Throws confetti I live bitch! But probably not for long since I'm being worked to death the past few months. Oh well, with my dying breaths I churn out this dumpster fire.
Chapter 8: A Reunion and a Tournament
Hermione huffed in irritation as she traipsed through the crowded platform, rolling her luggage cart into a small, carved out nook before finally glancing up. The platform was always a flurry of activity- families crowding around to say goodbye to their children, students excitedly meeting with friends and shouting about their summer over the other. But the typical activity had been dulled for a new sort, faces curious and voices lowered, quiet as they talked in whispers- gossiped- at the sight of aurors, identified easily by their navy blue robes. Their hands clasped neatly behind their backs, and their expressions blank as they looked about them, the crowd parting from their path. Even the reporters- who had flocked to the train station hoping to be the first to photograph Harry Potter returning from a summer spent in mystery settled themselves into the fringes of the platform, trying their best to avoid the aurors on patrol.
They reminded her of panthers out on the hunt.
"Do you think he's here?" Ron whispered beside her, as if afraid to speak too loudly. As if too much noise, too much excitement, might destroy the tenuous calm on the station. She thought, dimly, of the documentaries she had watched as a child, war-torn countries moving somberly through their daily lives as soldiers stood like statues on their streets.
Even in the stillness, the absence of energy, there was something else that struck her, a charge of something foreign and dangerous. The beginning of something she couldn't quite name but filled her with dread all the same.
She reminded herself that the aurors were good. That they were here for protection.
It did little to ease her.
She licked her lips. "I hope so. I don't know why Black would bring him here, but Dumbledore seemed certain enough," was her only answer, turning to look at her friend.
He had grown considerably in their year apart, and his bright orange hair now brushed over his brow, curled over the tips of his ears that she knew turned red in embarrassment. He looked out of place, wearing jeans and a too short jumper while all the other wizards and witches his age were already dressed in their school uniforms- a sea of soft, powdered blue cloaks.
But he had no uniform, the Weasleys opting out of attending schools once more on Molly's insistence- it had taken a great deal of convincing for her to let Ron see Hermione off for the school year. He had begged that if Harry were to return to school, he wanted to see him and make certain he was well, a plea that had not swayed Molly. Not until the promise was made that nearly the entire Auror Department and Order would also be in attendance.
The Order had been another terrifying development even if it should have made Hermione feel safer. Ginny's death, Harry's disappearance and the sudden reunion of the Order of the Phoenix- leftover resistance from the war with You-Know-Who- hung above their heads. It was a storm cloud that grumbled with the threat of thunder, a harbinger of something that no one spoke of but everyone felt. The wind shifting a bit, the smell of magic a bit stronger, a bit more sour.
Small, tragic acts on their own that when linked formed a timeline she knew would be tracked by historians in the decades to come.
She was living history, and powerless to stop the nameless entity on the horizon.
She could hardly blame Molly for growing fearful, protecting what she had left with the fierceness only a mother could possess.
A sudden change in the energy drew her from her thoughts, like the storm cloud had opened enough to allow a bolt of lightning to strike them all. The aurors moved with more purpose, hands falling from behind their backs to their sides, clasping once hidden wands in their grips. And the reporters swarmed, like vultures dropping from their sky when their circling was complete. Ron nudged her as she turned to look at the entrance, her eyes settling on the familiar figure of Harry just as he was concealed from her sights, the lights of cameras flashing brilliantly.
"Animals, I tell you," Ron muttered as he was suddenly pushing beside her, striding towards Harry. He was pulling his wand from his sleeve before Hermione could admonish him, pointing it none too discreetly at a tall reporter with blonde curls piled high atop her head. 'Anteoculatia,' he mumbled, pulling himself back from the damning spark of light and stepping to the side just as he finished his hex.
It didn't take long for the desired effect to take place, curls twitching and pulling upward by unseen hands, clumping together and branching outward from her head. The reporter reached up at the odd sensation, a hand settling on her hair as the clumps pulled in two opposite directions, hardening into antlers.
She shouted, stumbled on her heels as she took a step back and away from Harry, the other reporters turning to look at the source of the commotion. The antlers were growing larger and larger, the weight foreign and too much as she finally fell to the ground, an enchanted quill and parchment falling beside her.
Hermione bit down a laugh as she watched Ron reach into the circle, pulling a bewildered Harry away from the distracted mob and down to the nook she stood in, using his long and lanky body to shield the smaller boy from any nosy onlookers.
"Ronald," she said, trying her best to sound sharp and harsh before she turned her eyes to Harry, her gaze softening.
There was something awkward about the way he carried himself, like he was no longer comfortable in his own body. He reminded her of a spider, limbs moving in sharp, jerking arches, his eyes flicking around him as if there was too much to process. His mind not moving fast enough to keep up with all the thoughts she could see warring on his face. He had always been an open book, one whose emotions danced across his pages, but there was a new tension there.
Too many emotions to settle on. A jaw clenched in anger, lips pursed in thought, eyes wide in relief.
If she had been angry and hurt by his evasion of her the previous year, it was all forgotten, and she stepped forward to wrap her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Harry! We were all so worried about you!"
"Gave us a scare there, mate. Where the bloody hell did you run off to?" Ron asked, his voice soft despite the crude words he spoke.
She pulled away just as Harry winced, a hand knocking his glasses askew as he rubbed his right eye tenderly. He hissed through his teeth, shaking his head as he stuttered, "'S fine. Just...sorry to worry you."
She pinched her lips, passing Ron a knowing look. The Order had mentioned the possibility of a tongue-tying curse. She wondered if it were possible to break it without the caster.
