From Ruin


GraeFoxx


Chapter 11: When It Rains...


Summary:

The aftermath of what happened to Hammond and the Upper Order has nothing on the misery of this day.


Notes:

Hello! I hope everyone had a pleasant week!

I enjoyed writing many aspects of this chapter and I hope you all get a kick out of it too!

I wouldn't say a lot happens per se, but it's 12K of the best that I can write it :D

Enjoy!


"What did you do to him?" Daphne asked.

Harry is in the Owlery petting Hedwig when Daphne had entered. He starts walking down the circular steps as he says, "Such an open ended question, Daphne. I couldn't possibly know what you mean."

Daphne ignores his verbal shrug and continues, "Not that it matters, really. It only occurred to me to tell you if you're not more careful, it won't be hard at all to put two and two together, no matter how little proof you may have left."

"If you're worried about others learning where I got my information, don't. I won't say anything, because there's nothing to say, let alone having to mention you. You have my word," Harry commits aloud.

"I wasn't worried," Daphne returns.

"Yes you were," Harry states. "You be an idiot not to, and you don't strike me as idiotic."

"...And what about you?" she asks, moving past his offhanded compliment. "I expect you took precautions; to make certain it doesn't fall back on you?"

"I suppose I could tell you, 'I gave him a little something,' but in the interest of setting your mind at ease... You may or may not know throughout the centuries, there have been a lot of ground breaking advances in the field of memory alterations, starting with, of course Mnemone-"

"Radford," Daphne interjects. "A witch, the very first to develop charms to modify memory. Before her we had to rely on potions in order to keep our society secret from the muggle world. Her breakthrough charms were efficient and invaluable. Of course I know. Look at who you're talking to," she answers with unexacting sass.

"Good," Harry says with a smirk, momentarily recalling what it's like to speak with an intellect on Hermione's level. "Then you may also know that some hundred years before the memory charm, forgetfulness potions and drafts were mostly weak or ineffective, until a wizard by the name of Ameles Potamos discovered the key ingredient to make the current forgetfulness potions so incredibly potent: water collected from the river Lethe. Ameles researched this ingredient with a friend he knew at the time, Nicolas Flamel. So, when I say it's unquestionable that Hilliard will remember his punishment but mask his perpetrator's face and voice, you can count on it."

Harry walks outside to the darkening sky with his snowy owl and gives her a stack of string-ribboned letters. "To the Flamels, Hedwig."

Having followed him outside, Daphne continues to say, "You still ought to be less brazen with your... retribution. There may not be any proof but that's hardly mattered before. Potions aside, you must also consider the human element. Against our Board or in the Ministry itself, there have been many instances where just the appearance of motive is enough to find you guilty, convict you with a fine, political subjugation or be sent to Azkaban. And there's bound to be an investigation on Hilliard. I'm certain this will be pursued though all the official channels, and you may not like where it ends."

"All of that is as trivial to me as the Upper Order and I have far more important things to worry about," Harry tells her.

Daphne steps forward, tilting her head and staring deeply into his eyes as she sensually asks, "such as?"

Harry is acutely more aware of her feminine figure, the length of her slender neck and the smooth way it curves into her trapezius. Deciding hormones are a curse and physically more impassioned he may be, Harry is harder to sway when it comes to his mission to kill Voldemort, so he only answers her with, "such as getting a good night's rest. Good night Daphne."

While the calamity surrounding Hammond Hilliard was the talk of the school, the rest of the week passed by with little event. The only highlights being the Upper Order attacking Draco instead of Ares. The Malfoy heir did well against his seven attackers but still ended up in the infirmary along with them. Instead of coming to Draco's defense, Harry stood by and watched, deciding instead to let Malfoy sharpen his skill with the wet stone that is the dwindling Upper Order. He shared his decision to let the Malfoy heir handle his own battles with the blonde by his hospital bed. If he happens to get hurt, caught and embarrassed, that's on him, because Harry will not rescue him from children. Draco is not surprised to here it and to his credit, he's more than fine with the arrangement.

Another point of the week came from Daphne's network. When she got wind that other houses learned about his How-To for phoenix hatching and owning, he couldn't resist placing charmed lines underneath all the benches in the Great Hall. There were so many students who had crushed egg dripping down their faces, Dumbledore had to make an official announcement to inform everyone to stop sticking eggs to the tops of their heads. He explains to his students, as an owner of a phoenix, "sticking an egg on the top of one's head will not give birth to one." The knowledge that Harry managed to prank both Fred and George was the highlight of his first week in his return to Hogwarts.

And then Saturday dawned.

While Draco is taking an evaluation test to determine whether he can join his year mates in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, Harry is following Snape up the Headmaster's tower. He shouldn't be surprised. This meeting was bound to happen at some point if not for what he learned from Snape and Lily's conversation, or his alleged involvement with the Upper Order, than simply for being Nicolas and Perenelle's heir.

"Liquorice Arachnid Legs," Snape states and the Gargoyle opens to allow them entry.

Walking into the Headmaster's large circular office to the oddest little sounds coming from a number of curious silver tracking instruments, Harry isn't as amazed by Dumbledore's office as he was when he was younger—seemingly a life time ago—nor is he in awe of the old man seated behind his ornate wood desk. The room is occupied by Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall, which doesn't concern Harry in the slightest but if McGonagall stays, it does tell him Slytherin business is probably not on the agenda. McGonagall takes her place beside Dumbledore and Snape leans against a bookshelf on the left side of the room.

Before anything else, Harry walks over to Fawkes on his stand and says, "hello," giving the older phoenix a playful rub of it's long neck. "I wouldn't have mind seeing you a few nights ago," Harry lightly says to the elder phoenix. He turns to Nova and asks, "Reckon you'd like to meet Fawkes, Nova? You are related after all." Nova takes one look from Harry to the large red phoenix and hops off Harry's shoulder to the second branch of the bird stand. They trill softly to one another as Harry moves back towards the professors.

"Ares, my boy, please have a seat," Dumbledore starts gesturing to the empty seat ahead of his desk.

"Albus, you old man, how are you?" Harry returns chum like, taking a seat.

"Mr. Flamel," McGonagall exclaims aghast. "You will do well to remember your manners in etiquette and address the headmaster by his proper title or professor, promptly followed by his surname. Do I make myself clear," McGonagall asserts with all the sternness in her authority.

"Certainly, professor," Harry starts, not at all sounding sorry. "I simply followed the Headmaster's example and assumed that a casual greeting of my own is implied, if not encouraged."

"It most certainly is not-" McGonagall starts.

"It's quite alright, Minerva," Dumbledore states with a genial smile. "Would you care for a lemon drop?" Harry declines with a palm up, before the headmaster continues. "Mr. Flamel, I'd first like to say, welcome to Hogwart's and apologies for not having the chance to meet with you sooner."

"No apologies necessary, professor," Harry states. "I wasn't expecting to meet you at all if I'm being honest. Is it normal for students to have an exclusive meeting with the Headmaster, the Deputy Headmistress and one's head of house?"

"We make a valiant effort to meet as many students as we can," Dumbledore easily replies.

"I see," Harry replies as he gets more comfortable in his seat. "May I ask why I'm here?"

"Of course. I must express my bafflement. You are more gifted than Nicolas led me to believe. I have received a number of reports from your professors," Dumbledore looks over to Snape a moment before continuing, "the majority have all been glowing. Some members of the faculty have even questioned whether it would not be more prudent to advance you to a level they could then offer you a more appropriate challenge."

"What level is that?" Harry asks, not at all expecting a conversation like this. Maybe that's the point, the paranoia in his head that sees dangers everywhere answers.

"Sixth year," McGonagall answers.

