Title: The Lefthand Path
Disclaimer:
J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry Potter/Viktor Krum, mentions of Ron/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Content Notes: Underage (18/14), AU, angst, canon-typical violence, Dark magic, magically powerful Harry Potter
Wordcount: 6000
Summary: AU. Viktor and Harry strike up a friendship during Harry's fourth year, which rapidly becomes something more. And with that something more comes Viktor introducing Harry to Dark Arts—which Harry's magic takes to with wild energy.
Author's Notes: This is one of my "Songs of Summer" one-shots being posted between the summer solstice and the first of August. The prompt is from Kristina, who asked for Viktor Krum and Harry kick it off a hell of a lot more than anyone Harry's ever built a relationship with. Krum therefore leads Harry into the world of dark magic. The Lefthand Path in the title is associated in Western magic with breaking rules, mastering oneself, seeking godhood, and anarchy, among many other things. Hope you enjoy.

The Lefthand Path

"It does not make sense."

Krum's accented voice made Harry jump. He'd been sitting on the edge of the lake, staring out over the water and feeling sorry for himself, but now he turned around and found Krum standing not far behind him. He had on a dark cloak with white fur around the collar, and it blew in the wind behind him as he studied Harry.

"What doesn't?" Harry asked tiredly. "Because an awful lot of things don't right now."

Krum frowned, and Harry wondered if he had accidentally gone too fast for Krum's limited English. But then Krum shook his head and sat down beside him on the cold grass. "Why you would put your name into the Goblet. You have the fame already. You have followers. You have the money. Why would you do it?"

"You did it, and you have all of those," Harry said, and then could have slapped himself. Why was he arguing against something that might make someone besides Hermione believe him?

"I did it because I wish to be known for something other than my Quidditch playing," Krum said, and his accent got a little stronger. "I am being a good duelist, and yet the people, they are not knowing it.

"But you." Krum turned his head, and Harry felt as if someone had pinned him with actual needles through his elbows. "You have the fame, and you do not want it. I am seeing it. You are shying away from it. And you were not waiting."

"Waiting?" Harry echoed.

"You were not waiting for the Goblet to give forth your name." Krum considered him. "I would have seen it. I spot small things."

"Because you're a Seeker?"

"Yes."

Harry sighed a little and leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the darkened sky above them. It looked like it was about to rain, but nothing actually fell. He wished it would. "Well, congratulations," he said in a dull voice. "You're the third person in the castle to believe me." And one of those people was Moody, who probably only believed Harry because he was looking for some plot beneath the surface.

"What will you do?"

Harry shrugged. "What I do every year. Try to survive."

"Something like this has happened before?"

Krum sounded startled. Harry turned to him with a frown, before he remembered that of course Krum was from a different country and would have no reason to know anything about what had happened to Hogwarts.

"Let me tell you," Harry said, and started talking.


Viktor listened to Potter's stories in silence, absorbing and thinking. He took a long time to think, he knew that, except when he was in the middle of a game. Then he was all alive and a darting wing.

But the stories horrified him. A basilisk. A possessed professor. A traitor and a werewolf and a man who was not a traitor, but whom Potter could not stay with and had not seen since.

It made Viktor believe that Potter was right and someone was trying to kill him by putting his name in the Goblet. And it made him indignant that they were corrupting the Tournament to do so. Viktor wished to win against skilled opponents, not—not someone's Snidget they intended to crush.

When Potter had finished talking and they had sat in silence for a while, Viktor asked, "And you are coping with the fame these things have brought you?"

Potter turned his head towards him, eyes bright and startled in the soft light of Viktor's wand. "What? I mean, no, not really. Everyone knew I had a murderer after me, but they don't know my godfather is actually innocent. And I think some of them still believe I'm the Heir of Slytherin. And they know something about what happened with Quirrell in my first year, but none of them talk to me about it. No, it's all the scar." He gestured at his forehead.

Viktor took some moments to sort through that. His English, it was not always good at listening when others spoke like Firebolts flew. But then he caught up, and he frowned. "So others think you are doing this for fame, but you and I know you are not."

