Chapter 17: Inferno
"For there of a sudden I saw three shapes arise,
Three hellish Furies boltered all with blood...." - Hell (Dante's 'Inferno')
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Over the next week, the trio worked on their holiday homework, and thanks to several spells from Mr and Mrs Krum, Harry was able to go to town and on trips without being recognised.
There had been no hints as to how or why Harry had suddenly lost his memory, or controlled the broom with such fluid ease; instead, Harry pointedly ignored Ajax, instead choosing to work on homework, his website, and learning the many different types of sword-fighting with the help of his rods.
"The only bad thing about Sweden," Ron mused as Harry read through a letter he had received from Sirius, "is that it's so bloody cold. I mean, why couldn't Sweden be put along the Equator?"
"Because then you'd complain it was too hot," Hermione pointed out. "You know, we've only got twelve more days until we go back to the Burrow; another day after that, and the holidays are over. Isn't it amazing how the time just flew by?"
"Flies by," Harry corrected. "It's not as though the holiday's over yet. Actually, I'm looking forward to when it's over." He grinned happily. "Quidditch season starts when we go back, and the first match is Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff." His face fell a little. "Which means I'll be watching Cho. Damn."
Ron sniggered. "Never mind, mate. I'm sure she'll go easy on you in the next Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match."
Harry glared at him. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. Anyway, you're going up against her in the finals of the chess tournament, just a few days after we get back, aren't you?"
Now it was Ron's turn to be worried. "Yeah, you're right... bugger, I hope she won't have a go at me just because I'm your friend. Stop smirking, Hermione!"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I wasn't smirking, I was smiling. There's a difference. Anyway, when are your Career interviews? Mine's on January second, so I should be looking up the qualifications needed for teaching."
"Mine's on the second as well," Ron said, casting his eye over some particularly nice-looking Swedish chocolates that Harry was trying to disregard. "Harry's is the day before us, though, since he's not having a History lesson that day." He sighed theatrically. "Alas, if only Harry had failed the O.W.L."
"Do you want me to hit you?" Harry asked, only half-joking, as he put the letter down. "Besides, you've got our dates muddled up again; History is on Wednesdays, so I won't be skipping any lessons."
Sirius wasn't exactly very happy with Harry's 'fly over hungry dragons' stunt, and sternly informed he that he was lucky he wasn't receiving a Howler (the next paragraph mentioned how proud he was that Harry won, congratulations on the great flying, and said that Harry's father would have done the same, though, so Harry suspected he wasn't too angry).
On Thursday, Harry received a letter from Levina, informing him of what next terms lessons would be, the progress of the Unicorn (and scolding him for going away so that he wouldn't be able to see her), and warning him that his sword-fighting training was nearly coming to a close, and soon they'd be starting proper fighting, rather than the small spars they had usually - and after that, Harry would be making his own sword, a strange thought.
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Christmas came astonishingly quickly, and even the ever-sulking Nicholas joined the trio and the rest of the Krums for a Christmas dinner in the hotel's expansive dining hall, from where they then travelled to the lounge and it's enormous Christmas tree to open their presents.
While Ron admired the fairies, trapped in glass cages like lanterns, hanging around the room (the staff assured Hermione that they were to be released the next day, as she almost had a fit upon seeing them), the others called him over to join them in opening gifts that they had either taken with them or been sent by owls over the past few days.
As Hermione almost squealed with delight over her presents from Harry, the books, 'Runes: An In-Depth Study', 'Apparition: The MOM Authorised Guide', and 'The Faerie Rings', and Ron happily thanked Harry for the thick, special collector's edition of Chocolate Frog card book, which had slots for the cards to slip into.
Whilst everyone opened their presents, Harry was only too pleased to see his own. From Hermione, he received a years subscription to 'Which Broomstick?', and from Ron, he gained books; 'Magical Duelling for Beginners (Volume I)' and 'A Tome of Charms'.
Ginny had given Harry a strange, leather circle of cloth, which wrapped around Harry's wrist. It was a dark scarlet, almost brown, and though the leather itself was quite thin, it was quite long, reaching from just above Harry's hand to five centimetres up his lower arm. On each side, it had an oval cut out of it.
It was (or so her letter said) a wristwrite, which would when writing, automatically train the hand to write in any language, whether they knew it or not. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be able to help understand the language, which was apparently what a wristread did.
Mr and Mrs Weasley had sent Harry a box of healthy food, rather than the chocolates they usually sent him - Ron had mentioned to them how Harry was now eating such things - and the twins had taken up the idea by giving him a set of beginner weights for lifting, as well as a large chocolate-fudge cake to tempt him. Harry quickly gave it to Mr and Mrs Krum, insisting they had it instead of him.
Percy gave him a pair of stones, which Harry thought was quite... unusual. Ron explained afterwards, however, that they were Seeing Stones; the rough, black pebble could be left somewhere, and by holding the smooth white one and concentrating on it, the person would be able to see what was happening around the black one.