She wondered a lot of things.
When had the curse been placed? Why had it been placed? What sort of secrets was Harry forced to become the unwanted carrier of? How much settled on his shoulders, a burden he could not relieve?
She thought back through the years, the way he had distanced himself, seeming to shrink into nothing, collapse under the weight of something he couldn't share. She could guess when it began, but there was no certainty. With Black's escape, before then. She recalled in their second year how erratic his behavior had become- before Black had even been a name in print for him to read. The hours he would disappear for, shrugging off questions with an easy grin. The times he fell asleep during class- something Ron did often, but never Harry. The way he hunched over his lap, furiously writing in a book he snapped close when she approached.
It was hard not to feel the burden of blame, knowing all that she knew- the minor changes in his character that led the way for greater changes. The small fissures in his composure that became caverns. She should have said something sooner, perhaps even confronted Harry himself.
But what could she have done?
If it truly was Black- a theory that seemed ironclad if not for the shifts in him that had happened before the mad wizard's escape- what chance would she have had against him? How ensnared had Harry become before anyone noticed?
'Why hadn't they noticed sooner?' she thought with a flinch, recalling the shame that glistened in everyone's eyes at the realization he had been missing for over a month before anyone had even known.
"Did...did you do that?" Harry asked, looking over his shoulder at the reporter with a ridiculous set of antlers, trying and failing to stand as the hefty weight pulled her back down.
Ron beamed, a smile splitting his face practically in two. "Like that, huh? Fred taught me it. And the perk to being home-schooled is that they have to let me use magic," he said, his grin faltering when Hermione leveled him with a glare.
"That may be, but they're still tracking your use of magic," she hissed, gesturing to the thick, metallic band he wore around his wrist. "They'll know you did it."
He scoffed. "Only because those bloody vultures couldn't give Harry a minute to breathe. Really, they should give me an Order of Merlin for that, right, mate?"
Harry grinned, down-casting his eyes the way he often did when Ron and Hermione placed him in the middle of their spats. It made her smile fondly, despite Ron's brashness.
"You're going to school this year?" Harry asked, his voice tilted in something indiscernible. Something between hopeful and hesitant.
He shook his head, skewed his lips in a grimace. "Nah. Mum said she would think about it for next year but I doubt it. The only reason she even let me come here with Hermione was because Dad and all the others came too. Did you see him? I think he was supposed to stand post outside."
"Um, yeah, I did," Harry said, the words slow and sluggish, dragged out as if there was something he was holding back. He winced with the memory of something before adding, "How is your mum?"
Ron pursed his lips, shirked his shoulders as he glanced about the platform. "Fine. You'd think she'd be ecstatic at the chance to get rid of Fred and George for a bit, given all the hell they've been raising. But it makes her happy to have us all together."
If Harry realized it was a lie, he didn't question it; instead he wondered aloud what sort of trouble the twins were getting themselves into. Mrs. Weasley had not been fine at all, barely pulling herself up from her grief when news of Harry's disappearance broke, catapulting her down once more into the suffering only a mother who has lost a child can know.
She had thought for sure she had lost two then, and any offered consolation fell on death ears. Even the tasks she found therapeutic and would do when her nerves became too frayed lost all their comfort, nothing acting as the solace she so desperately needed. The last few weeks Mrs. Weasley kept to herself, while the Weasley kids had taken over the chores she once enjoyed.
Better not to tell Harry any of that though. He didn't need to blame himself for the mourning she had spared him, not when she would wipe her tears and delight in knowing he was back, safe and sound for the time being. At least she didn't lose him, too.
Hermione reached out, a hand coming to cup Harry's cheek and better scrutinize him, the words he had been saying dying on his tongue as he looked to her. He looked fine- more than fine, actually. His face had filled out in a way it never did when he spent the summer with the Dursley's, and the soft lines of his face had hardened, a sharp jawline carving itself out of his once childish face. His skin had a bright, healthy hue to it, and there were no bruises or cuts that might have spoken the words he couldn't.
Wherever he was- be it with Black or some other force she couldn't fathom- he was being well cared for.
The thought made something heavy plummet in her stomach, though she didn't know why.
"Hermione?" he asked, startling her so that she pulled back.
"Just making sure you're okay," she mumbled. She cleared her throat, settled a hand on top of her trolley. "We should probably board the train soon. If we want to get a good compartment."
Ron frowned, unable to hide the disappointment of leaving his friends behind. "She's right. Always is," he said wryly, his laughter short-lived as he clapped Harry on the back, pulling him in for a one sided hug. "Don't be a prat this year and actually write me, yeah? I'm practically losing my mind trapped inside with my brothers all day- they've started testing their new inventions on me. Never thought I'd say this, but I really underestimated the usefulness first years had to them."
Harry grinned, the notion somehow both at home and odd for him. "Sorry, I'll write more. Tell everyone I'm sorry to have worried them, I'm fine, really," he said.
She narrowed her eyes, knowing it to be a lie. How could it not have been? Hadn't he been kidnapped? So why then did he seem so at ease when he said it? Why did he seem so genuinely distraught that he worried others, as if there wasn't reason for them to fret?
She pushed her thoughts aside, ignored them for examination later as she bent up to give Ron a tight embrace- he really was getting too tall- and told him to give his family her best. And then she boarded the train, Harry in tow.
The words Hogwarts Express were gone, a fact that had saddened her deeply the year before when she first saw the words Beauxbatons Express painted in glittering gold. The pain those words caused was still just as sharp and surprising, as if, against all reason, it might have changed and brought them back home to Hogwarts instead.
