In the last chapter: Fleur contemplates her fellow champion. Sirius and Remus take action against the Ministry and Dumbledore for Harry's sake. Harry attends the weighing of the wands and refuses an interview with Rita Skeeter. Ginny meets with Charlie when he shows up and later on shows Harry and Anthony the dragon encampment in the forbidden forest. Harry sneaks into the camp and steals a potion. Harry realizes Cedric will be the only one that doesn't know about the dragons and decides to tell him before the first task.
The next morning at breakfast, two of the four champions grabbed a small meal before leaving almost immediately. Harry observed this from his seat at the Ravenclaw table and figured that Fleur and Viktor had already had a chat with their headmasters and would be spending the next few short days until the first task, reading up on dragons. Harry would be doing the same as soon as he finished his breakfast, but before that, he had to speak with a certain Hufflepuff about the first task.
He looked across the hall and spotted the caramel-haired boy amongst his usual group. Harry was too far away to hear what they were saying, but he could pick up a few things just from watching them. It was clear to Harry that Cedric was distracted, although that wasn't at all surprising considering, Harry could see the anxiety lining his ridged form and how he kept seeming to slip away into his thoughts even as his friend tried to distract him and keep his spirits up. Cedric didn't yet know anything about the first task and it was taking its toll on the older boy.
Harry sighed. He liked Cedric well enough, since the World Cup and the beginning of the tournament they'd been on rather amicable terms, but that didn't change the fact that they were still practically strangers and Harry has always been reluctant to interact with those outside of his close-knit circle. Cedric Diggory, despite the aura of approachability surrounding him, was still considered firmly outside of that circle. The tournament had only started a month ago and already Harry could tell he would be interacting with the Hufflepuff more than he did with most within his own house.
Not just Cedric, either. The tournament was putting Harry directly in the international spotlight, the absolute last place he wanted to be. He'd done a fairly decent job thus far of staying out of the papers and not giving the wizarding world anything to build their ridiculous gossip on. Now . . . there would be no escaping the scandal-hungry gazes.
If Harry was completely honest with himself, it wasn't even just the need to protect his secrets that kept him so private. No, it went much deeper than that. For as long as Harry could remember, he's been a very distant, detached, and resilient person. Living with the Dursleys, Harry had always been shamefully hidden from the community and scorned behind closed doors for his unusual 'temperament.' He'd always been 'cold' and 'apathetic' but as a young child he of course had the potential to change, to manually build those bridges himself that others seemed to form naturally with their fellow humankind.
However, under the firm hand of his relatives, after years of being demonized and made to believe that Harry was 'evil,' that potential—that will to change—wilted and he settled more firmly into his frigid behaviors. Coming to the wizarding world had changed a lot for Harry, but there was still so much of him that remained unchanged. Harry now had those he cared for and he was slowly learning the same things that came naturally to others—empathy, compassion, hope, trust—but he was still so different from his peers and he felt that constant barrier between himself and the rest of the world.
For all that he was improving, Harry was still 'Harry, Master of Death, traverser of the veil, and many times un-dead necromancer' and there were certain things that felt fundamentally wrong for him. One of the most prominent examples was the public. Harry took so much comfort and stability from his solitude and privacy that having his every movement on display for hundreds of thousands—if not millions—of witches and wizards made him feel like crawling out of his own skin. Which made him automatically abhor the entire tournament and everything and person to do with it.
During the selecting ceremony, a lot of that anxiety had been real—although his external reactions were obviously exaggerated. Harry still had a hard time grasping appropriate emotional responses to certain circumstance, so until he learned it himself, he had to do quite a lot of pretending. He didn't yet have a very good gage on authentic fear around others.
Harry resented the fact that he'd been forced into such a nightmarish situation and he would certainly be having words with the Dark Lord after the resurrection.
Harry was brought out of his thoughts when the brunette he'd been absently staring at suddenly stood from his table and left early, none of his friends joining him. Seeing his chance, Harry excused himself as well, promising to meet up with the others later after a short trip to the library, and calmly made his way out of the great hall after Cedric.
He caught up with Cedric as he was slowly strolling out onto the grounds in the direction of the black lake.
"Cedric." Harry greeted as he slowed down next to the older student. Cedric startled slightly, clearly having been too lost in his own thoughts to hear Harry approaching.
