"That's what scares me, Harry. It's a Sirius Black kind of plan – it's risky and it puts other people in unknowing danger."
"It'll be fine. I'm not worried."
"Then what is it?" asked Sirius. He nudged Harry's shoulder. "Is it your little excursion to Diagon Alley?" He grinned. "Because I have to say, if you were going to be nervous about something…"
"You can go ahead and shut all the way up about that."
Harry got to his feet and Sirius followed. They made their way back to the house. It was a modern thing, all sharp angles and glass surfaces. Remus waved to them from the deck overlooking the beach. He was hunched over a wicker chair, reading a book and looking miserable. He had an empty ice bucket beside the chair, and his hand kept hovering towards it. The days near the full moon were never kind to werewolves.
Inside the house, Harry found Dumbledore and Nicolas deep in conversation.
"Ah, excellent timing, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Nicolas returned no more than a minute ago."
"How'd it go?" asked Harry, retrieving a bottle of water from the kitchen. Flying was thirsty work.
"About like you'd expect," said Nicolas. He reached into his ornate robes – they looked odd on him; he hardly ever dressed up – and pulled out a blood-red stone, tossing it carelessly on the kitchen counter. "I met with the French Ministry – both the Minister and the head of La Sûreté Nationale – in secret, taking every possible precaution to make the meeting private. I therefore expect news of the meeting to leak by the end of the day."
Dumbledore smiled softly. "I take it, old friend, that they were not receptive to your request?"
"No, they were not," said Flamel, smirking. "Seemed to think keeping the Stone locked up in their vaults would make them a target. Very uncharitable of them, especially after I took the time to put on a proper display of paranoia befitting a crazy old codger such as myself."
"I hope you were circumspect about your fears, Nicolas," said Dumbledore.
"What do you take me for?" said Nicolas, scoffing. "I was extremely vague. I even muttered about how the darkness was rising. You would have been proud, Albus."
"I can't tell which of you is the bad influence on the other one," said Harry.
"Both of them are, I think," said Sirius.
The four of them stood over the marble counter, looking down at the blood-red stone.
"It's remarkably realistic," said Dumbledore, peering at it closely.
"It didn't have to be," said Flamel. "Not many know what it really looks like, after all. But, still, a man has his standards."
"And the enchantments?" asked Harry, hovering a finger over the surface, not touching it, straining to listen in that particular way Dumbledore had taught him. He felt nothing, though. It might have been an ordinary stone.
"Undetectable, and quite long-lasting," said Dumbledore modestly. "A very neat bit of spellwork, if I do say so myself."
"I guess we're on, then," said Harry, straightening up. He felt a little thrill go through him. It had been his plan, after all. Changed, strengthened, solidified by the experience of the adults, but the idea was his. Today, they took the first steps in taking the fight to Voldemort.
"Indeed," said Dumbledore. He had a faraway look in his eyes, and didn't sound altogether happy at the declaration. He roused himself, looking at Harry. "On to more immediate concerns, then. Did you succeed in your task, Harry?"
For a moment, Harry blanked on what Dumbledore was talking about – his mind was casting about in the uncertain future, but Dumbledore's words snapped him back to the here and now. "I think so. I want you to check it, of course."
Dumbledore nodded, waving for him to proceed. Harry jogged to his room, where a large bookshelf and a messy desk dominated the floor space. There was no bed – Harry still used the wardrobe to commute to England every night, sleeping at the Dursleys – so it was more of a study than a room, but even so, it was his.
He grabbed an innocuous-looking ballpoint pen off the desk and held it up to his eye, inspecting it. Satisfied, he walked back to the kitchen and set it on the counter next to Flamel's imitation Stone.
Dumbledore drew his wand and waved it over the pen, muttering. The air rustled faintly with the power of the whispered spells. "Fascinating," he said, straightening up. "And acceptable, for the most part. The target destination in Diagon Alley is a bit ill-defined, and the return destination of the Dursleys is a bit weak, but the portion of the Portkey dealing with adverse momentum and inertial compensation is exemplary."
"Yeah," said Harry, shrugging. "Ever since I started practicing Arresto Momentum nonverbally, all of the movement-based magic I do seems to be a bit easier."
"Interesting how that works out, isn't it?" said Dumbledore, his benign expression betraying just a hint of a smile.
"Do you get some sort of secret pleasure out of watching me flounder around in the dark?" asked Harry, swiping the pen off the counter perhaps harder than he strictly needed to.
"There's nothing particularly secret about it, Harry," said Dumbledore. He nodded at the pen. "I deem that Portkey acceptable. Your technique could use refinement, but it is a remarkable accomplishment nonetheless. Have a care, when you use it, not to draw attention to yourself. Illegal use of a Portkey would be quite a convenient opportunity for the Ministry to detain you. I suspect you would find the experience unpleasant."
"I suspect I would," said Harry. That was a wrinkle he hadn't considered. The Ministry was too easy to think of as this vague, nebulous entity.
"I guess you're all set, then," said Sirius. "Be home for dinner. Remus baked a cake and everything."
Harry arched an eyebrow. "Remus isn't in any shape to bake anything right now. Don't you mean you baked a cake?"
"Well," said Sirius guiltily, "most of the way. It's not exactly a cake, yet. But I can fix it! I've been meaning to work on my inedible-to-edible transfiguration anyway."
Sadly, thought Harry a few minutes later as he was picking his way through the wardrobe and back to England, Sirius was only joking a little bit.
Diagon Alley was bursting with activity. A month before Hogwarts started up again seemed to be the sweet spot, and within seconds of arriving, Harry had to duck out of the way of a witch using her wand to direct two prams, each with a squalling infant inside, down the street.
