Author's Notes: JK Rowling wasn't in school while writing a book. Lucky her.
- Sorry for the reaaaaally slow update. School's even more intense than I thought it would be.
- Over 2500 reviews, almost a year old, and almost a million views. yay! thanks for enjoying my story!
- I finally watched Deathly Hallows Part 2. Good movie. Honestly, I think it's better than the book- they removed scenes I didn't like and added scenes I did like. And changed a few things that were just plain dumb (Harry talking Voldemort to death, for example, or NOT destroying the elder wand). Ron/Hermione works better, with all the little bits of "understanding" they have for each other sprinkled everywhere in the last two films that the books didn't have. Also, Ron is a better person mostly by omission of details (hint hint storyid:7336803)
Chapter 54: Assumptions and Appearances Can Be Deceiving
Leaning heavily into the armrests of his office chair, Dumbledore pressed his lengthy beard into his palm and sighed. He peered over the top of his glasses to meet Alastor eye-to-eye, but was silenced before he could speak a word.
"You may have my loyalty, Albus, but I still have my honour. Not to mention that little contract getting in the way. He's fine for now. Borderline, but I can't act until I can report a viable threat."
"Perhaps not to the tournament, but he could very well be a threat to the school. I recall a crafty, young boy I taught ages ago who hid some dark ideas behind a charismatic façade."
"If he weren't one of the champions, I could have half a dozen of the security team questioning him on a whim. But I can't. The system was designed to protect the champions and the tournament from interference, not allow me to interfere with them." Moody tapped his wand on the stack of parchment on the desk, and two dozen sheets flew out. "That's the relevant section regarding the home-team champion, if you'd care to read it."
Dumbledore made the sheets file themselves back into their proper place. "No, I trust you've done all in your power, Alastor. For now, we have to assume that this is the genuine Harry Potter. What we need to know now is what caused him to change so dramatically, and so secretly, over the summer." He rose from his seat, stroking his beard straight again as he walked over to the fireplace and inspected the silvery trinkets that spun, bobbed, and puffed.
"How can you be sure that he's changed at all? Maybe he's just decided to show his hand. Or perhaps you're losing your edge. You need to rein him in. He's taking advantage of every benefit being a champion has to offer- especially access to the Restricted Section. He's practically devouring books, from what I hear."
Dumbledore smiled wisely. "Alastor, you'll find I still have a trick or two under my cap. The most dangerous books have been removed from the school completely. The Board of Governors may not be happy, but I believe I can still keep Hogwarts under control."
"Except you were nearly tossed out two years ago," Moody pointed out. "And Malfoy's been at your throat a little more than usual lately. Anything I should know?"
"No, nothing that relates to the school. He is being the usual… thorn in my side, even though he seems to be acting a little more rashly than usual. Perhaps this is the chance the auror department has been hoping for all these years?" He hummed a bright tune as he opened the door. "That's all for today, Alastor. Now I have a meeting with the other headmasters."
After Moody hobbled out of the room, Dumbledore's humming stopped. Losing my edge? The troubling suggestion gnawed at him. He'd been so used to being in control. He almost always got what he wanted, and when he didn't he could see it from miles away to minimize his losses. Luck had never been on his side, but planning had been. The very idea that a teenage boy could outwit him was… well, he wanted to say impossible, but it had happened once before. It was… improbable, he relented. And improbable meant possible. He considered himself skilled at judging others, finding the hollows of people's lives and placing himself in them. For Fudge, it was a shield from political ridicule. For Moody, it was the cavalry to back him up. For Harry, it was the lack of a parental figure. Or so he thought.
Maybe he wasn't losing his edge- but instead, worthy opponents only came by once every few decades. He looked at the clock. The "meeting" hand was still half an hour away. Perhaps it was time to observe the star pupil of Hogwarts a little more closely.
Dumbledore made his way to the former chamber-pot room, which had now reformed itself once again. This was another mystery he had to solve. He knew the room could shift in and out of existence- that was actually common knowledge among the student populace this year. And all sources pointed to Harry as the only one who could summon it on a whim. Where did he get the knowledge? Continuing further, he stepped into the adjacent room and locked the door with a few privacy spells.
Dumbledore cast a spying charm on the wall, but it revealed nothing but more stone. He then cast a more difficult variant of the spell, but was now facing velvet curtains instead. He sighed. Sometimes he could swear the school was not only sentient, but had a sense of humour. "Photon neclegia Triopstructio," he incanted. The third level of the spell was difficult enough that even he had trouble performing it silently.