"Harry! What are you doing out here?" Cedric asked politely as he continued walking slowly towards the lake. The biting chill in the late fall air left pluming vaporous clouds trailing after them and filled the grounds with the crisp scent of frost and decaying leaves. Neither boy seemed perturbed by the less-than-inviting weather and continued down towards the calm shore.
"I wanted to speak with you about something." Harry answered after a moment, looking out towards the water instead of at his walking companion. "Krum and Delacour already know, so it would be unfair if nobody told you." By then he had Cedric's full attention and they had just reach the lake, stopping on the bank of tide-smoothed stones and pebbles.
"Told me what?" The apprehension in his voice caused Harry to look over and carefully take in Cedric's expression. Harry had known that Cedric was uneasy about the tasks, but he had not realized just how worried the other might actually be. Cedric looked paler than normal, his grey eyes wide with worry and his whole body strung tight like a bowstring. When Harry finally spoke, he did so softly, feeling a small amount of pity for him.
"The first task . . . will involve dragons. . ." The air seemed to finally unload from Cedric's lungs as he exhaled and his posture deflated. Harry turned his piercing green gaze back towards the water to allow the Hufflepuff a moment to process. It was, after all, worrying news.
After a while, Cedric straightened up once more and asked Harry how he knew about the dragons. He still looked a little green from the revelation, so Harry didn't play any cryptic games and just plainly explained how Charlie had met with Ginny and Ginny brought him out into the forest the night before to see for himself. When he was done, Cedric thanked Harry vehemently and mumbled something about needing to visit the library, but Harry stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm before he could dash back to the castle.
"One more thing." Harry let go of his arm and reached into his expanded right pocket and pulled out a small green vial and handed it over to a confused Cedric. Harry had transferred a decent amount from the bottle he'd taken last night into this smaller one. He hadn't been positive whether he would share it with the other champion when he woke up that morning, but after talking with Cedric, he knew the boy needed all the help he could get.
"What is it?" Cedric scrutinized the label-less vial and then the Ravenclaw before him.
"A synthetic pheromone created by wizards—specifically, dragon trainers—that simulates the scent of infant dragons and allows the trainers to get close to the volatile nesting mother dragons relatively unharmed." Cedric's brows shot up at that but Harry continued on like he hadn't noticed. "It works with all dragons, but especially nesting females. Though, be very cautious, it is not infallible. There are quite a few species of dragon that have a fairly weak sense of smell and even if you bathe in this stuff, it still might not scent you and is still extremely dangerous. The hope is just that, if you end up too close to a pair of jaws, this might help you avoid losing limb." Harry warned seriously and Cedric nodded in understanding. The potion was a last resort, but it would help to ease some of the older boy's fear and hopefully allow him to think clearly when the task actually started.
Harry was surprised when Cedric unexpectedly pulled him into a hug—though it was brief and didn't aim to squeeze the very breath from his lungs like Mrs. Weasley's often did. Just as soon as it had begun, Cedric pulled back, looking embarrassed by his own actions but not lowering his gaze from Harry's when he spoke, needing the younger boy to see his sincerity.
"Thank you, Harry. I know that it's against the rules for us to get help like this, you really didn't have to do this, and it probably would have benefited you to keep this all to yourself, so thank you for doing it anyways. Merlin, I told you I would try to look out for you, should have known it would end up the other way around." Cedric gave him a self-deprecating grin at the end which caused the corners of his mouth to curl as well. Still feeling the uncomfortably heavy air of Cedric's gratitude, Harry tried to combat it by lightly hitting Cedric's shoulder with his knuckles.
"I told you already, I don't care about winning. I just want to make it through this mess with all of my fingers and toes still intact. I know the point is to pit all of the champions against each other for some 'healthy competition' but this tournament is already dangerous enough without that 'every man for himself' mentality on top of it." Harry's expression became more serious then.
"It'll be alright, you know. Just spend a little time reading up on dragons, practice some shielding spells or fire-retardant charms. Perhaps something to camouflage you or distract the dragon. Even though using new mother dragons in a tournament is highly unethical and bordering on creature-endangerment, I sincerely doubt they intend for us to fight the dragons, at least not as a primary goal. They were brought here from reserves with their trainers and caretakers, so I don't think they'll risk any of us possibly causing serious damage to them. So, focus on strategies and tactics to avoid them as best as possible." Harry advised, knowing that he would be taking his own advice and doing his best to prevent a confrontation between himself and a dragon.