He oriented himself. Rows of shops with vibrant signs. The chatter of a crowd. The familiar twitch of heads as he moved through the throng of people as someone recognized him, then did a double-take. He moved with purpose. He heard someone calling his name – there was Neville Longbottom coming out of Madam Malkin's, carrying a stack of new robes and trailing his grandmother, who wore an absurd stuffed vulture hat. He gave Neville a wave back. And there, down the street, was Hagrid, moving away and towards the Leaky Cauldron, easy to spot both for his height and for the ripples in the crowd he left in his wake, like a boat cutting through the water.
Harry started towards Ollivander's. He checked his watch. He still had a few minutes before he was supposed to meet Fleur. He was excited to see her, and more than a little nervous. They hadn't seen each other in a year, after all, and when it came right down to it, they'd never even had a proper conversation.
Then, a welcome distraction from his nerves – he'd just passed the polished marble façade of Gringotts when he heard his name.
"Hey, Harry! Over here!"
Turning, moving out of the crowd and onto the steps of Gringotts, Harry saw Fred and George Weasley approaching, waving cheerfully.
"What brings to you Diagon Alley this fine day, Harry?" asked George as they closed the distance. Fred didn't say anything, and seemed to be preoccupied with trying to find a comfortable way to carry a smallish cauldron that was stuffed with books.
"Meeting a friend for lunch," said Harry.
"Not school shopping, then?" said Fred, finally just hefting the cauldron under his arm like a barrel. "Bully for you. It's so crowded today we've been at it for hours. Though that little dust-up in the bookstore didn't help."
"Dust-up?" said Harry.
"Yeah," said George, smirking. "Dad got into it with Lucius Malfoy. Bloody brilliant, it was. Knocked him flat. Granted, dad got a split lip out of the deal, but it was worth it just to see that wanker's hair fly around."
"Poor Ginny," said Fred solemnly. "I bet she was expecting her very first Hogwarts shopping trip to involve a little less punching and a little more childlike wonder."
"Percy wasn't happy about it either," said George. "He's gunning for Head Boy next year, by the way. Try to act really surprised when he won't shut up about being a prefect. We've been having fun with that all summer."
"Will do," said Harry.
"So, Harry, about Quidditch this year. Do you think we…?" Fred's voice trailed off. He was looking over Harry's shoulder and blinking repeatedly, his eyes going wide.
Harry turned to George, intending to ask him what was the matter, only to find the other Weasley twin in a similar state – he was focused on something behind Harry, staring and stunned into silence.
He spun on his heel, and Fleur was there. She was beaming. She hadn't changed much in the year since he'd seen her last – she was still willowy, and blonde, and her hair did interesting things in the slight breeze. Harry had grown, though, and they were exactly the same height now. He reached for words, found none, felt a moment of panic – and then, luckily, she spoke first.
"Hello, 'Arry," she said. She really had a dazzling smile, thought Harry. There was no other word for it. She approached almost hesitantly, coming to a stop a few feet in front of him. "Thank you for meeting me here." Her accent was noticeable, but not thick, and she laid a deliberate weight on the words, as if she were marking them carefully. "You see? I have been working hard."
Harry smiled back. It seemed to be a very natural response, like looking up and taking a deep breath after stepping outside into the sun. "It shows. You barely have an accent."
Fleur waved that away with a graceful flick of the wrist. "I practiced that sentence in particular," she said. "Normally eet is not so smooth." She quirked an eyebrow, a grin and a hint of a challenge – the same exact expression he remembered from Quidditch Camp, when she'd provoked him into continuing their race. "And you? Have you been practicing as well?"
The abrupt shift in languages threw Harry a bit, but he quickly recovered, slipping into a well-practiced sentence. "I'll have you know that I spent an hour each day for the last month studying with a woman who's been speaking the language for over five hundred years," he said, in what he hoped was passable French.
Fleur laughed. It sounded like bells, somehow. "Not bad, 'Arry. You made a mistake with the numbers, though. You meant 'fifty,' no? That would be cinquante."
"How silly of me," said Harry. "Of course, fifty. I certainly don't know a woman who's over five hundred years old." Fleur looked at him in confusion and he just managed to keep a straight face.
Something sharp and rapid poked his shoulder. He turned, and Fred and George were shooting him dirty looks, giving him clear 'introduce us' hand signals. Harry rolled his eyes and gestured them forward.
"Fleur, this is George or Fred Weasley, and his brother, the other one. They go to Hogwarts with me. They're, uh, friends, I guess."
Fred elbowed his way forward. "Mentors, really. More mature. Taught him everything he knows, we did."
"Did you really?" she murmured, her big blue eyes flicking between them. She looked completely disarming.
"Nearly everything. Well, mostly everything. Some things?" Fred was practically tripping over his words. George winced, and started to give his brother a discreet 'wrap it up' hand signal.
"Yes, they taught me quite a lot. Like how to make a graceful exit," said Harry. "Speaking of which, how about that lunch, Fleur?"
"We'd be happy to join you!" said Fred, with what Harry thought a most unbecoming note of desperation.
"But we just had lunch," said George. Fred kicked his ankle discreetly. "I mean, we'd love to join you."
"I'm sure you'd find it terribly boring," said Harry, a bit too quickly. "We're mostly going to talk about wands. Wand maintenance, actually. How to properly document wand upkeep. Boring stuff, you'd hate it. Uh, let's go, Fleur."
She nodded, he gestured, and together they walked down Diagon Alley. Harry glanced over his shoulder as they moved away and saw Fred and George wearing identical looks of sputtering disbelief.
