50. Broken glass

It was evening and Harry found himself wandering. His feet took him to the great intersection of stairs. Ever since his first year, this place tickled his fancy. After finishing three years of attendance, he was very aware of the still hidden depths of the castle.

Taking a slow step, he showed no sign of panic as he plummeted from his current set of stairs. Within moments, his feet met the cool support of a purple padded stairway.

Stairs were capricious things, they led him into mischief when possible. Marching down his newly selected path, he swerved and twisted to his destination. On a few occasions, he found him going downward only to reach a higher destination.

At these moments, he would swear that amusement rang through the stone steps, each single slight shake a chuckle at his expense. Harry shared in the joke, seeing little harm in the castle's attempt in levity.

Maybe he appreciated the effort.

The stairway eventually led him to his unknown destination. It could not be called a room, rather it was an ever growing hallway. Upon the walls, separated between the other by several feet, were rich oil paintings. Within each frame, the image smoothly moved and carried on their actions. It reminded the teen of a combination of living portraits and magical photos.

He saw the four founders excitably chatting, papers tossed around them with sketches of the castles Hogwarts could've been at one time. He saw the first class graduating their seventh year. So it went on, he saw how each founder fell, either to madness, hatred, or death.

Lighter images came and went. Then, the ground latched around his feet and shot him forward, the sight of the hallways sped him by. The movement slowed a deal as he passed the image of a young Tom Riddle. A look of despair and hurt was evident on his features as he looked on to his destroyed property as other members of his house guffawed. Beneath the tears and humiliation were madness and hatred. It reminded him that Tom was human, at least once.

With somber acceptance, Harry was moved on. When the floor ceased movement this time, he was in more recent affairs. His pace stopped at an image of his in the Thestral carriage with the Pale Lady. Unknowingly, a smile formed. Although the figure and face of Pale Lady was shrouded in shadows, he drank up the image.

He thought it a shame that he could not see a representation of the one that he held dear. It would've been something to fondly remember her by. A display that would be forever beautiful, forever magical. But like in other aspects of his life, Harry had to make do. His own vivid memories dispersed the shadows within his mind and illustrated a woman that was so much more.

"After all the great things you've done for me, would it be too selfish to ask you to always be by my side? To share my misery and pain as I do the same, yes, I think I would love that. But, would you?" He whispered, but no one answered.

Staying a touch too long, he carried on with his journey. This time he was frowning a bit. The paintings now showed the entry of the visiting schools that had come recently. Beauxbaton students were shown in a grand carriage levitating upon the lake. Splashes of blue scattered about the page as the students emerged from the carriage. The following image was that of a mighty ghostly ship rupturing from underneath the surface of the very same lake holding students of Durmstrang.

Those entrances alone made dealing with this tournament almost bearable. At the very least, this would take attention away from Harry. The hallway's seemingly endless path shrank incredulously as he tried to go further. He just barely saw glimpses of a dragon painting before his sight was obscured. There was a wall in front of him now.

Behind him a new staircase appeared. Taking the hint, he took his premade path. No sooner had he walked downstairs did he hear a familiar cry. Immediately, he felt the weight of Hedwig perching upon his shoulder. Chest puffed, she delivered a letter. Opening it up, he smiled widely. It seemed that Sirius was doing well. It wouldn't be long until he could be removed from the Ys' hospital. Though it didn't appear he was in too much of a rush. Azkaban had weighed heavily on his body and spirit, the warm and welcoming atmosphere of Ys was doing him a lot of good.

Pleased with the letter, he gave Hedwig an owl treat he kept on his person. Putting away the letter, he realized that he back on the ground floor of the castle. Looking upwards, he saw a set of stairs dissipating. "Thank you", he said clearly as he walked away.

Harry picked up the pace as he noted that he was late for dinner. Reaching the door, he opened it slowly and prepared to go to his table. Then he noticed the looks all directed at him. There were some proud, but most were apprehensive. The chaperones for the visiting schools had scathing looks about them. Their intensity only dwarfed by that of Professor Snape.

The next sentence that came from Dumbledore's lips came crashing down. "It appears, Mr. Potter, that you are to be Hogwarts' second champion."

Those words entered like shards tearing apart his ears. Once again, he had been thrown in a deadly situation. He knew now that he despised this competition.