Bill and Charlie put their presents together again; they gave Harry a huge set of moving figurines of Magical animals, which included Unicorns, Dragons, Fairies, Winged Horses and much more; and a set of Magical people, which included moving representations of Wizards, Merpeople, Goblins and others.
Sirius sent 'Magical Plants and Trees' and a Golden Snitch which Harry could practice his Quidditch skills with. There was a smattering of presents from others; Hagrid and his dorm-mates mainly - but the gift that really stuck out in his mind was the gift from Levina. Though Harry would make his own sword, the same obviously didn't have to be said about a back-up weapon.
It was a long, narrow box that the weapon arrived in, and when Harry unwrapped it and opened the box, he could only stare in wonder at the contents. The dagger was encased firmly in a hard white sheathe that seemed mirror-like, but at the top and bottom were diamonds inset into the stiff material.
Harry could already see the simple grip and small pommel, but he drew it out to see the blade as well, and gasped. The pommel was merely a ball of white, ringed with tiny diamonds; the grip was of the same simple white, but with no jewels. The blade, however, was not of the metal he was expecting.
Instead, as though hammered flat, the blade was also a stunning white, but something whiter than he had thought possible. A smooth material, harder and colder than anything he had felt before.
The blade, he realised, was a part of a gleaming dragon fang, somehow cut small and fine enough to create a blade thin and delicate, only half a foot long, but still powerful and deadly.
Slipping it back into its sheathe before anyone could notice it, he mentally cursed as he discovered that running his hand down the grip made the necklace of Y'Laagrondd burn again.
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Checking the back of the pendant in the bathroom at the end of the day, Harry's suspicions were confirmed. Below the first two symbols was another one; this one completely unlike any letter or symbol he knew. It vaguely resembled a line going straight up, and then coming slightly down at an angle.
It had appeared sometime since the day the dragon had first appeared, for it had not been there then - and if he had to bet money, he would bet everything he had that it had appeared just moments ago, when the necklace had started to burn. But how much did it have left to write? What was it saying?
Wishing he had the answers - and he was sure that Levina had, and doubly so that she wouldn't tell him - Harry tucked the necklace beneath his pyjama top, and made his way to bed.
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It was just a few days afterwards that their time in Sweden came to an end, and after goodbyes (except from Nicholas, who had said about a total of fifty words during the past three weeks), each made their way to their destinations. The trio returned home via the Portplace, and the Krums - as Durmstrang had a week of holidays remaining - were taking a Portkey to Germany, where Viktor was playing in an important match.
They had just one day at the Burrow to make sure they hadn't lost their school things, and that their uniforms still fitted them, before on Sunday, they were packed back off to school.
The first two days back were a breeze; talking to a few over-excited students who had come up to ask Harry about his victory in the Broom Race (Harry of course didn't mention that he had no idea how he'd done it), long, hard revision in lessons, and waiting until Tuesday arrived.
Harry waded his way through Herbology and Potions, and at lunch, he was summoned to his Career Interview in Professor McGonagall's office. It was only after he had entered and sat down in front of the teacher's desk that he realised he'd not much idea what he'd want to be. McGonagall looked at him expectantly.
"Now, Potter. You want to be an Auror, correct?"
Harry frowned. "No, Professor - I'd hate to be one."
This obviously wasn't quite what she had been expecting. The woman stared at him in obvious incredulity for a second, then stuffed some papers and leaflets about Auror Training on her desk away. "Well, I know how much you like Quidditch, but it takes a long time to get on a professional team -"
"I don't want to be a Quidditch player," Harry inserted, and this really shut her up.
McGonagall stared at him, lost for words, and Harry felt a slight, rebellious thrill at not being what she expected, not fitting in her perfect, planned view of the world, where it was proven that she obviously didn't know him, unlike what she may think. Just because his birth was planned didn't mean his whole life would be.
Deciding to suggest the same thing he had talked about with Ron and Hermione, Harry brought up his choice of a job. "I was wondering what sort of qualifications you have to get to become an ambassador," he stated.
Yet another sentence that she didn't expect him to say!
By the way McGonagall took her glasses off and cleaned them, a confused expression on her face, it was obvious that she didn't have any leaflets on becoming an ambassador to give to Harry.
"Well," she coughed, "a Magical ambassador has quite different responsibilities to a Muggle ambassador - for a start, Magical ones don't usually spend their time in one particular country, but instead travel around a lot, going to different countries or races. That's why an ability for learning and remembering languages quickly is a much valued skill for ambassador. You have to have a good mind for politics; know the laws and different treaties and agreements and so on; there's a lot of paperwork to deal with, as well as knowing all the formalities of royal dinners and such."
Harry nodded as he listened, memorising the information. "Is the pay good?" he asked, recalling Hermione had mentioned the earnings, but unable to remember exactly how much it was.
