Chapter 7: The Christmas of '91
December 11, 1991
It was the slow, sad tune of star-crossed lovers and broken friendships. A sound both heartbreaking and beautiful; the soft warbling of an immortal chronicling the end of an era. It was the sound of farewell, a comforting lie that both indulged in while the moment lasted.
"This is goodbye, old friend." The old man, with his flowing white beard, stroked the feathers of the bird lovingly. Crimson head dipped to nuzzle against the man's chest. "You have served me well all these years and a better companion one could not ask for."
The phoenix's answering trill came out an octave higher, sharp and powerful and defiant. Righteous fire lit the ruffled feathers without burning the man. "Let us fight together one last time," it said without saying.
Warmth surged; not the angry intensity of a raging fire, but the heat of Hestia's homely hearth. A something stirred in his bones, a something he had not felt in many months.
Hope.
Cracked lips rose, wrinkled lines tightened and hand closed firmly against wood. "One last time," he conceded, stooping slightly to let the firebird nestle on his shoulder.
A late afternoon breeze, gentle like a sister's caress, blew past, pressing soft kisses on his well-worn face. Then, it grew stronger, fiercer until veins of hoarfrost crept on the ground. The biting cold was warded off only by the phoenix fire. The man looked on, ignoring the banshee shrieks and arctic chills that did not conceal the distinct crackle of apparition.
"Hello Tom." the man greeted with an amicable nod of the head, in complete contrast with the other's guarded stance.
"Albus!"
Blue eyes burst open, the beguilement of sleep fleeing all at once.
"Albus!" he heard again, a desperate plea.
"Gellert." Aching body protested and was ignored as he rose from his supine pose. "What is it?"
"He is coming. I can feel it." Gellert answered, voice grim and hoarse. Dumbledore chuckled. "This is no laughing matter, Albus!"
"My friend, were you hoping for a stay of execution?" Albus was the visage of calm. "I never knew you cared." he said, mirth coloring his tone.
A soft dripping from the faucet filled the silence that followed. Albus shut the tap properly and looked at himself in the mirror. Hair that used to flow gracefully had now fallen off, leaving marred skin beneath. He smiled toothily and winced at the yellow and black that usurped the bright, gleaming white of years past. His lips shut, yet remained curved upwards and he nodded, satisfied, to himself.
"Ironic, isn't it, how we both ended up here?" Albus mused.
"Quite," Gellert said. "To think that Nurmengard's final prisoners would be its own makers… Riddle has a wonderful sense of mockery, dealing with you as you dealt with me. How you allowed that upstart to wrest control of this fortress from you, I'll never know."
"Tom is an exceptionally gifted wizard." Albus said, stretching his cramped muscles. "If anyone could figure out how to do it, it would be him."
Gellert's sigh came out loud and long. "You should have just killed me then, all those years ago. Death would be a mercy compared to rotting away like this." In his mind, Albus could see his friend all bony and lean and gaunt.
Albus nodded concurringly, even if Gellert could not see the gesture. "It's always hard to see your loved ones go."
There was a sharp intake of breath. "Can you ever forgive me?" Steel clanged against stone and footsteps echoed ominously. "For Arianne?"
Albus did not answer.
He was led out of his cell at wand point and subject to wary eyes. The terrifying skill of Albus Dumbledore had not been forgotten by his enemies during the interim.
"Good morning, gentlemen," Dumbledore said, his tone cheery and out of place among the grim faces and black bricks, "or is it evening already? One can never tell in Nurmengard. I blame the lack of windows."
One of the four guards stepped forward, flicking his wand. A length of metal, taking up a life of its own, wrapped itself around the wrists and ankles of the ancient wizard. Another jailor joined the first and each grabbed one end of the chains.
Albus' smile never left his face, even as they tugged at his restraints roughly, each sudden jerk causing an extra step or stumble. He turned to regard Gellert as he passed his fellow prisoner's cell.
Softly and not unkindly, he addressed him. "Goodbye, old friend."
Then he was gone, leaving Gellert nothing but the empty, echoing enclosure for companionship.
Freedom was the exhilarating euphoria elicited by the howls of wind left chasing behind, by the smooth curve of enchanted wood beneath flesh, by the triumphant clang of metal ball against metal hoop.
Freedom was Chasing.
Like a maverick wind spirit, Harry was on a rapid, downward spiral around the left most hoop's pole as he chased after the recently scored Quaffle. Leather ball was in hand in an instant and Harry sharply tugged his handle upwards, bringing the broom into a half-loop as it bulleted towards the other end of the pitch. The sudden, heavy rush of blood to his head did not perturb Harry. One could even say he was rather enjoying being upside down.
