Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns everything.
Chapter 13 - An Echo in the Dark
An intrusion interrupted the inky stillness, writhing upwards out of a deep chasm. It moved with calculated irregularity, leaving a crimson trail splattered behind it, like paint on a dark canvas. Snippets of conversation rose, odd imagery accompanying them as it drifted. Rain battering a grimy window, a ragged scream, tearful children. The feeling of power, the gift he'd inherited from otherwise worthless creatures
A prediction. A means to an end, perhaps. Or a solution. The answers that he'd longed for.
Utopia. New world order, rebuilt from the ashes. A necessary undertaking.
Those… silly muggles.
Flashes of black robes, screamed curses, unseeing eyes. The harsh zap of a spell flying and electrifying the air it passed through, words flowing from his mouth in a jarring hiss.
Worthless. Filthy.
Such a waste of potential.
Harry snapped awake with a gasp, a hand shooting to his scar. Yet, it found nothing but a sweaty forehead. There was no familiar twinge, nor a skull-pounding headache. Nought but the staccato rhythm of his heart against his ribcage.
The Gryffindor fourth-year dormitory was dead silent. The red hangings around his bed swayed noiselessly, an icy breeze drifting around the room and bouncing off the stone walls. A great snore came from the bed beside him.
He looked across the room toward the window, slightly open. The moon hung dangerously low in the night sky as if trying to hide. A pinkish haze tinged the sliver of horizon visible, hinting at the coming daylight.
What the hell was that?
His hand scrabbled at the wooden surface of the bedside table, searching for his wand. Harry nearly jumped when his fingers closed around it. The wand was warm to the touch. Holding it up in front of him, Harry saw a faint blue glow emanating from the ridges that had formed after the World Cup. He leaned over and grabbed for his glasses with his other hand, finding the aluminium frames and sliding them onto his nose.
A barely perceptible red glow shadowed the blue. Harry had no clue what to make of it. Every time he thought he'd begun to understand the magical world, it threw him headfirst into the deep end once again.
Sighing, Harry placed the wand back on the bedside table, reluctant to look away for a few long seconds. The glow slowly faded, and it once again simply resembled a short wooden stick. Only when nothing happened afterwards did he tear his gaze from it, dazedly leaving the comfort of his bed.
His first thought was to tell Fleur about it. Harry jolted slightly, somewhat scared at how quickly the thought of her had arisen. Previously he would've just kept it to himself. He was already in so deep, and he didn't exactly want to leave either.
The dream was the first he'd had since summer, too. What was the lack of reaction from his scar indicative of?
It hit him with startling clarity. The scar must've been where the Horcrux had embedded itself. There was no other explanation he could think of. Harry speculated over what the dream could've meant, tracing a finger subconsciously along the faint bump of the famous lightning bolt. He jerked his hand away as he realised where he was touching, and the thought sickened him.
To take his mind off the nauseating topic, Harry sprung into action, entering the communal fourth-year bathroom to complete his quick morning routine in record time. It was something he'd perfected after living with his relatives for over a decade.
Harry made his way down the staircase towards the common room, leaving his still-sleeping classmates to their dreams. Damp, messy hair tickled the nape of his neck with each step. It was a mystery to him what the consequences of having absorbed the Horcrux would be. Perhaps, as it stabilised, he'd become more consistent in his behaviour. Harry certainly felt less muddled than he had when his name first came out of the goblet. That wasn't the first time he'd come to that conclusion, either. He once again pushed any thoughts of his dream away.
He was surprised to see a head of red hair on one of the couches near the fireplace, absorbed in a textbook.
Ginny looked up from behind the book, with a visible look of surprise. She greeted Harry and gave him a shy smile.
"Hi Ginny," Harry started, leaning over the back of one of the plush couches, "How are you doing?"
Her smile brightened, previous traces of awkwardness fading.
"Good thanks, you?" she asked, a crinkle appearing on her forehead, "You look much better now."