McGonagall pushed her glasses back on. "It's about forty-five thousand Galleons starting out, but it gets higher the longer you work. It's very hard, important work, of course, but the pay and holidays are excellent. Do you know what qualifications you'd need?"
Harry shook his head.
"You'd really need an E-Level in Magical Culture at Advanced or Master level; probably a couple of E-Levels in languages as well, so that it would be obvious you have a good head for them. Law is a must, and Advanced Auror Studies or Protective Magic would be a good idea - if you get into a nasty situation, because ambassadors are excellent targets for terrorists and such-like. Politics is a definite, as well."
The teacher delved into one of her desk drawers, and brought out a pair of small pamphlets. "These contain all of the information on types of E-Levels, NEWTs and so on - I'm afraid there aren't any booklets on ambassadors; it's not really a job a lot of students consider."
Harry thanked her as he took the pamphlets, but before he could ask any more questions, the door swung open and Professor Sprout rushed in to stand by McGonagall and urgently whisper something in her ear. McGonagall's expression turned grim, and she rose to leave.
"I'm afraid something rather important has come up, Mr Potter. I'm sorry, but we'll have to cut this short. Good luck." Seeing that he had been excused, Harry himself rose and left as quickly as he could for the dormitory.
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"Something's going on," Harry announced to Ron, Hermione and Ginny once he was back in Gryffindor Tower. He would have preferred if Ginny wasn't there, but she had been playing chess with Ron, and he knew she wouldn't take kindly to being shooed away. Briefly, he explained what had happened.
Ron looked fascinated. "You got pamphlets?"
Smacking him on the arm, Hermione scowled. "Ron, that's not the point. You know, it might just be nothing; maybe one of the plants in the greenhouse has turned out to be mildly poisonous or something."
Harry shook his head. "I dunno, but I have a feeling it isn't that. If you'd just seen her - Sprout looked really worried, and McGonagall seemed pretty angry about something. Not a 'mad rage' thing, but 'extreme, disapproving seething'. You know, like when Fred and George played Whack Tag with the Whomping Willow."
Ron nodded thoughtfully, but Hermione looked unsure. Ginny seemed quite interested, and excited to finally be a part of the Dream Team's latest adventure, seeing as how her last part was 'possessed victim' several years ago.
Harry gave up. There was no other information to go on, and he didn't have any idea as to where the teachers had gone after he'd left. "Well, just keep an ear out for anything weird," he finally decided aloud. "I'm going to go to the dormitory and read."
As he sat on his bed, pulling the curtains around his bed, Harry took the time to scan 'Apparition: The MOM Authorised Guide' into the rod, and 'read' it through. Following that, he began reading the booklets Professor McGonagall gave him, and wondered what E-Levels grades he would attempt.
The days passed quickly; now there was practically no free time, thanks to the massive amounts of revision and homework forced upon them. Harry's load was slightly less than the others due to his already having taken two OWLs, and the trio overall had their troubles significantly lessened by the rods (all three could now stand several full rods before getting headaches), but there was still little time for entertainment.
By the time the Potions group handed in their potions coursework - creating several potions which were meant to cure various small ailments such as stomach-aches - the careers day was over (it hadn't been particularly useful) as was the Inter-House Chess Tournament. It had been Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor, and Harry was horrified to recall that the players were Cho Chang against Ron.
There was much adulation around the Tower, though, for Ron had managed to defeat her after a three hour game (which Hermione was horrified at; she firmly believed it was time better spent revising) from ten pm to one am. There were so many Gryffindors and Ravenclaws yawning the next day, the teachers were convinced there had been some kind of midnight feast or party.
There was a small ceremony where Harry and Hermione awarded the Inter-House Chess Champion Cup to Ron, while Colin Creevey snapped a few shots before anyone noticed he had a camera.
On Saturday the thirteenth, with just four days until the new 'Elemental Rider' brooms were released, Harry received his bank statement (£17,281,583 at the end of last month), and delighted in the fact that he was sure to be able to afford a broom - unless the bidding went a lot higher than expected.
At training that night, after spell creation classes had finished, Harry was excited to know that he was now a proud graduate of Levina's sword-fighting lessons.
"I'll be showing you staff-fighting, once you manage to beat me," Levina announced, tossing Harry his sword. Just a year ago, Harry would have dropped it, but now he snatched it in midair, and brought it round to one of the starting positions of the Atlantean fighting-art; the 'mandai dalan' within two seconds.
"We'll keep fighting until you beat me five times. You'll probably be exhausted after just one fight, but you're not always going to be attacked when you're fully refreshed, so it'll be a good lesson for you." Levina explained, bringing her own beautifully-crafted sword out. "If we run late, we'll continue next lesson."
Harry held the rough cloth covering on the sword grip, muscles relaxed to allow faster movement, and gritted his teeth determinedly. He'd had the help of the rods and an excellent tutor. He'd slain a basilisk at the age of twelve. He'd been exercising, eating healthily, and had actually noticed his muscles for once. He was damned if he wasn't going to win at least the first fight!