They didn't have much of a problem moving through the crowd, this time. Harry was used to large groups marking his presence – he'd had plenty of practice in his early days at Hogwarts – and he was detached and comfortable enough with it that it was almost fascinating, like watching the movement of tree branches on a gusty day. People would pause for a second, either recognizing Harry or simply struck for a moment by Fleur's singular beauty, and nearby, other people would react to that pause, and find the source of it, and the ripples would continue. If it bothered Fleur at all, she didn't show it. They walked together, side by side, Fleur close enough that Harry noticed it, and paid attention to it, and was distracted by it.
"There's a little café a few minutes' walk into Muggle London," she said blithely as they passed Flourish and Blotts. "I was lucky to find it. So much of your English food is quite… uninspiring."
"Works for me," said Harry. "You're the one who's been living here for months. You probably know the area better than I do."
"Well, that is not entirely true," said Fleur. "I travel to Mr. Ollivander's shop every day, with the Floo, and then back to France at night. My family allows me a great deal of…" she seemed to pause on the word, "lassitude? Is zat correct?"
"Latitude? Leeway? Liberty? Laissez-faire?"
"Yes, those," she said. She cocked her head for a moment, the curtain of her silvery-blonde hair falling over her shoulder with the movement. "Leeway, I think. My family allows me a great deal of leeway, but even so, zey would not let me spend the summer in London alone."
Harry smirked. "Yeah, can't say that I have much experience with that. My family goes the other way. They definitely wouldn't be worried about me spending time on my own and running into trouble."
"Oh, you misunderstand. They seemed to think zat I would be the one causing trouble." She had such a wide-eyed look of incredulity that Harry couldn't quite decide if she was just making a very dry joke, or if she simply had that pure, honest arrogance that came from self-sure blindness.
Harry shook his head ruefully and pulled out his wand, tapping the bricks. A brisk walk through the Leaky Cauldron – Fleur pausing to sniff haughtily at the grubby countertops – and they were in Muggle London. It was one of London's more picturesque summer days, and it was pleasant to walk down the open streets and listen to the sounds of the city. Fleur led the way, and they talked of inconsequential things, of Hogwarts and Beuxbatons, of tests and broomsticks, of wands and weather. She was animated, and she talked with her hands, just like Harry remembered. They walked, slowly and meanderingly, in no particular hurry, the short distance to the café.
It was small and charming and quaint, with a red awning and wrought-iron tables outside. Harry ordered an iced tea, and Fleur, thumbing her nose at the heat, ordered a coffee, and they did a short, complicated little dance where they both tried to pay, and the girl at the counter glanced at Fleur and had one of those female-to-female moments that Harry was just now beginning to realize happened all the time, right under his nose.
They sat outside. It was sunny and warm.
Harry sipped his iced tea. "So why are you so interested in wands?"
Fleur took her cup and held it in her hands, blowing delicately on the foamy surface of the coffee. "I do not know exactly 'ow to answer that question." Harry was studying her closely – it was important question, after all – but he found himself, for some odd reason, paying attention to the way her fingers curled elegantly around the cup.
"It's not a path many choose," said Harry. "There are, what, a dozen reputable wandmakers in the world?"
"Less than that. Five, six at most, if you count Madame Lefurgey in Paris. And I do not. Her wands 'ave a certain… temperamental quality that holds them back."
"And you want to be one of them."
"Yes." Fleur said it carelessly, as if it were simply a mundane fact. She looked for a second like that was all she was going to say, and then she leaned forward, looking at Harry intently. "It is my dream. My family name is not well known in my country. No one perks up when they hear it. My father works at a low-level job in our Ministry that he'll never be promoted from, and my mother is content in her life at home. Someday, though, I will craft such wands the likes of which the world 'as never seen. And when witches and wizards of high renown gather and rub shoulders, they will show them off proudly, and they will say, 'envy me, for I have a Delacour wand'."
Harry leaned back in his chair and took another drink of iced tea and looked at the girl sitting across from him, at her hard, imperious expression. She was wearing jeans so dark they were almost black, a blouse that hugged her shoulders only to flare out and be gathered up by a wide, tan belt, and a scarf loosely draped around her neck with casual elegance. For just a moment, Harry believed that if he closed his eyes and stretched out his hand, he'd be able to feel her ardent potential like he could feel magic.
"Admirable," said Harry. "To really know what you want to do, I mean. I would have thought you'd want to race brooms or play Quidditch professionally."
"Well," she said, smiling slightly, "I do enjoy flying quite a bit, as you know. Racing with you, and that dragon…" She looked off for a moment, wistful, her big blue eyes sparkling. "It was impressively fun." She shrugged. "But, as they say, qui court deux lievres a la fois, n'en prend aucun." The language shift was abrupt, and Harry struggled with the words for a moment in his head before coming up with something like who runs after two rabbits at the same time catches none.
"True," he said. "It just seems like a shame to be so single-minded. Trying new things can be fun."
"It was made clear to me by Mr. Ollivander that such dedication would be necessary," said Fleur. "As you said, it is not an easy path. I've already sacrificed a relationship on the altar of my goal."
"Oh?" said Harry, raising his eyebrow.
"Claude," she said. She flicked a wrist, a dismissive gesture. "A boyfriend. My first. He's one year above me at Beauxbatons, and a good flyer. Not as good as you, I zink."
"Very few are," said Harry modestly, holding his cup to his lips and hiding a grin.
"He was unable to 'andle the long summer apart, I'm afraid," she said. She shrugged. "It is not so great a loss, in the long run."
"How charitable of you," said Harry. "I don't suppose you'll find it all that difficult to replace him."
She sniffed. "Just because I can fish with a large net doesn't mean I like all kinds of fish."
"Is that another French saying?"
"It is a Fleur saying." She fixed him with a haughty, imperious look.
"You," said Harry, sounding almost pleased, "are a snob."
Fleur leaned forward, and her smile was slow and smoky. "What of it, 'Arry Potter?"