It wouldn't though, she knew, but at least Harry made no move to separate from her this time, settling into the same compartment as her. Even if he was a little different, a bit more secretive, it felt better to sit opposite him again.
Even if he shifted under her intense scrutiny.
It was as if she was committing him to memory, every quirk and mannerism, so that when he deviated, she would be more prepared this time. She would know something was happening before it did, and she lost him again.
She hoped she wouldn't lose him again, to Black or otherwise.
Xxx
Hermione wouldn't stop staring, a fact that unsettled Harry even as he did his best to ignore it. He knew she was looking for something- a clue to where he had been, who he had been with. But there was nothing he could give- his words would not come, even if he wanted them to. How could he tell her- of all people- who he spent the summer with?
Would she still worry then? Or would worry turn to betrayal?
It was overwhelming, too much all at once. If he had thought the confrontation and his subsequent outburst in the train station's entrance had been a confusing haze of thoughts and emotions, it was nothing compared to the torture of this. It felt like he might finally crumble under the weight of his half-truths and lies, his separate realities and identities coming together like two atoms that would implode at their meeting. How long could he carry on as the innocent they thought he was? The innocent he needed to be before the guilt became too great?
The tongue-tying curse couldn't hide his sins in their entirety, even if he wanted it to. At some point, he would be forced to admit to his complacency.
What then?
He wondered if Mr. Weasley would tell Ron what Harry had said to Dumbledore, the thought sending a chill down his spine. He hoped not. He felt embarrassed by his words, by the things he had revealed that were private but at the time had seemed good and weighty to throw at the older wizard. It made him feel better, a cruel part of him delighting in the surprised widening of Dumbledore's eyes, but he regretted it now.
He hadn't known why he had grown so irate with them, skin crawling and trembling over his bones, the bugs crawling and breaking from his mouth as if they would not be contained any longer. It had seemed so unreasonable, his anger, now that he was removed from the moment.
They were only trying to help.
They were frightened for Harry.
Mr. Weasley, Dumbledore. Even Snape had been there. The man with the glass eye. The one with the sandy hair and kind eyes that lit with recognition at the sight of Harry. They were there because they thought someone had hurt Harry, and he had returned their kindness and concern with malice. It wasn't their fault the Dursleys were cruel to him.
He had too many thoughts in his head, each clamoring for attention, each commanding he take a different action. What was happening to him? He felt like a rubber band, pulled taut until it would eventually snap.
How ironic, that the most at peace he had felt was with Tom.
The door to the compartment slid open, making both him and Hermione jump and turn in its direction.
"Harry!" Luna beamed, the apples of her cheeks round and pink. "I heard people saying you were here, I'm glad they weren't just rumors. Mind if I join?"
Hermione blinked once before realizing the question was meant for her. "Oh, not at all. I'm Hermione."
"I know," Luna said as she shuffled to sit beside Harry, her hand slipping into her rucksack as she searched for something. "Harry told me a lot of stories about you and Ron. I'm Luna. How was your summer, Harry?"
She spoke all in one breath, and not once did she pause from her rummaging to look up at either of them. He chewed his lips. Surely, she must have known about his disappearance- she seemed surprised to have seen him, after all.
"Good, thanks. Yours?"
"It was nice. Father and I went on a few trips through South America- I've got you something, by the way. I found a lovely shop that sold these beautiful protection charms," she paused in her search, producing from her bag assorted trinkets she settled on the space between her and Harry. A satchel of dried herbs, bottle caps strung together to make a necklace, a single tarot card- folded and creased, with lines threading over the image, scars of the wear it had seen- a muggle book of poetry. "It's in here somewhere- anyway, thank you for the letters! They were wonderful! Did you get my birthday car- Oh! Here it is!" She extended her hand out, fingers pinching the chain to a necklace, a single pendant dangling from the end.
It was small- the size of a sickle- and the metal was thin and dented as if it had been ran over by the wheels of a car several times. Carved into the surface was a symbol that Harry had never seen before, a circle just short of closing with a crude arrow running through it.
"It's a protection sigil," she said, looking pleased with herself. "From malicious spirits."
"Thank you," Harry said, ducking his head to loop the necklace on. It was long enough he didn't need a clasp, and it fell just above his sternum. "I didn't get you anything, though."
She brushed him off with a wave. "That's not why you get people gifts, Harry. I'm just glad you're all right. I worried that something bad had happened when Professor McGonagall and Mister Lupin came to see me over the summer. I told them you'd been writing me though, so they didn't worry too much." She smiled wistfully then, a finger curling a loose strand of hair. "How was your birthday? Did you do anything fun?"
He didn't need to look at Hermione to know she had leaned forward, and he felt himself smile, the constant shouting in his head coming to a halt. This was what he had always loved about Luna- she wasn't stupid or dotty by any means, despite what others cruelly said of her. She never plied him with too many questions. Questions that would only fuel the turmoil within him, questions he couldn't answer regardless. Why did you leave? Why didn't you tell anyone? Who did you stay with? How did you trust them?
"It was fine. I had cake. Went flying. And I got your card- thank you."
She exchanged stories of her own, her trips through the rain forest and the towns and cities she had visited. The creatures she had seen and studied with the tour group her father formed with an old friend- Lucas Scamander, Newt Scamander's son Harry learned when Hermione finally broke through her attentiveness to ask about the relation. He didn't know who either of them were, but Hermione seemed intrigued and asked questions of her own.