He was looking at a parlour. And Harry Potter was sitting at a table with Daphne Greengrass, Hermione Granger, and Cedric Diggory. Somehow, he'd expected something a little more sinister from the boy's secretive and cold new attitude towards him. Tea-time with Slytherins and Hufflepuffs wasn't his idea of suspicious. Was Harry trying to make connections to some of the older pureblood families? At least he wasn't being too exclusive about it, Dumbledore noted as Harry made formal introductions to Neville Longbottom, despite having been on friendly terms with him for years. Even the Lovegood girl was there. In fact, nearly every pureblood in the school was at that meeting, save for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Clearly, this was an attempt at networking.
But what was Miss Granger doing there? She was intelligent and had a strong work ethic, but as many Ravenclaws would attest to, high marks alone don't get you very far in life. Being a muggleborn meant no established name to rely on within British wizarding world. Although her peers may respect her grades, their parents wouldn't let her get very far. And while her muggle family had respectable careers and a comfortable level of income, they wouldn't be considered rich. If the rumours were true, however, then Harry could forcibly place Hermione into pureblood circles- through marriage.
Perhaps he's young and rash, just like his father, Dumbledore considered. But his attitude and actions over the summer were far too deliberate. He has a plan. But the thought of marriage at the young age of fourteen was ridiculous. No fourteen-year-old contemplates marriage; at least, not seriously. Harry could barely comprehend gaining a loving family member six months ago.
Dumbledore's wand chirped to remind him of the Triwizard meeting he had to attend. The benefit of being able to apparate within Hogwarts, unfortunately, deprived him of seeing the real reason for the afternoon tea-session walking down the hall.
Karkaroff slammed his fist on the table. "Watch the orb again!" he demanded. "He must have been cheating. Nobody can fly like that with two weeks' preparation time."
"On the contrary, Igor. Harry has been the star seeker of the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. He has been a natural flier ever since the first time he mounted a broom," Dumbledore explained.
"I agree. Mr. Potter simply had a spectacular performance," Ludo Bagman exclaimed enthusiastically. "The Goblet of Fire certainly didn't find anything wrong with it.
"You don't even understand 'ow ze goblet works. Its original scrolls 'ave been lost to time," Madame Maxime said, setting the orb to show the moment Harry led the griffinettes to Fleur. "Right 'ere. 'ow can any 'uman perform zis move?"
"That's right! The only person who could manage that was my own former student, Viktor Krum!"
"So you admit that it is humanly possible? Right, let's move on then," Bagman said dismissively, setting off tempers all around the room.
Fredrick Frenemis, the new head of Magical Cooperation, couldn't do anything to calm down the angry officials. Every attempt to defend the English officials' decisions only furthered the dispute, while every attempt at placating the foreigners was met with silent glares accusing him of treason. The discussion quickly devolved into an argument.
A strange thing happened over the next hour, one which Dumbledore had seen too often at the Wizengamot. With blame flying every which way and excuses being equally frequent, everybody began to forget what had really happened at the Trial of Air. Maxime claimed the event was too dependent on equipment. Karkaroff brushed off the flying as Ivan's weakest skill. Both claimed Harry should have been disqualified by his broom, although the referees vigorously defended their decision. The officials, in turn, blamed Frenemis for failing to strike a deal with the Persians for the zuu. Dumbledore tried to keep everyone on track, but short of obliviating the whole room, it was an exercise in futility. As everyone's voices were getting hoarse, Frenemis finally made a suggestion just crazy enough to agree to. "Well, even if all of you think Harry Potter has had extra time to prepare, it can only take you so far. If we simply made the events more difficult, then the less-skilled wizard will never be able to keep up, no matter how much extra time they have. If we change the events, then any advance knowledge would be useless as well."
"No, the events are dangerous enough as it is," Dumbledore began to say, but he was quickly overwhelmed by the cries of agreement from the others.
"Yes, the change in events will mean that any leaked plans will be meaningless. It is the fairest way to do this!" Karkaroff shouted gleefully. "Where shall we begin?"
"Well, there's no need to change any of the Trials of Champions," Bagman said. "That's direct champion-to-champion combat. We can let them all know about those immediately. The preparations for the Trial of Water has already been finalized, so that means that we can still make some alterations to the Trials of Earth and Fire."