"Nothing. I kind of like it." Harry ruthlessly squashed the small part of his brain that pointed out that he didn't like Malfoy or Smith for almost the same reasons.
"Do you?"
"It's not boring," he said, and left it at that.
They drank their beverages, one hot, one cold, and eyed each other, and Harry found that sense of communication he'd felt back at Quidditch Camp, that sense of immediately getting each other with just a few words, or no words at all, was not lost now that words were added. It was simply there, a current running under their conversation with a low electric hum.
The door to the café jingled, and a woman stepped out. She was older, with flyaway hair, and was carrying a paper bag and had half a croissant stuffed in her mouth.
Fleur stopped her with a look, glancing up from the table. "Excusez-moi, would you mind, terribly, taking our picture?" Even as she spoke, Fleur reached behind her and, as if by magic, pulled out a small disposable camera.
"Of course," the woman said brightly, taking the camera.
"A picture?" said Harry, frowning.
"I'm documenting my time here in London," she said. "My sister is eager to see pictures of such an exotic land."
"She must not get out much," said Harry.
"Zis is true. She is, however, six." Fleur leaned forward slightly, inclined towards him, a lock of hair falling into her eyes at the movement. A quick, practiced motion swept it back over her shoulder.
"Like that's any excuse." Harry found himself leaning forward as well, matching her.
There was a click, and Harry turned. The woman had snapped a shot, mid-banter. "Oh, aren't you two adorable," she beamed. "That will turn out lovely, I'm sure." She held out the camera.
"I 'ave no doubt it will," said Fleur, taking it and slipping it behind her chair. "Thank you."
"Thanks," echoed Harry.
The woman favored him with a fond smile, and left.
Fleur and Harry looked at each other.
"Don't worry, I'll send you a copy," she said.
"Please do," said Harry. "You look pretty cute with a coffee foam mustache."
Her hands went to her face and her eyes went wide, and Harry laughed.
Arresto Momentum. Arresto Momentum. Arresto Momentum.
Harry stood on the beach, scowling and unmoving, flicking his wand. It was pointless. Whatever spark of intuition he'd felt when Sirius's ill-timed attack had shattered his concentration wasn't going to suddenly re-appear. And this, Dumbledore's advice, dry-firing a spell over and over like this, when he wasn't moving anyway, was beyond frustrating.
He was beginning to think that Dumbledore was just making it up as he went along.
Arresto Momentum. Arresto Momentum. Arresto Momentum.
He took a step forward, and it felt like moving through wet concrete. So the spell was working. But the spell, really, was about more than just slowing down. It was about controlling movement. Stabilizing. More than that, too, really. The spell was in the same family as the series of enchantments that made brooms fly, and the ones that made them controllable. So it wasn't blind. It was willful, it was about tweaking the rules of force and momentum and inertia.
Arresto…
And his thoughts became a little fuzzy, a little unfocused. Without really trying, he didn't think the words so much as flash them through his mind – not an inner voice, but an inner statement, a recitation of knowledge and a flash of inspiration both.
He jumped. For just a second, Harry felt pressure and movement and suddenly he was a few feet in the air, and then there was a confused moment where it seemed as if there were three separate forces acting on his legs, and then he dropped to the ground and fell into the sand.
"Very good, Harry."
"Gah!" If he hadn't been already in a heap on the sand, he would have fallen over with shock. Dumbledore was suddenly just there. "How do you do that? There's literally no place to hide on this beach, and it's so bright out I would have seen a Disillusionment Charm coming a mile away."
Dumbledore's expression was very, very dry as he said the obvious words. "Magic." He held up his hands as Harry opened his mouth angrily. "Would you deny an old man his favorite pastime, Harry?"
"What, messing with me?" Harry stood up and brushed off the sand.
"I simply wish to see the delight and inspiration on your face when you discover my method all on your own."
"I'm sure."
Dumbledore nodded, his expression turning serious, and he pointed to Harry's wand. "In any case, it seems you've had a bit of an insight."
"I have?"
"That last spell, Harry. It didn't do quite what it was supposed to, did it?"
"I lifted off the ground a bit. But that was an accident."
"And that, in the end, will make all the difference," said Dumbledore with an air of satisfaction.
"But…" Harry was close to actually stamping the ground in frustration, but then he remembered that he wasn't a six-year-old girl. "If I didn't do it on purpose, how can I learn anything from it?"
"Simple," said Dumbledore. "You must train yourself to do something accidentally on purpose."
Harry fixed him with a flat stare. "Accidentally on purpose."
"Yes," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "All you need to do is put yourself in the kind of mindset where it's possible to grasp an idea completely and yet pay no careful attention to it whatsoever. The kind of mindset, for example, where you would be capable of flying if you simply throw yourself at the ground and miss."
Harry counted to ten in his head, and took a deep breath. "Sirius never should have lent you those books."
"Quite possibly," said Dumbledore, still with that insufferably cheerful expression.
"And what kind of deranged lunatic is able to embrace a contradiction like that?" Dumbledore spread his arms and shrugged, which made the purple and lime robes with gold moons and stars on them shift fractionally. "Right, never mind."
"It is the rare individual for whom contradiction can be embraced, two conflicting ideas held not apart and never considered, like a coward would do, but clashing." Dumbledore's expression was quiet, now. "Magic makes hypocrites out of us all, Harry. We gain knowledge and say we are learning, but we blind ourselves as we go. To truly understand a spell is to narrow its focus and broaden it, at the same time. You must be an honest hypocrite, if you are to excel. Do not flinch from contradiction."
"I…" Harry took his wand and held it up. He looked at – really looked at it. The point was so narrow. Just a thin, tiny piece of wood. Just a single feather inside it. And yet it had a magic all its own, so deep and complex that masters spent their lives understanding wandcraft and still toiled in uncertain, reverent waters. "… I think I see."
