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So far... With future memories and by remaining unnoticed, Harry has destroyed all the Horcruxes early. Now he focuses on helping others in Year 4. Read on...
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Chapter 4
The Matchmaker
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Once his third year at Hogwarts had ended and the summer holidays began, Harry did not brood long about the pain he'd endured in his scar while close to the Riddle House. On the first day back at Privet Drive he ordered his aunt to take him to the family physician to arrange surgery.
Petunia scowled, but her shoulders eventually sagged in resignation; the boy was too magically powerful to resist. "Very well."
The doctor informed them that Harry might have to wait a year or more for a National Health operation, but a private specialist could treat him within the month.
So it was. Harry insisted he be given the removed scar tissue which he destroyed by Fiendfyre inside a stove assembled out of bricks. The missing tissue from his forehead had been replaced with a graft of matching skin colour.
"That will need time to heal," said the doctor. "Come back and see me in a month's time."
Back home, Harry speeded up the healing with dittany. Inspecting himself in the mirror next day, he could detect almost nothing of the scar at all: he was free!
He never kept his review appointment with the cosmetic surgeon.
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A thunderstorm was sweeping through Hogsmeade on the evening of the first of September, as he walked towards Honeydukes and the secret tunnel beneath the sweet shop's cellar. Somewhat nervously, Harry re-examined his future memories of Mad-Eye Moody's magical eyeball. He shuddered, and it wasn't just because his hair was soaked by the rain. He needed to trust his future self's judgement that the magical eye's bewitchment only affected physical vision whereas his Notice-me-not spell affected the mind's attention to what was seen. But very soon, sitting in the Great Hall at the opening feast of the new school year, his belief would be put to the test.
As anticipated, the Headmaster had just announced – amidst groans – that school Quidditch had been cancelled for the year. But he continued, "I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts–"
–But a deafening rumble of thunder, and the huge double doors banging open, stopped him.
Harry knew who would be standing there, yet despite being barely noticeable, he turned with everyone else to look.
Barty Crouch Junior was leaning on a wooden staff, briefly scanning the scene for threats – or was it the real Alastor Moody? Had Voldemort changed his plans after the disguised Harry Potter had not only been seen close to Riddle House, but the Gaunt shack had been reduced to a smoking ruin? Only time would tell.
But as the weeks passed, Harry simply could not be sure. Yes, the Defence professor taught them about the Unforgivable spells, but was that Crouch working from Moody's planned lessons in order to stay in character? Or Moody himself? Harry could think of only one action that would positively prove the situation either way.
On the thirtieth of October, the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students arrived with the same flair as foretold by Harry's memories. Students had twenty-four hours to enter their names in the Goblet of Fire. The unnoticeable boy braced himself, preparing for what might be his most risky venture...
Curfew seemed to take extra long to arrive. Zabini was already back in the dormitory, lying on his bed taking notes from a textbook. He was barely aware of Harry's presence in the room, and certainly didn't notice him slip out at nine o'clock with a broomstick over his shoulder.
If waiting for curfew had increased tension, that prolonged anticipation was nothing compared to what awaited Harry. He'd not dared to bring his invisibility cloak – both Moody and Crouch would have seen through it and probably also detected its magic. Instead he was relying on the heaviest, most powerful application of the Notice-me-not spell he could perform. So strong was this enchantment that, as Harry came out from the basement stairwell into the Entrance Hall, someone bumped past him. The collision was almost an accidental shoulder barge, yet the dark figure paid him no heed as he strode swiftly out the main door and headed towards the lake. "Krum!" Harry muttered to himself, once the Durmstrang student had gone from view.
After the great doors had creaked shut, all was silent except for the flicker of wall torches. Harry moved swiftly across to where the Goblet of Fire stood on the Sorting Hat's stool. A thin golden line had been traced on the floor, forming a circle ten feet around it in every direction: Dumbledore's Age Line which Harry knew he dare not cross. Instead, he looked upward at the great stone-vaulted ceiling. This, and the walls, were further braced by massive horizontal oak beams, grey with age.