"Are you offering me the chance to move ahead?" Harry reiterates for clarity.

McGonagall nods her head as she makes a very clear point to say, "you must, of course, take your OWLs. That's Ordinary Wizarding Levels, in case you were not aware. We don't expect you'll face much difficulty there, but you must understand that should you gain unsatisfactory test results, we cannot allow you to advance."

"We are placing a great amount of faith in only a week's worth of witnessing your abilities, despite my objections," Snape takes the lead, though Harry doesn't turn around to pay him respectful attention. "You should consider it an honor to even be presented with this level of advancement, as it's only been offered a hand full of times since the birth of this great institution."

"As you might tell," Dumbledore assuages with a grandfatherly smile. "We are all taking this very seriously, and so should you. Come now, this isn't the time to be speechless. What say you?"

"Thank you, but no. I'd rather not," Harry flatly puts out quick enough to draw a second's long pause from the professors. Harry can't see Snapes reaction and while Dumbledore seems more calculated, McGonagall's jaw droops a tiny bit in genuine shock.

"I beg your pardon," McGonagall responds recovering her stern demeanor. "Are you... rejecting this great honor?"

"Yes," Harry answers her, offering no further explanation.

"A wise choice," Snape bemoans in a manner that certainly doesn't sound like a compliment.

"There is nothing of notable importance that has to change if you would not like it to," Dumbledore calmly relays. "You are more than welcome to stay in the same dorm room, eat and associate with your current friends; the only difference will be your classroom and the difficulty of the course work."

"Moving to the sixth year corridor or who I sit with during meals has nothing to do with my decision," Harry tells Dumbledore, who deliberates a moment as McGonagall states her reasoning.

"Surely you can see this would be in everyone's best interest," she says. "It's evident the fourth year curriculum is no challenge for you magically or intellectually. Why not join a group of students on the same educational level as you?"

The teachers aren't even on the same educational level as me, Harry mentally muses.

"Would this have anything to do with your foster parents," Dumbledore interjects softly. "Do you believe Nicolas and Perenelle would not approve?"

Foster? ...He's fishing, Harry thinks, then answers, "No, Headmaster. They'd support any decision I make."

"And would you be so kind as to indulge us as to the reason you would spurn our humble offer," Snape challenges from where he leans.

"The primary reason for my being here isn't the education offered," Harry tells the room. "I wasn't expecting much of a challenge to begin with and can learn on my own easily enough. It's just as Nicolas informed you, Headmaster. They wanted me to cultivate relationships with others my own age since the one-of-it's-kind, life sustaining stone they entrusted to you was destroyed in your care. So, in the event of their eventual passing, they'll feel better knowing I won't be quite so alone."

"Are you saying you have no other family?" Dumbledore asks, breezing through his culpability for the destruction of the philosopher's stone. "What of your biological family? Surely, you have extended blood relatives that you might turn to in an hour of need."

Internally, Harry rolls his eyes but answers nevertheless, "couldn't say one way or another, Headmaster. I've been alone for most of my life, until I came across the Flamels of course. But even if I did have other family out there, I don't need them any more than they needed me."

"Should that be the case, surely the knowledge of who they are is enough of a reason to search them out," Dumbledore reasons. "If you like, I can make discreet inquires on your behalf and should you ever decide to finally have answers to those questions, we can discuss them however you feel most comfortable. Hows that sound?"

"Generous, but I'll decline, thank you," Harry easily answers. "If I can help it, I don't outsource answers to my questions any more than I outsource solutions to my problems. So your assistance, while appreciated, won't be necessary."

"Again-" Snape starts to say at the same moment McGonagall speaks, so he yields to her. "Your problems," she points out. "And what problems might those be?"

Harry catches Dumbledore spy Snape before turning to McGonagall and lamenting, "Well, my dear Minerva. It doesn't seem like Mr. Flamel is interested in advancing ahead, which is of course his right. If you'll excuse us, I do have some matters of a personal nature I'd like to discuss with him."

"If possible, Headmaster," Snape starts. "I'd like to remain and discuss a few Slytherin affairs."

Harry can't tell if Snape is looking at the Deputy Headmistress, but she's certainly looking at the dark-eyed potions master. McGonagall takes a moment to ruminate about her sudden dismissal, before reverting to her duty, nodding to Headmaster Dumbledore, then exiting the circular office.

When it's just the three of them, Dumbledore gives voice to presumption. "Might I hazard a guess and say these problems you speak of are related to a group of troubled Slytherin students?"

"Troubled?" Harry singles out aloud, internally incredulous.

"Yes," Dumbledore maintains. "Do you not believe that those who act out tend to be the most troubled? I can tell you, in my many years as an educator, I've come to find that many students who act out aggressively, verbally or magically tend to do so as a means of compensating for personal insecurities, low-self esteem, excessive exposure to violence at home, or complicated situations among the parents."

"Maybe, maybe not, Headmaster," Harry marginally agrees. "I just don't have it in me to play the victim simply because some simple bloke with an itchy wand is out of touch with his emotions."

Dumbledore nods as he strokes his long white beard. "I've also come to learn a zero tolerance approach is counter productive to properly developing a troubled student's compassion towards their fellow wizard. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say you never had a meaningful conversation with any of the troubled students that have given you a hard time, have you? It's a cry for help, Mr. Flamel, and we should show them our compassion if we ever expect them to reciprocate it in return."

Harry isn't enthusiastic about engaging in more conversation than needed to ease the old man's curiosity about him, but he's finding it very hard not dispute with the sage old wizard. It's almost like Dumbledore doesn't see a difference between bullies that are just starving for attention, and wizards who are violent monsters intent on inciting chaos for the pure joy of it. He just lumps them all together like they're one in the same and in need of the same discipline. In Harry's mind there are just some wizards who can't be made to see the light, no matter how much compassion you show them.

Keeping with his rather aloof demeanor, Harry states, "Well, I'm not an educator but even I can see if you coddle bullies, that's no different than giving them your blessing to continue their behavior. Young as I am, I can only imagine the more you reinforce that the bully is the one with the power to invoke change, the more you empower them to carry on their dominance over whomever they see as weak. Why would they want to stop doing what they're doing if you, the authority, are the ones telling them they are the ones with the power to do, or not do? If anything, you're making the idea of getting away with abusing others more thrilling and attractive to them. I'd wonder if your approach isn't more detrimental to the reform you're hoping for, professor."

"...Is that what you believe," Dumbledore questions with the smallest of strain in his voice. Harry has to admit, the old man really knows how to hide what he thinks or feels. "And have you considered any solutions for your opinion."

"Not so much, no," Harry tells him. "This is all so new to me and I've only been an institutional student for a little over a week after all, but, there was an interesting perspective witnessed by the school a few nights ago that might have some merit."

"The night of Mr. Hilliard's unfortunate ordeal?" Dumbledore recognizes aloud. Harry nods and Dumbledore asks, "and what perspective would that be?"

"It's only natural not to want to cross the ledge of a cliff, for fear of falling to your death," Harry answers. "I'd imagine bullies would think twice about their behavior if the prospect of abusing others was as unattractive to them as committing suicide."

"That's..." Dumbledore starts, taking a moment to consider his words. "A disturbing approach, if you don't mind my saying."

"Well, whoever did that to Hillard must be disturbed," Harry easily agrees with the Headmaster.

"Hilliard," Dumbledore corrects.

"Of course," Harry feigns the blunder. "Hilliard."

"Don't you feel your approach to dealing with some of Slytherin's more troubled students is disturbing in it's own right?" Snape asks, finally stepping into view, exactly where McGonagall stood, his dark eyes trying to burn holes into Harry.