It was...pleasant. The focus was no longer placed firmly on him, and he could finally breathe- laughing quietly at Hermione's dubious expression when she made the mistake of asking Luna what exactly a gnargle was.
Before they had even realized it, the train had groaned in its tracks, coming to a slow halt. The sky outside was a palette of colors, a canvas painted in magentas and violets, deep blues and glimmering yellows. The sun hung low in the horizon, framing the bright white castle from the makeshift train station that was added in the wake of Hogwarts closing its doors.
"That was fast," Luna muttered as she put the sketchbook she had pulled out to show Hermione the physical differences between a gnargle and wizzsnorp
"Not fast enough," Hermione said beneath her breath, her expression exasperated. The tone was just playful enough that Harry bit back a laugh instead of offering her a narrowed glare.
"You'll ugh….get familiar with them soon enough," Harry whispered as he bent to grab his rucksack from where it sat at his feet, mindful of what sat within it. The parting gift Tom had given him before they left for London shoved to the bottom as if it might make the evidence disappear. As if he might appear less guilty if it was haphazardly placed beneath his textbooks.
They gathered their things and left the train, wandering up the well-worn path together. It was a facsimile of peace- easier even than the one Harry had known with Tom, where even the best of moments were tainted with the knowledge of what the other boy was. There was no guilt to come from laughing with Hermione and Luna, and even if Hermione's glances lasted too long for his liking- her gaze too intense- Harry found he didn't mind all that much.
His anger from before- in the vestibule with Dumbledore and the others- had all but vanished, leaving nothing but the memory of that unfamiliar and wretched hatred.
Xxx
The courtyard was bustling with energy, the normal calm of the Welcoming Feast replaced by what could best be described as chaos. The area- nestled within the center of the school and boosting a large, terrarium style ceiling that allowed the outside world to peer in without enchantment- was divided into four gardens for each of the houses. There were several round tables in each garden, instead of the one long table that Hogwarts designated for their respective houses.
At the center of the four gardens sat a gorgeous water fountain, marble stone smoothed out to form the basin the water sat in and the benches that sat around the base. The center rose, a mountain of brilliant white marble fragmented by the threads of gold and charcoal strands, and intricate carvings that told a multitude of stories. There were beautiful witches riding astride carved Pegasuses as if storming into battle. Dragons with real diamonds set for their eyes, gold flakes embedded in the stone to create the shimmering scales as they curled around the chiseled trees, the stone castles. Mermaids visible just below the pool of water, emerald tails splashing playfully. It all moved, like a painting but somehow more dramatic, the movements slow as if being made of pure stone dragged them down.
It was a tribute to magic, each detail etched within every available nook and cranny a love letter to a different creature, a different facet of magic. And it seemed like no matter how often Harry stared at it, there was always something new to discover. A marble kelpie that darted into a marble cave, a marble pixie that poked out from behind the leaves of a marble sunflower. He wasn't certain if they were just details he had missed before, or if they had carved their own existence out of the rest of the fountain.
"Simone told me that this is the fountain of youth," Luna said, running her hand through the water as she sat on the bench.. "She also said fairies hide in the little houses. She said she saw them once- I hope not, though. Fairies are quite the tricksters."
Harry skewed his lips as he looked at one of the stone houses. "I don't think so. Fairies don't like people much, and there's always too many here," he answered. The students were milling around, eyes boring into him, only to snap away when he leveled his own gaze at them.
He wanted nothing more than to shrink away from the students who stared openly. Who whispered behind cupped hands all the rumors that had circulated. It reminded him of the first time he had made his journey through this world, when the idea of Harry Potter was new and novel. A hero stepping out from the pages of a beloved childhood book. He was a celebrity, the Boy Who Lived.
These whispers were not so kind, nor adoring. They were frantic, the beginnings of tall tales that were a shade of the truth. 'I just read another article about his disappearance this morning.' 'They said Black got him-' 'Black got him and didn't kill him? Lucky bloke.' 'Maybe he went willingly with him. I bet they're working together.'
His skin itched uncomfortably as if crawling over his bones.
A hand settled on his knee. "Don't worry about them, Harry. Half of those articles are just inane dribble from reporters barely above a primary school writing level," Hermione said, lips curling into a sad smile.
He pulled his knee back, letting her hand fall in the space provided. "Well, they should find better gossip, then. I'm not their bloody entertainment," he snapped, though not at her. He had raised his voice, letting it carry over as he scowled at the students who moved too close to him.
Flustered, they finally turned away.
His summer was nobody's business but his own.
It was hard enough justifying his actions to himself, impossible to justify to Dumbledore. He didn't need the burden of trying to justify them to society.
The garden door opened with a startling clang, drawing everyone away from their conversations as they turned to look at Madam Maxime and the teachers that stood behind her. "Students, everyone please settle in! We have some very exciting news to announce!" she said, clapping her hands together and smiling widely.
"See you later," Harry said to Luna and Hermione as he stepped from the fountain and into the proper garden, sitting down at the table that his roommates procured. They looked to him for just a moment too long for it to be casual, but in the end, said nothing but a grumbled hello before turning their attention to the headmistress.
When all the students settled down and trained their eyes eagerly on the Headmistress, she waved a hand through the air and cleared her throat. The ground hummed, the sensation creating barely noticeable tremors up Harry's legs as the fountain sank underground, disappearing beneath the earth as marble tiles appeared over the hole created in its absence. It formed a dais- the bench acting as stairs leading up to it- and Madam Maxime strode across the flagstone path and to the center of her newly created stage.