Harry had expected to find a thick layer of dust, but when he flew up astride his broom, he found the beam high over the Goblet of Fire was spotlessly clean. House-elves! he fretted to himself. What time might they sweep this Hall? These actual timbers? Once a month? A week? Every night? He crossed his fingers and lay himself down to watch.
An hour moved slowly, silently forward. During that period, only a couple of prefects passed, chuckling together as one of them put his slip of paper into the Goblet, and they watched eagerly as it vanished – not burnt, not consumed down inside the fire – just invisibly transported into the astonishing presence of magic before the flames could even scorch the parchment.
Not even a ghost came by for the next forty minutes. Finally, from far up the great marble staircase came a faint sound:
Clunk!
The sound repeated rhythmically at the pace of a walking man, grew louder as it descended the steps, and Harry turned slightly to get a better look. It was it this moment he realised how stiff and aching his body and limbs had become. He hadn't dared use a cushioning charm in case its magic was perceived. He pushed the discomfort to the back of his mind at his first sighting of the rolling electric-blue eye that seemed to pierce right through him. But the man below showed no sign of detecting anything out of the ordinary, and took up a sentry position beside the Goblet.
This still proved nothing about his true intentions, Harry's future memories cautioned. The real Moody would also have been assigned to guard the Goblet through the night by Dumbledore. The boy above grimaced against his discomfort and prepared for another long session of nothing happening except for increasing pain until breakfast.
Twenty minutes ticked by. ... Thirty. ... Fifty. During the next hour, the youth was reaching the limit of his tolerance to the extreme discomfort. Would the man below notice if Harry stood up on his beam and stretched his limbs? Would he notice if he screamed as blood returned to his arms and legs? The professor's gaze was certainly not immobile, but increasingly it swerved and rolled in an agitated manner.
"You can come down now!" roared the grizzled-haired man, raising his wand, "or I can drag you down the hard way!"
Harry winced his eyes shut, trying to shut out reality. How had the man perceived him? Had he known all along that Harry was there, and had let him suffer needlessly? Would he attempt to kill or kidnap him right now? Silently, eyes still tightly closed, Harry freed his wand arm but did not yet point at–
"Quickly now! I know you're there!"
There was a muffled bumping and muttering off to one side, somewhere on the great curved staircase. Harry's eyes flashed open. For a few seconds he could not comprehend what was happening. Then he saw them.
"How?" Fred's voice. "We've been crouched well below the banister!"
"We never made a sound," said George.
"I've been aware of your presence for the past hour," growled the professor.
"And never said anything," snorted Fred. "Have you any idea how sore my bum is?"
"Count it as detention, lads," chuckled the teacher. "Hope you've learned your lesson?"
"We'll just be going back to bed then," said George in a hopeful tone, half-turning.
"Not so fast, laddie. Hand them over."
"Hand what over?" said Fred, mustering his most innocent expression.
"Criminal evidence. I take it your intention was to hover your name slips into the Goblet?" He held out one gnarled hand.
Ruefully, the twins approached the professor, who summoned the papers from their hands before they even reached the Age Line. Then, with a flip of his hand, he tossed them both into the Goblet's flames where they instantly vanished into its magic. "Confiscated," he grinned.
"Did you see that, George?"
"I did, Fred." George scratched his head and stared at the Moody figure. "What was that for?"
"Fortitude. Determination. Vigilance. Astonishing courage. Did I mention you'll probably be expelled if either of you become Hogwarts champion?"
Fred and George looked at one another. "Any chance we could just–"
"–NO!" roared the man. "Just go. Quit while you're ahead."
The twins sighed in unison and slunk off up the stairs, muttering about abandoning their backup plan to drink ageing potion in the morning.
Harry held on to his wand and kept his arm free and slowly moving; he'd need it if–
–The moment the Weasley brothers had disappeared from view, the man moved quickly. From his pocket he pulled another slip of paper, folded it over twice, then threw it into the flames. Harry reacted as he'd rehearsed scores of times, silently casting a vanishing spell.
Then he waited.
And watched.
