Act Two Chapter Six: The Knight of Wands II
I have again returned. I was right, the combined chapter would have been around 7,000. Onto something different. I got 1,000 views in 24 hours. Holy cow guys that are so awesome. I had a huge smile seeing that. In other news, we crossed 100 favorites (we passed on followers a while ago). Next is the race to 100 reviews! I did something new in this chapter. I have humorus situations (what levity in this story). How did I do writing it? Also, I feel like my dialogue is a little, off, but don't know how to fix it.
Statment about still needing a beta.
Response time.
Procrastinatey: I shall now accept praise without argument. Thank you for reading and staying with me. I know I have a really slow burn style and appreciate you sticking with me!
jc: I hope to see you come back to my story. As a guest that will be hard but you are always welcome and I hope I continue to surprise you with my work.
Pteasent: See statement about accepting praise. I also enjoy my take on Dumbledore. I think fanfiction sees him as evil because J.K. Rowling was very bad at writing in situations. His character was always good but his actions never matched that. For my Dumbledore, I wanted to make someone who is good but makes many mistakes that make sense.
Urgazhi: Congratulations, I will now accept praise. I always have trouble in fanfictions where Harry calls someone else mother, thus put it in my story. Brilliant idea myself. I am trying to make it a realistic interpretation of someone who has never had a parental figure but still reveres the ones he lost. This chapter is all about that triple.
As always thank you.
Time for the normal spiel.
Please review. I do love to get those reviews; they make me feel good. As always, I need a beta.
Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think!
Dear Tracy,
The storm finally broke. After a boring three days, you will receive something different from, "I sat in my room and read a lengthy book."
He flexed his magic and continued the writing. The strain of the constant flow not diminishing over the previous days. When he woke, his arms pulsed with pain and his back strained as if contorted. The constant pressure burning behind his eyes, like a beast rattling a cage, grew ever more the longer he continued his practice.
Results showed.
He looked Charlie in the eyes when he brought food yesterday. Harry gleamed into the older man's blue orbs and felt nothing. Despite never breaking contact from his elder graduates' eyes, Harry did not see the secrets he kept, nor understand the thoughts that lingered upon the surface. The boy quickly exited as he often did.
Our choice of food has degraded. The fresh fruits and lush meats have downgraded into dried versions. It is odd considering how easily I have seen stasis runes incorporated into normal equipment. Do they live without over-utilizing magic by choice? I doubt Nic has problems financing anything.
His fingers flexed. From the rivers flowing in his arms, they split, inching ever forward. What previously had been counted on one hand, veins split delivering flow to places before unreached. The constant tension led to the tightness of joints, but the usual suspects were used to it, expanding the available pathways had them still understanding of the discomfort brought by the magic. His fingers had never known the sensation. He bore on the paper, smiling at the lack of proper address it held. Despite the title, it would never go to Tracy, the chicken scratch lining the paper not leading to the normal self-deprecation as if it were.
He is the only one to come, besides Charlie. Charlie brings the food and Nic brings himself. He is just as unaware of how this relationship should progress as me, but he smiles when I behave properly and that pride, in turn, makes me happy.
He is the second person to ever praise me. The first was Albus.
His quill stopped. It fondled writing again, to speak about what Albus told him. About Ariana, Gellert, Abe, and his father. He hesitated. Never making the quill respond to the request.
Thanks for listening.
With Regards,
Harry
Day Four.
The Knight of Wands.
His cave lay in ruins. The construct that Harry built the day they embarked had not weathered the elements well, and the carefully created mass of barrels, crates, and tarps scattered around the deck with little chance of coming together again.
With his retreat no longer available to him, he scanned for where any other hiding places could be. Why did he ever have to leave his cozy room? He should have been content to live out the rest of the trip on his string and cloth, padded, hammock. "Get some sun," Nic said. Well, his retreat broken, he was defenseless against the next attack.
"Hello, Harry."
This foe may be more dangerous than the sea. His internal struggle left a tingle from Alastair upon his shoulder.
"Fine day without the gods deciding we should suffer punishment." The cool boy continued.
From within the waters grab me. The depths of despair reach naught were this man trifles. Harry thought internally.
"Quit bothering the kid." The following thump ushered in the voice of Harry's savior.
"I am not bothering my future lord."
The waves echoed against the hull as if an active member of the conversation.
"I was going to say something about your family knowing about your obsession with young boys. Then I remembered, you are a Black."
"Fuck you." He chuckled.
"Why." Harry entered the conversation.