"Good. Golems were nothing more than posturing for the audience. Perhaps some Arrakadian Sandworms would provide an actual challenge?"
"I'll contact the North African reserves right away," Frenemis said, jumping at the chance to look useful. Dumbledore held him back.
"Perhaps we can wait until after duels next week?" he suggested. "Then we can truly see if Mr. Potter had won the Trial of Air through his own skill. If he can best your champions in a duel, then you will admit that he won the first trial through his own skill, correct? There's no need to make things more dangerous so quickly." Truthfully, he didn't believe the changes would matter; he was more concerned with making the Tournament even more of a mess than it already was. The Ministry had wanted a way to boost morale of the country, especially after the Sirius Black fiasco, and somehow landed on the idea of reviving a centuries-old tournament around last Christmas. It was hard enough organizing the whole thing with only seven months' planning, re-organizing it while it was already under way would increase his workload so much that any hopes of keeping tabs on Harry Potter may as well be tossed out the top of the astronomy tower.
"But zen if 'e loses ze duels, you will accept zat we must make ze events 'arder to… leave ze weak behind, oui?"
"Get those sandworms ready," Karkaroff said gruffly to the young Magical Co-operation head. He held out his wand and tapped a blank Triwizard Tournament parchment. A succinct contract wrote itself out.
"We, the undersigned officiating persons of the ninety-ninth Triwizard Tournament, agree to alter the Trials of Fire and Earth and the Final Task due to a breach of security. The difficulty of those events will be increased should the Hogwarts Champion, Harry Potter, receive the lowest score in first Trial of Champions…" Dumbledore read aloud. "We need to make room for a few exceptions. There's too much at risk if a simple mishap…"
"You and your exceptions. You're too soft, Dumbledore, and that's your problem. I hear discipline at Hogwarts is… an issue. Students learn best when they suffer a little," Karkaroff sneered. "Just sign the damned parchment."
Dumbledore wasted no time after the meeting tracing his last steps with Harry Potter. If this was an imposter, then he desperately needed to find the real Harry, and the other champions could be at risk. If not… then the boy was even more sly and cunning than Tom Riddle had been. The prophecy rang in his head again. …mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… He was forced to reconsider a few assumptions. The latter part of the prophecy convinced him Harry, but it had been vague about what equality truly meant. …defeat his nemesis… he originally thought that meant Voldemort had to defeat Harry, since the boy seemed to be nothing exceptional, but that may not have been the right interpretation.
All three instances where Harry had met with the dark lord, Dumbledore only arrived to see the aftermath. He could only guess what happened at Godric's Hollow. With the death of Quirinus, he knew Harry had already managed to defeat an adult wizard, without any useful magical skills. It was quite a stretch, but he'd told Harry that it was simply the power of love that could burn a man's body to ashes and banish a ghost. He convinced an impressionable eleven-year-old… or perhaps not. Maybe Harry had known all along what his own powers were, and had been playing his headmaster the fool. Was it so hard to believe? The eleven-year-old Tom was sly and manipulative, paying lip service to Dumbledore while cozying up to the other professors. With a prophecy calling them equals, was it so unrealistic to think that Harry Potter could do the same, but better? To intentionally sort himself into Gryffindor even as the hat wanted to place him in Slytherin, to simply be a good enough actor to fool Dumbledore himself?
Harry's second year was probably the key. The boy had spent hours down in the Chamber of Secrets with no witnesses. Ron Weasley was left behind, trapped by rubble. Ginny Weasley was unconscious for the entire affair. Harry was alone, with the spirit of Voldemort. What words were exchanged, he would never know. True, he could resort to legilimency, but that would be wildly inappropriate for a man of his position. Perhaps if he convinced Severus to do it instead, but that would mean he had to depend on Severus's reporting, which was notoriously inaccurate whenever it involved a Potter.
He decided that the Chamber of Secrets would be the ideal place to begin his investigations. There was nothing left of the diary, even though it had been powerful enough to enslave the youngest Weasley. Some of that power may have entered Harry. Now, although the entrance had been revealed to him, he still needed to figure out how to open it without enlisting either of the only two parselmouths he knew of.
"I presume you are here to investigate the chamber, Mugwump Dumbledore? I'm afraid it is currently occupied at the moment." Dumbledore was jerked away from his thoughts and found himself facing a gaunt man with only one eyebrow. "Mr. Potter prefers to work alone, as he tells me."