"Welcome back to another year of learning! As always, we will begin by sorting our newest students into their houses so if you would all offer your warmest welcome-"
The first years came through, following the same path the Headmistress had taken only to come to a stop just before the platform. She called them up, one by one to stand beside her- the students looking diminutive next to her intimidating and giant form. She was so tall she had to kneel to complete the sorting, extending her own wand out and gently settling the tip of her wand to the forehead of each student.
A wide-eyed girl with thick black hair tied into tiny braids all over her scalp was the first to be sorted, and she jumped when the flames appeared around her. Harry could see the panic flicker in her eyes before she realized that the flames would not harm her- they were part of her- and she smiled wide, laughing as she reached out to touch them. She sat at the table behind him, her face bright and gleaming with pride as the next student stepped forward, vines snapping out and coiling around the young boy's legs.
When the sorting came to an end, and each house seemed fuller, they snapped their attention back to Maxime as she smiled knowingly. "Now, many of you may have heard the rumors, and I am pleased to announce that our beautiful school will host this years Tri-Wizard Tournament!"
The staff- all lined up on either side of the stone path- took the chance to applaud the announcement, smiling encouragingly at students to do the same. But many exchanged quizzical glances, whispers catching on the air as they repeated the words to themselves.
"What's that?" Harry found himself asking, brows furrowed as Henri, seated beside him, shrugged.
When the applause- polite and restrained as it was- settled, Maxime began again. "This will be the first tournament in nearly three centuries, and we couldn't be more excited to host the return of this grand event! Now, traditionally, the tournament comprises three difficult tasks designed to test the skill and expertise of a champion from each of the competing schools- our very own prestigious academy, Durmstrang Institute, and our friends from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
She paused then, offering what Harry thought was meant to be a sad, indulgent smile as she scanned through the sea of students. "Unfortunately, Hogwarts is still closed, and many of their students joined our family. But instead of seeing this as a tragedy and loss of a great school, we have chosen to see this as an opportunity. An opportunity, not only to strengthen our bonds as we grow closer from two schools into one, but as a community.
"The Tournament has only been offered between these three schools, but this year we have extended an invitation to a new school- allowing our society to grow and hopefully form lasting connections with our new friends from India. This October, Indrajala Akaadamee will send their finest eligible contenders, along with Durmstrang's, to compete for the chance to win one thousand galleons, the famed Tri-Wizard cup, and of course, eternal glory!" She raised her voice as she made the declaration, filled with excitement as she made a broad, swooping gesture out to the crowd of students that surrounded her.
Once more, the staff applauded uproariously, causing the young witches and wizards to join in. This time, it was not so hesitant, and the whispers were more fervent, more intrigued.
Harry followed the motion, brows furrowed as he tried to catch Hermione's eye from where she sat in the garden opposite him, mouth pinched in a thin line. He had never heard of such a tournament- though that was hardly a surprise. His knowledge of the magical world was shamefully limited, even in matters that directly involved him. He hadn't even known other schools might exist until he was forced to transfer, a fact that made him feel absurd given the fact that there just had to be other schools out there.
Still, it was odd, wasn't it? He had attended Hogwarts for two years hearing nothing about such a tournament. He had become well acquainted with the trophy room- more detentions than he could count spent polishing the brass and silver plating on the various awards.
Not once had there been anything decrying Hogwarts a victor in a Tri-Wizard Tournament.
Had Hermione heard of it? Had it been in any of the books she read?
Did Tom know?
The applause settled, and Maxime cleared her throat before beginning again. "The Tournament is a rigorous test of years worth of magical education, and so, for that reason, only those of age will be allowed to enter-" groans punctured the air, but she ignored them, continuing on. "Once your name has been entered, the most eligible champion will be selected from each school.
"But we have time to prepare for our visitors. For now, let's celebrate another year of knowledge, growth and community. Let the feast begin!" She punctuated the air with a flourish of her right hand, letting her wrist snap sharply. It was the same trick from Hogwarts, platters and goblets appearing out of thin air and cluttering the table with food.
Just as last year, the food was predominantly French- rich, decadent creams and broths and nutty cheeses. But there were a few dishes that were more familiar to Harry- more comforting and tasting like what he imagined home might taste like if he had one to return to.
He thought then of the meals he ate with Tom, sitting opposite the other in the mismatched chairs in a dining room that sagged in the center. The dry meat and bland potatoes because Tom was hardly much of cook and Harry was too satisfied with the feeling of a full belly to care about flavor.
The memories seemed too much like nourishment, somehow more appealing than the plentiful banquet before him.
The thought made his stomach twist, and he sat still- the only one not reaching out to ladle food onto their plates. He let the sounds wash over him, the chatter that boomed and swelled in the large space of the courtyard. Students were rising from their tables, hopping over plants and ledges made of rocks to talk with their friends in another house, unable to wait a moment longer.
As confusing as the announcement of a tournament may have been, he was thankful for the attention it dragged from him. His thoughts were conflicting enough without others prying into his business, gossiping over his withering glances.
"Glad to see you've joined us again this year, Mr. Potter."
He turned at the voice, craning his head up to look at his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Payette. The man was kind enough, stricter than some teachers Harry had had in his time, with an intensity that could sometimes be unsettling. His face was narrow and pointed, and his skin warm. The olive tone made even deeper by the bright tint of his eyes, a pale gray.
Some students insisted he was blind, but there was such a certainty to his movements that clouded those claims. He was a fierce dueler, something Harry had known from his demonstrations in class and from the tales of those old enough to attend his dueling club. Terrifying, in the most brilliant of ways.