"Hmm?" Bill's presence eased the weight of conversation.
"Why do you try to talk to me so much? Why do you call me a future lord? I don't understand."
The grin worn by Cepheus reversed.
"I think you could be great, Harry. And I am proud you will be the Head of House in the future." Cepheus from Hogwarts returned. His face was as easy to read as stone. The young man often wore a face resembling Harry, without tension or tell, but he forced this habit. His natural disposition lay closer to that of a child, emotions written as clearly as a book.
"Why would I be the Head of your House? I am not a Black. I am a Potter." His father died protecting Harry. The only memory Harry had his dead parent was safety. He got Tom and wounded the immortal man. "I am a Potter." His voice did not falter against the older gentleman.
"Arcturus says it is so. When you arrived at Hogwarts, it was the greatest day."
"Why?"
"I want to be a cursebreaker."
"How does that relate to this situation?"
"If it's not you, then it is me." He stepped forward; into a space few had dared. Tracy, mother, Albus, and Fleur. Only they had been so near. He squatted, directing their eyes together. The flush of his cheeks differed from that Fleur had given him. His heart failed to rush as she let. "Sirius legally adopted you. Upon his incarceration, you became the next rightful head."
"Sirius." The star. What was the reason he was absent? The next breath Harry took strained his lungs as the warm ocean felt steam. The demons hungered and feasted. They pulled until one no longer had sustenance to provide them. The monsters tugged on that which was precious, removing every bit.
His ear was wet.
"...'ry. Harry. Harry. Wake up."
"…'m Sorry. I am so sorry."
Disgust and annoyance.
"Thanks, Alastair." Harry wiped away the stray saliva left by the toad as he sat to his audience. Nic had joined, though not the two-part chorus begging for forgiveness and trying to do what his familiar succeeded.
"What was it?" The elder asked, drawing the gaze of the cursebreakers. He appeared paler than Harry remembered.
"Hooded things. Fosters of despair. They take the person until they are shells, watching forever without consciousness. Trapped in a mind unconnected." He nodded Harry to continue. "Dementors." As he spoke, Charlie assessed the situation, finding Harry speaking as he oft did. The redhead fled, paler than his arrival.
"How do you know about dementors?" Bill reached the same sheen as his brother.
"Harry," Nic warned.
"It's fine."
"You should not share some things."
"So Albus told you?"
"... No."
"I trust Cepheus, Bill, and yourself."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
The waters regained control of the conversation.
"I see things. In dreams the past shows itself, the present opens itself, and the future attempts itself."
"A seer?" Bill had taken divination. His bragging of holding more O.W.L.'s over Cepheus made the fact common knowledge on the vessel. Was that honestly the first thought that came to Bill's mind?
"Closer to unwilling Oneiromancy."
"Onwhata?"
"It is a selective school in divination. Even in the divination community, they look down on it." Maybe the professor at Hogwarts was one of them.
"And in this, you saw a... Dementor." Black, being previously pale, now appeared closer to Martin (the vampire of the Hog's Head) than a human.
"Sirius is guarded by them. He is not treated well. Sirius says he is innocent."
"He does?" Both Nic and Cepheus pressed him.
"He says Wormtail did it. Who is Wormtail?"
"I do not know, Harry. Once we are back home, I shall contact Dumbledore with this? Why did you not mention it sooner?"
"I remembered it when she opened my mind." She was magnificent.
"Harry," Nic warned again.
"Who?" Bill asked.
"..." The words he tried speaking did not come. Instead, the warm hand of Nic resided tight over his mouth.
"We do not speak of them. We do not allude to them. Understood." His voice cut like a razor. He inspected the ship, looking for irregularities.
"Yes, sir."
Erised.
The Knight of Wands.
"So. How did you survive the encounter with the troll?"
The hull of the ship protected them from a passing shower. Not the violent storms of the previous week, but of the variety that consumed Surry on most occasions.
His lunchtime no longer held him in solace, as others joined him in meals now. By now, though, he was trained in the art of eating with others. The week with... mother and Nic offered support for his new endeavor, the two new people he could call friends and a younger brother of one.
"I killed it." By now saying it no longer broke him. When he first admitted it, he couldn't talk to Hagrid. Not even to Albus. The sting of the statement rested on him with more pain than any belt or pan or fist had imparted. He looked into the mirror and only saw Tom in the reflection.
Flitwick could have stopped it.
The man had won dueling tournaments before Harry had been conceived. The situation had been cleared when he arrived, making the spell that left his wand unnecessary.