Potter nodded. "Exactly."

"And they think you are doing this for your fortune," Viktor pursued, to make sure he had it right. "But you and I know that you are not."

Potter shrugged, staring off into the distance. "One of my friends knows how much money I have, and he still thinks I'm doing it for the thousand Galleons."

Viktor put that aside. It was beyond him to sort out. "I know you are not," he said. "And because you are not, that means I can train you."

Potter blinked. "What?"

"You are not truly my opponent," Viktor explained. He felt a sense of relief. He had not wanted the Tournament corrupted or made a lesser challenge by the presence of an unskilled opponent, that was true, but neither did he want a fourteen-year-old to die because of someone else's plot. He simply had not seen an honorable way to offer training. Now he had it. "I can train you in a way I could not train the others."

"I, er, you're still not making much sense, sorry. Train me in what?"

"The Lefthand Path," Viktor said, surprised. He had thought that the description of Durmstrang among Hogwarts students included this much. "I believe you would call it Dark Arts, but it is both Dark Arts and a certain state of mind."

Potter stared at him, hard. Viktor looked back. He would not be surprised if Potter was thinking of his own honor and finding it harder to put it aside in the face of Viktor's offer. That was fair. Honor, it was a tricky thing.

"No," Potter said at last. "I don't want to learn Dark Arts. That kind of magic can hurt people."

"Yes," Viktor agreed, puzzled. "But it can also hurt the monsters and beasts and stop the challenges that are to be part of the Tournament. Why would you refuse to learn it?"

"I don't want to hurt people."

Potter was glaring straight at him. His eyes had a deep-down glow that interested Viktor. He had made his offer because it was honorable, not because he had seen any indication that Potter could walk the Path. But now, he saw it, the thing in Potter's eyes, and he thought of Potter's stories and smiled a little. "You killed a man to survive when you were eleven. You killed a basilisk to save others when you were twelve. Do you not want to hurt people?"

Potter turned away and wrapped his arms around himself. "It's wrong," he whispered. "I couldn't do it just because—I couldn't do it in training."

"I would show you the spells and how they work on," Viktor said, and paused. "I do not know the word in English. It is made of dust and blood, and it is conjured? What do you call it? It bleeds like a person, but it is not a person."

"A homunculus, maybe? Or a dummy."

"Homunculus," Viktor repeated in satisfaction. "Yes. I would show you the spells on that, and we would practice them that way. And perhaps you would use them in the Tournament when you wanted to survive."

Potter squeezed his eyes shut. "The Dark Arts are evil," he whispered. "I know you study them in Durmstrang, but I don't want to learn them."

"Am I evil?" Viktor asked. He did not know how to talk about morality in Bulgarian, let alone English. So he would ask simple questions that fit with the level of his English and the level of Potter's thinking.

"What?" Potter's eyes snapped open. "No, of course not."

"And yet I have learned Dark Arts," Viktor said calmly. "And yet I practice them. It is true, there are ways that they can be used to murder and harm, and that is not wise. But that is why I will teach you the Lefthand Path along with the Arts. They are dangerous by themselves, not on the Path."

That was not the whole truth. They could be dangerous if the person who practiced them wished them to be so. But Viktor thought he would tell Potter that later.

Potter turned towards him, shaking his head. "But what is the Lefthand Path? I've never heard of it before. Wouldn't I have heard of it if it was a good thing to practice?'

Viktor had to smile. "It is not much practiced in this country, I think. Or it is called something else. It means that you are understanding and thinking about the—" He paused and thought. "The reins, that is the best. The reins you wear. The laws and rules you obey. Not simply accepting them. Think about them, question."

"But some laws and rules are in place for good reason."

"Of course. And others are in place for not a good reason. You choose the ones you will obey, and you continue to question and think. Perhaps you will find new rules to obey. Perhaps you will find old ones that you no longer like. That is the Lefthand Path. You walk it and you ask yourself questions. You can ask others questions, too," Viktor added, because Potter's brow was furrowed. "But you cannot simply take them at their word and trust them. You must make the decision. From what questions to ask to what magic to practice."

