Harry was sitting alone near the lake, wearing his warmest clothes and staring into the watery depths in front of him. He had, thanks to Mette insisting that he had to, just watched a recording of the second task yet again. He had been subjected to a few recordings already, but somehow… the more he saw, the worse he felt. Fleur's cruelty and the silent agony George's target was – even now, still – trapped in. Merlin…
The sound of approaching footsteps brought Harry out of his thoughts, and soon someone – a heavily perfumed someone with a lit cigarette in their hand – sat down next to him, right there on the snow.
"I almost didn't see you here, Harry," Rita Skeeter said, her voice saccharine sweet and words not quite warm enough to sound friendly. "What are you doing all alone?"
"Just thinking," Harry said, mustering up a nervous smile. He couldn't help but remember Professor Wiemar's words about being careful with what he said to the reporters. This particular one had already proven herself time and time again to be clever with her words and capable of influencing the public quite easily. Harry was lucky that she seemed to like him, and he didn't want to have her as an enemy. "About, well, the tournament and such."
"That was quite the show you gave us," Skeeter said, and though she didn't appear to be taking notes, Harry knew without a doubt that everything he said now was being written down somewhere, somehow. "You're the youngest Champion and despite that, you're in the lead. Coming from Durmstrang, did you expect that?"
"You know, I have confidence in the education Durmstrang has given me," Harry started, "but, it's still, well... as you said, both Weasley and Delacour are older and more experienced than I am. I didn't really expect to get ahead, but I suppose it has a lot to do with luck also?"
"Well, luck is always a part of success, isn't it? What do you think of your fellow champions?" Skeeter asked, her voice almost convincingly sympathetic. "Have they been friendly towards you or do you they treat you like an equal?"
"Oh, we haven't spent much time together," Harry replied, "but I knew the Weasleys beforehand. My parents were friends of the family."
"Your parents would be so proud of you today," Skeeter said, and no matter how insincere her words were - it wasn't as if she had known James or Lily - Harry couldn't help but feel a little bit better. Merlin, how he wished he could have them here with him and make them proud. "What of Miss Delacour? She has gained quite the reputation so far, hasn't she?"
"She's immensely talented, and very strong," Harry said honestly, deciding to not comment on how much of said reputation had been gained through Skeeter's articles. "I'm sure everyone will be even more impressed by her after the third task."
"That's a kind thing to say, Harry! Have you got any guesses on what the third task could be?" Skeeter asked then, and how on earth could she just... keep asking questions and not make it sound like an interrogation? "You've been sent to far-away places twice already, do you think the third task will be like that too?"
"It's hard to guess, really," Harry said. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be even more, uh, entertaining than the previous two tasks. I only hope to not disappoint."
"Well, at least there's something to look forward to before the task, right?" Skeeter then continued, her tone teasing. "The Yule Ball! Now us journalists cannot attend, but I'm sure you'll have plenty of fun! Do you have a date for it yet? Is there a pretty lady that has caught your attention?"
'Circe, help,' Harry thought, sweating despite the cold with the effort to come up with a satisfying response. "I think I'll just go with a friend of mine. I'm... not particularly good at talking with girls." Was that good enough? What if she asked him about Truls? Harry didn't want his, well, relationship with Truls to become news. Especially since he himself didn't yet know what it was. They had kissed, but was kissing what Harry wanted to do with Truls?
"A handsome young man like you, you'll be surrounded by girls in no time," Skeeter said, smiling widely. "If you win, you'll be beating them off with a stick!"
"I don't know about that," Harry sighed. The thought of being surrounded by people in general - girls, boys, both - didn't sound appealing in the least. "I'm pretty boring, you know."
"Girls like the strong, silent type," Skeeter insisted, though her words were far from convincing. "What about you? What kind of girls do you like?"