"Then your moment of insight was not in vain," said Dumbledore quietly. "An important first step in a very long, very difficult journey."
Harry held his wand loosely but intently, and he tried to force his mind into the same configuration. Except forcing it was wrong. He took a deep breath. He thought about everything he knew about the spell – the theory, the linguistics, the long hours of practice. He thought about that wild rush of chaos that came from accidental magic – unformed, unguided, untethered. And then he thought about how those two things could exist together if he only bent his mind at right angles to reality.
Arresto Momentum, he thought/didn't think. Focused/unfocused. And the spell formed/didn't form.
Harry felt himself launched sideways, completely free of inertia, stationary one moment, moving the next, gliding over the sand at extreme speeds, until he clipped a small sand dune and found himself sprawled out on the ground again. That time, he felt the inertia.
He spat out a mouthful of sand, and grinned around it.
Harry didn't keep the grin, but he felt light and happy for the rest of the day. He'd gone through the wardrobe and was back at the Dursleys, and was sitting by the window with his hands behind his head, eyes closed, thinking about magic. He'd been there for what felt like minutes, but it was fully dark, now, and it hadn't been when he'd come through the wardrobe.
A soft hoot broke his reverie. Hedwig was there, sitting on a branch on a tree across the street. Harry waved her over, and felt a burst of affection for the owl – she'd known him well enough to not just swoop in, giving him time to think.
"Hey, girl," he said softly, through the still night air, and she flew over, alighting on the windowsill.
He untied the messages on her leg. Like Harry, Hedwig lived a dual life during the summer – days on the island, nights in England. Every few weeks Harry would send her around to his friends.
The letter from Cho was short – she was in Austria with her parents, who were at yet another Astronomy conference, and she was trying to finagle a ticket to one of the World Cup qualifiers that would be held there.
The letter from Cedric was also short, but it was far more intriguing.
Harry,
I was talking to Luna the other day – we had her over for dinner – and we got to talking about Hogwarts. She's starting this year, and she's very interested in the castle. Well, I happened to let slip that we've done a bit of exploring, and that we were having a little problem getting past a door. (Don't worry, I didn't say anything specific.)
I mentioned that we needed keys, and straightaway, she had it. That girl has a way of thinking that gets right to the heart of things, but takes a strange direction to get there. But anyway, she said something, and I'm pretty sure it's right. It's very Hufflepuff, anyway.
Long story short, I have a really, really good idea where we can look for the keys. I'll tell you when I see you on the train in a few weeks, because I want to see the look on your face.
Summer was fun. Ran through some Quidditch drills yesterday with Fred and George. (Well, they ran through some Bludger practice.) They had some interesting things to say about running into you in Diagon Alley. Anything you want to tell me?
- Cedric
Harry stared down at the parchment in frustration. "Really, you're going to wait two weeks and make me insanely curious? That's just mean." Hedwig hooted in agreement.
The third letter wasn't actually a letter – it was a photo. Small and compact, a little roll that unfurled without wrinkles or bends (magic, thought Harry once again, was awesome) into a hand-sized photograph. Fleur evidently favored a Muggle camera – the picture was static, but that didn't mean it wasn't interesting.
The two of them were captured mid-conversation, neither of them looking at the camera, both intent on the other. They were inclined towards each other, animated and energetic even though the picture was still.
What really struck Harry was the contrast. Fleur looked fifteen and radiant. Harry looked ten, at best – his clothes ill-fitting, his glasses too thick, the lenses making his eyes look cartoonishly distorted.
With a mounting, unsettling sense of horror, he shoved the picture away like it had burned him and moved resolutely to the bed.
Sleep was a long time in coming.
In the morning, when he looked at the photo again, and it hadn't changed, he moped. He delayed going back through the wardrobe. He shot off a sarcastic letter to Cedric, dug his broom out of his trunk and spent almost an hour cleaning it, and then dressed, giving his ratty jeans and t-shirt the evil eye.
Harry sighed. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on, but still, when he'd realized what this newfound fascination with his appearance signified, he'd brooded all morning, bemoaning the fact that he was a predictable, hormone-crazed teenager after all.
Well, I can fight it, or I can lean into it.
He marched through the wardrobe. He moved through the Flamels' house with dark purpose, his shoulders hunched, steps heavy, as if he were marching to his doom. Perenelle's room was on the east side of the house, with a large window dominating the outward-facing wall, the better to catch the sunrise. The ancient lady herself was hard at work, leaning over a drafting table that sat in the center of the room. She was sun-baked and her hands were flecked with ink and she looked barely a day over thirty.
Perenelle didn't even look up from the drafting table. Harry glanced at it – they looked like plans for an opera house, immensely complex and detailed. "Good morning, Harry. What can I do for you?" Perenelle Flamel's voice was a rich contralto, pleasantly deep and subtle.
Harry took a deep breath. He squared his shoulders. And then he did the bravest thing he'd ever done.
"I want you to dress me."
"Honestly, it wasn't what I was expecting at all."
Harry dodged to the side, letting the spell fly past him harmlessly.
"Come on, Harry. Less dancing around, more countering." Sirius blew a Reducto into the sand in front of Harry, forcing him to duck and shield his eyes. "See what I mean?"
"Yeah, yeah," said Harry. He got to his feet and wiped his face, and his hand came away gritty. He narrowed his eyes, and as Sirius moved his wand, Harry jumped all over it, viciously slashing the air in front of him. The red light of Sirius's Stunner died on the wand.
Sirius grunted in approval. He threw up a Shield Charm, catching his breath behind it. "So she took you to some fancy clothes shop in Athens. Then what?"