"That sounds exhausting."

Viktor laughed a little. "It can be."

"It sounds like—you might have to have more control over yourself if you walk the Lefthand Path than if you don't? What's the other one called?"

"The Righthand Path, by some people. It is not as popular a name." Viktor shrugged and stood. "Let me show you."

Potter scrambled up next to him and stared at him. He was smaller and scrawnier than he should be, even given that he was fourteen. Viktor tightened his lips as a flash of anger swept through him. Someone would have to answer for that, and he did not know who.

He pointed his wand at a fairly large rock that stood some meters away from them. "See that rock?"

"Yes." Potter squinted.

"I could destroy it," Viktor said calmly. "I could use a simple spell, such as a Blasting Curse, or a Dark Arts spell that would—" Stupid English. "Destroy it completely," Viktor settled on. "I must ask myself some questions. Which one is less exhausting? Which one is appropriate? Is the rock an enemy?"

"Well, no."

"But it could be used in some circumstances, such as for an enemy to hide behind," Viktor said, "if they were sending Transfigured creatures into battle. In this case, though, I agree that you are right. It is not an enemy. And I do not have to worry about exhaustion because there is not a Task or a strong class tomorrow. And using the Dark Arts spell is appropriate because I want to show you how it works."

Potter looked a little stunned. "That would be enough for you?"

Viktor had to frown. Has no one ever taught him something simply to tell him something? But perhaps not, based on the stories he had heard from Potter that very night. "It would be enough for me," he said simply, and treasured the continuing stunned look on Potter's face before he turned and aimed his wand at the rock.

"Furto figuram!"


Harry gasped and jumped backwards as he watched the stone blow up in a weird way, curling in on itself—imploding, that was the word—and every last piece of it disappear. He felt as if a powerful wind had passed him by, and there was a brief, sudden sensation of heat on his skin.

Krum lowered his wand and looked at him with a slight smile. "You see? That is Dark Arts. It is powerful, but it is not evil. If I was to cast that spell at someone who had never done me harm, it could be evil. But not by itself."

Harry nodded slowly. He supposed that up until now, he hadn't thought a lot about what Dark Arts actually were, and he had never seen one demonstrated. Well, except for the Unforgivables that Moody had done in their Defense classes, but he didn't think even Krum would argue that those were mostly good.

He looked up at Krum. Krum was watching him. Harry licked his lips, thinking about the way that he might be able to make one of his obstacles in the Tournament just implode, and go on living.

"I want to learn," he said.


Harry was a natural at the Lefthand Path.

He had asked Viktor to call him Harry shortly after they began working together. Viktor had been happy to oblige, and had asked Harry to call him Viktor at the same time.

They had to steal time together, what with Karkaroff's constant fawning on Viktor, classes, the fans who wanted to follow them both around, and Harry's constant fighting with people who did not believe he had not put his name in the Goblet. But Harry, although he referred a few times to how "brilliant" Viktor's flying skills were, was not a fan in the way that many others were, and just grimaced whenever a mention of his fame came up.

Viktor could be honest with him in a way that he could not with many others.

And Harry argued with him and questioned him about many of the spells Viktor was teaching him, which was entirely appropriate and in the spirit of the Lefthand Path. He had curiosity about spells when he was allowed to express it. He had power to spare, when he began to push himself and trust himself instead of simply give in to the rules because that was the way it had always been done.

"But why should you use a spell that uses their bones to put someone on the ground?" he asked, soon after Viktor had shown him one that had snapped every one of the conjured branches they were using as bones in a homunculus. Viktor was glad he had mastered that spell two years ago, since Harry went through rather much homunculi. "Why not just use a Stunner?"

"What happens if you Stun someone?"

"They're out of the fight."

"If they were not alone?"

Harry blinked up at him. They were out on the far side of the lake, which had become one of their favorite places, out of sight of both Hogwarts and the Durmstrang boat as it was. "…Oh," Harry said. "Someone could revive them."