The spell had been necessary.
Trolls were monsters. They shared none of the intelligence of their Giant cousins and consumed any edible thing before them. The breed of mountain troll was more harmful to the environment than an overblown deer population, leaving a wasteland barren of life in its wake.
This one had blundered more. It killed someone. Someone who did not deserve death. Hermione, till this day, could only be defined as an innocent, someone who never got the chance to be great, who had been treated like dirt from her arrival just because she was different.
He had judged the Troll. It no longer needed to live.
The fracturing of his soul had been a price he was willing to pay.
Cold. Empty. Colorless.
The heat returned, and the feelings came back. The monotone diverged and spread before as an array.
Some colors still missed, and some things never returned. They never would. The spell was evil, to use it is evil.
"How does a first year kill a troll?" Bill said without missing a beat. He did not reside in Hogwarts when the school had learned. The rumor had begun in Hufflepuff, from Susan Bones, who heard from her aunt. A glance toward Cepheus made Harry believe not everyone believed the rumors.
He flexed his fingers, cracking them as they soaked in the rush of magic. Despite the cold feel of it, it burned his being. Is this what Fawkes felt on his burning days?
"Avada Kedavra." He zigzagged his fork, drawing a lightning bolt in Bill's direction, causing the boy to flail under the table as Black's eyes ballooned.
Charlie left quickly.
"Whatcha doing down there?" Harry asked, tilting under the table and taking a bite of the dried sea fish that the crew caught for dinner. Why did everything they eat have to be dried?
"What the hell, Harry."
"Hmm?"
"That is the," he glanced around the room as the uncaring denizens continued as normal, "killing curse," he finished with a whisper.
"Yes?"
"You tried to kill me?"
"No, I don't want to kill you. I didn't even have my wand."
"But it's dark magic."
"Ya, I don't enjoy casting it. Do not recommend."
"How did you even know it? We did not learn about it till our seventh year."
"We learned it last year."
"I see Charlie left."
"Harry," Cepheus said.
"Oh, I think I heard Nic, better run."
"... Harry."
"See you tomorrow."
"It's noon."
The Knight of Wands.
The air parted. Wind rushed to fill the void left as Harry avoided the downward strike. He stepped to do a strike of his own, a thrust aiming for the right shoulder as his lead arms struggled to comply, when a pain trickled from his left leg.
Darting eyes showed the weapon rapidly pulling away to repeat and attack. Despite his magic rushing to his aid, his weight dropped, and his knee hit the decking. In the same moment, he tilted his weapon as a powerful hit parried off his right, pushing down his defense further. The striking weapon spit splinters as its owners' eyes widened but continued swinging, regardless. With a twist Harry pushed forward, ignoring the screaming his body left off as magic coursed through him hotter than ever, aiming for the undefended gut when an acute tingle washed over his back, sending him face-first into the wood.
He stilled as moments passed.
Eventually, the ringing in his ear gave way to laughter.
He rolled onto his back, ignoring the screaming the action created and stared into the fading sky as specks of light broke into the world. With a grunt, he started to sit but failed. A hand reached for him as Harry stopped processing the movement of the moon, and he grasped it. It was callused, hard, and strong. The grip would not sway as it heaved him to a stand.
"You did better today." The man said, dropping Harry's hand. It dropped heavily at his side as the thumping of his legs drew notice.
"You still kicked his ass."
"Ignore Florian, everyone does." The man said performing a wish-washy motion with his now free hand. The other grasped a stick of shaped wood.
"Enculer."
"Mammone."
"Thanks, Master Fanucci." He winced through a smile.
"Ah," the man who failed to dress in robes rubbed the back of his neck, "I always tell you, just Vito. I am no master."
"You are better than me with a sword, thus master." He lifted the wooden stick up to exclamate the point.
"I do not understand why you wish to learn," the Italian guide continued, "you have magic."
"But I also have a sword?"
"Jeune has got you there, Vito."
"Thank you as well, Florian, for transfiguring the practice swords," Harry said, addressing the man for the first time.
"Au Plaisir. But why is he master, and I am my name?" The Frenchman said, giving a teasing laugh.
"Master Fanucci teaches me things, you just laugh as I get hurt."
"Non, I can teach you magic."
"I am heading out." The Italian announced, "you are getting better, Harry."
"Thank you again, Master Fanucci."
"I wish you would not call me that, Harry."
"It is what you are, until you stop being it, I will never stop calling you master."
He mumbled in Italian as he walked back to the hold, most likely for sleep.