The task had only been a week ago, but it was a near-distant memory for him already. Harry didn't remember much of anything immediately after he'd emerged from the icy water, only what Fleur had filled him in on.
"Yeah, I'd imagine so. I appreciate that you volunteered to be my hostage, but you didn't need to, really," he added, seeing her frown deepen.
"I knew I'd be fine. It's you that always gets mixed up in these things," she replied, playing with her hair, "I don't agree with how Ron's been acting at all, I even wrote to my dad about it. It's ridiculous."
Whilst he was touched by her words, they also brought forth a profound feeling of guilt. Harry didn't want to involve the Weasleys in any more of his issues and cause conflict in their family. He'd since forgiven them for the odd treatment he'd received back during the summer after the World Cup, as he now understood why it'd happened and couldn't blame them. Ron was another matter, but he could chalk that up to immaturity and living a fairly sheltered life.
Ginny seemed to read his thoughts on his face.
"Don't blame yourself for it. If he acts like that toward anyone it's something my parents should know about. He also tried to have a go at me for volunteering," she huffed, "Like he can tell me what to do."
"Alright then," Harry reluctantly agreed, "Thanks for sticking with me through this, it means more than I can say."
She gave him another genuine grin.
"No worries, Harry. It's what family does, and don't kid yourself, of course my parents consider you family. Now go find your beautiful Frenchie," she teased, "I'm sure she can lift your spirits."
Harry wasn't quite sure how she and Ron could be related, but he wasn't going to question his luck.
He returned her bright expression and walked towards the portrait hole. It seemed that the castle was just beginning to wake up, a few pairs of distant footsteps echoing down the corridor as Harry exited the Fat Lady, who was still asleep.
The portraits on the corridor's walls had long since grown bored of seeing him out at odd hours, not sparing him more than a cursory glance.
Once he'd reached the Great Hall, his mood improved further upon seeing the slender, pale-blue form seated at the Gryffindor table, right next to his usual spot halfway down the table. Few others occupied the hall this early. Harry was pleased to note that none of them were staring at her. At least, not overtly.
Sliding in next to her, Fleur jumped slightly. The contemplative expression on her face was wiped away as she saw him, her eyes softening.
"Good morning," Harry greeted, "Any news?"
She shook her head.
"I hate to say it to you, but do not get your hopes up too much. I do not want to see you hurt again," Fleur replied, one hand attempting to tidy up his damp hair.
He wasn't entirely sure that she was conscious of her physical actions, it seemed to him like an automatic response at this point. She'd done it all week.
"But the owl still hasn't returned, has it?" Harry questioned, one hand fiddling with the corner of a napkin.
"No, it hasn't," she sighed, "Good thing it is only a school owl."
Fleur's father had sent a letter addressed to Sirius the day after he'd come up in their conversation that Harry didn't know the contents of, but thought it best not to ask. Mr Delacour's stony expression was not one Harry wanted to be on the receiving end of.
"Alright, we'll just have to wait then. It'll be fine," he replied, "By the way, I, uh, had a dream."
The hand in his hair stilled, and withdrew, with Fleur looking at him deliberately. A hint of concern crept through her mostly blank face.
"What was it about?" she prodded gently.
He glanced around, making sure no one was close enough to listen in. Then, he slowly recounted a brief description of what he'd dreamed, all of the weird visuals and disturbing monologue included.
"I think you know where it might come from," she said softly, "As Maman said, it will take time. If you have any more, please tell me."
"My wand was also warm when I woke up, and these parts were glowing," Harry explained, pulling his wand out and tracing a finger along one of the ridges, then handing it to her.
Fleur frowned as she took it carefully.
"Did Ollivander not notice anything when you handed it to him at the Weighing of the Wands?"
"No," he replied, "I don't think he noticed anything, at least, he wasn't obvious about it."
"They are rather difficult to see, and can only be felt if you are looking for them," she mused, holding his wand up towards the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall and looking closely at the base, "Were they not a little more prominent when you showed me in the classroom?"
Harry only realised then that the intricate patterns across the wand had faded, looking like they'd receded into the wood. Only the thin, raised lines remained.