Had he actually vanished the slip of paper before the Goblet would have rendered it invisible? Or not? Crouch – because now it was certainly he – had showed no reaction other than satisfaction that the Dark Lord would be pleased.
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The decorations in the Great Hall had changed the next morning. As it was Halloween, a cloud of live bats was fluttering around the enchanted ceiling, while hundreds of carved pumpkins leered from every corner. Throughout the day, there would be the occasional flustered seventh-year rushing to get their name into the Goblet before it was too late. By evening, everyone was gathered at the feast to hear the results.
Once Harry had finished eating, he surveyed the scene. There was an air of impatience in the air as everyone seemed anxious to hear who the Tri-wizard champions would be. As ever, Hermione was chatting excitedly with Neville, and Harry visualised them dancing together at the Yule Ball. Surely he'd– but wait! Hadn't Neville asked Ginny in his memories of the future?
Harry's eyes flitted over to where Ginny appeared to be explaining something to another third-year girl he didn't know. They were somewhat adjacent to Ron and unconnected – as was Ron with Seamus and Dean. Dean! He'd been Ginny's boyfriend in their next year hadn't he? But wasn't there someone earlier? A Ravenclaw boy? Had that been this year? Harry couldn't recall any specific memories of his future self. But she and Dean must have liked each other, and they'd both need partners for the ball...
"Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision," announced the Headmaster, once the meal was over and the lights dimmed in expectation. Harry tuned him out and tried to look out of the corner of his eye at Crouch. The man showed no nervousness and was impassively scanning the students with his whirling magical eyeball. Was he looking for Harry? If so, his gaze never rested on the unnoticeable boy. Harry eased off his enchantment, curious to see if–
–Abruptly the flames inside the Goblet turned red. Sparks flew. A tongue of fire shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it – the whole room gasped.
"Viktor Krum," declared Dumbledore to a storm of applause.
Harry watched Krum slouch off towards the door into the ante-chamber at the back of the Hall.
" Fleur Delacour!"
Some of the other Beauxbatons girls seemed upset they had not been chosen, but now the air of expectancy increased as everyone awaited the next–
–"The Hogwarts champion," called Dumbledore, "is Cedric Diggory!"
The majority of those present being Hogwarts students, the cheering this time was deafening and prolonged.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily, as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real way to their performance." He paused before continuing. "The tasks facing them will be daunting but..." Again he hesitated before resuming. "And the excitement we can expect–"
–Harry zoned out. Had he known? Was he expecting Harry's name to have come out? The future Harry's opinion was that likely the wily old Headmaster knew no details but, because of his obsession with the Prophecy, the old man expected events to somehow include Harry as the years passed by, and was content to do nothing about it.
Harry growled softly, but tried to keep his expression featureless as his gaze swept past Crouch without stopping. The Death Eater was definitely staring at him! The impostor's dark plan had somehow failed, but he was no fool. What would he do?
The head teachers left Flitwick in charge while they went to congratulate the champions in the side chamber and advise them. Crouch brought up the rear but was lagging further and further behind and very soon was heading in a different direction – towards the other main exit. Was he planning to flee? Would he kill the real Moody before he left?
As Crouch was reaching for his hip flask, an idea took hold of Harry. His weak summoning charm merely tugged the bottle out of Crouch's hand and caused it to crash noisily on the floor. Crouch cursed under his breath and stooped down to pick it up – but not before Harry banished its vapours rapidly towards the staff tables.
Flitwick frowned, unsure, but Snape was mouthing something silently at the little teacher: Polyjuice!
The agile Charms professor skipped lightly over his empty dinner plate and moved swiftly after Crouch. "Alastor, is there some reason you're carrying Polyjuice?"
Snape was now mouthing another word, but it was NOT aimed at Flitwick: RUN! Clearly he had to maintain his cover if, as the darkening of his forearm mark indicated, the Dark Lord was indeed returning.
Crouch tried to hurry away but his wooden leg impeded him greatly. In addition, because of the loss of his potion, he was beginning to transform. Down he crashed, helped by Flitwick's tripping jinx.