"I am glad you treat him well." The Frenchman said, taking a sip of drink from a hip flask. "Most do not."
"He is talented and smart and kind. Why would I not treat him well?"
"Oh, to be a Jeune. People look down on those without magic, Harry."
"Why? I did not know magic existed until I turned eleven."
"Because sometimes people want to not like others, so they find reasons."
"That seems dumb."
"It is Harry."
The waters continued to brush against the boat as Harry sat next to the man.
"Would people hate me if I did not have magic?" Harry broke the long silence.
"Who is to say? What is it that makes someone like you? At the end of the day, you are magic. Do not question what you would be without, only make do with what you have. Vito did, I do, even Nicolas does. We only play with the cards they deal us, no?"
"Yes, we can only play with the cards we have."
The Knight of Wands.
Dear Tracy,
A week into sword training and I still cannot keep up with Master Fanucci. He is so fast, I barely keep any strikes at bay, much less counter any. He tells me I am improving, but it feels like he is getting further away.
Charlie has yet to sit with us at lunch anymore, making it only the First Weasley and Black. They both flinch whenever I grab my wand, though. I wonder why? The goblin they are with has been keeping them to their rooms more often than not now. Something about relearning a runic language.
Speaking of languages, Italian is very easy. It follows most of the French language conventions, so I am picking the language up fast.
Nic still sits in his chamber most of the day. He tells me he is preparing for the eventual final of the journey, but I don't get what that means.
We should be there soon.
Best Wishes,
Harry
Day 13.
The Knight of Wands.
"Yuck."
"Eat it."
"No, this is gross, Bill."
"Charlie, shut up and eat."
"Why are we eating this?" Harry interrupted the arguing brothers before a… less kind… party did. It was the first time the younger redhead had eaten with them in a few days, and his presence grated upon Harry. He threw the normally calm group into chaos once more.
"Because it is what we have left?" Cepheus responded.
"But why? We have chilling enchantments and time stopping spells. Why do we not use those?"
Both Cepheus and Bill went to respond, but a new arrival cut them off.
"It is the water."
Nic sat at the table, free from his containment for the first time in days. His skin shone with sweat and his face looked shades paler than what Harry remembered.
"Why?"
"I will answer with a question, Harry." He took a long sip of water. "What thoughts does water provoke?"
Harry took a bite of his stale bread and chewed. Swallowing, he responded, "Life, flow, empty, clean?" He listed, pausing after each answer. The final grated a nod from his guardian.
"Clean. Water is clean and is used to clean. This is true for clothes as much as magic."
"So?"
"So," he glared, "water tends to break enchantments and acts as a natural barrier for magic."
Harry's breath caught, horror taking over. "My sword."
Nic laughed. "Will be fine, no doubt."
"But it is an enchantment."
"So it is."
"But you said."
"The wearing only occurs when the enchantment changes state." Bill interrupted Harry, leaning in to focus on the eldest wizard.
"Exactly cursebreaker, good job, and you, Harry. Your sword has been locked in my room since we left."
"I thought that was so I wouldn't stab people."
Charlie paled as Black laughed.
"What causes that?" Black said after calming himself.
"It is interesting, you see,"
"But why can't we just have multiple boxes with food for each day?" Charlie cut off the man's explanation, earning a glare from all the others.
"You sure I can't have the sword Nic, I found target practice."
"Harry," Nic stopped himself, a hand moving to his stomach, "sorry, I have to work again."
"A'right Nic. Don't work too hard." Harry said to the retreating figure.
"He really works hard." The younger Weasley pointed out.
"Bill, your brother is an idiot," Cepheus said, ignoring Charlie.
Charlie meanwhile scrunched his eyebrows at the statement, a state reflected in the mind of Harry.
"That might be why Apparating over water is so difficult because when you Apparate you constantly change state."
"Perhaps Nic would have said that if someone wouldn't have interrupted him." Harry pointed a look at the man in question, whose white had been replaced with a flush. With a flash of irritation, he fed a piece of stale food to the toad on his shoulder.
"Um, Harry, I don't think toads eat bread."
"It is ok, Charlie. Alastair told me he wanted it."
"He said that?"
"Not in so many words." The feelings he got from Alastair only grew the easier circulating his magic became. As he became one with his magic, the benefits came. What had before been flashes had now calmed into a steady stream of information stemming from the devil, a connection that traveled both ways.
"You talk to your toad?"
"You don't?"
"I haven't got a toad."