"They were. It's far less obvious now, but I don't mind. I'd prefer to not be gawped at for having a weird wand. On top of everything else, all I care about is that the wand works."
She looked at him funnily.
"I will never understand how you are so… blasé about these things. We will see your wandmaker in the summer, regardless of what your relatives or the Ministry will say," she finished firmly, brooking no room for argument.
Harry supposed it wouldn't hurt to get to the bottom of the issue, and decided it was about time he got a few more answers.
"Alright, sure. I'd probably go nuts if I didn't see you all summer anyway," he admitted, looking down at his lap.
"We wouldn't want that, would we?" Fleur asked lightly.
"Uh, probably not, I'd assume."
Hooking an arm around him and sliding him closer, she used her other arm to begin loading her plate. Harry looked at her with a bemused smile.
"What?" she asked, seeing his expression and settling further into his side, "I already told you, it is too cold in this draughty castle. No sane witch or wizard would live in this country."
Two letters came by owl a few weeks later as they sat in the Great Hall for breakfast again, well before most students would rise. They instructed both Harry and Fleur to be at the Quidditch Pitch just before midday.
They headed out from the castle, after studying together in their fourth-floor empty classroom. As much as Harry had thought it to be 'his' refuge, it was now Fleur's just as much. The luxurious Beauxbatons accommodation was not as nice as it seemed if her regular complaints about being disturbed or the lack of an appropriate study area were anything to go by.
Whilst she had the option of studying in the Hogwarts library, as many of the other Beauxbatons students did, he'd long since learnt that Fleur wasn't a people person. She seemed to shy away from any opportunities of meeting others, preferring her own company, with him being the apparent exception. Harry hadn't prodded her about it yet, but it had concerned him as he'd slowly noticed her aversion to others. It reminded him eerily of himself. Harry suspected her heritage might have something to do with it.
Either that or her annoyance at those with a weak will, whose eyes would glaze over immediately upon seeing her. Perhaps even both. Harry didn't want to bug her or give her anything else to worry about before the third task of the tournament.
He'd decided to ask her about it after, and even felt a bit bad that he'd been so caught up in his problems it hadn't occurred to him earlier. She'd never spoken about any friends of hers to him.
Harry tightened his grip on her hand slightly, making her look over at him again and smile, squeezing back. Winter had given way to spring, and whilst it was sunny, it wasn't overly warm either. The good weather made it difficult for anyone to feel depressed, and Fleur added just as much brightness to his life as the warm rays of sunlight currently shining down upon him.
Whilst he previously might've blushed at the sappy thought, Harry found he was also getting better at handling Fleur's advances. She had to push him to provoke such a reaction but seemed to find endless joy in doing so.
Nearing the Quidditch Pitch, the first thing they saw was that it was covered in some sort of low hedge. Oliver Wood would be scandalised.
It still nagged at him that he'd need to decide what to do with Quidditch. Harry had greatly enjoyed it at first, but that was mostly the flying aspect, rather than the game itself. Falling out of favour with much of the school left him in an uncomfortable situation with the Gryffindor team. His classmates had continued to avoid him like the plague for the most part. Harry wasn't sure he could still blame it on his 'issue'.
The other two champions stood at the edge of the pitch, glancing at them before looking to Ludo Bagman, who stood just beside them. His eyes lit up at seeing Harry, not even noticing Fleur until they stopped and stood beside the others.
"Greetings, champions!" he announced, his grand tone suggesting that he was about to commentate a Quidditch final, "As you can see, the third task of the Triwizard Tournament will take place upon Hogwarts' very own Quidditch Pitch. Whilst most of it is being grown upon this very pitch we stand on, the final expanse of the maze will reach almost to the Forbidden Forest."
Ludo gestured towards the ominously dark treeline of the forest, a low bit of scrub barely visible beneath it.
"I presume one of you can guess what the final task will entail?" he asked them.
"Maze," Krum grunted bluntly.