"Well, I was expecting it to be a nightmare. You know, hours and hours of trying on clothes, absurd outfits, salesladies making quippy comments about how many girls I'm going to attract with my new look, stuff like that." Harry fired a Stunner into Sirius's shield, and scowled a bit as it absorbed it neatly.
"I'm kind of surprised Perenelle took you in the first place," said Sirius. "She's a busy lady."
"Who else was I going to ask? No offense, but if you take a look at the adults on this island, it's not exactly a bastion of good taste. Snape, Remus, Dumbledore…"
Sirius dropped the shield and fired off a Slug-Vomiting Jinx. Harry flubbed the block and had to throw himself to the side to avoid it. "What about me, Harry? I have excellent fashion sense."
"Right," said Harry dryly, getting back up, his wand held loosely as he eyed Sirius. "Look me in the eye and tell me that you wouldn't have used that as an excuse to pull some hilarious prank where I'd step out of the dressing room and I'd suddenly be wearing a dress."
"Ah, you know me too well," said Sirius. "So, anyway, it wasn't that bad?"
"No, was fine. We got there, she looked me up and down like I was a cut of meat on a butcher's table, then zipped around the shop grabbing things. Took all of five minutes."
"And she didn't want you to buy ridiculously expensive designer clothes?" Sirius waved his wand, conjuring a pair of birds that swooped at Harry in random patterns.
"Nah. She said I'd grow out of anything she picked out in about six months, so what was the point?" Harry quick-fired from the hip, roasting them both with well-placed Conflagration Curses.
The fire was a little excessive, and Sirius stumbled back and out of the way. "A little warning next time. I think you singed my eyebrows."
Harry ignored him, and took a few steps back, pivoting to face Sirius with one foot forward, wand up. "And then, when I offered to pay, she just laughed me off. I mean, the whole 'transmuting metal into gold' thing makes money kind of trivial for her, and I learned from Cedric to accept gifts gracefully, but it still stung a little."
"So all in all, not a bad experience."
"Sure, but I'm kind of dreading what comes next." Harry whipped his wand forward and cast a quick Antler-Growing Hex, which Sirius easily blocked, then followed it up by transfiguring the sand between them into a glowing golden rope, then Banishing it at Sirius. Sirius dropped his easygoing expression as the rope flew towards him, eyes widening. The golden glow was cosmetic – but Sirius didn't know that.
A sharp Diffindo sliced the rope in two, and dual sections of it coiled limply to the ground on either side of Sirius. Harry was already in motion, waving his wand in a tight, complicated pattern as he transfigured the ropes into cobras. Transfigured snakes were quite happy to follow his orders, and a quick word of Parseltongue out of Harry's mouth had them rising, hissing, darting towards Sirius…
With a yelled incantation, Sirius went to one knee, jamming his wand in the sand. A purple pulse of light blinded Harry and rocked him back. He stumbled onto his knees, covering his eyes, and when he looked up, the snakes were gone and the sand around Sirius had turned to glass.
"Dick move, Harry," said Sirius, his grin back in full force. "So what happens next?"
Harry sighed. "I made a bet with Cho last year that I wouldn't start caring about clothes and stuff. Only five Galleons, but still."
"You'll live." Sirius rolled his eyes.
"She's going to laugh at me."
"So? It's funny. Laugh along with it. At least you'll look good doing it."
"That's a Sirius Black strategy if I ever heard one."
Sirius stuck his tongue out, then shot a silent Stupefy at Harry's head. Harry muttered a Protego and blocked it easily.
"Shield Charm's getting better," said Sirius approvingly as he studied the golden glow surrounding Harry. "Tighter, more even. Neat trick with the snakes, too. How did you transfigure them both so fast?"
"I did them both at the same time," said Harry. He grinned. He was trying for mysterious, but he wasn't sure how well he pulled it off. "Just because the rope was in two pieces doesn't mean it wasn't still one rope, at least from the rope's point of view."
Sirius groaned. "Please, Harry, tell me you're not going to start talking like Dumbledore."
"Of course not, my dear boy. Why, my voice will remain well and truly my own, for whose else could it be, in truth?"
Sirius narrowed his eyes. "All right, you're asking for it." He snapped his wand forward, waving it slightly, flicking his wrist at the end of the movement, and started shooting rapid-fire Hurling Hexes at Harry, over and over, bracketing the air with them, far too many for Harry to block or absorb.
Thankfully, Harry wasn't there when they arrived. Faster than he'd ever done so before, he slipped into the right frame of mind – and even after practicing for almost a month, it felt about as natural as running backward with his eyes closed – and cast a formless Arresto Momentum. Like a projector changing from one slide to the next, with no more transition than that, he was moving, one step taking him gliding over the sand, fifteen feet away from Sirius.
A second cast sent him in a tight arc, moving to flank Sirius, whose expression was stunned even as he swung his arm around to track Harry's erratic motion. Sirius shot more spells at him, but they missed wildly. Harry was too fast. It was a wild, breathless kind of movement, one step sending him bounding forward, then to the side, all without the distraction of inertia. He was almost flying. It was like having wires connected to his body, and tugging them just so, moving wherever he wanted. He was a leaf on the wind, and Sirius was a snail, he could do anything, he was in complete control –
And that was when he slammed into Sirius's conjured net. Harry flailed in midair, trying to throw it off, and only succeeded in tangling himself further. Wrapped up beyond hope of recovery, he toppled and fell heavily in the sand.
"What the hell was that?" said Sirius, jogging over to Harry's side. The older man used his wand to carefully slice open the net. "How were you moving so fast?"
"Kinda hard to explain, Sirius. One of those Dumbledore things. Taking a spell and doing something really weird with it," said Harry, panting with exertion as he threw off the rest of the material. He collapsed in a sprawl on the sand, chest heaving. "Wild ride, though."