Harry turns to him, failing to feel intimidated and answers, "not at all. But since you're bringing that up, what are you planning on doing to punish them for attacking me and have you spoken with my parents about this?"

Dumbledore and Snape share a look for a moment before Dumbledore says, "As you were never injured in these unauthorized practice duels, and don't seem particularly offended, we felt it didn't warrant notifying your guardians. However since many of the injured students are claiming you enforced excessive and undue violence on them as well as destroyed their personal property, we've decided to have a word with you instead."

"Me," Harry questions curiously. "Why speak to me about their misbehavior?"

"Clearly, institutional education is difficult for you to grasp," Snape adds in his naturally slow and deep tone. "Compromise is the corner stone of diplomacy. Everyone must make the accommodations necessary so no one group can be allowed to have everything their way—that only leads to disorder. These troubled students have been punished for their misguided acts, but for your part, you did not handle the situation properly. As such, you are also subject to strict guidance. Moving forward, I expect you to report any and all conflict or disputes you encounter to me, your head of house, so that I can properly deal with the situation. Do I make myself clear?"

Dumbledore hops on Harry's cue to answer by adding, "we'll be giving you a warning this time, Mr. Flamel, under the provision that you apologize to your seniors, shake hands to show no hard feelings, and of course, it's only fair you purchase new wands for those you destroyed. Then we can put all this unpleasantness behind us."

No, no, no, no, no, Harry automatically thinks. "Are they here now," Harry asks, looking around for Khan and the other Upper Order members. "Or outside the doors?"

"They are not," Dumbledore says. "But it wouldn't be any trouble at all to have them join us. I can set the tea out so we may work through this like young adults."

"Don't bother," Harry returns. "I was only asking because I wouldn't mind saying it to their faces. I have no intention of apologizing to any of them, shaking their hands or buying them new wands since I didn't do anything to warrant apologizing, I don't want to touch them, and I'm fairly certain they'll just turn around and use the new wands I paid for on me."

"How dare you be so arrogant as to oppose your headmaster's mandate," Snape snaps. "If it was up to me, you would most certainly be expelled; possibly brought up on charges."

Dumbledore suggests, "be reasonable, Mr. Flamel or this will only become worse for you, and I know that is not what you or anyone wants."

"What I want," he states clearly. "Is to go about my day without being accosted for no other reason than to maintain their illusion of superiority. And as the one who was attacked, I fail to see how this will only get worse for me."

Dumbledore leans in, then says, "We'll start with point deductions and if you still refuse to compromise to a fair accord, than you will have to serve detention for disobedience."

"Am I here to learn to obey?" Harry asks rhetorically before continuing. "You're more than welcome to do as you like, headmaster," Harry answers. "Take all the points you want. Assign detention for every available day of the school year. I don't care for your arbitrary point based system, nor will I serve one minute of detention I don't feel I deserve."

"And you don't feel at all remorseful for destroying the wands of other students?" Dumbledore asks with some disbelief.

"Not when they attacked me with said wands, unprovoked, three to one, and in the open where anyone else could've been hurt," Harry tells the old man. "You may have heard of a muggle concept called self-defense. I was responding to the threat of injury to my person by using force in kind to defend myself. You should understand that considering one of your classes is called, Defense Against the Dark Arts. Am I not allowed to defend myself in your castle when attacked?" Harry asks pointedly.

"Defense is one thing," Snape returns. "You've far exceeded the limits of self-preservation and extending well into impetuous savagery."

"Even Prefect Khan and his friends have expressed feelings of remorse after their misdeeds, and are willing to shake hands and settle this discord with you," Dumbledore claims. "But if that is how you feel, we'll start by taking seven hundred points from Slytherin," Dumbledore states evenly. "Headmaster-" Snape starts trying to reverse the flow of conversation, but Dumbledore continues as if uninterrupted. "And every week you continue to feel unrepentant will be another hundred points deducted. We'll add to that a month's detention with Professor Snape and Mr. Filch."

Harry isn't bothered by the tepid form of discipline, but Snape continues to reason with the old man. "Headmaster, surely it doesn't do to punish the entire house because of the selfish behavior of one ungrateful student."

"...Perhaps you're right, Severus," Dumbledore states, rethinking his course of action. "I can be reasonable. I will, instead, take five hundred points from Slytherin and forgo the weekly deduction. However, you will serve detention—not for your debatable involvement in dealing with some of the more misguided students, but for skipping your History of Magic course. It is noted here, that you have yet to attend a single one of Professor Binn's classes."

Harry simply reaches into his robe as he mutters loud enough for them to clearly hear, "if you can call that a class." He hands Dumbledore the note Nicolas had written for him, excusing him from attending such a poor excuse for a class. Having read it, Harry couldn't help but note several pointed opinions directed to the Headmaster. Nicolas had penned in finely curved detail what a disappointment it was to hear how mistreated such an important topic is in a school that claims to be the best.

As Dumbledore reads it over, Harry explains, "As first-hand witnesses to much of known history, it's not hard to imagine why Nicolas and Perenelle are more than disappointed to learn that a subject that's dear to them is being improperly instructed to students that will one day lead magical society into the future. That is a written, signed and stamped consent from my parents excusing me from attending History of Magic with Professor Binns."

"That is not possible, nor is it acceptable," Dumbledore states as Snape reads over the note. Dumbledore continues, "I will also personally speak with Nicolas and reassure him of the first-rate quality of our History of Magic course, but until then, you have no other recourse but to attend classes."

"I'm sure he'd like to speak with you as well, Headmaster," Harry returns with a satirical grin. "However, until Nicolas says otherwise, I will not be attending my scheduled nap time, nor will I be going to detention for preferring to use said time productively. If that puts you in a precarious position, I do apologize. That is not my intent, but I will not be forced to attend a sub-par curriculum to an important subject."

"An important subject?" Snape throws out, finishing the letter. "You act as if the only purpose for your blatant defiance is higher education, when it's more clear to me you suffer from an over-exaggerated self-opinion. You wish to learn History, but object to the manner in which it is taught simply because it's not on your self imposed terms. That arrogance only encourages this compulsion you have to always prove how right you are, especially to authority. You are nothing new-"

"Severus," Dumbledore states, halting any further biting opinions from the potion instructor.

"Maybe I'd agree with you, professor Snape, if I wasn't such a fan of history myself," Harry starts undeterred by Snape's candid tongue. "It's not a stretch to say my future is very much a product of the past, so I find history to be very integral in my decision making. It's also impossible to live with Nicolas and Perenelle and not enjoy a plethora of interesting, informative, or funny first hand stories from as far back as the founders of this very school you hold dear, to as recent the latest Dark Lord, Tom Riddle." If there was ever a breach in Dumbledore's impervious mask of self-control, it was now. His eye brows rise, his eyes bulge, his shoulders slump, and it's clear as day the Headmaster—along with Snape—are absolutely befuddled with shock that 'Ares' would know that name. Harry relishes in their shock for only a moment before he adds, "more commonly know as Lord Voldemort."

"How could you possibly know that name," Snape asks aghast.

"The real question is why doesn't everyone," Harry muses. "It seems like a fairly important topic to cover in a history class, don't you think? I can guarantee you everyone would stay awake in a class like that—if not have nightmares."

"If you would be so kind as to tell us how you've come to know that name," Dumbledore implores.

"You seem surprised," Harry notes, acting heedless and faking mild concern. "It's all in his name, and you really should remember Nicolas, Perenelle and I are astute students of history, and for us, long-aged lineages are often discussed during dinners, almost like a game. The Gaunt family, descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself, are certainly one of the many interesting families we've discussed."

"You must tell us how specifically you've learned about that man," Dumbledore commands. "As well as everyone else you might've told."