Viktor pulled up next to him, easily keeping up, and Harry twisted the handle of his Silver Arrow, sending him right-side up.
"Nice shot." Viktor nodded to him.
"Thanks," Harry said, grinning. "So, how'd you do on your exam? History right?"
"Yes. I think I did alright. It turned out to be about Eastern European History."
"Ah." Harry sounded understandingly. It would be no problem for the Bulgarian.
"How was your presentation to Master Rosembach?" Viktor asked.
Harry's lips became set in a thoughtful frown. "I charmed a table to tap out God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs."
Viktor's head turned briefly towards him. "What did he say?"
"Nothing, as always. The man's insatiable."
"Hmph! That's an understatement. What are you hoping to get for his class?"
"A 'T' would be nice." Harry said.
Viktor slowed down and Harry followed suit. "Not an 'E' then?"
Harry looked at him pointedly. "Rosembach doesn't give out 'E's."
"True. How do you think you did, overall?"
Harry scratched the back of his neck. "Average, I guess. You?"
"My grades won't be spectacular, but I'll pass," Viktor said with a half-hearted shrug. "That's enough for my dad. He'd kill me if I ever dropped out of school. Or worse."
"Worse?" Harry tilted his head. "What could be worse than that?"
"He could ground me." Which quite literally meant being grounded – as in no flying.
Harry nodded sympathetically before steering the conversation towards more pleasant subjects. "You up for a race?"
A competitive grin twisted Viktor's lips. "You're on."
"I can't believe you're not done packing." Harry said, shooting Blaise a look of irritation even as the dark-skinned boy dumped his material possessions haphazardly into his trunk.
"Not everyone's mastered the Packing Charm!" Blaise retorted, pushing down on an insufferable set of robes that kept jutting out to the side.
"Then you shouldn't wait until the last minute to do it." Harry answered. His own corner of the room was immaculate, impossibly so if one had seen it a minute ago. "Hey Blaise," he said in English, one of the few times he had used his native tongue while in Durmstrang, "what's with him?" Keeping conversations a secret from prying ears became so much simpler when one knew a language other than the lingua franca.
Blaise turned to him, finally clasping the lid of his trunk. "Who?" Harry inclined his head towards Aldric, who was himself busy packing, though admittedly with more organization and calmness than the Italian. Harry knew for a fact he wasn't going back home for the holidays. "Oh him. Lucky bloke got himself a spot over at Riverwatch."
"The Dorms by Angren, near the Highmaster's Tower?" Harry asked. "But he's only in his second term." Shifting out of a dorm halfway through the year was unusual, especially when you paid for it for all three terms.
Blaise lifted one hand up limply, pointing to the side with palm facing up, while the other grabbed his trunk "His parents are rich enough to afford it. Ready to go?"
"I was waiting for you." Harry deadpanned, but stood. He tapped his luggage with his wand, charming it to follow after him on its wheels.
"Aldric, Gasto, you two have a good Christmas." Blaise said with a cordial nod.
Aldric paused to look up and nodded back, before returning to his work. Gasto, in his typical lackadaisical way, returned the greeting from his supine position. Harry and Blaise made their way to the Feasting Hall, the assembly point for all outbound students while the ships were prepped for voyage.
"We're taking the Einherjar again, right?" Blaise asked.
"Yeah," Harry answered. It didn't take long to reach the Feasting Hall or the ship ten minutes after that.
"What do you miss most about England?" Blaise asked while he trudged up the ramp. Harry, unhindered by his heavy, self-propelled baggage, ambled behind his friend.
"My brother," he said without hesitation. "And having my own room. You?"
"Probably sunlight." Blaise glanced at the polar skies, a bruised purple expanse that covered both sun and horizon. He answered again with more conviction, ''Definitely sunlight. Thank Merlin dark winter will be over when we get back."
"It'll be nice to have some light again," Harry agreed. "Hey Blaise?"
"Yeah?"
"You go on ahead and find the others. I'm staying on deck for a while. I want to watch the ship go out to sea."
"You sure about that?" Blaise asked, eyes flickering skyward once more. "Not much you can see in this weather."
"Positive," Harry answered, already moving towards the side of the ship.
Barely a handful of students stayed on deck, most opting to head straight to the rooms below deck upon boarding. Of those that remained, there was only one Harry recognized – a familiar head of flowing auburn locks in the same term as him, leaning against the Einherjar's rails. It was only natural Harry chose to stand next to Natasha, a classmate, at the very least, in a sea of strangers.