"I'll say." Sirius pursed his lips. "I have to say, not really what I expected when you started learning directly from Dumbledore. He's so… still, and graceful. He barely moves when he's fighting. You looked like some kind of berserk flying squirrel." He bent and offered a hand.
"I doubt it would be useful during an actual fight. I mean, I can't cast anything else when I'm jumping around like that." Harry took Sirius's proffered hand and got to his feet.
"Neat party trick, though."
They were silent for a moment. The morning was slowly turning over into late morning, the sun topping the trees and casting the beach in brilliant white.
"Do we have time for another duel?" asked Harry.
Sirius checked his watch. "Nope. It's almost eleven here, so the Express leaves in about an hour, London time. Let's grab some lunch, I'll wash that down with a disgusting bit of Polyjuice, you finish packing, and I'll Apparate you to King's Cross."
"Sounds good." They both lapsed into silence again.
Sirius turned to him. "Just say the word, Harry, and I'll pack up and live as a dog in the Forbidden Forest."
"I'm not worried about the plan, Sirius. Well, not much. If everything goes off like we want, I won't even have to do anything."
"Sure," said Sirius, turning and looking back out at the ocean, looking far into the distance. "But when do they ever go like we want?"
An hour later, after a round of goodbyes and a hurried lunch, Harry found himself dragging his trunk through the wardrobe. He cursed as he maneuvered it through the narrow space, letting it drop to the ground on the other side. Sirius came through after him in the body of a grey-haired man in his fifties. Instead of taking Harry's hand immediately, Sirius concentrated on a seemingly random spot on the wall, near the baseboard, pulled out his wand, and muttered a spell.
"What was that?" asked Harry, taking the trunk up again as Sirius took his hand and prepared to Apparate.
"Random temperature variation charm," said Sirius smugly. "I always cast it on the taps in the shower whenever I come through."
"Real mature, Sirius."
Sirius's expression went dark for a second. "Oh, believe me, I could have done a lot worse."
He took Harry's hand, spun in place, and Harry felt the world compress and twist around him. King's Cross popped into view in an explosion of noise and color. Harry staggered, almost dropped the trunk. He'd never quite gotten used to Apparation. It was dead useful, sure, but it was a sensation that was deeply uncomfortable.
They were in a little out-of-the-way corner of the station, discreetly charmed so Muggles wouldn't pay much attention to it. Harry craned his neck over the crowd, and could just make out the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten.
"Well, this is it." Sirius turned to him, a wry grin on his face. "Now, remember, summers are for hard work and learning. School is for what?"
"Fun."
"And?"
"Meeting girls."
"And…?"
"Pranking Slytherins."
"And?"
"Getting killed by Voldemort."
Sirius shook his head. "Harry…"
"Oh, right. Not getting killed by Voldemort. I always get that one mixed up."
They shared a small smile of understanding. Sirius clapped Harry's shoulder, gave him a nod, and Disapparated. Harry watched the space where his godfather had vanished for a second, then grabbed his trunk and made his way through the crowd.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was busy; Harry had cut it a bit close. He saw the entire Weasley family – there seemed to be several dozen of them – arranging their trunks and exchanging last-minute goodbyes. The youngest one, the girl, locked eyes with Harry for a second, her eyes went wide, and she ducked behind her mother. Percy was chatting with a rather bedraggled but kindly-looking man that Harry assumed was Mr. Weasley. Percy's prefect badge was prominently displayed on his robes.
"Harry!" And there was Cedric. The older boy caught Harry in a hug, grinning. He stepped back, his grin widening as he took in Harry's appearance. "Oh, man. Cho is going to – "
"I'm aware of that," said Harry resignedly. He brushed past it, though, fixing Cedric with an intent stare. "Your letter. Tell me. You know where we can get the keys?"
"I have a strong hunch," said Cedric. "And, I really should drag it out a bit, just to mess with you, but I guess you already waited two weeks."
"Damn straight."
Cedric drew closer, lowering his voice. "So, I asked Luna, hypothetically, where she'd look for keys. And she said, right away, like it was the most logical thing in the world, 'have you asked Hagrid?'"
Harry frowned. "Why would…" he trailed off. Hagrid. The caretaker of the grounds. He watched over the forest, did some maintenance, and a few other tasks. But, his actual title was something else. The Keeper of the Keys.
If there had been a desk handy, Harry would have planted his face in it. As it was, he just covered his face with his palm. "Of course. That is so… damn… Hufflepuff."
"Right?" said Cedric, shaking his head. "I'm not sure, of course, but…"
"No, no, that's got to be it. Almost definitely."
"One way to find out."
"Right away. Tomorrow morning. And then we need one more. I'm pretty sure about Daphne. And as for the fifth, I was thinking – "
"Harry!"
This time, he was hugged from behind without even the chance to turn around. But when she let him go, and when she saw him, he almost wished he hadn't.
Cho was just pointing at him, face lit up like it was Christmas. She made a noise like she was being strangled. Harry dug into his pocket and quickly pulled out a small bag, shoving it into her hands.
"Here. Five Galleons. I'll double it if you don't say anything."
Of course, at that moment, it was probably hard for her to form coherent words even if she wanted to. She was just looking at him, and every time she did, she laughed. Harry knew what she was seeing – Harry Potter, in slacks and a button-down, with a shiny pair of loafers, the dark brown complimenting the slacks perfectly. A pair of glasses, slimmed down to bare elegance, framing his eyes perfectly.
"You… you…" said Cho, her mirth making her words difficult.
"You can just shut right the hell up," said Harry, scowling darkly.
Cho laughed all the way to their compartment.
The Great Hall was subdued but antsy as the Sorting dragged on. Harry had to stop himself from fidgeting. They were nearing the end of the alphabet, but the last few kids had taken their sweet time, and the crowd was feeling it – the applause after each name was clipped.