Viktor nodded. "While they may be conscious if they have bones broken, but they will not be standing up again and casting at you."

"But couldn't they just aim their wand at you even if they were lying on the ground?"

"Not if you aim to break the bones in their arms first."

Harry looked a little disturbed, but he could see the sense in it. He obviously could. More and more, Viktor had the impression that Harry had listened to other people when he came into the magical world because he did not know the basic facts about it, and so was willing to accept that other basic facts might be true instead, as long as they made sense to it.

Viktor spent a few moments repairing the homunculus, including stringing the branches through its arms and torso to look like bones. "Now you try," he encouraged, stepping back. Harry had managed to knock the homunculus over with the curse, but he had not broken anything yet.

He was not aiming, Viktor thought, as he watched Harry breathe in and center himself, and then narrow his eyes and aim his wand.

"Quasso ossa!"

The curse caught the homunculus's arms straight on, and the branches shattered with such force that some chips of wood came ripping through the combination of cloth and fur that Viktor had used for the figure's skin. Harry flinched in surprise, but Viktor smiled at him and applauded a few times.

"That was very good."

"It was?" Harry asked, and then he stood tall and looked at the chips in the grass and smiled a little. "It was."

Viktor would have to spend some time in meditation that night, questioning himself as the Lefthand Path demanded for why he liked Harry's reaction so much, but for right now, he simply enjoyed it.


"Dragons. Fucking dragons."

Harry really thought he would have panicked if not for Viktor's heavy, steady hand on his shoulder. He shuddered and buried his face in his hands, listening to the lake's water lapping, but it was all right. Viktor was there, and Viktor rubbed his spine up and down and murmured that he was sorry, but he was sure Karkaroff, who had told Viktor about it, was right.

"How am I supposed to face a dragon?" Harry demanded at last, dropping his hands. He thought he would have sounded sad and upset a few weeks ago—well, he was still upset—but now he was becoming quicker to anger. Viktor said it wasn't a bad thing as long as he could harness it, and Harry did think he could. He wasn't snapping at people in the corridors or anything. But he was watching them with colder eyes, and they seemed to sense it, backing off hurriedly instead of confronting him.

"We will figure out a spell you can cast," Viktor said.

"I mean, I appreciate it, Viktor, but if I cast a spell like that in front of everyone, then people are going to be upset."

"Yes, they do not appreciate the Lefthand Path here," Viktor said. "But I have found a spell that I can cast, and one you can cast."

Harry stared at him. "Where? Why? How did you choose which one would go where?"

Viktor looked delighted when Harry asked questions, which—well, it made something warm and melting settle in the bottom of Harry's stomach. It was incredible how much better it made him feel, just one person who thought he had the right to ask questions. "I found it in a book about dragons I looked upon before I came here. And one of them, it is more simple. You will cast it."

Harry wanted to argue, but he had to admit that, yeah, he was less experienced than Viktor, and less able to cast powerful spells of the kind that would take a dragon (a dragon!) down. "And it won't upset people?"

"It is simple Burning Hex. It should not."

"But dragons are creatures of fire. How can a Burning Hex hurt them?"

Once again, that approving look. Harry could have spent years just standing there and receiving that look. "It depends," Viktor said, and smiled, "on where one be aiming it."


"Viktor Krum!"

Viktor heard the fevered screaming of the crowd in the moments before he put it out of his mind. He had to be able to do that, or he would never have been able to function during Quidditch.

He had drawn the number three slot, which was right before Harry's, and which he appreciated for that reason. But right now, he cut everything out of his mind except the sight of the Chinese Fireball in front of him, snarling and hissing as she crouched over her eggs, and the questions that spread in front of him like a turning black path.

Is this an enemy?

Yes, his mind whispered as he watched the dragon clashing her teeth and spreading her wings. She is my enemy despite not wishing me harm.

Is the spell appropriate?

Yes, Viktor thought, and his eyes rose to meet the dragon's.

Will it work?

Yes.

Then begin.