She had her head lolled back, affording her a view of the twilight-esque sky. He chose to stare into the depths below, noticing that the playful merfolk that accompanied their arrival were missing – likely they would not show until the worst of winter had passed.
Harry did not know how long they stood side by side in silence, but it was she who broke it first. "Harry Potter?" she asked, not said, seeking confirmation. He felt her sight land on his neck for a moment, and it burned the spot red.
He did not turn to face her immediately. "Natasha Namenlos?" he mimicked her delivery; confident, but curious. "How do you know who I am?"
"Everyone knows who you are." Natasha's eyes rolled in their sockets. "The Brit who was tested by Rosembach himself and still managed to skip two years in Charms." she said, and this time, he did look, in time to see a proffered hand. He met hers with his own, and the contact left his hand faintly tingly and pricklish.
"We share a few classes together." Harry said. "One-two Theory, under Mistress Rosenthal and one-one History and" -Harry wracked his brain, finding it oddly blank and unresponsive- "Supervised Study, on Mondays and Thursdays?" he ended weakly.
She laughed and it left him feeling faintly warm in the chest. "Three out of four isn't so bad."
"What's the fourth?"
"Flying on Wednesdays." she said, and Harry wanted to smack himself for missing the obvious. It was the class all first termers had to take, no exceptions. "I'm not surprised you don't remember. You look so…at ease on a broom, it's like you were born to fly."
"I've been flying all my life," Harry admitted. Two periods every week where all they did was fly was practically heaven for him. "It's the best feeling in the world, being up in the air."
"Quidditch fan, I take it?"
"I play too." Natasha nodded as if she had expected his answer. "How come we don't have more classes together?"
"You accelerated in Charms and Transfiguration." she pointed out. "I accelerated in Dueling, Potions and Creature Studies a term each. I had to change my Herbology and Astronomy classes to make it all work."
"Oh…so…where are you headed, if not Germany?" Harry asked. It was a curious thing, seeing a German on the Scandinavian ship, one of two in the Durmstrang fleet that traversed the North Sea. The rest would take advantage of the ship's magically-induced phasing properties and cut straight into the Baltic Sea, or head further east to harbor along Russia's northern coast.
"France," she replied, looking anywhere but at him now.
"Visiting family?"
"In a manner of speaking." The curtness of her words took Harry aback. She gave him a small smile, looking apologetic. "Sorry," she mumbled, "family is kind of a sore spot for me."
Halfblood. The word lashed out from the shadowy corner of his mind where it had been buried. Bastard followed soon after, equally bitter and mocking.
You're not my son. he could hear his mother…stepmother…Melissa saying; accusing him of what he was – a constant reminder of his father's infidelity.
"I know how that feels." His jaw began to ache from the force of gnashing teeth. He forced himself to smile and hoped it came off as reassuring. "Don't worry, I won't pry."
"Thank you and I won't either." She paused, hesitating. "Unless you want to talk about it?"
"No offense, but we just met."
She smiled wryly. "True. I-" she stopped abruptly. Her face became an unhealthy palette of white and her eyes seemed to cut right through Harry, almost as if there was something behind him.
"Eng-lish-man." Each syllable was uttered slowly, by a voice deep, guttural and rasping, like a man drowning. Something cold grasped his pulsing heart.
Harry turned saw the ship's resident wraith, floating in all his ethereal glory. A spectral axe and shield adorned his hands, with chains on his wrists that connected to nothing. Was he a prisoner in life? The intricate design of his equipment, especially his headpiece, suggested otherwise.
The ghost peered at him through hollow eyes, judging him of something. "I-am-Jarl." he finally said.
"Er, Harry. Harry Potter," The living boy introduced himself, not quite sure how to react.
"Jarl" bobbed his head sluggishly, raising a shackled hand that gestured towards the stairs. "You-go-down-now. We-go-down-now." He looked at Harry again. "Eng-lish-man. You-un-der-stand?" he groaned out.
Harry got gist of it. The ship was about to enter into its submarine mode and all living beings that wished to continue being so had best get to cover. "Yes."
"Good. Eng-lish-man," he said, and floated back to the ship's maintop.
"We better get to our rooms." Natasha said.
"Yeah," he agreed, before it struck him. "Wait. You understood that?" Harry asked. Jarl had spoken…
"See you around, Harry." Natasha said, heading further away without dignifying his question with an answer.
…in English.