"Ah, Mr. Fleming. I didn't know you were going to be on the premises today. I thought your tutoring sessions were only for Mondays and Thursdays." Dumbledore took another step towards the door, but Fleming sidled over to block him.
"I wouldn't presume to tell you where you may go in your own school, Mugwump Dumbledore, but I would ask you to respect the privacy of my client." He gave the headmaster a knowing grin. "After all, everybody likes to keep their secrets, don't they?"
"I'm afraid that I haven't got much time. If you please," Dumbledore said firmly as he pushed open the door. So Harry has been visiting the chamber regularly. I should have sealed off the place permanently. At least this way I may be able to see what he's up to.
"I'll tell him to expect you," Myrtle's ghost smiled sweetly, curtseying just before disappearing down below the sinks.
"I know what you're thinking. Personally I rather like the change," Fleming said. "I've never met a ghost that was affected by potions, either, but I think it may be due to her affinity with water. Perhaps we can discuss the implications another time."
Realizing that the surprise had cost him precious seconds, Dumbledore descended to the sewer chambers without a reply. As he continued onward, he realized that it was much cleaner than how Harry had first described it. There was now a simple walkway that rose above the water, and the entire path was lighted by bluebell-flamed torches. Walls that must have been covered in slime and mould had been cleaned, although Argus could still use a dozen students in detention to scrub it some more. His brisk pace led him to the vault-like door guarded by metallic serpents… just as it was closing.
"Hello, Headmaster! I heard you came to see me. Would you like to walk with us back upstairs?" Harry stood in front of the door, alongside Hermione and Myrtle. He had a rucksack slung over his shoulder, as did Hermione. Again, the ghost was very unlike her usual sobbing self.
Tom himself did manage to charm the Grey Lady… although I have to wonder why Harry would bother with Myrtle, Dumbledore thought. "Hello, Harry. I see you've made a few improvements to this place," he said, waving his wand, reinforcing and smoothing out the makeshift walkway. He saw the boy nod but quickly break eye contact. Moody had noted that his occlumency was unusually well-practiced, regardless of his age.
"Well, it's been a hobby of mine to come down here," Harry said casually. "But it's still rather dangerous for the other students. Maybe I can clean it up by next year so they can visit it?"
"It's a part of Hogwarts' history, after all," Hermione added.
"A noble idea. But I am concerned about your safety. Perhaps you should leave the clean-up to the staff…"
"Nobody on staff speaks Parseltongue, as far as I'm aware," Harry said.
"Adult supervision is still necessary, Harry. You could ask for an escort at the very least, even if you are the only one that can deactivate any traps."
"Master Fleming usually comes down here with us. He's quite the competent wizard, I can assure you."
Dumbledore sighed. He could already tell that any suggestions that they take Severus as an escort instead would only antagonize him further. "Could you permit me to come down and help you get it done faster, then? I'd like to inspect the interior of the chamber, just to be safe."
He caught the split-second hesitation from Harry before the boy replied, "No, I'd rather not. I consider this a personal hobby between me and Hermione. Maybe if I have trouble finishing this by the end of the year, I'll ask for some help." Well, there was no hiding it now. The boy was definitely using the Chamber of Secrets for something. There wasn't any need to push further and take the risk of pushing Harry into eradicating evidence, though.
"By the way, Harry, would you deign to let me know what it is you're doing with those satchels?" Dumbledore asked as the approached the entrance.
"Making good use of a deadly corpse," Harry said, swinging it off his shoulder.
"Here's the basilisk skin you wanted, Master," Hermione said as Mr. Fleming came into view. She'd unbuckled her bag and pulled out a heavy, rolled sheet of raw hide.
"Excellent. We'll start on the tanning potions tomorrow to make the best use of this," Fleming said.
"I've been meaning to ask you, Mr. Fleming. Why do you have my students you 'Master?' As I understood it, you are simply a potions tutor," Dumbledore asked as he watched their exchange.
"That's still the standard title for the one who is directing their apprenticeship, is it not? As of several hours ago, they are officially my apprentices, and I am their master."
Tanned basilisk leather generally meant only one thing- magical armour. The last time any had been seen was the Wizarding World War several hundred years ago. Perhaps Harry was cheating at the Tournament and was already preparing for the second Trial of Champions… but something of this expense more likely meant he was preparing for something far deadlier.