Levina casually twisted into a different starting pose; unlike Harry's 'mandai dalan' which was primarily defensive, her choice was the 'mandai min soten', a stance chosen for its readiness and allowance for easy and swift access to attack moves. Harry knew what to do in this instance; if the enemy chose attack, force them into defence.
As soon as Levina nodded her head to begin, Harry rushed forwards bringing the sword down and forwards, aiming for her chest. The mandai min soten made Levina move slowly to block it, but she managed in time. Harry had been expecting this, however; twisting to her side, he took advantage of her surprise and slashed at her left side.
Levina didn't block this; a cut an inch deep was obviously sliced through her, and this time not only blood was the result - Harry saw Levina give a jolt, and heard something snap. As he brought the sword back to try again, Levina slipped out of range, her blood soaking the shirt she had on.
"Nice shot," she said approvingly, as she scanned for a chink in Harry's defences, "feels like you got a couple of my wires. I don't think you've ever done that before."
Harry didn't waste his breath in a reply, like she was hoping. Instead he grinned to show he'd heard, and reminded himself one hit didn't constitute a victory. There was another danger of course; Harry had finally managed to beat her five times previously with her normal blade, and now she was fighting with her poisonous one. If Harry got one particularly long or deep scratch, let alone a whole swipe, and Levina couldn't heal him in time, he was dead.
Levina tested his defences with a jab to his stomach, but Harry didn't take the bait, and stepped backwards, before rushing forwards and managing to swipe her waist.
Just over half an hour later, they were into their fifth fight. Harry had won the first, second and fourth, while Levina had managed to defeat him on the third; luckily she was also fast with the healing spell - only one type could cure the poison in her blade, and only she knew it.
Harry was exhausted, but Levina was injured, while he - the smaller, more agile target - was harder to hit, and also was more determined not to lose. Finally, after Harry managed to force a powerful parry which smashed Levina's sword to the side, he brought his blade to her neck before she could re-engage him or defend herself.
"Fourth fight to me," Harry grinned, the edge of his sword hovering just a millimetre away from his teacher's neck. Levina rolled her eyes and pushed his arm away.
"I must be rusty," she declared in mock-superiority. "I've never been beaten by a juvenile delinquent in my life."
"Either rusty, or an excellent teacher," Harry smiled - partly because it was true, partly to be polite, and partly to play for time to get his breath back. A thought struck him. "Where were you then, since Atlantis sank? Did you escape to Britain with some of the humans?"
Levina sniffed. "Certainly not. In the ways of the Titanic; there was no room on the lifeboats. When the Five, the Dark, whatever you want to call them - sent their daemon army, a lot of boats were called into the military, and many more were sunk; fishing boats and whatnot, in hopes of preventing us getting food, or getting supplies from the mainland. By the time the foundations of Atlantis were destroyed in an underwater battle, there were few boats left - and I myself had already been sealed away along with-"
Levina cut herself off hurriedly. "Anyway, I was sealed away to stop android technology falling into the hands of the kingdom of Cyrin. If I had gone on one of the few boats, flying carpets or whatnot, I may have been taken prisoner, and it was impossible to Apparate around Atlantis due to the amount of wards and defences we'd put up."
"What about Portkeys?" Harry asked, pretending not to notice her slip-up.
Levina shrugged. "This was over five thousand years ago. Portkeys hadn't been invented then; transport was still incredibly primitive, and most research was in medicines, the movement of the stars, magic to help in everyday life - no-one had much wish to travel beyond the city, as it was such a paradise. In all of the island, there was only one port. Perhaps if there had been more, more people would have survived... but that's all in the past now.
"Fight?" Levina asked Harry, as she smiled cheerfully, and drew back to raise her sword.
Harry lost that fight, but he won the next, and Levina agreed to start teaching him staff-fighting next lesson. Harry's mind was awhirl as got ready for bed; Levina had said 'I myself had already been sealed away with-'.
With what? With whom? Or had she cut herself off halfway through - was she about to say 'without'? Within?
Another thing; she had apparently made most of Techno-Magic. If she had been locked away for so long, then she must have passed the information on to someone, and they had made the laptops and so on. But who?
Tired from his activities, Harry decided to think on it in the morning, and crawled into bed to nurse both bruises and weary limbs.
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Harry unfortunately couldn't figure out what Levina's slip up was, and she didn't drop any hints in Divination lessons on Tuesday. The day after, Harry got to spend more time with 'Professor Carnaena', however - she was his bodyguard to the five o'clock start of the Elemental Riders' auction at the British Wizarding Museum.
The newspapers had been going on about nothing else for the past few days, and it was common knowledge around school that Harry (the lucky devil) would be going to the auction. No-one assumed he'd be buying one, though; his riches were still (thankfully) a well-kept secret, though he doubted it would be after tonight.