"Oh, you should. Good luck they are." The sitting area cleared of its population as they drifted to the exit with heavy eyes. The morning breaks not satisfying enough for any in attendance.
"Really?"
"Yep."
"What's your proof?"
Harry glanced over at Bill and Cepheus, a story he had yet to tell. Harry could trust them. What about Charlie? "A toad saved my life once."
"I don't believe you."
"That's fine."
"How?"
"Jumped in front of a killing curse."
"You are saying you survived your encounter with he-who-must-not-be-named," Tom, or Voldemort as the people knew him, "because a toad jumped in front of a killing curse for you?"
"Yes?" Conversations were much more difficult now. Before he knew what people would say before they uttered it, what words would appease them, what they wanted to hear. Now, he danced around in unfamiliar territory, blindingly striding, and hoping they understood his points.
"Then how did you get a scar?"
"His first Avada Kedavra," the three listeners flinched, "missed me and hit a mirror. Mirror broke and cut me good." He shrugged his shoulders. Why did Charlie care about scars from the encounter?
"That's good, Harry," Bill chuckled and dropped a hand on his shoulder, "but don't you think it's disrespectful to your parents?"
"How is it disrespectful to them?"
"Harry," He was cut off by a goblin yelling at Black and the elder Weasley. With the pair retreating, Charlie and Harry sat alone in a quiet room.
"Sadly, my ritual failed to bring him back," irritation, Alastair always was irritated, "but that's ok. I like Alastair, even if he differs from my old toad." His expressionless face watched Charlie's rapidly paling face, trying to grasp at what he thought without using mind reading.
"Harry."
"Ya?"
"You are bloody creepy." He up and left.
Glancing around the empty room, he collected various plates and cups others forgot. Packing away the bread in foil wraps and depositing it in a cupboard, he glanced at the toad glued to his shoulder. He steadied himself against the wall to repress the gentle rock of the ship.
"Do you think I am weird, Alastair?"
"No, Harry. You are the definition of normalcy."
"Thank you."
"I need to teach you sarcasm. You will do wondrous with it."
The Knight of Wands.
Atlantia appeared much as France had left, completely consuming the horizon. The vessel cut through the waves that grew more restless the closer the group grew to shore. Harry stood on the bow of the ship, leaning over the deep and dark sea below to gaze upon the landmass the fraction of time before he could otherwise. After multiple weeks they would stand on solid ground, drink fresh water, eat wonderful food, sleep on a stable support, and walk without appearing drunk.
The shore as it grew opened to a stretch of beach, rounded inward and sprawling out. Others stood with him; the crew not tasked with bringing in the ship. Harry investigated the shore, beyond the beach appeared a layer of trees hugging the beach, the relative size of each one being unknown. Further down a brown plumage came, appearing as if originating on the beach. It sputtered, with large mounds coming in intervals, causing the boat to still on the waters.
"Why did we stop?" A Chinese woman asked.
"Still low tide, we must wait, or we cannot beach correctly." His master Fanucci answered, standing beside the helmsman.
The waiting took hours. Many grew bored and went below to rest before the next leg of the journey, but Harry stayed. He became one with the ship as he pressed his magic through his body. The pain had receded, and it no longer tired him as it once did.
Only after the sun traveled downwards, did the crew get the smoke signal to approach. As they did the forest grew, its trees towering taller than any building in France, matching even Big Ben in size. The one variant stood as the only surviving tree as its branches would let none other grow below. The dark woods below had gaping tunnels running through as the massive redwoods let large swaths of empty space.
The figure on the beach took form. A single humanoid wearing a brownish-green get up waved two large flaming sticks over his head, luring the helmsman in.
"Ready the mooring lines," a man shouted behind Harry, though he paid no heed to the man. Soon, the boat shuttered and shifted its occupants forward. Harry braced against the wood as splinters dug into his hand as he slipped, but he did not topple over.
The men of the ship went into action, some tossing thick and heavy lines over the edge, others sliding down and whipping out wands and, in one instance, a dull sword to drag the ropes to the closest trees. Standing in the shadow of it, the people looked like ants as they fastened the ropes thicker than Harry's leg around the exposed roots. The man who previously was at the beach approached Master Fanucci, who had lept down some time ago to direct various unloading tasks. With Harry being close enough to the figure to see him, he shone with familiarity.
His teeth were like Harry's but were more pointed with eyes holding a soft red hue over natural brown.
His existence felt familiar, radiating warmth and trust.
He had to be like her.
Like Erised.
The Knight of Wands.