December snuck up on Dumbledore much the same way that a dragon could sneak up on a kneazle with a ball of yarn. Being highly distracted by the Barty Crouch case in Wizengamot, an international tournament at Hogwarts, and one pesteringly persistent Greek ambassador in the ICW meetings, the calendar pounced on him. Above all else, his investigation into Harry was running him in circles. The facts told him the boy was planning something. The books told him that everything the boy did was legal. The staff and students told him Harry was every bit the Boy-Who-Lived. His gut told him the boy was planning to follow in Tom Riddle's footsteps.
All the while, Harry had been wary of him. In fact, he suspected Harry had already begun avoiding him before the school year started. He'd hoped the boy's attitude at Peter Pettigrew's trial was only due to being in a foul mood from Bill Weasley's death, but it was quite clear now that Harry's attitude was permanent. Every so often he would hope to catch a glimpse of Harry's true power, perhaps one that he supposedly had over Voldemort. Harry never pushed himself beyond what was needed for his classes, though. True, a fourteen-year-old keeping up with sixth-year classes was fairly impressive already, but above average simply wasn't what he was looking for. Helping Hagrid tend to the flock of abraxians, having tea with Slytherins, and learning to brew potions- Harry seemed to be very careful to not cast spells in public ever since he was chosen as champion. Modesty could be a good trait. Deception could be very bad.
That was the reason why Dumbledore welcomed the first Trial of Champions with more relief than he expected of himself. This one event in which Harry was forced to participate, could reveal more about the boy than the past month of rumour and hearsay. Finally, I will see where the boy's strengths lie. If Harry is straying down Voldemort's path, then he won't let his pride suffer a humiliating defeat in front of an audience, he concluded. Tom Riddle kept his head low at school, but he could never turn away from an insult.
"You remember our bet, Dumbly-door?" Madam Maxime said as he passed by.
"Of course, I think we will all be pleasantly surprised by what each of our champions are capable of," Dumbledore replied.
"The bet was a silly idea..." Karkaroff muttered.
"Oh? What happened to your eagerness to make the bet? I certainly hope you haven't lost faith in Ivan," Dumbledore said kindly.
"No, I have simply lost all faith in yours. I hear your boy was already preparing some armour even before our last meeting was adjourned- serpenthide of some kind? It's quite clear your so-called 'champion' is a cheater," Karkaroff said. "No matter. The boy will lose to Ivan easily. The bet rests on your champion, Maxime."
"Fleur? She eez leagues above Ivan. Must I remind you of ze current standings?"
"Her best event against Ivan's worst. The tides will turn rather quickly, you shall see. Durmstrang prides itself on duelling… and Ivan is no slouch."
Dumbledore felt frustrated that he always heard rumours of Harry's prowess but never witnessed it this year. Again, he questioned the boy's motivations- he clearly didn't intend to be picked as champion, but as soon as he had, he began to hide his strengths. Maybe he was simply being paranoid- Harry could simply be keeping his competition in the dark. It would be nice to know how Harry gained foreknowledge of the events, but that was probably Ludo Bagman, trying to make a few extra galleons betting on the home representative.
That very same Mr. Bagman stepped up to the podium to announce the beginning of the duels. Fleur and Harry stepped out of the champion's tent, waving to the audience. Fleur was confidently striding ahead; Harry was extremely focused and ignoring the audience.
"Your boy seems to lack ze confidence befitting a champion," Maxime gloated.
"Harry has never been one to show off," Dumbledore responded.
"You mean 'e shows off in subtler ways. 'e 'as chosen to go through ze entire tournament using 'is off-hand wand." Surely enough, the referees rolled up Harry's right sleeve to ensure he wasn't hiding his holly wand in his right sleeve before he released his rowan wand from his holster.
The duel seemed to start off with a dance, of all things. Harry kept light on his feet, circling around the oval while Fleur did the same, each matching the other's movements while concentrating on the defensive. Time-delayed spells and traps were laid down by Harry, which Fleur did her best to dispel as quickly as possible. Fleur, on the other hand, tried to hide herself, but Harry was surprisingly proficient with hominem revelio and videa veritas, rendering her efforts moot. Completely contrary to his attitude in the Trial of Air, Harry was being very passive, content on trying to trap Fleur without ever casting a spell directly at her.