Levina and Harry took a Portkey to one of the rooms assigned to arrivals, and were immediately escorted to a large room that had dozens of tapestries and portraits hanging on the walls. This wasn't the room the brooms were to be auctioned in; there would be half an hour for everyone to arrive and mingle with the others.
Harry stood with Levina, a little unsure, over near one of the corners. Ron and the others had warned him it would be a posh affair, but he had never thought it would be like this; he saw managers and players of Quidditch teams - British, American, European, Asian - celebrities (he was sure he caught a glimpse of Celestina Warbeck), officials from the Ministry of Magic, reporters, broom experts and collectors.
Everyone was wearing dresses and tuxedoes, and he was glad he had relented to Hermione's insistence that he wore a tuxedo himself (though he hadn't liked the emergency mail-order to Gladrags). Levina seemed to be the only woman who hadn't been living in a hair-stylist for the past week, spent a thousand Galleons on a huge, puffy dress covered in diamonds, and caked make-up and fake-tan over her.
Harry wore a simple black tuxedo and tie (which felt more like a noose), his watch, and some expensive leather shoes which Hermione had insisted on dragging him out for on the same day she forced him - at wand-point - to order a tux. His unlikely bodyguard was wearing Muggle jeans, a pair of sneakers and a long-sleeved black top.
She was also wearing a long black coat, and though it looked thin and quite useless against the cold, Harry knew it was actually there to hide several daggers, a spare wand, a tiny purple cube - Harry didn't know what it was, and she refused to tell him, saying it was in case of an emergency - and a book. When Harry asked what the book was for, wondering if it contained some deadly spell, she informed him it was in case she got bored.
Harry didn't ask any more questions after that
Finally, after Harry had managed to avoid being noticed for half an hour, someone eased out from one of a huge pair of double doors, and tapped his wine glass, requesting silence. The murmurs and hubbub of 'how much are you going to pay', 'do you think I should get liposuction' and 'when are you going to tell your wife about us' died down immediately, and everyone turned to him.
"The auction is about to begin, so if you could make your way into the adjoining room, the bidding can start."
The crowd of perhaps two-hundred people made a polite but obvious rush to be the first one in, and Harry followed last, behind the reporters. Inside, rows of seats had been set up, and the cases containing Greek wands had been moved against the walls. A huge chandelier of candles hovered overhead, unattached to the ceiling but held up by magic. At the front, the auctioneer motioned to a woman standing at the corner of the room.
Immediately, two Wizards came from another adjoining room, carrying a large, oak case by its silver handles.
As Harry took his seat, and the potential buyers craned forwards eagerly, the woman walked over and started removing the security spells from the case. The auctioneer cleared his throat.
"This is the first of thirteen brooms up for sale; the first in the series of the 'Elemental Riders'."
As he finished the sentence, the woman unclasped the lid, and pushed it back, bringing out one of the most beautiful brooms Harry had ever seen. Long, sleek, the handle end tapering to a point like a unicorn horn; made of some kind of reddish-brown wood, glossy and lustrous in the candlelight.
"The broom of the element of fire, called 'Inferno'," announced the auctioneer, and Harry could see everyone practically drooling as the woman turned it slightly so people could see 'Inferno' engraved on its side in gold, along with flame. "Capable of flying from nought to three-hundred and ten miles per hour within two seconds, along with in-built cushioning, alarm, security, anti-jinx, cooling, warming, braking..."
The bidding started immediately after the dozens of charms had been listed, and just the first broom took forty minutes to sell; finally one of the American teams bought it for more than a hundred and twenty thousand Galleons.
Next was Stonehandle, the Earth broom, made of a grey wood, specially made for flying close to the ground; Hurricane the Air broom, a beautiful white covering on it and 'one of the fastest'. Each took more than half an hour to sell, and ended up at more than Inferno had sold for.
Tsunami the Water broom and Heavenhigh the Celestial broom were also sold; Harry was disappointed at this, because he fell in love with Heavenhigh the moment he saw it, but was outbidded by some millionaire celebrity, as he decided he was unwilling to pay more than half a million Galleons for it - it was the most expensive so far.
Inexistence, a black Void broom, narrow and strangely beautiful, also reached nearly half a million Galleons; it was the partner to Heavenhigh. The next two brooms were also a pair - Black Ebony the Darkness broom, and White Ivory, the Light broom. They were both snapped up by the same woman, which caused much annoyance.
So far, Harry had only attempted to buy two (Heavenhigh and Inexistence) and had failed both times, though unfortunately he had also been noticed by the reporters now. He didn't bid for the next one; Leafcutter the Plant broom, but he did attempt to buy Stratosphere - Weather - and nearly succeeded. At the last moment, however, there was a surprise bid of a million Galleons, a new record for prices of the brooms, and Harry let it go.
"I'm going to buy one of them, if it costs me everything I've got," he growled to Levina, after Songscore (Music) went by for another extravagant price.
"Well, there's only two left; Lightning and Magic," Levina reminded him quietly. Harry rubbed his scar.