Viktor raised his wand, not bothering to answer the dragon's bellows or the crowd's cheers, and cast the Conjunctivitis Curse straight at the dragon's eyes. She screamed as she was blinded, and Viktor dodged forwards, smooth and fast, staring at the golden egg as if it was a Snitch—even it was the same color—and snatching it up as he retreated.

The dragon screamed again and took a clumsy step sideways, crushing several of her eggs. Viktor grimaced. He would lose points for that.

But he had won, and he lofted the egg high as he left the arena, half-turning his head to see Harry emerging from the tent.

You will be fine, he thought, and a soft throb of magic winged from him to Harry, the blessing of one traveler on the Lefthand Path to another.


Harry stared at the Hungarian Horntail and swallowed. He had thought of Summoning his broom and flying circles around the dragon until he was able to grab the egg. But he hadn't practiced it enough, and Viktor's plan—

A smooth, cool hug seemed to wrap around his mind. Harry half-smiled. He knew it was Viktor, even though he had no idea how he knew that.

He snapped his wand up, the questions flowing through his mind.

Will anyone get upset with me for this? Only the Dragon-Keepers. Is the dragon an appropriate enemy? Yes. Can I cast this? Yes.

Harry spun his wand in the way that Viktor had told him would make the spell more powerful and cried out, "Ignis doloris!"

The spell took flight from his wand and burrowed straight into the soft membrane of the dragon's wide wing.

The Hungarian Horntail screamed, and the scream broke into a roar of fire. Harry rolled and ducked underneath it, and cast the Burning Hex again, this time on the other wing. The dragon reared high, screaming again and this time blasting her fire into the air, and Harry darted under her belly and snatched the golden egg.

He darted back out, panting, aware that he was exhilarated and not afraid, and not understanding why. But maybe it did have something to do with the questions he had asked himself and how well he had prepared.

Harry spun around as the screams of the crowd increased in pitch and found the dragon coming down again, opening her mouth to breathe at him. From how wide her mouth was, she wasn't going to miss.

The questions sped through Harry's mind.

Do I need to cast this? Will it get me in trouble? Will it help?

The answers to all the questions were yes, unfortunately for the second one. But Harry aimed his wand and barked, "Quasso ossa!", and the spell smashed into the dragon, driven by so much fear and determination to survive that it broke at least two of the bones in her wing. She screamed and dropped back again, and then was more occupied with tending to her wing than she was with breathing out fire on the threat.

Harry ignored the tone of the screams and marched to the tent. Viktor looked up when he came in, a small smile twisting his lips.

Harry felt as though someone had just told him, all over again, that he was a wizard.


"But you shouldn't have used it, Harry! I looked up the incantation, and it's Dark Arts!"

Viktor paused around the corner of the bookshelves from the place where he and Harry had agreed to meet, and sighed a little. It seemed that at least one of Harry's friends had found out he was walking the Lefthand Path, and would be taking it to dissuade him.

Viktor hoped he would not have to coax Harry back onto the path. Viktor had seldom met anyone who was so suited to it, and he wanted to keep walking it with Harry, to learn with him, to teach him, to learn from him eventually.

"I know."

Harry's voice was calm and steady. Viktor paused again. This time, he eased his face to just the edge of the shelf so that he could look around it.

Granger, that was the name of the girl with the large hair, was sitting in front of Harry, and looking confused. Harry sat across from her, and his face was calm and his smile small, but it was being there.

Viktor began to smile, too.

"Then why did you use it?" Granger asked at last.

"Because I didn't have a choice," Harry said. "I'm three or four years younger than everyone else in this competition, remember? And the Conjunctivitis Curse Viktor used is actually a Dark one, too, if you look it up. It's not banned and no one worries about it as long as you use it in the proper context—like blinding a dragon who's about to eat you."

"Since when do you call him Viktor?"

"We're friends," Harry said, so casually that Viktor had to admire him. It was clear that Harry did not think he was having to explain himself, even if "friends" was not always the right word for two students of the Lefthand Path studying together. "He helped me with the spells for the dragons. Would you call those evil? Him?"