'I don't like girls,' Harry thought, and somehow the thought being so clearly and simply put in his head, made something inside of him... settle. There was one less part of himself that he was uneasy with. "I like driven people," he finally answered, as honestly as he could. "Rather than focus on looks, I think I'd prefer to date someone who has their goals and works hard, and is pretty... independent? I admire people like you and Bellatrix Lestrange, you know. You've got interests and careers. You've got personality and ambitions. I think it's going to take a while before anyone I know gets to that point, and until then, I don't think I can... find them interesting, in, you know, that way?"
Lies. Well, not necessarily lies. Harry didn't want to date anyone. But he did feel attraction, and the thought of someone like Clemens sweeping him off his feet and just kissing him hard made his toes curl. The kiss with Truls had been nice too. In terms of personality, well... more than kiss, he wouldn't mind spending more time with someone like Tom. Someone he could talk with.
Skeeter was silent for a few long moments, her cigarette between her lips as she stared at the lake. "You know," she finally said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "It's going to take quite a while until kids your age sort out which bridges to burn and which to cross and for which causes. If you wait until then you'll miss out on a lot of growing, too. You're young. You're popular. Have your school day romances now and don't take them too seriously."
"I guess," Harry said, unsure of what else to respond with. Skeeter sighed, and pulled herself up. The look on her face wasn't as sweet as it had been earlier, and when she smiled at Harry, he felt wary more than anything else.
"Good luck," Skeeter said. "Look forward to my next article, Harry."
And then she left, leaving behind her a worried teenager and a cloud of smoke.
It was two days after his chat with Skeeter that Harry had another meeting – this time with Hermione.
The Groundkeeper's Hut had, much to Harry's surprise, not only gained a few more security measures but also rugs, a few pillows and blankets, a new set of curtains and other small things that made the place much nicer. It was also cleaner than it had been before, and there was even a pot of tea on a small stove.
"I know a couple of house-elves," Hermione said, tying her hair up into several small knots, and then smiling widely at Harry. On the table there were numerous books and parchments, and it was clear that the witch used the hut as a place to study in peace as well. "They like me so... sometimes they help out."
"Brilliant," Harry said, deeply impressed. "You're amazing, Hermione. This is great!"
"Oh, it's nothing," the girl said, before she gestured for Harry to sit down. "How much time do you have before your friends start missing you?"
"An hour maybe," Harry replied. "Thankfully everyone is busy revising and doing homework. How are you?"
"I'm good," Hermione said, sitting down as well. She was clearly nervous a bit, but didn't seem anxious. Excited, maybe? "I've been thinking about the things we've discussed so far. I believe that the most efficient way we can move forward with our mission is through organized advancement. This means that rather than recruit a lot of people right now, we could, say... recruit one more person. Then we divide the focus areas. I'd take care of research and you will obviously be, well, the face of the operation. What we're missing, however, is a strategy. Or a strategist."
"Recruiting one of those will require some serious luck," Harry said, thinking of his friends at Durmstrang. All of them were clever, but none of them seemed particularly gifted in strategy. Except Clemens, and despite the feelings Harry had for him, he knew that trusting Clemens with any of this information would be a huge mistake. "What can we do meanwhile?"
"Learn how to obliviate people, is one thing," Hermione said, torn between her academic desire to learn something new and the moral questions surrounding the need for such a spell. "You mentioned that you know how to do it?"
"Actually," Harry said, thinking of a potentially risky move that perhaps could be worth making. "I'm not good enough for it, and honestly, I'll be too busy preparing for the third task for me to practice it. However I have a tutor - Gilderoy Lockhart - who might be able to teach you how to cast that spell."
"Wait, Lockhart?" Hermione gasped, her eyes wide. She leaned forward, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement. "You don't mean-"
"Yeah, yes, him," Harry sighed, wondering how had Gildy managed to remain so popular despite his, well, everything. "I can ask him, and if you have time during the Christmas break...?"
"I have time," Hermione replied immediately. "I have plenty of time!"
"All right, that will be taken care of, then," Harry said. "What about the other idea you had? About small businesses and such?"