"Come on, come on," muttered George, who was sitting to Harry's left. "I'm hungry."
"Almost there," said Fred. "Oh, look. Ginny's up next. Three guesses where she's headed, and the first two don't count."
"WEASLEY, GINEVRA," called the stern voice of Professor McGonagall.
The girl marched forward, looking at turns resolute and nervous. She stuffed the Hat on her head and plopped down on the stool.
"What kind of name is Ginevra?" said Harry out of the corner of his mouth, inclining his head towards George.
"I don't know," said George, shrugging. "What kind of name is Ginny?"
"GRYFFINDOR!" called the Hat. Fred and George clapped loudly, heckling their sister as she practically ran to the end of the Gryffindor table and sat beside the other first-years.
As the applause died down, Aberforth Dumbledore stood at the Head Table and cleared his throat. The noise in the Great Hall immediately died to a mere buzz. The other professors at the Head Table sat there attentively. Harry marked Doge carefully – the old man looked as bland and unassuming as always, but he was a very definite wild card, and this year especially, Harry did not want wild cards.
"First-years, welcome to Hogwarts," said the Headmaster in his characteristically gruff voice. "Everyone else, welcome back. I have a few announcements about classes and Quidditch tryouts, but I'll save them for after dinner."
Harry saw George breathe a sigh of relief.
"Except to say this," said Aberforth, raising a finger. "The east wing corridor on the third floor is strictly off-limits for the year. Security spells have been placed, and should you breach them, detention will be the very least of your worries. Now, to dinner." The Headmaster sat abruptly and clapped his hands, and dinner appeared. The noise in the Hall gradually ratcheted up as conversations started again.
Oliver Wood, sitting across from Harry, frowned. "That was a bit odd, wasn't it?"
"What, that he left the important Quidditch stuff until after dinner?" asked Harry.
Fred snorted, and Oliver was diverted in a discussion about Quidditch – just as Harry had intended. It was a careful game they were playing, Harry and the rest of his family. Good bait didn't do anything to draw attention to itself.
The food was as Harry had remembered – hearty, and lots of it. Conversations ebbed and flowed as plates were emptied and less attention went into eating.
Katie Bell, who was sitting a few places down from Oliver, caught Harry's eye as he reached for a bowl of mashed potatoes. "Are those new glasses, Harry? They look really good."
"They are, thanks."
For some reason, she blushed slightly, and her next words came very fast. "So, good summer?"
"It was interesting," said Harry. "I learned a whole new way to conceptualize magic."
"Oh," said Katie. "I got to visit my cousin in Iceland. But your thing sounds fun, too, I guess. What electives are you taking?"
Harry opened his mouth to answer, but as he did, there was a noise. A loud, dull clattering sound that came from the direction of the Entrance Hall. Harry glanced over and saw, very faintly, the great wooden doors to the Hall shake slightly, as if someone had thrown something against it.
Here and there around the Great Hall, conversations faltered as students exchanged glances.
"Did you hear that, Oliver?" said Fred, craning his neck to get a better view.
With a loud bang, the doors flew open. No one could miss that. Standing framed in the doorway was Argus Filch. The caretaker was holding up a lantern to his face as if guarding it from something. He was still, unmoving.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he toppled over. But not in the way a person would fall over. He fell over like a statue, and he didn't move at all as he hit the ground, face-first. The silence was punctuated by a few shocked gasps.
McGonagall stood at the Head Table. "Mr. Filch!" she said in a stern, raised voice. "What is the meaning of this?"
Harry felt something warm and wet on his hand.
He looked down. There was a drop of something red on the back of his thumb. Frowning, he raised it to his face and used his other hand to prod it. It smeared. It was blood, red and vibrant and even a little warm.
Katie shrieked.
His head snapped up to look at her. She was looking at the ceiling, her hand half-raised in an aborted pointing gesture. Harry followed her gaze. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall showed a starless, cloudy night. But something else was there, too.
Written in the ceiling of the Great Hall in twenty-foot letters, red and scrawled in blood, were words.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.
NONE OF YOU ARE SAFE.
And then there was screaming.
Author's Note:
A little experiment in crowdsourcing. So, I've changed the summary for this fic at least four or five times, and I'm still not happy with it. Yes, summaries are tricky in general, but this story has a few additional challenges:
1) I don't want to spoil the mystery of Harry's first year, so I can't come at it from the "Harry is raised by X" angle.
2) There's really no "hook" to What You Leave Behind - it's simply a reinterpretation of the entire series, Years 1-7, with a few big AU changes (aging Harry a year and the history of Grindelwald's rise and fall being the major ones.)
So, readers - my summary is only decent, not great. Can you top it? If you've got an idea - it doesn't have to be fully fleshed out, or perfect - stick in a review. (I say review and not PM because it's crowdsourcing, which means these ideas should be public, because even if yours doesn't work, someone might see it and take it in a different direction that ends up working.)
As an incentive, if your idea ends up being the "spine" of my (hopefully much better) new summary, I'll give you naming rights to an upcoming character (subject to my approval - I won't let you name a perfectly normal new Hogwarts student Lord Blackskull Burnface just because you can, for example.) As an added bonus, to help you name the character, I'll tell you some specific details about how/when they come into the story, which will end up giving you a bit of a sneak peek into the future of the fic. (If you'd rather not be semi-spoiled, I can make the details very ambiguous.)
Anyway, it would be really cool if this works - this is the first real "reader participation" gimmick I've tried, so... fingers crossed.
(Of course, if you don't have any particular thoughts about the summary, a normal review with thoughts, emotions, rants, suggestions, or whatever kind of response you have is still encouraged and appreciated.)