When he finally found his friends, they were all listening solemnly to Damarion translate a Norwegian newspaper.
"Hey guys." he said. Astrid and Dayna shushed him.
"What's wrong?" Harry whispered to Blaise as he sat next to him.
"The Flamels were attacked by werewolves." Blaise's face was far too grim for a child.
"Perenelle Flamel is dead."
A few hours later, the ship made its second landfall for the day in England. By that time, Blaise and Harry were the few left on the ship. Their friends, along with most of the passengers, had been offloaded in Norway earlier.
"See you later, Harry." Blaise said. "Remember, we're meeting the girls on the twenty ninth at my place."
Harry waved goodbye to him and watched him side-apparate away before heading towards his own human ride.
"Anything interesting in the paper?" Harry nudged his head towards the copy of the Daily Prophet tucked beneath Sirius' armpit. Maybe the Prophet would have more information on the Flamels? Damarion's copy was rather vague about the whole issue, which was strange, because the Flamels were the closest thing to international celebrities in their world.
Being the "Oldest couple alive" and the "Owners of the only working Philosopher's Stone" was a pretty big deal, after all.
"More werewolf legislation and the usual spiel the Prophet passes for news." he said dismissively. The sagging skin beneath his eyes said otherwise, burdened by dark, round patches that weighed on his soul as much as his face. He looked up and smiled kindly at him. "You look good, Harry."
"Thanks. Any news on the Flamels?" Harry said, not letting himself get side-tracked.
Sirius' frown was heavy and loaded. "You know about that?"
"It's pretty big news internationally, Uncle Sirius."
"All it really says is that they were attacked and multiple werewolves were killed, but so was Perenelle Flamel."
Great. Equally as vague then.
-The Magnate-
It was a normal family dinner at the Potter household.
"Thanks for inviting me to dinner, Melissa." Joshua said with a charming smile and a hand intertwined with Lily's.
Ok, it was a normal dinner at the Potter household.
Melissa's smile had a devious glint to it. "Oh, it was only fair really. Since my husband insisted on having her here, you know with her being such an integral part of Harry's education, I thought why not make a gathering out of it?"
Fine, it was dinner at the Potter household.
Joshua's smile remained, though it was hard to miss the nervousness in it as he glanced at Lily. "Why do I get the feeling there's something going on here?" he whispered as soon as Melissa had walked away.
Lily rolled her eyes. "There's always something going on when Melissa Potter is involved. Step up for front row seats to the Potter Family drama!" She sighed. "Let's just get this over with."
"Hey," Joshua said, pulling her into a hug and kissing her forehead fondly, "it'll be fine."
She smiled and led him to the dining room's long table. Harry was to Lily's left and Joshua her right. Mirroring them from across table were Melissa, James – looking even more uncomfortable then Lily felt - and Robert.
Lily had to hand it to Melissa. The seating arrangement was subtle ("Oh, Harry, you don't mind sitting next to Ms. Lily do you? Just to balance the table?"), for her anyways. The woman knew how to drive a point hard without saying anything.
He's not my son, loud and clear to those in the know. Unfortunately, he was in the know.
Lily glanced at Harry worriedly. He was drawing lazy circles in his plate, not really touching his food. If he stared any harder, holes might start appearing in the china.
Melissa asked him how he liked Durmstrang, sounding more polite than concerned, and Harry replied with a curt "Fine" even as he scowled sullenly into the glassware.
He got the message too.
-The Magnate-
"So Harry," James began conversationally, "made any new friends at school?" He winced as his son impaled a chicken strip on his fork, violently.
Why was he so mad?
"A few." Harry answered, terse and tense.
"Oh." was James' brilliant follow up.
"Anyone interesting?" Robert asked, oblivious to the tension as eager - almost rabid - curiosity colored his tone.
Harry, for what must have been the first time that evening, grinned. James couldn't for the life of him remember when he had last seen it, certainly not since Harry came back.
"There's Blaise, of course." Harry said to Robert, pointedly ignoring everyone else.
"Oh, I remember him!"
Harry nodded before continuing. "Then on the way to Durmstrang, we had to take a ship to get there, we met Astrid, Damarion and Dayna." he said.
"They're from Norway right? You wrote about them in your letter."
"Yup! Then there's Viktor from Bulgaria, he's my mentor."
"What's a mentor?"
"An older student that helps a younger student."
"Like a big brother?"
"Exactly like a big brother."
Robert's grin grew wider. "Cool!"
"Viktor flies too. You should see him practice! He'll go pro when he graduates for sure!" Harry gushed in the excited way he did when talking about Quidditch.