"Maybe I should buy Lightning," he muttered, and Levina shrugged.
"Just remember, they're probably saving the best 'til last. I'd say you should wait for the final one, when most of the people who are serious about owning one have already given up most of their money."
Harry nodded thoughtfully, decided to buy the final one, whether it was Lightning or Magic. It was now ten fifty pm, past what had been expected, as Thunderbolt the Lightning broom was brought out. This sold for just over twenty-thousand Galleons, and Harry realised that Levina was right; the really rich people who hadn't bought brooms had now run out - it was mostly reporters, gawkers and publicity-seekers left.
Finally, the broom Harry was determined to buy was revealed.
The Magic broomstick came in a case of slick black wood, lined with black silk and inset with silver clasps and handles. The broomstick itself was black, the same kind of wood, and with the name 'Magecraft' engraved into it and set with silver, as well a silver pentagram.
It was breath-taking.
Levina was right; they had saved the best 'til last. It was speedier than Hurricane (the previous fastest), more beautiful than Heavenhigh and Celestial put together, with more spells and enchantments on it than any of the others - it was the Magic broom after all, and even its wood was made from a magical tree, called Winterpalm.
As soon as the starting price of the broom was announced as four thousand Galleons, Harry raised his hand.
A few minutes of bidding back and forth pushed the price up to fifty-thousand, which meant that in Harry's opinion, the price was beginning to get serious.
The auctioneer belted out increases, and each time someone raised their hand.
Sixty thousand-seventy thousand-eighty thousand-ninety thousand-a hundred thousand-a hundred and ten thousand- As the price finally reached three-hundred Galleons, Harry began to grow worried. The bidding was now consigned to just him and two others, and they looked quite set on winning.
Luckily, this wasn't the case; as the bidding reached four-hundred thousand, one of the others gave up. Now it was just Harry against a man of about thirty; his eyes were a strange steel-grey and his short, neat hair was dark brown. There was something strange about him, but Harry couldn't quite place what - it was something inhuman.
Hiding a shiver, Harry challenged the man's latest bid, increasing the bid to six-hundred thousand Galleons. If he won, this was certainly going to put a dent into his bank account.
There was a lot of muttering and scratching of quills over by the reporters; it seemed that no-one expected Harry Potter to have quite this amount of money. Hiding a smile, Harry kept bidding, hoping it would end soon. They were now up to seven-hundred thousand, and now that Harry thought about it, he realised that he didn't recall the man bidding for any of the other brooms. What was so special about this one? Or did he just want to take one of them home, now that he had seen the rest?
Thankfully, as the bids increased, the man looked less and less sure of himself. As the auctioneer called out for a bid of eight-hundred and ten thousand Galleons, the man didn't raise his hand but instead slumped back in his seat and shook his head, looking furious - with himself or Harry, the boy wasn't sure.
"Going once... going twice... sold to Mr Potter, for eight-hundred thousand Galleons," the auctioneer announced, bringing his gavel down on the desk. "That concludes the auctioning of the 'Elemental Riders' broomsticks."
After the staff set about thanking everyone, and the buyers were led off to shake Ellerby and Spudmore's hands, they collected the cases containing the brooms. "That was about two-million pounds you just spent," Levina noted. "I hope it was worth it."
Harry grinned. "If I can win the Quidditch Cup, it is."
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The next morning, the Daily Prophet was the magazine everyone was reading and speculating over at the breakfast table. The Elemental Riders' release had merited not only four pages on the brooms (including the front page), but the making of today's newspaper into a 'Broomstick Special' - or in other words, sticking such useless stuff as history of flight in the middle pages, and calling it 'news'.
All the buyers had been named which meant that the moment Harry entered the hall, there was absolute silence before a loud outburst from the tables. As Harry was nearly crushed in the onslaught of people leaping up to ask him where he got that much money, Ron and Hermione grabbed one of his arms each, and pulled him out and up the stairs.
"Thanks!" Harry gasped, managing to shake their hands off him and dust himself down. "Bloody hell, it was only two million quid!"
Ron stared at him as if he were insane. "Great. Mr Millionaire here's already forgotten what it's like for us poverty-stricken masses. Hello, Harry? I've never seen that amount of money in my life!"
Harry frowned. "Oh yeah."
"I think you'd better go back to having a House-Elf bring your breakfast up so that you don't get mobbed again," Hermione suggested, and Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Inciting House-Elf slavery, now 'Mione?"
Hermione slapped his arm and mock-scowled. "How funny. If it means everyone else can eat their breakfast in peace, I'm sure it's worth it. Now come on, we can all eat in the kitchens for today - otherwise Ron and I will be swamped with 'did you know Harry was so rich?', 'have you seen the broom?', 'can I have some money?'."
Ron sniggered. "Good accent, 'Mione."
The girl frowned. "I didn't change my accent."
"Oh."