Unfortunately for him, Fleur was dispelling his traps faster than he could lay them, and she realized it. Harry did as well, but continued his strategy of casting delayed detonation spells, sticky and slippery traps, and some light transfiguration on the arena floor. He spared no wand movements at all for putting up a shield, using his body and feet instead to dodge everything with nigh-clairvoyant ability. Dumbledore could already see Harry's strategy- namely, it involved tiring out Fleur by forcing her to take longer paths to approach him while forcing her to wait if she ever got too close. It was a good tactic against another who was faster, but not more powerful: use spells that took more time to deal with than power. And Harry obviously still needed all the time he could get, as his left hand wasn't nearly as deft or accurate as his right.
Fleur caught on to the pattern pretty quickly, switching to simpler spells, aiming to overwhelm Harry. Without dispelling his last two traps, she unleashed a stream of simple sparks, basic bludgeoners, and easy enchantments. Unable to dodge everything, Harry laid down one final trap on the ground before putting up a shield. He tried to lead her into the right spot on the ground to set off the traps, but she was wary enough to avoid them. As a stinging hex struck Harry's leg, he dropped his shield. A sigh of dismay came from the audience, and a laugh from Madam Maxime, but Dumbledore knew it wasn't over. Like a cornered animal, Harry unleashed a strong wave of unusual spells- jelly-legs, dancing, foot-reversal, tripping, and several others of that sort. Only one of them struck home, but that was all he needed.
Fleur stumbled on to Harry's delayed spell, setting off a bright flash that blinded her- as well as him, and everyone in the front row of the audience. Still seeing spots, Dumbledore could just make out one lone figure standing on the platform. An eerie silence swept over the entire stadium as everyone else's eyes readjusted. It was Harry, standing alone. A few lone cheers rang out from the crowd, and the sound of applause slowly began to crescendo.
"Too early," grunted Karkaroff.
Dumbledore agreed. He noticed Harry begin the wand movements for Hominem Revelio when a series of glowing bolts raced towards him. He abandoned the spell, awkwardly twisting his left hand to switch to casting a shield charm as he jumped out of the way, but he was struck by one and went flying. One final spell struck him right in the chest, and his wand popped away from his hand.
The cheers instantly turned to sighs of despair as Fleur reappeared triumphantly. She walked forward to pick up Harry's wand and promptly set off a trap that had yet to be dispelled, cementing her foot to the ground and causing her to fall flat on her face. Harry scrambled over for one last chance to stay in the fight, but with a simple summoning charm Fleur had his wand in her hand.
The march away from the podium was not pretty. Fleur hobbled off, refusing help but clearly having twisted her ankle at the end. The mediwitches would have her fixed up within a few minutes, but she was clearly angry at being hit with a spell even after she had supposedly finished the duel. Harry, despite his loss, was enjoying it.
"Your boy lost, Dumbledore. I can guarantee you Ivan is far stronger than the Beauxbatons champion."
"He was using his off-hand for the entire duel," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps you should give him more credit."
"Non! Just like last time, 'e uses barely-legal attacks against Fleur. If 'is left 'and were ze weaker one, why would 'e not use 'is right instead of cheating?"
"That was merely a mistake," Dumbledore sighed, but she raised a detail he had nearly forgotten until today. He assumed Harry's left hand was his weaker one; but the boy showed a massive increase in skill despite the fact- or, maybe, because of it. Tom Riddle was always right handed-was the mysterious power that of a southpaw? Ridiculous, he told himself…
One hour and a few potions later, Fleur was walking back out to the arena as if it were her first duel of the day, save for her tousled-up hair. Ivan was waiting confidently. Dumbledore decided get up from his seat before he got caught in the crossfire between Maxime and Karkaroff. He considered this to be a chance to have a chat with Harry, perhaps under the guise of giving him some advice for his upcoming duel. Upon his arrival at the champion's tent, he found that it contained no champions.
"Mr. Potter is having lunch elsewhere," one of the officials told him. "I suspect he's still nearby, watching the duel, though. His girlfriend came to pick him up." Dumbledore nodded thankfully and scanned the surroundings. Nobody in the stands was swarming for autographs, so that must have meant Harry wasn't watching from there. Of course, Sirius Black wouldn't miss his godson's first legitimate duel. He quickly ascended the steps to the box seats, where Sirius, Harry, and his friends were all dining together. Hermione was providing her analysis of his duel with Fleur.
Sirius jumped to his feet when Dumbledore knocked on the door. "Come in, come in, Headmaster! So, you think you could give Harry any advice before the next duel?"