The man squirming on the floor was no match for the champion duellist who bound him tighter than the Gordian Knot on McGonagall's knickers. While the staff dwelt with the situation, Harry made himself less noticeable, and quietly walked away.
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Harry learnt nothing of what information had been retrieved from Crouch, nor did he wish to know. He'd disposed of all the Horcruxes and the rest was up to Dumbledore. His only interest was a life without deadly threats around every corner for himself and his friends – even if they were not aware of how much he cared. Only Ginny knew, and now he had to plan for her first Hogsmeade weekend...
Days passed by during which Harry tried to get close to Dean Thomas – in the library, in shared classes, even in the corridors or outside if it wasn't too cold. Almost always, Seamus was with the tall, dark-skinned boy. A couple of weeks before the first task, a crowd had gathered around the general noticeboard in the Entrance Hall – Exactly according to Harry's memories. He followed Padma through the throng to stand beside Parvati and Lavender.
"When is it, Parv?" said Padma.
"Nineteenth," replied Parvati, glancing back over her shoulder at her sister and beyond as if seeking someone else. "Are they still going with us?"
"Of course. Cormac was practically drooling," giggled Padma.
"But where does that leave me?" wailed Lavender.
"Come on, we can meet up later," said Parvati.
"I'll be odd man out."
"I thought Seamus was asking you?" said Harry. "Oops – sorry, didn't mean to intrude. Just slipped out."
"What do you mean, Potter? What did he say?" said Lavender.
"Nothing. Just things he said made it obvious he's interested. He didn't realise I was there at the next table."
"In me?" Lavender's eyes widened.
"Want me to put in a good word for you?" said Harry. "Give him a nudge?"
Lavender frowned down at Harry's robes, as if she'd just remembered he was a Slytherin. "Why would you?"
"I apologise. I just blurted it out without thinking." Harry started to thrust his way out of the crowd.
"No, wait!" cried Lavender.
Harry stopped, but could hardly turn back round because of the crush of students –though Lavender's less-scrawny frame bulldozed frantically through.
"Could you ... really ... get ... him ... ask me ... Hogsmeade?" she said breathlessly, chest heaving with anticipation.
"I can try."
Harry knew he could. He had clear memories of Seamus's jealousy of Ron Weasley in their future sixth year. Later the same day he dropped a hint as they were all heading for Charms class.
"She's got a list of boys she likes?" Seamus whispered back.
"Oh, come on," smirked Harry, "all the girls do. Sometimes written down, sometimes just in their head which they discuss with the other girls."
"And I'm on it?"
"Near the top. You should get in quick."
While Seamus edged towards the Gryffindor girls who were roughly all together only a hundred paces ahead of them, Dean looked mortified, with a sort of fake silly grin. "Couldn't fix me up too, could you, Potter?"
"Well, Ginny might be looking for an escort. She's eligible this year and hasn't visited Hogsmeade yet."
"Ron's sister?"
"Not scared of Ron are you, Dean?"
"Course not. Any idea where she'd be about now?"
"How should I know? You could try Classroom 1B through the middle courtyard. That's where McGonagall teaches third-year Transfiguration. Take you about three point five minutes there and back if you run. I'll cover for you. Oh, and give this to Eloise Midgen will you, but say it's from Madam Pomfrey."
"What is it?" Dean frowned at the small tin.
"Cream of Bubotuber pus. It'll soothe away her acne and the cream is nicely scented too. Instruction on the back of the tin."
As Dean dashed off, Harry fist-pumped; his well-prepared ruse had worked!
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A couple of weekends later, from the castle battlements, Harry smiled down happily as he watched Hermione and Neville, arm-in-arm, strolling along to Hogsmeade. Ahead of them Lavender Brown was fawning over Seamus Finnigan. Below his ruffled hair was a soppy grin. More students were emerging into the brisk November air below him. He leaned out to take a look down: Dean Thomas and Ginny were laughing and giggling together about something as they swung their held hands. But the best surprise was a group comprising Colin Creevey, Luna Lovegood, Eloise Midgen, and a Hufflepuff boy that Harry didn't recognise, though who, if anyone, was paired with whom he could not tell. Nor did it matter, he thought, so long as everyone was having a good time and they–
"–Quite ze leetle marieur, n'est-ce pas?"