"Oh, that, yes." Hermione turned towards a pile of papers she had near her seat, and pulled out several files. "Remember how we discussed ways to promote small businesses owned by muggleborns? Well, I've written down as many as I could remember, but it's not much at all. Then I found a law office and really, you never know when you might need some legal help, so I added them too to the list." The girl then took a deep breath, her dark skin flushed. She bit her lip for a few seconds, before she continued:
"Is this too much? I mean, I know I get too enthusiastic about things, and maybe you didn't want or need this much information, but I just— I like research, you see. And learning. And when I focus on something and enjoy what I'm doing, I end up, well, doing too much."
"This is not too much, are you serious?" Harry asked, stunned and convinced that if there was love without romance, he was feeling it right now. Strongly. "This is incredible! It's beyond what I thought you could do! It's certainly far better than anything I could have done. Merlin... Hermione, you're a prime example of what this world is losing because of, well..."
"People who don't like my kind?" Hermione suggested quietly. "I know. I think about it often, you know? I can't help but think about it whenever I do better than anyone else in class, and somehow it never gets... recognized."
The two sit in melancholy silence for a few moments after that. The freezing wind outside rattled the windows, though inside the hut it was warm and comfortable. Harry wished that he could stay there rather than go back – which he'd need to do soon – but didn't want to risk anyone looking for him and finding their hiding place. There was, however, something else to do before he headed back to where his schoolmates were.
"I have one more thing that I need to tell you about," Harry said after gathering his courage for a bit. "It's... well... someone recently told me that in order for me to excel as a wizard, I need to figure out my... branch of magic, so to say. Something that I can become the best at. Like how some people are amazing at potions, some at dueling… things like that."
"That sounds logical, I suppose," Hermione said, secretly relieved to have a new conversation to focus on, rather than think of the way some teachers treated her. "You need to find your niche, is what you're saying? Do you have any idea on what it could be? What are you interested in? Light magic? Healing spells?"
"I... well, I don't really have special talents," Harry admitted, his heart beating fast and heavy in his chest. "Except one. I can, uh, this is going to sound so weird and I don't want to make this awkward, and I wouldn't even tell you if we hadn't agreed on keeping everything we discuss here a secret, but I can talk to dead people. Sometimes."
Hermione stared at him for a few long moments in utter silence, before she settled further into her seat with a heavy sigh. "All right," she said calmly. "Explain."
On the last weekend before the Yule Ball, Harry was alone in the common room of the quarters reserved for him and the other Durmstrang students. He laid on the couch, perfectly content with attending the upcoming ball wearing his funeral robes - they were charmed to still fit him and were of very fine quality. Besides, black robes were quite popular in general, no one would be able to tell that he was wearing the same robes he wore for... well... his mother's...
Everyone else, to his knowledge, was either still looking for dates or out doing some last minute shopping. Truls, excited for reasons Harry didn't want to think much about, had decided to go to a tailor and see if his robes fit him well enough. Mette had decided to go with him, a dangerous spark in her eye. Harry didn't know what she was up to, but was glad that he wasn't the one to have caught her attention this time.
'Björn would've loved it,' he thought suddenly, and smiled. Circe, while Truls was his best friend, he missed the others so much. He missed Filippa and Björn... and Clemens, too. Hogwarts was nice and all, but he wanted his own flat and the familiar halls and classrooms and dueling arenas and—
"Oh, great, you're here," a familiar voice said, and Harry sat up on the couch to see Sirius walking into the common room with a newspaper in his hand. He looked pleased, his dark hair pulled back, every bit the cocky godfather that Harry knew him as. "Is everybody else gone? How come?"
"Yule Ball is in a couple of days," Harry replied with a shrug. "What brings you here?"
"This," Sirius replied with a grin, and threw the newspaper at him. "I don't know how you managed this, but congratulations."
"What?" Harry muttered with a frown, unfolding the rolled paper only to see the front page title: KNOW YOUR CHAMPIONS: HAUGHTY OR HUMBLE? by Rita Skeeter.
"She's a nasty piece of work," Sirius said, throwing himself down onto one of the large, comfortable couches. "I don't know how you got her to like you, but it's bloody useful."