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There was Quidditch practice that evening, after Potions; most of the team moaned and groaned about it, but Harry and Ron weren't that worried - they didn't need much time for revision, thanks to the rods, and as the days passed the temperature was getting a lot better. It was now warm enough to walk around outside without coats, something many were taking advantage of.
Hagrid's hut stood on the grounds, spick-and-span even though Hagrid and Olympe were now living in the castle itself, and Harry couldn't help but wonder as they passed by on their way to the Quidditch pitch what would happen to it. "I mean," he explained to Ron, "are they going to get a new groundskeeper now that Hagrid's a teacher? Now he's married, he won't have a lot of time for both jobs."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Harry, you worry too much. It's nothing to do with us, so don't concern yourself with it."
Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I know... but all the same, it would be really weird if there were to be another groundskeeper living there. I mean - every time I look out of the window, I keep thinking 'I wonder why Hagrid hasn't turned his light on', and then I remember he doesn't live there any more. It's just strange."
Ron screwed his face up. "No mate; you're strange."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
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The would-be History and Magical Languages lessons on Friday, Harry filled with the company of just his laptop, fighting the urge to go outside and test Magecraft. Even the previous day at Quidditch practice, he had used his Firebolt; 'I want to win a game on this before I use my new one,' he told the team. 'My Firebolts final flight and victory'. For now, the Magecraft lay unopened and untouched in his trunk.
Instead, Harry spent his free time not only revising amulet creation and wards, but also preparing for the training that night; the start of his staff-fighting. Atlanteans had been the ones to introduce the style to Britain, although by the time non-part-Atlanteans started teaching the British, it had been corrupted. Levina, having learned the pure-form, was going to be teaching him the original, faster and more powerful version - and luckily she had put many of the moves in the laptops databanks.
Harry now had the knowledge of the basic moves, but until he actually practised them, he wouldn't be able to move on to the harder ones. It certainly was a brutal fighting method; jabs to the foot, smashing the skull, cracking the ribs - Harry felt a little guilty when he realised he was going to really enjoy it.
He did.
When he turned up for the lessons in the Room of Requirement, he immediately had to grab the eight-foot staff that Levina tossed him. "I thought they were meant to be two feet taller than the person using them, or something?"
Levina snorted. "Oh, yes, if you want to use the mangled, deformed version, instead of the honourable, traditional, correct way."
"This'll be fine," Harry muttered, before looking the staff over. It was made of strong, slightly flexible oak, and was slightly pointed at the ends. Good for jabbing, he supposed. Levina picked up her own - nine foot tall, Harry was horrified to see - and took her starting position; one foot closer to Harry as though stepping forwards, hands placed so that there was only a quarter of the staff between them, and at a slant across her body.
There was no fighting, Harry was glad to see. Instead, she started performing the basic moves, and Harry mimicked her. How to bring the staff up to block a head-shot, how to let go of the staff and grab it further down while leaping forwards to deliver a blow to the skull, how to lean forwards and bring the staff up only to bring it down on the foot, how to twist the body to deliver a strike to break the anklebone; Harry knew he shouldn't, but he loved every minute.
By the time he had showered and crawled into bed, he was so exhausted that he didn't believe even an Oxtamed could do the trick. Luckily, it did - he had to be up for Astronomy in an hour.
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In Quidditch on Monday, Ravenclaw managed to thrash Hufflepuff; the next Monday however, they had lost their lead when Slytherin managed to beat them in the match by sixty points. Draco Malfoy, the Seeker, had been replaced by a sixth-year girl, who was amazingly fast and agile - Harry could see that she'd be more of a challenge than Malfoy, but with his exercises and training, she'd still be no match for him.
The next game would be Slytherin versus Gryffindor, on the eighteenth of February, and if Gryffindor won, it would be the final flight of the Firebolt. Well, Harry's Firebolt, anyway.
The Saturday after, Harry managed to spill a bottle of ink over his Transfiguration homework when Colin Creevey surprised him by hurtling through the door screaming his name.
"What?" Harry snapped, glad he'd used the rods to memorise 'A Tome of Charms', which contained plenty of cleaning spells.
Colin gasped for breath, clutching a stitch in his side. "Professor... Snape... says he... wants to... see you... right... now." he wheezed out. Harry immediately knew why. By now, the Canusabeo potion would be fully made.
Harry swiftly cleaned the ink up with a flick of his wand, shoved his work into his bag and headed for the door. "I might be a while," he told Ron and Hermione as they looked up in surprise. "Canusabeo," he mouthed, and watched as the realisation lit up their faces. Ron gave him a thumbs-up for good luck, and Harry left.
In the dungeons, Snape and another man stood waiting for Harry. Snape didn't bother with greetings, but was his usual impatient self. "This is the type of potion that works immediately," he scowled as Harry entered, "so we won't have to wait for any amount of time. This is Mr Barracks, who was bitten a few years ago -"
Barracks, about thirty years old, nodded cheerfully to Harry.