"What does he play?"
"Seeker, one of the best I've ever seen. He could probably beat me with one hand behind his back. Oh, and his friend, Gina! She's Blaise's mentor from Italy. And…" Harry bit his lip.
"And?" Robert prodded.
"Well, there's this girl I met on the ship back. We talked for a while, but I don't know if we're friends."
"So what's the most interesting thing about Durmstrang?"
Harry didn't answer immediately as a pensive looked crossed his face. "The people you meet. You've got students from all these places and you realize just how different their culture can be."
"How?"
"Well, their food for one-"
"Harry, you haven't touched your food at all." Melissa interjected.
"Not hungry," he answered.
She sighed. "Well, if you aren't going to eat it, I might as well clean up now." Harry had already returned to his tale, gesturing animatedly with his hands to an enthralled Robert.
"Hey luv," James heard Joshua say to Lily, "I'm just going out to get some air."
"Don't forget your coat," she said. James felt a hand squeeze his heart, just as Lily squeezed Joshua's arm.
"I'll just be for a while."
"It's a chilly December this year. I don't want you catching a cold and giving it to Katie."
"Fine…" he drawled out playfully.
James looked at his sons, still deep in conversation, and at Lily, watching them fondly, before standing up. "I think I could do with a bit of air too." he stated out loud to nobody in particular. It hurt more than he'd ever admit that no one acknowledged him.
Lily was right. It was a few degrees above freezing outside and without a jacket, the wind was torturous to endure, even under the light cover the patio provided.
"Oh, hey James," Joshua said, a white roll of paper sticking out of his mouth. "Want one? They'll warm you up in a jiffy." He offered him a packet filled with magical cigarettes.
James picked one with green colored tipping paper instead of the normal orange. "Don't these things give you cancer?" he asked, popping it into his mouth anyway. It lit up on its own and he sucked in hard, relishing as heat surged through his being. It was a feeling not unlike a scalding hot shower.
"The muggle ones do." Joshua took a long drag of his smoke then puffed out circles of them. "These are perfectly healthy. Don't even leave a trace of that awful lingering smell afterwards. Uh…don't tell Lily though." he pleaded. "She hates them."
"She won't hear it from me." James promised. "So…how long have you two been together?"
"Been over a year now."
James whistled. "That's quite a while. How did you two meet?"
"It was actually at one of the kids' Quidditch games. My daughter was the captain of Harry's team then. Katie Bell, he's mentioned her?"
"Yeah, I think he has." The name sounded familiar at least. "Do you love her?" he blurted out before adding, "Er, sorry if I'm prying, but Lily and I go way back. She's always been the independent type. It'd put me at ease if I knew someone was looking out for her."
Joshua chuckled. "It's alright. She…she makes me want to be a better person, y'know?" James did know. Joshua paused, taking another long drag. "I think I could love her." Another pause. "Do you?"
James frowned. "Do I what?"
"Love her. Still, I mean." Joshua gave him a knowing look. "You used to be together, back in the day."
"You knew?"
"I asked around." Joshua shrugged. "Not like it was a big secret."
"Back then I did. Now…I don't really know anymore." James sighed, running a hand through his hair, messing it up even further. "We fell apart with time and things got…complicated."
"Where did it go wrong, if you don't mind me asking?"
"It wasn't any one thing," he said sagely, "but if I had to pick one, I'd say it was choosing not to get married."
"How come you didn't anyway?" Joshua asked. "Not that I'm complaining," he added with a grin.
James laughed. It was warm and genuine. It felt good to laugh like that again, for however brief, before solemn reality crashed back into him. "You remember how it was, the chaos and the killings the Death Eaters inflicted. People were dropping left and right, and at the time, we thought that if we didn't make it official, it would hurt less if one of us passed."
He pulled out the smoke from his mouth and smothered it against a wooden beam that held up the patio's ceiling. Ironically, instead of dying out, it lit up even brighter and the entire thing was swallowed by flames, leaving no trace behind. James continued, "Ironic that it drove us further apart in the end."
"Lord Slytherin's Purity Protocols," Joshua said in realization.
"Yeah, those," James confirmed. "Preserve the dying pureblood lines and all that rot. I got myself roped into marriage with Melissa because of it. The Ministry would hardly consider her as fit at that point, typical blood purists. So, Lily wanted to run, go abroad and I couldn't go through with it." He looked up at the moon, marveling at how it curved in the sky perfectly. "England is home. England will always be home. After I told her that…it went downhill pretty fast."