He looked out over to the arena, where Ivan was laying down line after line of ground-pounders. Fleur was hiding under a disillusionment, but she wouldn't be able to much longer. "Gladly. May I take a seat? Mr. Kolov seems to favour heavy-hitting spells over precision," he said as Ron scooted over and he sat down beside Harry. A pair of green eyes met his for only a second before forcibly turning back to the arena.
"That's just what Hermione was thinking, sir. I just hope I can draw out the duel long enough that he exhausts himself before I start attacking."
"Tell me, Harry, have you been learning any spells on your own outside of the classroom to help you in the tournament? I may not be able to teach you a new spell during the lunch hour, but I hope I can help correct and improve a few." He eyed the wand which Harry was already gripping in his hand.
"Well, I'm sticking to spells I'm already confident with, but can you give me some general advice on how to be more precise with my left hand?"
"Alas, Harry, mastering your off-hand is much like mastering your left hand for writing. This simply takes time and practice." Dumbledore smiled softly, remembering the time when he was still friends with Gellert. Both of them searched for every conceivable advantage in training to improve their power. Gellert, however, had decided to go beyond what he was willing to do- the dark arts. Left-handedness is not evil, Dumbledore told himself before his mind began to make random associations.
Hermione and Harry whispered a few things to each other. "Then maybe you could help me with fumation. I've been reading about it in some texts, and it seems like a nice alternative to apparition…"
"Harry, you know that you cannot get your licence until you turn sixteen, no matter what year of school you're in…"
Sirius looked at Dumbledore sheepishly. "That would be my fault, sir. I thought I'd start teaching them early, you know, so they could get the licence right away."
"And that's why I want to learn fumation," Harry said. "You don't need a license for that, do you? Well, I've been working on the three F's of fumation- Flux, Flight, and Formation. The last two are pretty easy, but the first step is the hardest."
This was a chance that Dumbledore was hoping for. "As first steps usually are," he replied. "Fumation is both less useful and more difficult than apparition. Are you sure you want to spend time studying it?"
"It's perfectly applicable in combat," Harry said. "Which I seem to have a knack for attracting."
"There is nothing I can tell you right now, but I suppose I could schedule a few private lessons after your classes. This is certainly a skill you need competent supervision to learn properly."
Harry paused and seemed to communicate silently with Hermione before answering. The old Harry he knew would have jumped at any chance to receive any sort of private tutoring from his headmaster, be it spellwork or story-time. Now it was actually a risk he had to weigh. "Alright, sir," he answered. Dumbledore let out the breath he was holding.
"I suppose Wednesdays are as good a day as any. You can come to my office an hour before dinner. It's never a good idea to vaporize yourself on a full stomach, after all."
"Oi, Harry, I think they're calling for you," Ron said, pointing to the arena. The duel was over, and Fleur looked like she wasn't walking off by herself this time.
Hermione gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. "For luck."
"I'll need it," he said.
Ah, humility and love, Dumbledore thought. Perhaps there's hope for the boy yet.
Dumbledore watched the final duel with some disinterest. Ivan was confident enough that he didn't even ask for the standard one-hour reprieve, downing a Pepper-up potion and immediately demanding the next fight begin. If Karkaroff's sneer was any indication, he certainly didn't see Harry as a worthwhile opponent.
Harry began with a similar tactic as last time, charming parts of the floor as traps to keep Ivan at bay. Ivan decided to deal with the traps in a different manner than Fleur, though. Instead of dispelling the traps, he simply set the floor on fire- presumably, making the traps even deadlier, and so he could easily see where they lay. Harry decided to switch strategies immediately, shooting pockets of water at the flames.
The water didn't douse the flames, but instead created enough steam to hide him from view for a second. Much like Fleur, he used it to set up disillusionment. Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles slightly in order to see Harry clearly. Ivan, seeing a similar strategy, countered it with what worked against Fleur- a set of ground-pounders in a wavelike pattern to corner an invisible opponent to one side of the field.
Harry was a little different, however. He seemed to be almost precognitive in his ability to squeeze in between the waves, letting Ivan think he'd been cornered, but was invisibly closing the distance between him and Ivan. Having blanketed the entire field with spells, however, Ivan realized something was wrong before Harry could reach him, and raised a wall of fire in front of him. Harry was forced to stop short. Ivan wasn't done, though. After a quick sweep of his end of the arena to make sure Harry wasn't behind him, he cast a flame-freezing charm on himself and began to conjure oil. Harry, seeing what was coming, quickly cast the same spell on himself.