"...Mnn, this is starting to feel very ''secret society,'' so maybe some other time Headmaster," Harry conveys, raising his occlumency for the possibility of a sudden intrusion. "I'm not comfortable discussing this with strangers. And besides, I should be going," Harry says standing up. "Nova likes to fly early, and as often as I can muster."

"You have not been excused, young man," Dumbledore calls sternly but not domineering.

"Are you going to hold me against my will?" Harry blatantly asks, turning back toward the headmaster.

"This is of the utmost importance," Dumbledore proclaims, standing up as well. "You must stay and share what you know."

"And as I've said," Harry starts, staring down the professors, feeling an itch in his wrist of his wand hand. In Harry's mind, the possibility of a fight between them has jumped up to very likely, but he maintains, "I don't feel comfortable disclosing what I've learned to strangers."

"Strangers?" Snape repeats with a scoff. "Even if I am but a footnote in the annuls of history, Headmaster Dumbledore is a Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. He has defeated the Dark Lord Grindelwald and is the only wizard Lord Voldemort fears. Even an imbecile should be able to grasp how immensely prevalent this man is. You must tell us everything you know, Mr. Flamel, for there isn't a more capable wizard on this planet you could place your trust in."

"Maybe, that's true. I couldn't say one way or another," Harry states shrugging his shoulders. "You certainly are revered, Headmaster, and seemingly for good reason, but besides titles, I don't know anything real about you. And you're not asking me for my trust, you're asking me for blind obedience for no other reason than because you're older and I'm younger. Maybe in time I'll feel comfortable talking to you about all sorts of subjects, but right now, all I see is a headmaster who's trying to convince me your History of Magic class is the best thing since Butter Beer, who didn't inform my parents that I was attacked multiple times in this castle, and who thinks I should buy new wands for said bullies- excuse me, 'troubled' students because I destroyed theirs whilst defending myself. So, no, professors, I don't feel comfortable telling either of you what I know or how I've come to know it."

"Comfortable or no, we are your authority and we demand you tell us," Snape steps forward, but Harry doesn't back down. In fact Harry steps forward as well, stern with no hint of fear or wavering in his kill-me green eyes, tempted to draw wand first.

"Trust is a very precious thing," Dumbledore slowly interjects. "Perhaps in the future, I'm certain you will come to see me as a character worthy of your faith and deserving of your trust. Until then, I think I will speak with your guardians... soon. Severus, if you would escort Mr. Flamel out and inform Minerva I must attend court shortly."

"Nova," Harry calls and his phoenix returns to his shoulder as they are escorted out by the potions professor. There's only silence as they traverse the halls until they are about to part ways. Snape tells Harry in his deep, drawl voice, "Tread carefully, Mr. Flamel. I would not be surprised if the rest of Slytherin house don't take kindly to the student responsible for losing five hundred points. Fortunately for you, I am here to help should the need arise."

Snape leaves, the fringe of his cloak billowing impressively behind him. Harry makes his way out of the castle, walking through crisp September air of the valley before heading towards the Forbidden Forest. In the distance, near the Beauxbaton carriage, he spots Fleur dueling two other girls at the same time. They seem quite tired, as if they've been practicing all morning. At the sight of him, Fleur hesitates and the loss of focus is enough to be struck in her side by what looks like a stinging hex. She drops to one knee and grips her side while her friends rush to check on her. While worried himself, Harry's certain she's fine and doesn't walk over to make sure. Instead he continues into the Forbidden Forest, walking deep enough to be sure no one can see him flame to the Flamel's London Brownstone.

After setting the kettle on, Perenelle inquires if his sudden visit has anything to do with their meeting and subsequent dinner with Sirius Black and Amelia Bones.

"No," Harry tells them. "You could tell me now if you like, but I figured the probability of getting an invitation on the first meeting was low and expected a letter saying as much."

"He's a very charming fellow," Nicolas states. "Much more butch than I'm accustomed to, but with a good head on his shoulders and a good heart to match." Harry smiles at the compliment, recalling precious good times with his Godfather.

"It was refreshing to hear him speak of his fiancee without the usual high society drivel that passes for ideals," Perenelle happily adds. "Genuine love for another is very rare and it's nice to see them flourish in spite of the social stigma."

"We talked about you a great deal more than I was expecting," Nicolas adds. "Though nothing more was brought up than what we were already prepared for," he says with some disappointment.

When Perenelle returns with kettle and tray, she adds, "we spoke about all our teenagers, Susan and Tracey included. It was an amusing point of note that none us at the table have actually birthed a child but find ourselves responsible for the life of one." Harry looks at her weirdly and expectantly. "Oh, calm down you. You know very well I only mean in regard to the narrative."

"By the way, Tracey did write to Sirius as you hoped and he got quite a laugh from your egg prank," Nicolas mentions with a smile. "Best prank he'd ever heard of, to hear him tell it. I enjoyed it as well but a little forewarning would've been nice, Harry. All in all, I think we're making good progress. I have another meeting with Sirius and Amelia next week. It's just a luncheon to discuss the current political climate, but if we're going to be more involved in the political war associated with the rise of Voldemort, we're going to need as much information about the Ministry, as well as all the members in the Wizengamot, their families, and most importantly, where their galleons come from."

"Should that luncheon go as well as dinner, I expect we may receive an invitation to the scandalous wedding of the year before long," Perenelle comments.

"Sounds like a plan," Harry optimistically states. He then proceeds to inform them of the meeting he had with Dumbledore with regard to Voldemort. "You should be prepared to hear from him soon, because he will not let that go."

"If you didn't want Dumbledore's attention," Nicolas muses with a smile. "Than you have a funny way of going about it."

"I'll admit I didn't have to say anything," Harry confesses, stern of eye and tense in the shoulders. "But that'll only keep him like he is; too set in his ways. If there's ever any chance of making him a proper ally, we have to rattle him, little by little break him out of his upright attitude; challenge without antagonizing him. I figure we have some down time before I snag Crouch, might as well start now."

"Is there anything specific you want us to do or say," Perenelle asks. "Or just play the simple, mistaken discovery as we planned it."

"I gave them a subtle hint but I don't think they spotted it. So, just like we planned should be enough for now," Harry answers. "I also thought I should prepare you..." and he tells them what he discovered as far as the abuse going on in the school and the gist of what he did to Hilliard.

"I would not have been opposed if you had done more," Perenelle states in a vile tone, Harry can understand. It's a detestable state of affairs that shouldn't correlate to a school or it's students, and he didn't even explain how personal it is for him—only that the girl was really nice and smart. "In the many centuries I've been alive, violence is the most terrible constant, but in a school among our youth, it's just evil."

"Oh, Albus..." Nicolas grumbles, turning to Harry and asking, "Do you expect he'll contact us tonight? Because I'm looking forward to giving him a piece of my mind."

"The impression I left is mainly to do with Voldemort and skipping history. I don't think they suspect me for Hilliard or the wards, so be careful with what you say. I'd let him lead, so when he doesn't mention something he should, you can trap him," Harry tells him. "He mentioned going to court so I imagine it won't be long after that, if not tonight, than tomorrow."

"Ah yes," Nicolas states raising his index finger in the air. "Amelia brought it up during dinner—giving me the distinct impression she's looking for a political ally, not that I'm opposed. She explained the debate will center around whether the Wizengamot should intervene in the ministry's decision to allow no age restriction for the TriWizard Tournament and wanted my opinion."

"What did you tell her," Harry asks curiously.

"Prrfft, I told her the truth, what else," Nicolas delivers indignant, shaking a hand in the air. "A thousand Galleons and eternal glory don't last longer than a year. Risking some of our most promising students for that is just utter nonsense." Harry gives him a definitive nod to hear.