Cedric seemed to think about what he said for a moment, as if checking to make sure that his logic was sound. Harry didn't take offence, considering he had a number of years on Harry and adults weren't exactly quick to accept the guidance of a fourteen-year-old. Eventually, though, Cedric nodded and thanked him once again before leaving Harry alone at the edge of the lake.
Harry remained out there, finding an odd comfort in the chilling damp air, watching the faint shifting under the surface of the water as the giant squid twisted and swam around below. The wind had picked up a bit and was blowing at his back, causing his inky curls to lash forward against his pale cheeks and forehead, like creeping black tendrils at the edges of his vision. Gazing out at the wistful scenery, Harry tried to bleed the anxious thoughts from his mind until it was full of wind and he could let go of some of the tension wreaking havoc on his body as of late. His deep sigh was swept away soundlessly with the restless gale and steel grey tide.
Needing to feel grounded, Harry automatically slipped his cold fingers beneath his tight shirt collar—trying not to shiver at the near painful contrast of his frigid fingertips brushing against the heated skin under his clothes—and pulled on the gold chain that nearly scorched his fingers with the heat it had sapped from his skin. The locket slipped free and Harry immediately wrapped his hand around its heated surface. Harry's breath caught when all the cold around him seemed immediately chased away by the overwhelming aura coming off of the locket now that he was giving it attention. It was warm and filled him with a strange sensation that only could be described as honey-wine—rich, sweet, and warming like a strong drink.
The only time Harry felt anything close to the sensation was when he was reminded of certain tender moments he shared with his guardians—his family. It took many long nights of puzzling before he found a half-decent label for the feeling: nostalgia. A peculiar feeling that coursed through his system and wrapped around him, a feeling that he had never experienced before until very recently.
With the locket, however, it was slightly different and far more intense. Having so much of Voldemort's soul contained within the small horcrux was something that definitely took him a while to get used to. The soul, since it wasn't contained within a body and had been moved too recently to obtain the same sentience as the diary had, only really reacted when Harry focused on it and fed it little bits of his magic to build its strength over time in preparation for the ritual. Still, it was more than 90% of a soul and, as Harry had recently realized, was connected with the majority of the Dark Lord's magic.
It was a very strange notion to comprehend. Harry had thought that the man's magic would be cold, biting, vicious in nature just like the current Dark Lord. In actuality, it was quite the opposite. To Harry, whose own magic was incredibly cold—most likely due to his death and resurrection as an infant, forever changing his magic as a whole—Voldemort's felt warm and comforting; like the soft embrace of a well-worn blanket or the radiating heat of a hearth in a dim room. It felt like early morning sunlight washing over his skin and dripping down his throat, raking through his hair and coasting over his skin until he was near boneless.
Voldemort's raw magic burned brightly like a small sun, brilliant and illuminating. Harry could only imagine what that meant for the one currently holding onto life by a frail thread of such brilliance. He wondered how it would change him—if it would change him—and if Tom Riddle would be able to shine back through the wretched existence Voldemort had become.
Harry's fingers tightened around the locket as it pulled its magic back within itself, leaving Harry feeling once again cold and uncomfortably hollow. He knew that the indulgence of the horcruxes' raw magic was fleeting and could only synthesize sensations within him that he was incapable of producing himself in his everyday life. He knew that eventually he would have to perform the ritual and this small, private comfort would be lost to him, so he indulged when he could. Even though afterwards he always felt the ill pangs of discontentment swirling in his chest, knowing that he was lacking in something basic and fundamental that seemed to be natural in every single person around him.
It seemed that every day that passed only made that realization more painfully apparent. . .
"Potter! Come back inside before you catch your death out here." A rough voice bark out behind him, effectively startling Harry out of his heavy thoughts. Harry whipped around to see Moody a few paces behind him. The man's magical eye moved before the other and soon both eyes were trailed on Harry's closed fist raised close to his chest. Just as they began to narrow, Harry slipped the locket back under the collar of his shirt and turned more fully around to face his DADA Professor. Moody looked back at Harry's face and continued to speak as though he hadn't seen anything, which Harry seriously doubted.
"Follow me, boy, I need to have a word with you in my office." Not waiting for a reply, Moody turned and began a fast stride—though slightly inhibited by the awkward motions of the prosthetic leg—back towards the school. Harry immediately followed.