"I didn't know she was planning on publishing another article about us this soon," Harry said, reading through the article with no small amount of anxiety. As much as he enjoyed his godfather's company, he wasn't sure if he wanted it right then, especially if he came bearing potentially stressful news. "There wasn't... we didn't have an official interview after the second task."
[Going above and beyond to bring you the most exclusive and exciting details of our three champions—]
"What about an unofficial one?" Sirius asked. "Don't feel bad about it, you did well. Poor Delacour, however, Skeeter seems to really have it in for her."
"Does she, now," Harry muttered. "What do you think of Delacour, anyway? She's strong, isn't she?"
"Of course she's strong," Sirius replied. "She's one very talented witch. I can't wait to see what she'll do during the third task."
[George Weasley, who used to be a prankster before the tournament, has perhaps undergone the most obvious change: from a healthy wizard to a grim, one-eared young man who might not even win the tournament he risked so much for...]
'What about me?' Harry thought, but only shrugged, not commenting on that part. "Any hints about the third task that you can give?"
"I wish," Sirius sighed. "But forget about it for now! There's the Yule Ball and a very relaxing break before the third task becomes something you need to worry about! Have you got a date for the ball yet?"
"I'm going with Truls," Harry replied. "He asked, I said yes."
[...Fleur Delacour, who has been particularly popular among wizards, has showcased her foul, ruthless nature...]
"Merlin, really?" Sirius sighed, clearly disappointed. "You do realize you don't have to go with your friend, right? Any girl at Hogwarts would love to go with you."
Harry opened his mouth, ready to tell his godfather that he wasn't going with Truls as just friend - it was a date. And that he wouldn't have wanted to go with a girl anyway, unless the girl was a friend, but somehow he just... couldn't. He couldn't say it. A horrible thought crept into his mind, a new worry over whether or not it was fine for him to like boys this way - he knew no one else but Gildy who did that, and Harry wasn't... he wasn't like Gildy.
[...no softness in her femininity, the Veela was quick to put down her target. One can only speculate whether or not the euthanisation of her crippled 6-year-old sister two years ago has made her heart void of compassion...]
Perhaps it was better to say that he couldn't be like Gildy. Not with the life he was living, not with the things he'd need to do.
"I don't want to give anyone any wrong impressions," Harry finally said. "If I went with a girl, everyone would be calling her my girlfriend. I don't want that."
"When I was your age, a girlfriend was all I wanted," Sirius sighed, shaking his head. "How the times have changed!"
[Though he comes from a notoriously accredited school, Durmstrang's Harry Potter - a native English wizard from a respected family - shows none of the cockiness one might have expected from the most successful champion so far…]
"I guess," Harry said in response. "It's just... with journalists like Skeeter running around, I don't want to get into that kind of... thing. I'm fine the way I am right now."
"If you say so," Sirius sighed. "Just... don't hold back on anyone's account, all right? If you want a girlfriend, don't let being a celebrity stop you."
"I'm not a celebrity," Harry said. Sirius barked a laugh, and shook his head again.
"Oh, boy," he said. "After this tournament? You will be."
"Well, you look handsome," Maria said, as soon as she saw Harry dressed in his funeral robes. "A bit gloomy, though. You should have gone with green robes, I think."
"Oh, but look at this quality," Mette sighed, running her hand down Harry's arm. Her gown - pale grey and cinched around the waist, with some decorative structure made of rose gold on her hips - looked amazing. "Besides, black is a classic. He'll be fine as long as he knows how to dance. You do know how to dance, don't you?"
"He's decent," Ingrid said, joining. "If someone leads him in a dance, he'll do just fine."
"Oh, in that case he'll fine, he's going with Truls," Mette said, sounding satisfied. "I saw him earlier by the mirror, by the way, when I was saying hi to Viktor and Anthony. And Harry, your boy is fine."
"You still haven't told us who you're going with," Harry hastily said, not wanting to discuss his best friend's looks. "You haven't said anything. Not so much as a hint, really."