"For as long as we've lived, we should know," Perenelle adds before taking a sip of tea. "At least everyone at dinner wholeheartedly agreed."

"Were you able to learn where the trophy's located?" Nicolas asks.

"Without drawing attention for asking, or going door to door, no," Harry states. "Besides, I never minded the idea of having a direct path to Voldemort. Should an alternate plan present itself in the future, I can always destroy the trophy or take it out of play some other way."

"Does this mean you'll be entering your name in the Goblet?" Nicolas asks with a slight uptick of excitement.

"Why do you sound so happy?" Harry questions. "I thought you said it was nonsense."

"I'm not happy, and it is," Nicolas defends. "But it's going to happen anyway, and I can't say I'd worry about you like I would a normal student, now can I?"

"...Uh huh, and no," Harry answers him sternly. "There's no need to put my name in. I don't need to be in the tournament to get to the portkey."

"I suppose not," Nicolas agrees, slumping his shoulders down again.

Harry says his farewell to both of them, and returns to the Forbidden Forest for a good solitary walk as much as giving Nova time to stretch her wings and enjoy the high skies. Exiting the forest, he senses a figure approach him before he identifies Fleur in her form-fitting blue Beauxbaton uniform. She seems intent to approach him so he doesn't try to avoid her. The delicate sway of her walk ends a few feet away, staring intently at him, as if attempting to read the make up of his soul like a book written in a foreign language. While his occlumency can easily make it impossible to read any facial expression, he does allow some of his guilt to bleed through.

"Monsieur Flamel," Fleur stiffly addresses him.

Harry understands if she feels awkward being around him, but she shouldn't have to when they both know he was in the wrong. She has every right to be angry with him. "Miss Delacour," he returns.

"I was informed 'ow treacherouz zhe Forbidden Forest ees," Fleur states nodding to the forest behind Harry.

"It is," Harry tells her. "But no more than school, I think."

Fleur smiles much to prettily before saying in her lovely French accent, "like our first meeting, I would like us tu be een good termz. I want you tu know I do not believe you 'ad any intent tu 'urt me. So please do not feel zhe need tu walk away from me in zhe future. I am not mad." Her soulfully deep blue eyes seem to heighten the silver glow around her.

Harry can feel trace amounts of warmth and yearning in the air, but knowing her allure is the cause, it doesn't sway him as he says, "I really am sorry for what I did."

"I know," Fleur says with an unmistakable smirk as she tucks her long silver-blonde hair behind her ear. "But you did not 'urt me. Een fact, you 'ave made me remember certain promises I made tu myself, and for zhat I zhank you."

"Please, don't thank me," Harry tells her. "I don't deserve it."

"Eet is not a zhank you like 'ave bought me Gelato," she expresses with a gentle sway of her head and a smirk. "eet ees simply acknowledgment for 'elping me tu remember."

"Oh... okay," Harry says unsure. "You're welcome." Harry feels uneasy. She seems to have an easier time putting his grabbing her out of her mind than he does.

"I can see a lot more zhan ozhers realize," Fleur states before shaking her head and correcting herself. "Non, 'see' is zhe wrong word. Eet ees a sense I 'ave due to my nature as part Veela, and eet ees quite accurate. W'en I look at you, zhe only zhing I can say I 'see' for certain ees pain."

The clear look at his scars, Harry quickly replies, "I have scars, Miss Delacour," in an obvious sort of way. "Like a lot of people do. And what's a scar without a story or the pain that comes with it? Though, mine are not ones I'd like to discuss."

"Yes," Fleur exclaims, taking a panic step forward. "I neverr meant to imply to. I only mean to say, I can unzerstand. In my culture scars only display zhe war one 'as gone t'rough and zhe bravery zhat was necessary tu survive eet. My pappa 'as one as well; on 'is chest—though eet ees smallerr zhan yourz. W'ere I am from, we considerr scars tu be beautiful."

He feels her allure heighten with her frenzy, and while it felt much stronger than the trace amounts he picked up earlier, his mind still resists succumbing to her magically enriched enticement. "That's nice of you to say. It says a lot about your character and how you were raised. 'There is no place like France,' my parents like to say. Thank you for your kind words, and understanding but I should be going. I'm late for lunch-"

"Wait," Fleur states, taking another step forward, now standing close enough to touch him. "Your pupils are dilated, zhere ees more color in your cheeks, and you breaze 'eavier, but you do not lose control. 'Ave you encountered any ozhers like me? Ozher Veela or half-Veela? You must 'ave, or 'ow else can you rezist more zhan 'alf of my allure tu zhis degree?"

"I, uh, have, once, when I was much younger," Harry admits, wondering how she'd react to learn she was the first one he'd ever me. "I wouldn't say she taught me how to resist allure, but I often work on my mental fortitude," Harry oddly answers about himself.

"May I-" Fleur seems to argue with herself, before shaking her head and just asking, "May I relinquish control of my allure een front of you, s'il vous plaît?"

"You mean-" he doesn't finish asking as she nods her head sweetly. Harry is very confident of his mind's control over his body's natural responses, which is the only reason he can diminish the magically inspired urges. So, he nods his head in acceptance and nearly instantly, he feels a very physical magnetism enrapture him—body and magic—and gravitate toward her. The sense of his magic surging like ocean current took much more concentration to keep under control, giving his body slightly more leeway to fixate on Fleur. Gazing at her and the natural perfection of her entire being, the crisp grass, the flowing trees, even the taste of the scent in the air; everything around her becomes that much more beautiful because of her. It draws him to her like a bee to a flower, determined to take her, resolute to have her, and rapt to devour her stunning figure—to the point he clenches his fist in defense.

Though her magnetic lure feels like the size of a mountain, it doesn't change the nature of what it is. He knows why he feels this way, this intensely, and why mentally it can seem artificial: it's magic. He's always thought of magic as making the impossible, possible. And just like everyone else, no one—especially those as beautiful as Fleur—would love him without magic. So even if his heart is pumping at a critical rate, his hands are itching to hold her and his breathing is both deep and shallow, his mind doesn't fall for the breathtaking fairytale before him nor does it relinquish control of his actions. Though his fists are clenched, Harry stays put.

She seems to almost relax, as if a huge weight had been lifted off her delicate shoulders. Her brilliant smile and perfect teeth almost make him forget where he was or why he's there but he stays strong. "I can feel 'ow robust you are... simply amazing, Monsieur Flamel! I 'ave neverr encountered such rezistance tu my allure een my life. Eet ees simply astonishing!"

"It's- Well," Harry is almost at a loss at what to say. Talking to her now feels like a slippery slope and he's desperate to retain himself. "Ms. Delacour-"

"Call me Fleur, please," she says happily, and Harry has to take in a deep breath to resist her exuberance.

"Fleur, I really would like to grab something to eat, before..." Harry states taking reluctant but necessary steps away from her.

"Oui, of course," she says, dialing down the strength of her enslaving charisma. "May I join you, Ares?"

Harry would prefer to maintain a healthy distance but he can't think on the spot very well, much less think of a good reason to decline her without being rude. "Sure," Harry answers as he starts walking. "I'd like that."

The conversation back to the castle is light and no more than what most know about him already. When Nova lands on his shoulder, she becomes the star of all her questions, yet again, nothing more than what's already been asked and answered. Walking the halls toward the Great Hall, heavy wood clacking against stone alerts Harry of the monster he's hoping to torture soon. Spotting Faux-Moody hobbling ahead of them towards the dinning hall, late to meals, as usual, Harry's mind automatically conscious of the sandy-haired imposter. Harry makes sure he's interacting with Fleur normally, in case Moody's highly convenient eye is spying on him. Though, it's more likely Fleur would be the target of the former Azkaban prisoner's lecherous peeping than Ares would.