The oil immediately alighted immediately as it flew through the firewall and continued to burn as it oozed across the arena. Dumbledore wondered if Harry had learned the Upstream Down spell, which would have elegantly caused all the oil Ivan was conjuring to flow back towards him as if he were downhill. It was a rather obscure spell, though, and Harry took a different strategy.
Blinding curses rocketed towards Ivan, giving Harry's position away- but he didn't stay there for long. Dashing straight through the fire, he attempted something that didn't quite work, but Dumbledore couldn't tell what it was. Ivan immediately raised a shield afterwards, and Harry retreated through the flames again, this time using his efforts to vanish as much oil as he could so he could safely stand as his flame-freezing charm began to wear off. His robes were on fire already- but he had to defend himself against Ivan, who was advancing steadily towards him. He ripped off the burning robes with his free hand, leaving himself duelling in only his trousers. The audience cheered.
In retaliation, he sent a conjured blotches of ink and paint at Ivan's eyes and followed up with an enraging charm. The physical substances penetrated the shield easily, allowing the enraging charm to strike. Ivan took a little longer to remove the spell from his angered state, which gave Harry enough time to attempt a Notice-Me-Not charm.
The plan worked almost perfectly- Harry stood safely away from Ivan, who was lashing out angrily and wasting his energy attacking nothing. Unfortunately, he forgot to account for the type of spells Ivan would use. He conjured huge waves of fire that swept the arena, streams of molten lava, and even some burning rocks that rained down on the area from the sky. The officials were definitely having a hard time keeping the audience from being injured.
"Ivan is very particular to flame, as you can tell. I believe it became his favourite category of magic after the mandatory outdoor survival class at Durmstrang Institute," Karkaroff laughed.
"Oh? He seems quite proficient. How many years has he been honing this specialty?" Dumbledore asked casually, not rising to Karkaroff's baiting.
"Five years, obviously."
Harry eventually had to actively defend himself against Ivan, a move that spelled the end of the duel. The still-enraged wizard now focused all his anger on the sudden movement that caught his eye. Harry was blasted off the platform by a cyclone of volcanic rock and burning bits of the arena floor.
"A perfect way to end the day. What is it those Americans like to say? 'There is no kill like overkill?' Zero for two, Dumbledore. Now let's start making this tournament more interesting."
Author's Chapter End Notes: lots of notes ahoy, because I've had so much time to think but no time to write.
- I was originally intending this chapter to be written from Hermione's perspective, mostly because I've been kind of neglecting her character. But I also needed to figure out Dumbledore's off-kilter thought processes.
- what is that weird, smoky-style apparition that's in the films and not the books? I'm calling it Fumation. I mean, it's definitely not apparition, as it still physically moves the person (e.g. Snape smashing a window as he "fumates" through it), it's not instantaneous, and there's no characteristic "crack" sound as described by the books.
- Random thought: Blood wards placed on Harry's home is based on Harry's blood. After GoF, Voldemort has Harry's blood post-resurrection. Ergo, Voldemort should be able to walk into Privet Drive any time he wanted after book 4.
- With any critical analysis, the canon prophecy makes no sense whatsoever. It must be loosely interpreted (and i mean loose like a bar of soap in a water fight) to reach the conclusions that they did in canon. (e.g. "neither can live while the other survives"- harry/voldemort were both alive, and both survived for a while- that's not the definition of "neither." With interpretations like that, why is "mark" a physical mark, "seventh month" july, "born" even mean physical birth? Jeez.)
- Other random thought: Maybe this was unintentional, but JKR seems (unintentionally) sexist/racist. Sure, the overall moral of the books were that racism is bad, but... Fleur, the only female, and the only mixed-race contestant, loses at everything in GoF. She's pathetic. And muggles are just useless, cute folk who wizards need to take care of like people take care of pets. And, as I've noted, the epilogue. Confounding a muggle is just fine because "it won't hurt them" and "they're just muggles." Um... i thought you guys won the war...
- lastly, why is parseltongue a learnable language in book 7? The movie made it obvious (ron could actually make the right sounds on screen) but I thought the point of the language was that it was genetic (or in Harry's case, via the soul?) and unlearnable? Because memorizing sounds, repeating sounds, and associating meaning with sounds lets you have an entire language's vocabulary.