They stood there in contemplative silence, reminiscing the past for a while. "Harry's her son, isn't he?"
James's head snapped like a whip. "She told you?"
Joshua snorted. "No, but she doesn't hide it quite as well as she thinks."
"And you're fine with that?"
"She took in my daughter like her own, gave Katie a mother to look up to. I don't think it'd be fair for me to be anything but fine with Harry." Joshua said. "What happened next?"
"When I wouldn't run, we fought over Harry and...I made a deal with the Ministry. I'd get to keep him if I signed the Protocols, so I did. Got paraded around for that too – the famous 'Sixty-Sixth Signatory'," James said sarcastically. "Any chance Lily and I had after that vanished. Not after that kind of betrayal."
"Do you regret signing it?"
"Every day of my life." James gave him a long, hard look. "But I'd do it again just to keep my son."
-The Magnate-
29 December 1991
Lily frowned at her student, hunched over an assortment of books and reading voraciously. "You realize it's Christmas break, right? What are you working so hard on?"
"The Courier Service in Durmstrang takes too long to get here." Harry answered, never once lifting his head. "I'm looking for a faster way. Besides, I'm not spending all my time working. I'm going to visit Blaise in a few minutes for the celebration."
A bitter something crept into Lily's mouth. Today was that day – the celebration of the Dark Lord's total victory.
"I take it they don't have Floo?" she asked.
"Only for the masters. Or emergencies."
"What about a pair of Two-way Mirrors?" Lily asked. "Would those work?"
Harry looked up this time and he was frowning. "Aren't those expensive?"
"Maybe your father has a set lying around?"
At the mention of the 'f' word, Harry clamped up, looking like he had swallowed something fairly unpleasant.
Lily wasn't James Potter's biggest fan, but she had hoped Harry would've gotten over Vienna by now. It wasn't healthy to dwell over such things, not for a boy his age. "Still not talking to him?"
"I talked to him at dinner." Harry retorted, a little snappily.
"Monosyllabic answers such as 'Yes', 'No', 'A few' and 'Fine' hardly count as talking."
He crossed his arms and looked away. "I hate him." he spat out with a vehemence Lily didn't know existed in him, and it only made her worry more. "Him and that, that woman!"
"Melissa?"
"No." Harry said, shaking his head, hands curled into rage-filled fists. "The woman he slept with to have me!" An ugly, hateful mask now latched onto his face.
Lily's mouth went dry. "Your mum?"
"She's NOT my mother!" he hissed. "I don't know her. I never even met her! What kind of mother abandons her son and never even checks up on him!"
"You don't mean that," she said in a small voice, feeling faint. She swallowed thickly, but it did little to ease the choking constraint wrapping her throat.
"I hate her!" Harry repeated, each word a physical blow to Lily. A minute passed in silence. "I'm sorry for yelling at you like that, Miss Lily. It's not your fault."
But it is.
"Anyway, I should go change now. I'm meeting with my friends at Blaise's house in an hour. After that we're going to Hogsmeade for the March."
She struggled to put on a smile. "Enjoy the March."
Harry nodded. "Bye, Miss Lily!"
He hates me.
-The Magnate-
"Your grades arrive yet?" Blaise asked.
"Arrived yesterday," Harry said. "It was a lot better than I expected."
"What'd you get?" Daphne asked, wrapping her silk scarf, a startling emerald that made her eyes pop, around her neck.
"Two E's, four T's and three P's."
"I told you you had nothing to worry about," Blaise said. "Let me guess, you got Exceptional for Theory and Flying, Promising for Herbology, Astronomy and History, Talented for everything else?"
Harry nodded. "How about you? Failed any of your classes?"
Blaise scoffed. "Harry, it's me we're talking about."
"He makes it sound like he got perfect scores in every subject," Daphne stage-whispered to Lavender, a grin playing on her lips.
"I almost managed it," Blaise said. "I got E's or T's in everything except Dueling. And that doesn't count."
"So you're good at every subject except those you aren't." Daphne nodded. "Makes perfect sense."
Blaise stuck his tongue out at her.
"Why is it called Duelling? I thought Durmstrang taught the Dark Arts like Hogwarts does?" Lavender asked.
"I don't really know," Blaise said, his brows coming together. "Any ideas, Harry?"
Harry shrugged. "We haven't really done that much wand work in the class. Mistress Dragovic's been drilling us all term long."
"Drilling?" Lavender repeated.
"We hit each other with sticks," Harry said.