"Not Anthony, right?" Maria asked carefully. "I mean... Silvia Nott is here. You know how he is when she's around."
"Yes, thank you Maria, I know. No, it's not him. You'll find out soon enough who it is," Mette replied, her smile sharp and struggling to remain on her face. "We ought to go soon, right? The Champions and their partners are meant to meet up before the ball begins, and then enter together."
"Yeah, Professor Wiemar told me about that," Harry said. "I think we can all walk together towards the Great Hall, and Truls and I will just wait outside for the other Champions."
It was then that Truls entered the common room, dressed in dark blue robes that made his blue eyes seem even bluer. His blonde hair was combed back and he looked, well, good. Really good. Maria made sound that sounded a bit like she was struggling for air, and Harry couldn't help but feel... stressed, a bit. Thoughts of the kiss he had had with Truls, and thoughts of Clemens, flashed through his mind as he did his best to not think of how tall Truls was and since when were his shoulders that wide and when did he even exercise to get his arms like that for Circe's sake and—
"Breathe, darling," Mette whispered, clearly barely containing her giggles. "You're staring. Not that he minds."
"We should go," Harry managed, trying to not dwell too much on what Mette just said. He hadn't been staring. Staring wasn't his thing. "Are we going to wait for the others?"
"Let's not," Mette said cheerfully. "For all we know Anthony is still crying over Silvia not giving him the time of the day."
"He's a terror," Truls huffed, coming to stand next to Harry before slowly herding him towards the exit. "Nearly hexed Krum twice already. The insufferable idiot."
"He's got a broken heart," Mette said, following them, leaving Maria and Ingrid behind. "It's been years and Silvia Nott still thinks he's not worth her time. Which, granted, she's right about." Harry remembered his brief encounter with Silvia Nott some time ago - the chubby witch with the dark hair and bright smile and sharp look in her eyes seemed far too nice for someone like Anthony Lestrange to appreciate.
"Mr. Potter," someone called, and Harry turned to see Professor McGonagall heading his way. "Mr. Kettil, Miss Erling, good to have the both of you here as well. Please follow me - we've reserved a small room for the Champions and their partners to stay at before we lead you to the Great Hall.
"Wait, why are you going as well?" Truls asked, turning to Mette. The witch shrugged with a knowing smirk, and walked on Harry's other side to where McGonagall was leading them. Once they entered the room, they saw George Weasley standing with a girl Harry didn't know, and Fleur— standing alone.
"Darling," Mette said, letting go of Harry and heading towards the Veela. "You look gorgeous."
"So do you," Fleur replied, and Merlin, this was something Harry had not seen coming. Neither, it seems, had George who looked at Harry and Truls with raised eyebrows. Harry smiled nervously in return.
"Now that all three champions with their partners are here," McGonagall said, "I'll quickly brief you before we begin. You've already been informed of this, but you, as the champions and their partners, are expected to open the ball with the first dance. Journalists have not been allowed to attend, however I must remind you to still be very careful with your behaviour. You will be under the spotlight and guests and other students will be watching your every move."
'Isn't that pleasant,' Harry thought, dreading the whole event already.
"Though the temptation to leave early might be great," McGonagall continued, "you must remain in the hall until at least eleven o'clock. Mingle, dance and enjoy the food. Any questions? No? Well then... follow me."
"I can't believe she went with a rival champion," Truls said quietly as they headed together towards the Great Hall. Harry knew he meant Mette, and while he was surprised by who her partner was, thinking of it that way hadn't crossed his mind. "No wonder she kept it a secret, I don't think Karkaroff would have allowed it if he'd known."
"Why not?" Harry asked, just as quietly.
"By going with a champion from another school, she's showing support to her," Truls replied with a grimace. "I don't like it."
When they entered the Great Hall, walking in pairs, Harry barely paid attention to the sounds of clapping. He had noticed, immediately, the people occupying the seven seats on the platform at the far end of the hall: three judges on the left, three principals on the right, and in the middle, with two masked Death Eaters standing behind him, sat the Dark Lord.