Harry shifted in his seat, nodding. Was this the first time he had spoken to the Professor? Outside of being called to answer a question in class?
"Er, thank you, Professor," he answered.
"We received word from head of the Auror department you were to be expected, and it's such a relief to see it was not a false promise. Though I heard they didn't have the chance to speak to you before you had to board the train. Someone should be here tomorrow to collect your official statement," he said, slipping a hand into his pocket.
Harry hesitated only for a moment. There was something...off about the way he spoke. Like his accent was too thick, wide and sloping instead of narrow and pitched.
Or perhaps he was growing paranoid, the weight of those brilliant eyes sitting too heavily on his skin, like it were a tangible thing.
"Okay. Thanks for the ugh...warning?" He winced at his own wording.
That didn't make him seem like a co-conspirator in his own abduction at all.
Payette nodded, lips carving into a smile, framed by the neatly manicured beard and mustache. "I look forward to seeing you in class, Mr. Potter. You should get something to eat before your roommates scarf it all down," he said, then clapped Harry's shoulder once before pulling his hand back suddenly, as if the action burned him. But he said nothing, nodding once more in a quick, affirmative motion, and headed to where a staff table had appeared atop the dais.
Harry sighed, wondering who they might send to speak with him. Would it be a witch or wizard who had been at the train station, swarming on him as if in a hunt? Or an auror who had stood guard, remaining sturdy and prepared in case Harry might arrive with an army on his heels? He was already dreading it, his stomach twisting at what they might ask of him. What thoughts would bleed into his brain as the cancer that was Tom throbbed beneath his scalp.
It made the prospect of eating even less appealing, but he reached out nonetheless, filling his plate with the things that would be easiest on his stomach. People would watch him more intently, looking for something that had not been visible. A crack beneath his surface, a sign he was not as okay as he said he was.
Was he?
He exhaled sharply, pinching his eyes. And just like that, life became too complicated again.
He wanted to talk to Tom.
He hated that he fell into that want with ease.
Xxx
Sirius slumped in the chair, closing his eyes for a moment- not in defeat! No, never in defeat- as he gave a hefty, exhausted sighed. The sound of a quill scratching noisily into paper followed the noise, accompanied by the soft slurp of lips on a teacup. The sound of indifference.
He was no longer trapped within his animagus form- a relief that lent itself to new, greater torture as he was bound to a chair. Restrained in the proper sense now, with ropes digging and cutting into his skin, his wrists raw and bloody from his frantic and unyielding attempts to free himself. It was a greater torment than simply being bound to the constraints of his animal form, with no ability to speak and no fingers to grip onto anything. A door handle, a wand.
A knife.
The thought- violent and monstrous and impulsive- had crossed his mind too many times to count. The moments when the wizard (his name was Tom, that little bit he knew) moved too close to Harry. The moments when Tom offered him a glance that he kept carefully away from Harry's view, the look that twisted his handsome features into something wicked and foul. The moments when he condemned Dumbledore, and the moments that followed where Harry reluctantly agreed.
But Harry was gone. There were no more pretenses to offer, no sense in pretending to be whatever it was he was trying to be for Harry. A guardian? A savior?
A master?
Try as he might, Sirius couldn't understand what game Tom was playing. Or why he was playing it. Or who he was- other than Tom, an admittedly remarkable wizard with an unremarkable name. Or how he fit into any of this.
He was kind to Harry, at least. An odd dichotomy between his thoughtful manipulations. If the Durselys had been cruel to Harry- and there was no question of their cruelty- Tom had been a saint. Worse enough, Sirius found himself grateful for the kindness offered by the unkind boy.
He was smart enough to know better. That even if Harry wasn't being physically abused, it didn't mean he wasn't being mistreated in another, more insidious way.
But Harry seemed happy and almost comfortable and how could Sirius hate someone so passionately and still be so grateful to them?
Even knowing there was surely an ulterior motive, a cruelness to his intentions he hid so well.
"Are you finally ready to talk?" Tom asked, cutting his inner monologue short.
He finally opened his eyes, meeting Tom's gaze. "Go to hell."
Tom shrugged, settling his chin on his hand as he leaned forward, arching over an open notebook. "Suit yourself, then. Harry's better company anyway."
He stiffened, quirking a brow and hating himself immediately for responding to what he knew was bait. "Harry?"
Tom nodded, sliding the notebook across the table. Just close enough that Sirius could see something fade along the white pages though not read the words as they sunk into paper.
"Harry's got the other notebook- a parting gift. Easier to talk this way. He's telling me all about his first night at school. Curious things are happening." His voice was calm, as if he and Sirius were sitting down over tea instead of one being tied to a chair, bounded by magic and physical restraints.
He refused to admit the book was clever.
Refused to think about how similar it was to the mirrors he and James had used so many years ago.
"Apparently," Tom started, pausing as he pulled the notebook back to lie before him, closing it as he leaned in his chair and crossed his arms. "They've seen fit to recommence the Tri-Wizard Tournament."
He tried not to let the shock show on his face.
He failed.
He hadn't expected this to be what Tom spoke about- threats to his safety, a comical unveiling of his true evil plot, sure, but casual discussion of Harry's school year?
What did Tom think they were? Harry's doting parents?
But that confusion soon faded, replaced by another. "How? Hogwarts is closed."
Tom smirked, one side of his face tipping upward as he quirked a brow. "Indeed. According to Harry, they've invited a school from India. Indrajala Akaadamee. Have you heard of it?"
Sirius considered him for a moment.