"Heavy sticks," Blaise said meaningfully. "Those bloody things hurt."
"What for?"
"Some nonsense about teaching us shielding instincts," Blaise grumbled, before turning to the girls. "Say, does Hogwarts have anything like the Veto?"
"The Veto?" Lavender repeated.
"It's when someone fails a class thrice and gets kicked out," Blaise said.
"Well, more like the Master has a choice of not letting them back in. Usually they do practice the Veto though."
"That's a bit…harsh." Lavender said with a frown. She turned to her fellow blonde. "Does anybody in Hogwarts actually get kicked out of a class before the NEWTs classes in sixth year?"
"Not that I know of," Daphne answered. Then, she smirked. "At least, not any purebloods I know of. I've heard of mudbloods," –Harry raised a brow here; Daphne had never used that word in the past, not during polite conversation at least- "and halfbloods. You know, those less magical than us." she said with careless ease.
Harry bit his cheek, remaining quiet as his friends began to talk about the Victory Parade to be held at Diagon later today. Calm down, Potter. They don't know. But that thought didn't do much to soothe his nerves. Would they treat him the same way if they knew? Just a few months in Hogwarts had made Daphne prejudiced, more so than he remembered at least.
The thought of them not knowing something so big in his life…it felt odd.
But somehow, the thought of them knowing was far worse.
-The Magnate-
Amber liquid sloshed in the glass even as Lily poured it down her throat, raising her body temperature by several degrees.
"Another."
The barkeep, whose most prominent feature was his trimmed, white beard, poured her another glass without blinking.
"Anothe'," she slurred, not five seconds later. Her head was beginning to swim as thoughts became less coherent, but those words still echoed in her head, refusing to leave her alone. "Another," she repeated, more sharply, when the barkeep did not respond immediately.
"That's your fourth one in five minutes." the man grunted, grudgingly filling her glass with the liquefied essence of fire. He placed a bowl of peanuts on the table and pushed it towards her. "At least eat something. I don't need you blacking out in my pub."
Lily didn't respond verbally, but she didn't down her glass in one go either, so at least she was improving. She cradled her firewhiskey, still half full, in one hand and popped a few of the brown, salted nuts into her mouth.
The bar was pretty deserted for a weekend, and what few patrons remained left once the noise outside began to pick up, signaling that the Victory Parade was starting. The Hogsmeade one was smaller than the one over at Diagon Alley, but it still managed to gather a decent crowd to it every year.
"Aberforth!" someone shouted, storming in. The noise made Lily's head hurt. "Aberforth, we've found him! I-who is this?"
The barkeep, 'Aberforth', shrugged nonchalantly. "Someone who needs to make better life choices."
Lily chugged the rest of her drink, face contorting slightly at the taste, before glaring at him. "Anothe'," she said, putting on an air of drunken defiance. He complied, smiling benignly.
"Sir," the man growled, "we don't have time for this. Kick the girl out and we can get this underway."
"Are you kidding? She's the best business I had all day. I'm milking this cow for all she's worth." Aberforth said. "Get it over with. We can deal with her later."
"That isn't protocol!"
"Don't lecture me about protocol." Aberforth said, drawing himself to full height and staring down the man imperiously. "I wrote the damn code. I know what I'm doing."
"But sir!"
"She's sloshed and she isn't a sympathizer." the barkeep said. "A muggleborn like Lily Evans won't blab."
Lily's eyelids, which had been slowly dropping, sprang back up. "Lily?" the man said her name. The voice was familiar. "Evans, is that you?"
Lily turned around. She didn't expect to find Sirius Black, of all people. "Sirius, wha'cha doin' here?"
"I could ask the same of you."
"I'm drinkin' 'way my problems!" she exclaimed, raising her glass in a toast. "You?"
Sirius glanced at something behind Lily then nodded somberly. "Oh, you know, just taking part in clandestine pub meetings, plotting to overthrow the Regime. All the good stuff."
Something hit her in the back and sudden clarity washed over her. Then the pain hit.
"Merlin!" she moaned, grasping her head and blinking blearily at Sirius. Sobriety Charm, that's what they used on her. She shifted her sight from Sirius to Aberforth, and back again. "You're joking right?" she asked as she remembered his words.
"No Evans, he's not joking." Aberforth said. He looked completely relaxed with his mahogany wand in hand.
"How would you like to be part of the Phoenix Movement?"
-The Magnate-
It brought Tom no small level of delight, seeing His mentor and nemesis shackled and kneeling, a common criminal. Albus Dumbledore, the once greatest sorcerer of the world was now His caged bird!