"Holy shit," Truls whispered. "He's here."
'He really is here,' Harry thought with mixed feelings, before he turned his head to take in the sight of the decorated Great Hall. He absently allowed Truls to pull him into a dance when the music started, while wondering what kind of magic had gone into creating the sparkling silver frost covering the walls, the starry ceiling and the floor that appeared to be frozen over, but wasn't slippery. The House tables were nowhere to be seen; instead there were numerous smaller tables, with students and guests crowding around them. Much to Harry's relief, however, most of the people weren't actually looking at him; Mette and Fleur were in the spotlight, and all eyes were on them. Perhaps this way no one would actually notice the blush he couldn't get rid of for the first half an hour of dancing so close to Truls.
After the second dance, however, someone stepped in right before the music for the third dance would begin. Bellatrix Lestrange, smiling with deceptive charm, had decided to not wait any longer. "If you don't mind, gentlemen," she said, "I'm sure Harry here wouldn't deny me a quick dance, am I right?"
"O-of course, ma'am," Harry said, casting a wild-eyed look at Truls, whose face revealed none of what he could've been thinking. The Swedish wizard took a step back, allowing Bellatrix to take his place.
"You needn't lead, I can do that," Bellatrix said just as the music began again. Within a few short moments, they were drifting away from Truls, Harry doing his best to dance with the most feared witch he knew. "I'm quite sure I didn't interrupt an important conversation, you seemed to be too smitten to manage a word, dear."
"I'm, uh, I'm not smitten," Harry protested. He really wasn't. He just... had suddenly come to realize that his best friend was really, really attractive. Because somehow, he didn't know how, admitting to himself that he liked boys rather than girls had made him more prone to actually feeling things. "You look lovely."
"Thank you, dear," Bellatrix said, her smile anything but kind and gentle. "You've been doing quite well in the tournament so far. Did you receive training for it?"
"Well, not for the tournament specifically," Harry replied hesitantly. "Just... in general."
"You seem to be in good graces right now, little Harry," Bellatrix whispered, glancing at someone over Harry's shoulders. Someone who was sitting at the end of the hall, and Harry knew that only one man aside from her husband could get that much attention from her. "You know, when I heard that the Dark Lord nominated you, I didn't suspect much beyond a coincidence. After all it is not that much a shock for him to nominate someone from Durmstrang's golden generation. But that is not all there is to it, am I right?"
Harry's heart was beating fast and hard, and his palms were getting sweaty. He took a deep breath and said: "I know better than to deny anything you clearly know already, but what... what led you to that conclusion?"
"Smart boy," the witch murmured. "I've fought by the Dark Lord's side for years. The way he holds his wand in a duel, the way he casts his spells, the movement of his feet, his posture... it's a combination that is uniquely his, and very few are capable and self-aware enough to have such control over their bodies during a duel. Dedicated training from adolescence at least is required to allow the body to gain specific muscle memories. For a young wizard training hard every day with someone who's a master at dueling that way - the Dark Lord himself, for example - it wouldn't be an impossibility to learn it. Do you see where I'm going with this?"
"Yes," Harry breathed in response. Strangely enough, however, the fear was washed away by a sudden bout of clarity; he wasn't shaking or sweating, his thoughts were clear and his voice was steady as he continued: "And if I'm right in what I think you've figured out, then please... don't ask. I can't tell you without his permission. Nobody else knows, you see."
"Not even your godfather?" Bellatrix asked, narrowing her eyes. "No one?"
"Not even Sirius," Harry replied. "Not even my dad, back when he was alive."
At this, Harry saw an expression on her face that he doubted anyone had ever seen before: pity. Bellatrix Lestrange had shot him a look of pity, before she said: "He is the greatest wizard to ever live."
"I know."
"Do not take his grace lightly, little Harry. His favour is a glorious, but a heavy, burden to carry. I've walked through fire and burnt to a husk before he built me up again. It is not easy. The Dark Lord is a leader magic itself honours, and one should take his favour with grave seriousness."