Entering the Great Hall, it's the tail end of lunch but there's more than enough students for many longing eyes to quickly land on his company. At the Gryffindor table, seated with his rowdy brothers, Bill is also drawn to Fleur, and quite suddenly, Harry feels extremely immoral for being thisfriendly with her. There's nothing indecent or shameful about walking into a large room together, nor is Fleur an ultra close friend on Hermione's level, but he's getting along far better with this Fleur than he did with the Fleur of his time line... and now Bill is watching them... wondering—not unlike any other male in the room—what the story is between them.

There's nothing going on! he mentally yells.

Fleur's doppelganger's husband from a previous time line is watching them and it's enough to make Harry uncomfortable. So uncomfortable he'd rather deal with the glares he's getting from the dozen or so remaining Slytherins, making it extremely evident they know he's the reason Slytherin House are now in a four hundred and fifty or so point deficit. Draco seems to be explaining something to his year mates, and Daphne, along with the rest of them, do not look pleased at all. Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy are clearly the most angry. Not that it matters in the grand scheme of things, but their antagonism toward him is bound to be more annoying than their friendliness towards him.

Turning instead to the Ravenclaw table, he's further dejected to see the day is not done being miserable as Hermione stops Faux-Moody to ask him a question, showing him something from the fourth year textbook. It's always uncomfortable to see students approach him, unaware of the significant danger he poses, but seeing Hermione so close to him is double the aggravation. Yet, despite the homicidal impostor among them, all blatant or spying eyes are on him and Fleur. So many in fact, Fleur has to ask him, "eet ees too strong?"

"Reckon it might be, yeah," Harry answers as Hardwin steps up to him from beside the Hall's entrance, as if he was waiting for him.

"I know where you've..." Hardwin starts to tell Harry, is then caught by Fleur's presence, and now his brother can't take his enthralled eyes off of her until she reclaims full control of her allure.

Hardwin clears his throat garishly before addressing her with a slightly deeper tone, "Hello, I think I might've seen you here a few times. I'm-" his voice cracks, "I'm Hardwin Potter, heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter. You may have heard of me, but please, I'm just like everyone else. And you are?" he asks, extending his hand.

While Fleur smiles gracefully and introduces herself, Ron races over to Hardwin, absolutely stunning Harry, because gripped in his best mate's left hand, is the Maurader's Map—the very thing Harry has been coveting since he entered these hallowed halls. Harry doesn't retract his wand right away as his best mate pulls Hardwin's shoulder, spinning him about and interrupting his coquetry with Fleur. Though it would be the easiest thing for Harry to just take the map that's only an arm's length away from him, it wouldn't be a clean snatch, and he'd rather avoid the resulting attention. For now it's enough to know they have it and are clearly using it.

At least I know what I'm doing tonight, Harry thinks to himself, as part of his mind begins running simulations about breaking into Gryffindor and stealing the map. As Draco gets up from the Slytherin table, Harry wonders if he should give the task of retrieving the map to him instead, but upon catching Draco's piqued grey eyes, Harry quickly changes his mind. The silver-blonde is smirking suggestively at them, like an idiot, obviously alluding to something indecent between him and Fleur arriving together.

His attention returns to Ron and Hardwin and Harry's entire being is immediately gripped with deathly fear. Harry can't breath as Ron points purposefully on the map—likely at a dot—then points to Faux-Moody.

He wouldn't, is all Harry manages to think before his brother calls out to the dangerous impostor standing next to Hermione in a room that has far too many potential casualties, "Oi, Professor Moody! When was your name ever Bartemius Crouch?" He called out, loud enough to draw in plenty of attention, smiling as if this was some sort of secret the school can joke about, as if there must be some sort innocent misunderstanding, as if Bartemius Crouch Jr wasn't one of the Death Eater's strongest fighters disguised as the retired Alastor Moody at the behest of Lord fucking Voldemort!

Turning to the current Boy-Who-Lived, there isn't a trace of humor on Faux-Moody's enraged face, and Harry is the only one in the room who has the insight necessary to know what's moments from happening. For a fraction of a second, everything in the room is still, silent and calm, in sharp contrast to the storming rage ready to destroy everything near it, starting with Hermione.

Wands are instantly in hand, Harry summoning Hermione to him, none to delicately, with "Accio!" and Crouch firing "Confringo" directly at Ron and Hardwin. Even as Harry felt his magic grip his best friend, he manages to fiercely kick Hardwin out of the way, hard enough to knock him and Ron to the ground. The dark charm is scalding down to the skin as the blasting curse grazes his thigh and bombs chunks of ancient stone off the wall by the entrance.

With a strong arm wrapped desperately around a wincing Hermione, Harry is afforded a moment as Crouch takes stock of the threat that is Ares, to realize this is the worst possible way to confront Barty. While the Hall has only a fourth of it's usual gathering, there are still far too many innocent bystanders spread throughout the room to think everyone is going to make it out unharmed. Emotionally it already feels like another win for Voldemort. The heartless concept that should any person be injured or worse killed by Crouch when he—with all his knowledge and strength—should be able to prevent it, feels like the future he came from is still a very real possibility. And why wouldn't it be? He hasn't done anything yet, he hasn't saved anyone yet, he hasn't killed Voldemort yet, and that realization makes him absolutely furious. The past was all his fault. All that suffering, pain, and murder, because he was too weak.

Not again, Harry thinks. Not again! Not ever again! He repeats over and over in his head, getting angrier and angrier at the one available person he can take all his pent up rage out on. Barty Fucking Crouch Jr.

Within the delayed reaction it takes for everyone in the room to catch up to the idea that a battle has sparked and is about to rage, Faux-Moody flicks his tongue over his upper lip as Harry forces Hermione behind him. The resulting screams fill the room as Faux-Moody manically attacks Harry with a murderous, "Avada Kedavra!" That curse doesn't incite the same panicked fear in Harry as it does everyone else around him. Magical barriers may not work against that Unforgivable, but solid objects do, and Harry shields himself, Hermione, Fleur, Hardwin, and Ron by summoning the nearest plate to him and fluidly enlarging it to cover the entirety of the green killing curse. The impact with the large shield-like plate vibrates venomously his bones.

"Nova," is all Harry says, picturing the terrified, and stunned students around the hall. He feels Nova withdraw from his shoulder with a powerful lift and somehow he knows she's going to help evacuate as many children as possible.

Even angrier than he was a second ago, Harry carefully employs the best strategy for the combat situation, wordlessly returning a curse of his own. With Nova assisting the overcome students, he focuses the entirety of his combat on Crouch, not waste time or advantage by voicing his attacks, and more than anything, he needs to be fast. Faux-Moody's surprise lasts a second as he protects himself from Harry's Confringo with a shield not quite strong enough, as the residual force of the blasting curse pushes him back a step.

Harry notes a lot of frantic movement on top of Nova dragging scared children out of the Hall by their robes to safety as the dueling pair begin to cast spell after spell at one another, rapidly and without uttering a word. Harry was hoping for a longer opening when Crouch realizes a fourteen year old is keeping up with his casting speed, but it's raw mania and determination in Faux-Moody's eye and Harry doesn't hesitate to match. While certainly the most impressive duelist he's faced, Crouch Jr. is no Horcrux-Voldemort. Harry takes a step forward, in front of the line of fire, to keep the threat on himself, and because he can.

At the rapid-fire pace they're leveling spells off at one another, neither Harry or Crouch is able to waste the time to voice their dark curses, but as they quick-cast curses and shields, it also means the offensive magic can't be obscenely destructive in nature. It takes time to cast truly devastating spells and Harry isn't going to give this monster that chance. So while the spells fired are simple, they're the best strategy Harry has to keep Crouch preoccupied, give everyone time to escape, and avoid mass casualties.