"Precisely!" Bagman cheered, "There will be several magical creatures and traps spread throughout, designed to challenge your abilities as you navigate through the maze."
Harry tried to stifle a groan as magical creatures were mentioned but unfortunately failed. Fleur let out an uncharacteristic giggle from beside him as Krum looked at him funnily. From the expression on Cedric Diggory's face, he also knew what they were in for.
There's no point in mapping out the maze, it will shift regularly - so save your time! Such are the wonders of magical plants… regardless, the centre is where the Triwizard Cup will be located. The first Champion to lay hands on it wins! Best of luck to you all."
He'd heard all the hushed whispers of his classmates around Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts, and knew it wouldn't be enjoyable to face off against one of them. Harry had attended a few Care of Magical Creatures classes at the start of term but quickly found himself facing just as much hostility in that class as he was elsewhere. Luckily for him, that meant he hadn't needed to handle the horrific creatures.
With Bagman's overly enthusiastic speech over, Krum immediately turned on his heel and left. Harry decided to follow suit with Fleur, ignoring the conversation that Bagman attempted to start with him and Diggory, tugging her forward lightly.
She hurried to catch up to him, her hand still in his.
"What was that about?" Fleur asked in a low tone, glancing behind them.
"Don't know, don't want to know either," Harry replied, "He's always rubbed me the wrong way. It feels like he has some weird fascination with me. As far as I'm concerned, Diggory's free to him."
"It seems to be a rather uncomfortable situation for him," she noted, amusement lacing her tone, "He looks as if he has just been asked to play Quidditch without a broom."
Personally, Harry felt no remorse. Diggory hadn't made any public move to support him and seemed to greatly enjoy much of the school wearing a badge supporting him, regardless of what it flipped to every few seconds. Harry had seen him laughing together with his friends whilst under the cloak, all of them wearing the badge too.
"Oh well," he said, "As long as he keeps Bagman off my back."
He still didn't understand the man's initial excitement at seeing him as the fourth Triwizard Champion. Any reasonable official, whose Ministry had agreed to organise the event, would surely be discomforted at having things spiral out of control so early on.
Harry's mood plummeted further when at seeing Ron and Ginny entering the Great Hall for lunch, shouting at each other. Ginny, he could understand, but he'd never known Ron to be one to make a scene. He hurried past toward the staircase with Fleur, eager to get away. A professor could already be heard scolding them loudly.
Is this what Ginny's letter did? Harry realised as he recalled her words, feeling a little bit sick again.
He saw Fleur give him another strange look, her hand leaving Harry's and laying across his shoulders instead, the tips of her fingers lightly stroking his upper arm.
"I don't want to make them fight. They're brother and sister, and I'm not. Maybe it's better that I don't try to interfere with them, I never intended for Ron to fall out with his family," Harry explained morosely, reaching out to wrap around her waist with his free arm.
Fleur sighed.
"I don't know what to tell you, it is your decision. As much as I would love to scream at that idiotic boy, it wouldn't help you," she replied, "Perhaps wait and let things settle, and then make up your mind."
Harry was impressed with her objective thinking, as previously she'd just become angry on his behalf. Not that he minded, of course, but it was nice to have her offer him such a logical solution whilst his thoughts were in disarray.
The next week found them sitting together in their fourth-floor disused classroom once more.
"Hey, Fleur?" Harry asked tentatively, looking closely at an advanced defence book as a thought came to him.
"Mmm?" she questioned, looking up from what she was reading from beside him.
He wasn't quite sure how to word it, nor how she would respond.
"Do you remember when…" Harry paused, searching for words. His dreams had been increasingly tumultuous, filled with disturbing imagery. It'd begun to affect his sleep, and a jagged beam of green was a common recurrence within them. If they continued to worsen, he'd reluctantly resolved to tell Fleur. Not yet, though.
"When?" she prompted carefully.
"You came in, and I told you I'd cast the Killing Curse?"
"Yes, I do. Why do you ask?" she responded.