"- and he'll be our test subject. As soon as he's taken a sip, we'll test him for lycanthropy. If it comes up negative, we'll send the instructions and a batch of the potion to St Mungoes, where they'll run their own tests to check it works and other possibilities - whether it can be used for other were-creatures, whether ex-werewolves can still pass it on, whether the brewing time can be shortened, whether they're still hurt by silver - that sort of thing."
With that, Snape brought out from one of the many alcoves a vial of a strange opalescent liquid. Barracks stood up a little straighter, looking quite excited. And why shouldn't he, Harry mused. After all, the man had been forced to cope with going through a hideously painful transformation every month for the past few years, and now there was a chance he was going to be cured. Actually, more of a certainty than a chance; after all, if it didn't work, than the potion wouldn't have been on the laptops databanks.
Snape pulled the small cork out of the vial and passed it to Barracks. As he took it and raised it to his lips, Harry and Snape edged slightly closer, peering intently and eagerly.
Barracks drank it.
There was no reaction (apart from his looking quite repulsed - obviously it didn't taste very nice). There were no sparks, no cries of pain, and no shifting flesh. Barracks simply drained the small vial, lowered it, and looked at them expectantly. "Tastes like grass," he grinned, making Harry smile.
Snape didn't look very happy. He must have been expecting a reaction of some kind, and was obviously disappointed by the lack of it. Still, he brought his wand out of his robes pocket and muttered 'revelo lycanthrope'. He quickly brought it up to point at Barracks -
And the wand didn't do anything either.
Snape looked shocked. He repeated the spell, and Harry's and Barracks' grins grew wider. The spell was meant to make the tip of the wand light up when pointed at someone with lycanthropy, and it wasn't lighting up.
After Snape tried a third time and nothing happened, he gave in.
"It works," he said, and Harry wasn't surprised.
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After that, Harry was kicked out of the dungeons while Snape went over a few more tests with the ex-werewolf; prodding him with silver cutlery, in all probability. Harry knew all he'd find was that Barracks reacted like an uninfected human being to anything Snape threw at him. Hm. It would be great if he were allowed to enter the Canusabeo for his Potions or Spell Creation exam.
"You probably could," Levina told when he stayed behind to talk with her after Divination the next day. "Although you'd only be allowed to enter it in one of them, so you'd have to decide which one. Oh," she added, "and you're going to be making your sword in September. I'm afraid a few things have come up, I have to sort other things out, and I'm a bit behind. I think it's because I have less time now I became a teacher."
"Yes, a lot of people find that taking a job keeps them busy," Harry commented and easily dodged a hit. "How's the unicorn doing?"
"Fine, fine." Levina sighed. "It's growing so quickly. It won't be long before- anyway, it's healthy and-"
"What? Won't be long before what?"
Levina scowled. "Never you mind. Shouldn't you be going to get ready for Animagus lessons?"
Harry pretended not to notice the abrupt change of subject. "Nah. Now I've got my license to become a lion, and everyone knows it, I can hardly keep going to lessons to learn the rest of the forms. I want to keep my Annumagus abilities a secret, so Voldie and the Dark don't know what's gonna hit 'em. I know how to do it, so as long as I tell McGonagall whenever I've perfected a form, she's happy."
Levina perked up. "How many have you done so far?"
Harry flushed a little. "Not many," he admitted, "I've been so busy with rods, and training, and revision; and then there's been Quidditch, exercising, my friends, chatting with the other Techno-Magi, and my website - well, I haven't had much time. All I've done so far is the cobra, lion and Kneazle. I can't even do the shark, sea-serpent-thing or Hippocampus unless I'm underwater anyway."
Levina nodded. "Mm. I suggest you start practising some of the bigger, more dangerous forms, like the Basilisk. It's all very well having a couple of small forms like the Kneazle, but you might need a bigger form for fighting in."
"Well, Hermione's nearly perfected her swan, and Ron's a wolf, and they're not complaining about their forms," Harry snorted. Levina scoffed.
"Well, they're not being hunted by a bunch of dark nutcases are they?"
"Good point," Harry admitted. "Fine, I'll try the Basilisk next." He sighed. "You know, I really wish I was allowed to tell everyone about being an Annumagus; I can't turn into any of them for a bit of fun, because it's illegal without a license."
"Well, technically you have an Animagus license, even if it's only for a lion." Levina pointed out, taking the next essay to mark. "Anyway, go research hacking or something; you wouldn't believe the work-load I've got to get through."
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There was a young unicorn. It lay on its side in Thetford Forest, flanks heaving, eyes rolling, tongue lolling. It was in pain. Its blood was pounding, heavy in its vein. A fly scuttled across its nose. Its gold fur, shifting to patches of silver, was matted with sweat and blood. Long slits, like those made by knives, slashed across its back and sides.
It wouldn't be long now.-------------------------- -------------------------- -------------------------- -------------------------- --------------------------
Continuity error corrected in chapter 14.