A part of him wanted to taunt the younger wizard with this, force him to reveal his cards for the information he lacked. But the other part- a more careful, matured part- was curious to see what course Tom was trying to direct him to. What value did he see in this information? Why had he taken an interest in a centuries old tournament that would have no baring on Harry in any way, since the boy was too young to compete?
More importantly: why didn't Tom know any of this himself?
It was curious, how someone could know so much, but so little. It was obvious Tom was intelligent and well studied, but there were moments where there seemed to be an odd break in that knowledge. Sirius thought he had heard him mumbling to himself over the Daily Prophet the name of the Minister and several department heads as if he struggled to retain something so common.
His more rational side won out.
"Indrajala is the youngest magical school. I think it was first created in the fifties, maybe late forties. After Grindelwald was defeated. There was still a lot of prejudice around, and the school was formed out of necessity." Sirius chewed lip, tipped his chin back as he added, "It's smart, actually. From a political aspect. I take it Crouch is still the one heading up this disaster of a project?"
Instead of answering, Tom scoffed, shaking his head. "How is it smart to form connections with a school that is younger than seventy percent of our population? It's not even old enough to be your mother."
The sarcasm seemed clunky on his tongue- too casual for his normal formalities, not acidic enough for his rare cruelties.
"It's smart because Crouch was demoted after the war. His son was revealed to be a Death Eater- it was the biggest scandal at the time." Second biggest, he thought. The betrayal of Sirius Black to Lily and James Potter had claimed that title, though it made for a less snappy headline. It was hard to sell grief and misery and torment. Easy to sell lies and dysfunctional families. "He vehemently denied the accusations, but it's hard to not seem at least sympathetic to the cause when your son was one of Voldemort's most faithful servants. And Indrajala is unique in that it's the only all muggle-born school."
Tom cocked his head at that, brow furrowed. "Entirely muggle-born?"
Sirius nodded. "Grindelwald didn't disappear entirely. They never really do, his sort," he said, letting his words turn venomous, his mouth snarl. "And that hate doesn't go away. It was there before Grindelwald, and thereafter. Just like with Voldemort- they capitalize on that. Use it for their own. Indrajala was a safe space for students who might not be welcomed as easily as others. Sort of messed up, actually, putting them against Durmstrang. Last I heard Karkaroff's the headmaster."
It was impossible to not hear it, the cells of Azkaban so cramped together. Gossip and cries for freedom, desire for revenge was the currency that enlivened them, the food they subsisted on when the barely edible slop didn't provide the comfort they wanted.
"And that's substantial because?" Tom prompted, and Sirius had to stop himself from looking exasperated.
How did he know so little?
"He was a Death Eater too. Turned a lot of them in for his clemency. He was the one who named Crouch's son."
Tom blinked at him and then, much to Sirius's horror, threw his head back and laughed, full and hearty. The sound seemed borrowed, like it was not his to make. Not that the sound was terrible in anyway or the other- it was just as pleasant as any other laugh may be. It was warm and smooth and Tom was cold and sharp.
It rattled Sirius more than he cared to confess.
"That sounds like the sort of thing a muggle tabloid would invent just to report on the ensuing drama," Tom said when his laugh finally came to a slow end, his smile wide- had Sirius seen him smile before? "Political or not, it's incredibly short sighted. Might have been better off setting a fiendfyre to each of the schools."
He had seen that smile before, he realized. Once, when they were celebrating Harry's birthday.
It was the only smile that hadn't looked like a knife.
"Do you work for Voldemort?" Sirius asked before he could think better of it, the question he had pondered and considered for the better part of a year since his path had crossed with the strange boy.
Tom sobered instantly, eyes narrowing in thought as if he hadn't heard the outburst correctly. As if he didn't understand it and needed to think the words over.
But then he smirked, the smile from seconds ago as gone as a forgotten dream.
"Most people refuse to say his name. They're too scared."
Sirius frowned. "Nothing to be scared of now, is there? I don't make a habit of fearing the dead and their ghosts."
"Shame, really. A perfectly good name gone to waste," he muttered, and the comment struck Sirius as odd. It was a horrid name, one that inspired death and malice and all things evil and monstrous. But before he could question him further, Tom said, "No, I don't work for Voldemort. I have no intentions of wavering in that decision either."
His words were hard, and there was something genuine to them. A hatred there, though more subtle that the hatred others might hold for the dark wizard. A hatred laced with reverence.
"You're not on our side."
He was surprised when Tom nodded. He hadn't expected such honesty.
Maybe Tom still planned on killing him, after all.
He licked his lips. "Whose side then?"
"My side. Harry's side. Your side, should you choose it," was the only answer he gave, his chair scratching noisily across the linoleum as he stood. He plucked up the journal, held it to his side as he said, "I've warded this place well; you won't be able to leave, and you won't be able to harm me, so there's no point in shoving one of those knives into your robes. If you try, I'll be forced to turn you back to Argos; a shame, really. I haven't hated our conversation tonight."
Tom raised his hand, wand firmly held by long, pale fingers, and flicked it through the air. The ropes made a sizzling sound as they vanished, and Sirius hissed, the air painful against the cuts marring his wrists. He pulled his hands pack, pressing them against his chest in relief.
"You should shower. Help yourself to whatever you'd like; you can stay in Harry's room. Have a good night."
Sirius watched him leave, continued to stare at the space he had occupied even as he heard the staircase creak beneath his weight.
He had learned nothing from Tom. If anything, he become more clouded than before, blurring the lines between what Sirius had thought to be true of him and what he had known to be true.