The dragging seconds of equal match intensifies with every calculated step forward Harry is able to make. While Faux-Moody has the rage, focus and violence needed for powerful curses, Harry is simply magically more potent, pushing Crouch back as Harry slowly advances on the man. Harry is hoping to close the distance and tag Crouch faster than the man can defend, however, Moody side steps a cutting curse to shoot a spell to the side—a one-off towards the Gryffindors before resuming his attack on Harry. Harry's combat mentality keeps him from panicking and he just barely manages to shield a terrified Lavender Brown from a destructive spell.

At nearly the same time he defends Lavender, he has to wandlessly cast a shield on himself with his left hand, stopping a Blood-Boiling Curse from hitting him. Stepping out of the way would've been the best tactic but with Fleur, Hermione, and Merlin knows how many others exiting the Great Hall behind him, he has no other recourse but to shield. However his left-handed defense isn't stable enough and knocks him back a couple steps, shredding bits of his robes sleeve off and making the blood in his body warm sourly. While his insides feel hotter, making him sweat even more, the effects stop there. Sweat leaking off him, Harry reorients himself and continues to press forward with more fervor than before.

Nearly in the same moment Harry begins to dread the idea of Faux-Moody attacking innocent bystanders nearest to him, Crouch begins to randomly shoot off spells around the room in hopes of forcing Harry to give the maniac a fatal opening. Booming screams of fear laced panic repeatedly pierce the air in the room as Harry manages to shield cruse after curse from finding their frightened targets. Within the second of every large shield charm he'd cast, Harry is attacked with a Disintegration Curse, Cutting Curse, Blasting Curse, or an Entrail-Expelling Curse. The shields he raises to protect himself are so close to his person he can feel the impact rattle his bones and momentarily drown out the sound, leaving an eerie ringing in his hearing.

As Harry creates large shields around the room, effectively blocking Crouch's indiscriminate attacks from hitting many of the students, he notes Bill, Vector, Trelawney, Pince and Filch are the only adults who are in any position to help, even if they don't have the ability to do so. While Bill does manage to coral many of the Gryffindors he was seated near to a corner and protect them, the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw hiding around their tables as best they can have only Harry's fast reflexes to keep from getting hurt.

"Draco!" Harry yells between deep breaths. "Get! Everyone! Out!"

In the heat of the battle, he can't tell who or how many are behind him trying to flee, but it's keeping him rooted in place and he's going to need some room to move if he wants to take this madman alive. Though Harry may have to protect everyone scattered about the room, he can wield magic with both hands. He uses his wand hand to protect the Hogwart's students and attack, and uses his left hand to protect himself with relative success. However, stationed as he is, he can't overtake Crouch and protect everyone without some wiggle room, and that's Crouch's only advantage over him, which he exploits spectacularly.

"You bloody whelp!" Faux-Moody calls out amused, hurling deadly curses at him than at a Hufflepuff witch. "How about another scar to add to the collection!"

Moody sends a targeted cutting curse towards Draco, who manages to see it and defend from it. Harry has little time to question how he knew Draco's Protego would be too weak, but doesn't hesitate to shield him and the students around him when Draco's shield shatters against the dark curse. As Harry blocks it, Crouch has time enough to catapult the entire length of the Hufflepuff table high in the air, barreling toward the running or hiding Slytherin and Hufflepuff students that Draco's trying to evacuate. Harry arrests the length of the large dinning piece from burying the students with hand and wand, but in the process, Crouch shouts, "Expulso!"

The dynamite curse is mostly stopped by a section of Hufflepuff table Harry uses as a shield. Mostly. The wood splinters on impact, blasting dagger-like shards toward Harry, sinking deep in multiple spots of his flesh. Lowering his arm and ignoring the sharp sticking pricks on his chest and arms, Harry slams what's left of the table still in his magical grasp on Crouch, who uses the Ravenclaw table to intercept the strike. Within the boom of colliding furniture, Harry returns an, "Expulso," of his own, erupting fragments of wood to rain down on the imposter. A quick Evanescovanishes the dagger like splinters of wood protruding from his wounds before Harry presses his attack on Crouch, who's gripping the side of his bleeding neck where a splinter nicked him.

Crouch defends himself silently and relentlessly under Harry's continuous barrage. Step after step, Harry pummels Crouch with as many of the strongest curses he can rapid fire, certain that if he can get close enough, Crouch Jr. won't be fast enough to react. However, pushing Crouch into a corner is not unlike trying to catch a wounded animal backed into a corner alive, and in Crouch's desperation, he casts a large ball of fire at the Gryffindors stuck in the corner before tumbling under large debris of broken table to avoid Harry's attack. Battle heightened as his magic-sight feels, Harry's certain that the cursed fire could not be dowsed with regular water or transfigured like he'd normally like. Instead he quickly levitates the Gryffindor table to catch most of the deadly flames and what remained of the fire was mitigated by Nova flying into the curse's path, take the cursed flame squarely and protecting the Gryffindors.

Harry's heart tightens at the sight of his avian familiar being struck and bouncing off the wall to the floor. A touch of rage permeates his wand work but he remains focused and clear of mind—losing control would mean losing the fight and he won't allow that. Harry raises the flaming Gryffindor table still in his magical grasp and drops it where Crouch should be as Bill rushes the remaining children into the antechamber just past the teachers section. Crouch destroys the large burning projectile with an explosive curse, sending burning planks everywhere, yet Harry presses forward, praying that all the students and staff are safely away so he can focus all his efforts on capturing Crouch.

Faux-Moody and Harry go back and forth, from defense to offense, rapidly and without uttering a word, when an arrant spell is shot at Crouch, who has sense enough to block it, but it's enough to give Harry a short opening to cast a quick Reducto. Crouch is good enough to stop most of the Reducto but the impact is stunning. He takes a few stews back and Harry presses his advantage keeping him on the defensive. His magic tells him that the spell was Draco's.

"Is everyone safe?" Harry yells.

"Almost," Draco calls back. "Just a few-" he starts to explain before a strong Confringo blasts through his shield, whirling Draco off his feet and onto some fire lite debris.

"Draco!" Harry calls hoping to hear a response, but even straining his ears, he hears nothing. While continuing his barrage he sacrifices his advance to conjure a great swarm of fire arrows to rain down on Faux-Moody. He takes his eye off of the enemy for a second to turn to his fallen comrade, wandlessly grips and tosses him emphatically towards the entrance of the hall, hoping someone will see to him. Taking that split second to note Hermione and Fleur are trying to help two other students—one being Neville Longbottom—trapped under debris was a costly price to pay when he hears a loud, "Crucio!"

Harry is instantly wracked with a familiar, intense, and excruciating pain, and screams through gritted teeth. His body seizes painfully and not of his control. Every nerve throughout his body feel like they're blistering and splitting, his brain is expanding too large for his shrinking skull and every bone of his skeleton feels like it's being drilled by thousands of nails. He can't even hear Faux-Moody's maniacal laughter over his own screams. Agonizing as the seconds are, he's more familiar with this pain than he is with anything else, and so grits his teeth, calls desperately on his ample magic to force—in no certain way—the pain to away.

Faux-Moody is surprised when Harry rips away the sinister and intrusive unforgivable with his left hand, as if he were swatting away a fat annoying fly. Even as Harry roughly inhales a dull-pained breath he brings his wand up and returns a sharp cutting curse. Along with his swimming vision, his wand hand shakes sporadically so his aim is slightly off and instead of cutting off the man's wand arm, the curse connects with Faux-Moody's left shoulder, left ear, and part of his scalp, drawing plenty of blood and a nice grunt of pain.