When they reached his office, Harry felt apprehensive for two reasons. One, it would be the first time he'd entered that room since it had belonged to Remus and the pair had shared quite a few pleasant memories of bonding and floo calling Sirius there, he didn't know how different it'd be and wasn't sure he wanted to know. Second, and the considerably more important reason, was that he had yet to ever truly be alone with the Death Eater in disguise and he was unsure of what was about to happen.
When they entered the office, Harry took a moment at the doorway to fully take in the interior of the room and was relieved that it looked completely different with the heavy curtains spelled closed and the messy piles of books, strange contraptions, a few empty potions bottles, and caged and silenced rodents and insects scattered all over the room. Everything familiar was blanketed in shadow or covered in the man's possessions, making it seem like an entirely different room. Aside from all of that, there was another addition to the room that captured the young raven's intrigue; a large chest that seemed four times the size of Harry if he curled up, was pushed against the wall and sealed shut with a very heavy and complicated looking lock.
"Take a seat, Potter." Moody snapped once he sat at his desk and realized Harry had yet to move away from the doorway. Harry began to move, but as if the loud bark of Moody's gruff voice had awoken something within the chest, it began to tremble violently and what sounded like the angry roar of something vaguely close to human emitted from it. Growling in frustration, Moody whipped out his wand and whatever nonverbal spell he shot at the chest, it immediately went still and silent.
Harry was not at all settled when his companion confirmed that what was contained within the chest was in fact the real Alastor Moody. Most likely kept close for polyjuice ingredients and because Barty wouldn't risk keeping him elsewhere when his position made it difficult for him to leave during the school year. He sat down gingerly and waited for the other man to speak.
"So, had a little midnight excursion did you, Potter?" Harry didn't react to Moody's grating voice, even as he felt the growing pressure at the base of his skull that spelled one hell of a headache in the future. Harry nodded mildly, his curiosity overshadowing the constant apprehension he felt around the polyjuiced man. Moody seemed to relax just a fraction.
"Good. While it's clear to me that you're more than proficient in my class, that means little in comparison to your fellow champions who have years of experience and education on you. So, don't try to get fancy with it, Potter. You won't be able to learn all the spells they have at their disposal, but just keep it simple and you'll manage. Play to your strengths, use those quidditch skills and dodge. Trust your instincts and don't stop moving. You may not get the most points, but you'll get out alive." Moody cautioned, not looking very comfortable doing so.
'Ah, so it seems the Dark Lord has taken your message into consideration.' Breathed a familiar rasp over Harry's shoulder as the office seemed to cool slightly, not that the Death Eater reacted or showed that he'd noticed.
'This is his idea of helping? Some vague and half-arsed advice from a follower that would rather see me dead as a doornail?!' Harry silently scoffed at the incredulity of the situation. Harry had given advice better than that to his bloody competitor less than half an hour before! Pushing down the frustration swelling in his gut, Harry forced himself to give the other man a grateful smile.
"Thank you, sir. I'll keep that in mind and do my best. If that is all?" Harry inquired, ready to be on his way as his patience drained away with each passing second. He couldn't help but internally grumble at the fact that the very person responsible for him even being in this mess was now trying to give him advice to save his hide! The hypocrisy!
"One more thing." Moody's face turned grave and Harry internally sighed. "Watch yourself, Potter. These champions aren't your friends. Do not expect any special treatment because of your age. Durmstrang is notorious for its teaching of the dark arts and that Delacour is about as fragile and harmless as a Hippogriff scorned! And make no mistake, the Hufflepuff is still your enemy, you cannot rely on 'school-comradery' when—for all intents and purposes—you don't represent Hogwarts in this tournament." Moody's eyes narrowed slightly and he leaned forward a bit. "I saw you and Diggory together by the lake. I assume that, by the looks of it, you were sharing last night's findings with the boy? While your concern is . . . 'heartwarming' . . . I would refrain from doing such in the future. A bleeding-heart during this tournament will only get you killed! They're looking out for themselves, I suggest you do the same."
With that final warning, Harry thanked the professor and took his leave.
Harry went down to the chamber and missed both lunch and dinner as he continued to work on modifying and combining the runes for the two separate rituals—one for mending a soul, and another for the resurrection itself. Harry worked tirelessly to both finish as much of the ritual as possible, as well as keep his mind off the first task, which was only a couple of days away. Only time would tell if his plan worked.