True: he seemed to truly care for Harry. Maybe in a twisted way. Maybe in an obsessive way. Certainly not healthy. But at least he didn't hurt Harry.
Also true: he wasn't a believer of Voldemort. He despised and distrusted Dumbledore, but that didn't mean he aligned himself with the other.
But how much of either side did he support? If neither side appealed to him, than what causes did he hold? Why would Harry's own cause be an outlier to either side as well?
And what could he possibly offer Sirius?
He snorted as he rose from his chair, needing a moment to remember how it felt to walk on two legs instead of four. He may have claimed his wards were too strong for Sirius to bother attempting an escape, but he wouldn't be a proper Marauder if he didn't at least try.
Xxx
Tom chuckled when he heard the first tell-tale sign of Sirius trying to escape from the farmhouse. The steps below that sounded too purposeful to be anything other than an attempt at a silent tiptoe, the ancient foundation and floorboards betraying him. The creak of the door as it was pulled in its hinges, like a screech into the night.
He knew it wouldn't take long for Sirius to test the boundaries of Tom's wards, but he hadn't expected him to begin so soon- Tom had barely reached the upper landing before the house began its discordant orchestra of the escape. 'Gryffindor,' Tom surmised simply, the single word encompassing everything he needed to know about the man prowling beneath him. The man not much older than himself, even if his haggard and severe appearance made decades of a once smooth and handsome face.
He was fond of Sirius, in a twisted, crooked way he couldn't put into words. A mutual respect, an understanding if even Sirius disagreed with the sentiment, trying as hard as he might to separate himself from the enigmatic man he had already spent an entire summer with.
Tom knew what it was like to be a prisoner. A prison of his own making sure, but even if Sirius hadn't built the cell that would contain him, sliver himself into two so that one would be trapped for decades, it didn't negate his own responsibility in the matter. Incarceration was the price of loyalty, whether the bars and shackles metaphorical or very, very real.
At least Tom entered his prison of his own volition, and not in the servitude of another.
Still, a part of him- a small part of him that he often forgot existed until something caused it to stir from time to time- knew what it was to be trapped. Knew that, dignity aside, he would do anything necessary to avoid being trapped once more.
He was certain Sirius shared that thought, had seen the very same desperation in his mind.
He would grow used to the farmhouse, in time. He would welcome the perimeter that extended well across the overgrown yard, that brushed along the cluster of trees that hid the home from the barely-traveled road. It was an entire universe compared to the cell in Azkaban- a universe pleasantly absent of moaning Death Eaters and wraiths that fed on joy and the warm thoughts that kept the cold from reaching too close to your heart.
He would stay with Tom, because Tom was the only tenuous connection he had to Harry.
Harry was another thing they had in common, he supposed.
The door slamming in it's frame startled him from his thoughts, and he grinned to himself in the darkness of his room- Sirius must have given up when the wards prevented him from moving beyond the invisible line. How long might he test them for? Did he truly think that he- a convict with no wand and no practical use of magic after his incarceration at twenty one years- could break through the powerful combination of charms and blood magic that Tom had evoked?
The very same wards designed to protect Harry from Voldemort?
He would give up, eventually.
And, with no other choice, he will turn to Tom.
He was glad he hadn't given in to his impulses that day and had let Sirius live, thankful for the opportunity it now presented to him. Sirius would be loyal and faithful in due time, and he had the potential to become a powerful ally. And if the truth from that night- the night that had forever scarred Harry, turned him into an orphan- ever revealed itself, having Sirius on his side would be a bargaining chip he couldn't turn away.
He could think of the rest later- there was hardly a problem a memory charm couldn't solve, after all. And while altering memories properly and well required more finesse and care than Tom typically preferred (tearing and ripping through minds with reckless abandon was more his speed) it would be worth the effort.
Sirius was sure to remain loyal to Harry and whoever he aligned himself with, and Harry, desperate for that familial connection, would cling to his newly revealed godfather with all the hope and love of an abused and abandoned boy who had long since forgotten the feel of a father's embrace.
And Tom? Tom would be the one who brought them together, protecting them both from the aurors and Death Eaters that longed to clasp their jaws onto each Gryffindor's neck.
Not quite the army that Voldemort or Dumbledore had amassed, but everyone had their modest beginnings.
xXx
This chapter was a bit of a slog to get through, so much set up and whatnot. But hopefully having it out of the way will make writing the next few a bit smoother. Plus, the Golden Trio reunites!
Few notes: The tournament! I'm very excited for the few oc's I've prepared for this. The decision to use an Asian based school was purely because I thought it might be more interesting to see magic from a non-eurocentric culture. That being said, I myself am not Indian (or Asian at all) and my greatest fear is misrepresenting anyone through my own lack of experience. So please! Tell me if you think I can improve on anything involving this particular piece of world building.
Or! If you have any ideas for how to incorporate the realities and traditions of this culture with the magical world and don't mind me using them (with appropriate credit, of course) holla at ya boi! I welcome any ideas.
Also! I've been considering changing the rating from Teen to Mature. The reason is because I've thought through the story a little more (ha, I work on the fly, don't judge) and I think I really want to take Voldemort over the top when he eventually returns. I just like the idea of him being truly twisted and monstrous when compared to the tame-in-comparison Tom. I might also take advantage of the rating change and add a little bit more detailed smut between Tom and Harry when the time arises. It's what we deserve.
Next up: Harry unknowingly gives the Order a clue to their ever growing mystery, and the tournament officially begins; meanwhile Tom and Sirius form an unlikely, possibly stockholm induced, alliance.