In the peripheral of his eyes Harry quickly notes his wand hand is dripping with more blood than sweat. The red of his life essence quickly reminds him that several of the warm pinching pains on his chest and shoulder is beginning to throb and ache, but after the Crucio, it's easy to ignore it for the chance to end it all with the imposter. Harry is disappointed by how slow he returns to form as he continues his barrage, Faux-Moody defending himself despite the great misfortune of losing his magical eye. With part of Faux-Moody's ear missing, it's not hard to assume the strap holding the magical eye in place was cut.

It's a fortunate moment that didn't last as Crouch transfigures a wall of stone that Harry easily destroys. However it gives Crouch Jr. enough seconds to cast a stream of powerfully enchanted fire. Harry sends a desperately quick banishing charm but it doesn't interrupt him soon enough. He may have blown back Crouch, but a large serpent nearly twice Naga's size made completely of cursed fire scorches the stone it's on as it slithers toward Harry, burning everything it touches.

Fucking Feindfyre, Harry thinks as it savagely slithers towards him.

"Bombarta Maxima!" Harry hears Crouch Jr. yell, followed by a reverberated boom and large sediments of stone crumbling. Harry easily assumes Crouch is trying to escape but he has precious little time to do anything about it before it's too late, and dealing with Fiendfyre is no small thing. Instead of slowing it down, Harry uses valuable seconds as it closes in on him to put forth maximum concentration in conjuring enchanted water.

"Aguamenti!" he yells, creating a very large, swirling blob of water encasing the blazing inferno in the shape of a snake. There's immediate wet hissing as cold water attacks searing fire, producing large quantities of thick steam. Harry focuses on conjuring more enchanted water as the raging Fienfyre steams it's watery cage, losing volume nearly as fast as Harry can create it. He nearly has the entire snake blackening and crusting over when the large serpent begins to expand, repeatedly beating against it's own crusted skin, before erupting like a furious volcano in the ocean. Expanding and thrashing soon bursts the orb of water prison.

Stuck in the Great Hall mostly filled thick with white mist, Harry isn't excited about his options on dealing with the Fiendfyre serpent. As the flow of mist is sucked out of the large hole in the wall created by Crouch Jr., he's all but given up on having enough time to catch him. Instead Harry recalls the location of the Great Hall and decides the best tactic he can employ at the moment is forcing the sinister fire outside.

While the flaming snake resists his strong magical banishment toward the hole, Harry hears a mighty screech. Covered completely in flame, as if she were made of fire, Nova dives to the snake of fire and clutches its head with her sharp talons. Though overjoyed to see his familiar, Harry doesn't spare a second.

"Take it outside!" Harry instructs Nova, as he makes his way to the hole. He avoids a wide strike from it's flaming tail, catching his robe instead. "Toss it in the lake!" Harry yells, tearing off his bloody and burning robe, before jumping out of the hole into crisp autumn air and sunlight.

On his way down, Harry easily spots Barty, already past the lake, scampering along the field as fast as his handicap will allow him, towards the front gate to the edge of the anti-apparition ward. He feels feverishly hot despite Scotland's chilly air as he mentally tally's the few clusters of students watching the commotion from a safe enough distance to be disregarded. Harry slows his descent, mentally citing Arresto Momentum! He touches down firmly, and sprints after the mad man as quickly as he can.

The first few steps sends a shooting pain throughout his chest and down his arms and legs that refuses to be ignored. Gritting his teeth and gripping his blood stained wand tighter, he pushes his legs to their maximum velocity. Though thankful he's been training his muscles with Muggle exercises, he's wishing, now more than ever, he had purchased that broomstick like he intended on doing.

Overhead, a roaring screech from a raging phoenix descends fast from on high to produce a roaring whistle, giving Harry the strangest image of an asteroid hitting water. Harry can hear the splash and steaming hiss behind him as Nova dives into the lake, dragging the cursed fire snake in with her. From reading, Hogwarts, A History, Harry knows that the lake's water has some enchantments protecting the aquatic plants, creatures and merfolk within from all sorts of dangers; icing and poison being chief among them but also from extreme heat. Harry's perfect recall knows the book mentioned fire, but whether cursed fire like Fiendfyre counts is anyone's guess. Harry hopes it does.

Though completely able-bodied, and faster, Harry doesn't calculate he'll reach him before Crouch Jr. makes the boarder, free to disapparate back to his wretched master and out of his reach. Harry conjures a mass of arrows to hail down on Faux-Moody, slowing him down but not completely stopping him. Fake Moody zags as he shields against the rain of sharp bolts and returns a blasting curse, followed by the killing curse. Harry dodges both and sends a cutting curse of his own. Crouch Jr. dodges with a roll to the ground before getting up, now facing him and starts to walk backwards. It's a much slower approach to the open gate but he's close enough to make it and clearly doesn't want to risk getting tagged in the back.

Harry and Crouch are trading curses again. Despite enduring their fair share of injuries, they are no less fierce than when they first started fighting. Step by step, Harry's forward advance is matched by Moody's retreat to safety. Without the added stress of protecting innocent lives in a castle that resists magic manipulation, Harry has a far easier time moving around and incorporating transfiguration into his attacks. He doesn't have to stand in one spot or use time to defend others. He can dodge and attack Faux-Moody's footing. Dodging allows him to advance and focus more potency in his curses and charms, effectively shredding or destroying every shield Crouch Jr. erects and shifting or spiking the earth to halt or slow his retreat. Distracted by the unexpected swamp earth, a cutting curse manages to destroy Crouch's shield and cut more than half way into his left bicep.

Crouch yells in pain as his arm hangs on by a bit of muscle and skin, but he's nearly to the edge and the freedom it brings, so while Crouch takes that last desperate step, Harry tries to summons him with, "Accio!"

Fake Moody feels the strong magical grasp take his arm but instead of allowing his body to follow, he yanks away from the rest of his magically gripped arm and throws himself over the gate's threshold. The very moment Barty Crouch Jr. is outside the anti-apparition ward, he disapparates with a loud crack.

Harry lamely catches the wrist of the Death Eater's torn off arm, staring at the spot his best chance of learning Voldemort's location just disapparated from. The majority of his front—his dress shirt and loose Slytherin tie, scrapes and cuts—is covered in his blood, hemorrhaging freely from several inflamed wounds on his face, chest, shoulders and arms. His head is spinning, he's in ever growing pain, and he has no idea how many others who suffered through that nightmare are too. However, nothing can feel worse than his gutting failure to capture Barty Crouch Jr. He couldn't capture one of the several Death Eaters after the Quidditch World Cup and now he couldn't capture the one Death Eater that actually mattered.

He stands there dejected, staring so long, Nova flames to him, landing on his shoulder with a very weak grip. It's her exhausted wobble that snaps him out of his disgrace. She falls forward and he catches and cradles her in his free arm.

"You did great girl," he weakly says as he slowly limps back to the castle. "You did great, so stay with me. Stay with me," he continually repeats.


Notes:

Well... well, well, well. I've been waiting a while to add this fight. It's a very pivotal moment from I'm Still Here that stayed with me since Katheryn wrote it. Mine isn't the same as hers but I still hope I did it justice. So again, I want to say thank you to Katheryn for giving me her support and if anyone hasn't read her fic, definitely check it out on www. fanfiction /s/9704180/1/I-m-Still-Here.

I would like to thank everyone so so much for all the positive comments and words of support! It's been such an amazing experience and I look forward to continuing to be worthy of that support :D

As always I'd love to hear your thoughts and thanks for reading.

-Grae