Granger seemed to consider that. Then she sighed. "No, but they do study a lot of Dark Arts at Durmstrang. I just don't want to see you go down that path or get hurt, that's all."

Viktor wondered idly what Granger would say if Harry told her that he was already far down a path that had to do with trusting oneself, and not the rules that were not always the good reason.

"I won't," Harry said. "Now, I am going to meet Viktor here so we can do a little studying."

Granger stood up and looked at Harry with an expression Viktor could not place. "You seem to spend a lot of time with him."

"It was easy," Harry said, looking her in the eye, "when my best friend thought I put my name in the Goblet, and my other best friend thought she had to spend as much time with him as possible to keep him from drifting away."

Granger turned a little red and nodded, leaving. Harry turned and looked straight at Viktor, which didn't surprise him. The Lefthand Path taught better awareness of the world as well as the practitioner's mind.

"You are well done," Viktor said, and then decided that didn't sound right. "I am meaning—"

"I know," Harry said, and gave him a smile that was a lot deeper than any he had shown Granger. "I know what you mean."

Well, that seemed a fortuitous moment to Viktor to ask a question he had thought about putting it off for a while. "Would you come to the Yule Ball with me?" he asked.


It was still a little wild to Harry that he was standing outside the doors of the Great Hall, about to enter with Viktor Krum, of all people.

But he hadn't wanted to attend the Ball with someone who only wanted to go with him because of his fame. And, well…that was almost everyone. Hermione and Ron were going together, which had involved a lot of arguing, and Harry thought that his going with one of them would have involved even more.

Ginny Weasley might have been a possibility, but once Viktor had asked, Harry had only been able to say yes.

He was comfortable with Viktor. He didn't know if he was romantic, but he did know that Viktor had taught him more than Harry had ever learned in such a short time. How to think about life. How to question himself. How to trust in his own instincts in the middle of not just life-and-death situations, but ordinary ones, like the half-argument with Hermione in the library.

Harry didn't have to worry that he might not be doing the right thing when he spoke with her, because he'd asked himself, and the path came clear.

A stirring and shuffling ran through the ranks of the students. Harry turned around, and smiled at Viktor as he walked towards him. Viktor smiled back. He still had heavy cheeks and rounded shoulders and all the other features that meant he would never be exactly handsome.

But he didn't have to be. He was talented and swift when he flew, he dueled well enough to live after confronting a dragon, and he was Harry's friend, his teacher, his fellow traveler on the Path.

Viktor wore maroon robes that Harry suspected didn't go with the green ones he wore. Worry tried to rise, but Harry asked himself, Would Viktor have asked me about this before if it really mattered to him?

The answer Yes came back, echoing through his head like a dragon's roar, and Harry was smiling again as Viktor came to a stop and threaded his arm through Harry's, ignoring all the people who were gaping at them.

"I am glad you are here," Viktor said, staring at Harry with eyes that burned like the darkness between the stars.

"So am I," Harry said, and then they didn't have any time for more conversation as the doors opened.


Harry could not dance well, but he was better when he accepted that and simply followed Viktor's lead. And he laughed with Viktor, never at him, at the dinner table, and debated with him about magic in a way that made more than one person look curiously at him. Viktor just referred to "the path" and "magic" where he might have spoken more openly if they were being alone. Harry followed that as easily as the dance, a small smile curled on his lips.

When Viktor stood and held out his hand to Harry, Harry grasped it and followed him. But he seemed curious when Viktor led him out into the garden paths decorated with soft lantern-light and darting fairies. "We aren't staying for another dance?" he asked.

"Did you wish to?"

"Well, no, not really," Harry said. "But I don't know what we're doing here."

Viktor nodded. He could understand why Harry didn't like that. He did better when he was told things and could think them through for himself, which was another reason he walked the Lefthand Path so well. "We are here to do a small ritual."

"What will it do?"

"Offer us a glimpse of the future a year from now."

Harry frowned a little. Viktor waited. Harry said, "I'm in Divination class, and I don't do very well there, Viktor. I think I would probably mess up a ritual that focused on it."