"Aagh!" Only the thickness of the ramparts saved Harry from falling over. "I... what?"
"Meester Potter, you're enchantements cannot deceive a Veela; our magic prevents us and uzzers be unnoticed!"
Harry stared. "You're Fleur Delacour, right? You haven't told anyone else have you?"
"My leetle seester was ze first to suspect. "Oh, 'arry, she thinks you are so sweet and bashful to stop people staring at you!"
Harry grimaced. "Look, this isn't what it seems. You mustn't–"
"–Don't worry, your secret is safe wiz us. Ah, if only I could be... appariée wiz your compétence"
"Fleur, you don't need help! You're... you're..."
"You theenk this? For uz l'appariement... pairing eez... difficile"
"Don't worry, there is someone you'll–" And then like a blaze of terrible illumination, Harry realised that Bill Weasley wouldn't be coming with the Weasleys to the third task to support him in the Tournament because his name had not come out of the Goblet! Bill would never meet Fleur! This was a disaster. Future Harry's memories had come back to the boy to make life better for everyone at Hogwarts, not worse! Hurriedly he tried to recollect...
"You 'ave zis gift, yes? You iz knowing mon amour?"
Harry turned away, thinking hard. Hadn't she got a job at Gringotts where Bill was working? But Bill had only returned to Britain to support the Order of the Phoenix.
"You must tell me! 'oo iz 'e?"
Harry had made another connection that would destroy the chances of Fleur and Bill ever being wed. The towering inferno at the Gaunt shack was well publicised, but would Dumbledore have investigated the Riddle House and founds signs that it had been occupied? Would he have detected signs of Riddle's magic? Would that have been enough for him to have reconvened the Order? Place a sentry to guard a prophecy that no longer mattered? Possible, but not certain. The partnership of Fleur and Bill was doomed, and all because he, stupid Harry Potter, had walked away.
"Cieux! All I need iz 'is name!"
Harry braced himself and turned to look squarely at Fleur for the first time. The young woman had such breathtaking beauty that he could not draw air to speak. She was tall and willowy with long blonde hair and appeared to emanate a faint, silvery glow. His mouth opened. From somewhere, he managed to croak:
"Bill Weasley. His name is Bill Weasley and he was – might be – working for Gringotts Bank in Egypt. He could possibly return to their British branch but I can't be sure. If you can find him, you will be happy together."
Harry was dazzled by Fleur's smile. She swept forward to embrace him. "Merci! Zank you, 'arry Potter. 'ow can I ever repay you?"
"With secrecy. No one must ever know."
"Zen it vill be 'ow you wish."
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Harry celebrated the rest of the school year, taking much interest in the Tri-wizard Tournament. Ginny had attended and greatly enjoyed the Yule Ball with Dean, and Hermione was deeply involved with Neville going on the number of dances they clung together. Well before the second task in February, Harry's fondness for Fleur led him to recommend the Revulsion jinx against Grindylows to break their grip. This led to the young French woman rescuing her little sister in quite a good time. Despite this, Viktor Krum eventually won the cup, and Harry applauded loudly along with everyone else.
This was Hogwarts as it should have been, he thought to himself; nobody getting killed or severely injured, and Ginny was especially happy to have open friendships as well as secret meetings with Harry.
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—oOo—
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Author's Notes
Can Voldemort survive without Harry's blood for the resurrection ritual?
I have other 'Walkaway' fics in the pipeline and I need to clarify and emphasise that none of them are serialised together. Each is an independent story and they can all be read in any order. The only connection between them is the 'Walkaway' theme which basically means Harry has his own agenda and says NO to the manipulation of Dumbledore. He walks away from being controlled and does not necessarily walk away from Hogwarts. This evokes originality and strives to be different from JK Rowling's story plot that so many Potter fics blindly copy and paste.
Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)
– Hippothestrowl
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