"What did you think?" Harry asked, eyes glued to the page in front of him, anticipating her reaction.
"Perhaps not in the way you might think," she began, causing Harry to tense in preparation for what was coming, "Whilst I was not expecting it, I wasn't scared. I know you wouldn't do that intentionally. Did you know what you were doing?"
"No," he admitted, tearing his eyes from the book as relief flooded him, "I didn't even say the words, it just happened."
Oddly enough, her eyes lit up at that.
"You cast it non-verbally?" she whispered, "Not many rules seem to apply to you."
Her amused tone unsettled him.
"Rules?" Harry repeated.
"I have never heard of someone casting it non-verbally, not once," Fleur said, one hand raking through upwards and fluffing her long, silvery hair from behind, "It's impressive."
He took a moment to admire her profile, the afternoon sunlight streaming through the open window and lighting her features perfectly.
"I don't understand how you can talk about casting the Killing Curse so casually," he replied, trying to keep his mind where it was supposed to be, "Isn't it, you know, bad?"
To Harry's surprise, Fleur shrugged.
"It is a curse, just like any other," she started, "Yes, it is illegal just like the rest of the Unforgivables, but you can use any spell to cause harm. They have a hard time prosecuting that in France, and Britain too if I am not mistaken. It's a difficult and lengthy process for Aurors to get a warrant, authorising them to perform Priori Incantatum on another wizard's wand. Most people are incredibly attached to their wands."
No one had ever told him this, but it opened a darker avenue of thinking.
"Do you think it would be, uh, good to have the capability?" Harry asked.
"I think it could be," she began carefully, "Particularly in your case. I do not like how often you find yourself in those situations, and the British Ministry is unlikely to prosecute its hero on such suspicions. It would be quite unpopular."
"With all of the rubbish in the paper, do you still think so?" he questioned, scowling to himself, "It's like Rita just makes up whatever she wants, and it sticks."
"Regardless of their truth, the rumours she spreads are ultimately good for you," she responded, placing her warm hand on top of his, "It gives you the advantage of having the public on your side because they are sympathetic to your circumstances. She understands that outrage sells, and that is what she has done with her framing of the tournament, with you as the tragic, lone boy thrust into a deadly tournament. Of course, she has also been careful to not imply it is the fault of the Ministry. Just your bad hand in life."
"Alright, that does make some sense, as ridiculous as it is. Still doesn't mean I have to like it," Harry added, giving her a rueful smile.
"That it does not, mon coeur," she replied, grinning back at him fondly.
"Give it another go," Fleur prompted, "If you cast it wordlessly once, and the Hogwarts wards didn't respond to it, you are most likely free to do as you please."
"Alright."
Harry became serious again, the gravity of what he was about to do hitting him once more. He stood, holding a hand out to Fleur. She took it, sliding out from her seat and pecking him on the cheek. He let the warm feeling fade, preparing himself.
Leaving her behind him, he walked a few steps forward, facing the very wall he'd destroyed just around two months prior. Or was it three? he wondered, feeling very much as if he'd lost his grasp on time. Not that it mattered much at the moment.
Fleur had since repaired it, but the faint discolouring of where his curse had landed remained visible against the rest of the beige.
He fished out his wand, fingertips feeling the invisible ridges along its base. Pointing it at the wall, he looked back once to make sure Fleur was a safe distance away. She gave him a nod and a faint smile.
It was a horrible feeling to let all of his anger well up, but Harry did it anyway. He thought of seeing Malfoy's badge on his former best mate's robes, being cursed by his other former best friend, how he'd felt in the days after his name had come out of the goblet, and his failure to act at the World Cup. The final thought he managed was how Uncle Vernon would receive him this summer, after all of the trouble Harry had caused.
An ugly green light spewed out of his wand, lighting up the room with an eldritch glow. He gripped the base tighter, almost feeling as if he had to fight to keep control over it. The curse impacted just next to the discoloured patch, making a jarring hiss as the stone seemed to dissolve.
Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He looked back at Fleur once again, who wore an expression of mild shock.