"He's more than that, I think," Harry whispered, barely daring to speak. He thought of Voldemort, of Tom. Of the moments he had shared with the wizard, the frustration he had felt every time the man had disappointed him, and the comfort he had received. Tom was someone Harry cherished, and he wanted to keep the older wizard safe regardless of the mission that he had received from Merope. "He's... he's more than a Dark Lord. I'd walk through fire for him, I'd walk through worse. I think... it's because of who he is. Not just his magic, I don't care about whether or not magic honours him - I honour him. If he told me to lie down and die, then come back to life again, I would do it." In fact, he had done it. Bellatrix didn't need to know the details of it, however, or of the conversation preluding that request.
The witch stopped, and stared at Harry with a peculiar, wide-eyed expression. She then touched his cheek with a lightly shaking hand and said: "Fall in love with a simple boy, Harry. I can see your other option and I wouldn't wish that upon you."
"Oh, I'm not in love with anybody," Harry replied, taken aback by the sudden turn of the conversation. From the corner of his eye he could see Truls heading towards them, and wondered if this was all Bellatrix had really wanted to tell him. "And I don't plan on, well I mean, I don't have time to fall in love yet."
"You're telling me there's no one but Sirius to spend your Christmas with?" Bellatrix asked, shaking her head. "No one you'd want there?"
"I'm not spending with Sirius, actually," Harry revealed. "I'm going with... well, I have training to do."
Bellatrix looked at him silently for a few more moments, before she sighed deeply. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, Harry," she said just as Truls came to a halt right next to them. "I'm sure you and your date would like to spend some more time dancing."
"Thank you for the dance," Harry hastily said. Somehow this encounter had left him with a bad feeling at the pit of his stomach, and Harry wasn't sure what to do about it.
"And you're sure that you'd rather spend the break at your friend's house?" Sirius asked, watching Harry pack a few essentials into a small bag. "Christmas is already tomorrow, you know. There'll be another feast."
"I'll pass," Harry replied, trying to sound as gentle as possible. "I know you'll be busy with the third task preparations, and Truls already had to leave in the morning, so I'd end up spending too much time alone after the celebrations are over. It's better in the long run if I go. Besides... with the number of journalists running around..."
"Oh, come on," Sirius said teasingly. "You've got Skeeter in your pocket, what else could you want?"
"I don't want to bother with journalists for a while," Harry replied, still not quite sure where he stood with Skeeter. "I just want to... relax and take it easy a bit." Because that was what would be happening.
"Fair enough," Sirius sighed, before smiling fondly at Harry. "You've been doing well so far, kid. I'm proud of you. You even survived a dance with Bella yesterday!"
"The scariest moments in my life," Harry said, shaking his head and thinking fast to come up with anything that would prevent Sirius from asking further questions about his dance with the witch. "Truls told me it was barely two minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I don't even remember a word of what she said."
"She has that effect on people," Sirius laughed. "Do you need me to take you anywhere, or will your friend pick you up from here?"
"I have a portkey," Harry replied, finishing his packing and reaching for his coat. "I'm set. I'll see you when I get back, all right?"
"Sure," Sirius replied. When he left, Harry took a deep breath and tapped the portkey lightly with his finger. Tom had told him that he could use it to exit Hogwarts from the inside, not needing to go all the way outside for it to work.
'That nerd,' Harry thought fondly. 'I bet he enjoyed working on how to get past the wards without making them react.' He then took a deep breath, held on to his bag tightly, and activated the portkey. And Merlin, did he hate using portkeys. The spinning, the unpleasant feeling of being pulled through space to a far-away location – Harry really hated using portkeys. When he hit the ground at his destination, it took him a few moments to even try getting up and on his feet again.
When he did, he found Tom looking at him with an unimpressed face.
"I considered teaching you something you can strike your enemies with," the Dark Lord said dryly. "But I changed my mind. Before anything else, I'll teach you how to apparate."