Someday, Viktor though, he would like to meet the people who had convinced Harry he would do everything wrong, and teach them one meaning of Dark Arts. "This is not the same as a prophecy," he said. "This is not a truth. It is a potentiality." He had looked up that word when he realized that he wanted to do this ritual with Harry, and he was glad. It was a strong word. A sure word. The right word.

"So, it might not come true?" Harry asked, his brow wrinkling again. Viktor liked to watch the way that bent his scar and lit up his eyes.

"That is correct."

"We would have to work to make it come true?"

"Or work to make it come not true if we did not like it. Yes."

Harry smiled, a small tip of his lips. "I should have remembered that particular aspect of the Lefthand Path," he murmured. "All right. Tell me what I need to do."

Viktor thought Harry might worry when Viktor drew a small silver knife and held it out to him, explaining how to make the cut across the width of his palm, or when Viktor explained that they would need to kiss as the last part of the ritual. But Harry did not. Perhaps he had expected a kiss since they had come together to the Yule Ball. His eyes were hard and bright as he cut his hand.

Viktor was glad to see a small dark green glow around the blood that welled forth from Harry's hand. That was an excellent sign that the ritual would go well. He cut his own hand with the knife when Harry handed it back, and held it up so Harry could see the tawny glow surrounding his own blood.

"Now what do we do?" Harry asked.

Viktor turned his head. There was fresh water nearby. He had smelled it. He walked towards it, and Harry followed him. They found a small, undisturbed pool in the curling corner of a hedge.

"Hold your hand over the water," Viktor murmured.

Harry did. The green-glowing blood promptly stretched out and disappeared beneath the surface. So did Viktor's blood, and the tawny and the green glow moved and mingled. Viktor smiled. He had not seen such a powerful light in all the times that he had done the ritual before, which was only since he had had fourteen years. His parents had thought he was too young before that.

"Now," Viktor said, when the light had stirred and the blood seemed to float on the surface of the pond like long Snitches' wings.

Harry stepped forwards and rested his hands on Viktor's shoulders. He looked up, fearless, making his choice. Viktor smiled at him. It had to be the choice of Harry, since he was the younger. But Viktor did not think it would be a problem, not when Harry's feet were on the path.

Harry stretched up and kissed him.

The sensation of power that blazed through Viktor staggered him, and made him think for a moment that Harry would have been a good opponent in a normal Tournament after all. He put his hands on Harry's waist. Harry shivered.

The blood blazed into light. Viktor turned his head, and Harry moved so he could look into the surface of the water.

Brilliant figures were forming there. Two were Viktor and Harry; one was Father; one was Mother; and there were other blurred people whose faces Viktor could not see. They stood amid a circle of black standing stones with snow on the ground, and offered blood and silver in one of the greatest rituals of the Lefthand Path.

A blessing. A welcoming. A bringing-in for a new initiate.

"Who are those people?" Harry asked, squinting. "Are they your parents?"

"Yes, and others," Viktor murmured. He wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders. "We are initiating you to the deeper mysteries of the Lefthand Path." He wondered if Harry had noticed yet that his future self wore no glasses and had a long scar on his right arm that was not there now.

Harry breathed out slowly. Then he looked up and said, "Yes. Yes, please. I want that."

Viktor smiled at Harry and pulled him closer. They watched the vision until it disappeared.


Harry walked back into the Great Hall on light feet. Some people gave him odd looks, the way they had when he and Viktor showed up as a couple, but he ignored them. His head was spinning, swimming, full of glory and blood on the water.

He had a future. One that looked like it had been in a completely different place, and included Viktor, and promised—

So much more than Harry had thought he would have when his name came out of the Goblet.

He looked up at Viktor, and smiled at him. Viktor smiled back, his face softening. He would never be handsome, but Harry didn't care. There were things that mattered far more.

Harry reached up and kissed Viktor softly, and heard people gasp around him. Someone yelled. Someone else whistled, and a few people clapped.

There were things that mattered far more, though.

Like Viktor's hand on his shoulder, and Viktor's lips under his, and the image of a bright path coiling away in the darkness.

The End.