"You are a poor host. Nine years it's been and you have visited not once." Dumbledore began.
"I've been busy." Tom said, not at all apologetic. A low chuckle escaped his lips and Dumbledore looked up at him with that insufferable twinkle in his eye.
"My, my, Dumbledore, the years have been kind to you." Tom said, eyeing his tattered, grimy robes.
Dumbledore's unwavering calm held fast, unarmed as he was before the most dangerous man in Europe. "Not as kind as it has been to you, Tom, but thank you."
Tom's hand lingered by His wand, but He quashed the surge of anger at the sound of His muggle-given name. "No one has called me by that name in many years, Dumbledore. I daresay you are the only man alive who continues to."
Dumbledore tilted his head. "What a shame that is too. Tom is a simple, splendid name; rolls off the tongue far smoother than Lord Voldemort."
"For most, 'My Lord' is enough." Tom answered, rising from his chair and circling around Dumbledore with predatory gait. "It's a touch more dignified, don't you agree?"
"As much as I enjoy speaking with you, Tom," –anger returned tenfold, and Tom's wand, a curious thing of elder wood, twitched to strike down its former master- "but, I'm sure you brought me here for some purpose, yes?"
"Just savoring my victory over you." Tom breathed, deep and long, as if taking in some pleasant aroma and not to soothe His nerves. "Ah, change is in the air! With each passing day, the pure grow in number."
"It's never been about purity for you," Dumbledore said, "or you would have wiped out all the muggleborns."
"What point is there to ruling, if there's no one to rule? It's always been about power. And dominance." Tom chortled. "All of Britain serves me, the world fears my name and I am just getting started!"
Steel clattered against stone as Dumbledore shifted his weight. "Humor an old man's curiosity. What's next on the agenda? France? Spain?"
Tom ended His stride directly in front of Dumbledore, and He squatted to look him in the eye. "You think too small, as always. Why stop there when I can take Europe by storm? For the first time in history, the world shall be under one banner – mine!" Tom laughed, loud and manic this time. "Who better to lead the world than a god?"
Dumbledore snorted. "You are no god."
"Maybe not, but I'm the closest thing to one. Powerful, perfect-"
"Immortal." Dumbledore interjected, and Tom smiled.
"That too." He agreed, standing tall and proud in contrast to His companion's low and humble form.
"You've kept your looks." Dumbledore said. "I take it you never went past three?" Three of what didn't have to be spoken aloud. Both knew what was being alluded to – Horcruxes, soul mementos magically made through monstrous murder. The existence of one ensured immortality at the expense of humanity, a price only the most prideful lot would pay willingly.
Seeing Tom Riddle now – His smooth, unblemished, skin and His dark, piercing eyes - inhuman would be the farthest thought from a spectator's mind, but people often forgot one crucial fact:
There's nothing further from humanity than perfection.
"Ah, so you've noticed!" Tom said, pleased. "I thought about it and I've realized there's really no point to making so many vessels when three can do the job of seven."
"And I'm sure three being the most stable magical number had nothing to do with it."
"It was a bonus." Tom's hand stroked His own face, not a single defect diminishing its beauty. He was the epitome of perfection. "Besides, it's so much easier for people to follow a handsome man. It's made pacification an almost pleasant experience."
Dumbledore shifted again, causing the chains to rattle. "What did you expect, Tom? Wherever there is evil and tyranny, good people will stand against."
"More like scurrying in the shadows like rats." Tom hissed. "There is no good or evil, only power and those too weak to seize it!" He recited His well-worn mantra.
Dumbledore sighed heavily. "As always, I beg to disagree."
Tom peered at Dumbledore with disgust. "I'll never understand you," He confessed. "You had everything before you – power, prestige, glory. The world was ready to follow your lead into the future, and you threw it away! For what? To teach school children how to count to ten?"
"Many would argue magic is a good deal more complex than basic arithmetical operations." Dumbledore answered cheekily.
Tom shook His head. "The world is about to be reborn in my image, Dumbledore. I suppose I have to thank you for throwing away your opportunity so that I could have mine." He pointed to the door and its metal bar unlatched while the protective enchantments on it were lifted.
"Guards, take him back to his cell."
-The Magnate-
The sound of creaking doors woke Gellert up.
"I'm back, old friend!" he heard Dumbledore shout, and he let out a breath he had been holding for who knows how long. "It turns out he was merely interested in a chat."
"What? Is he getting lonely is his old age?" Gellert asked, sarcasm lacing his voice.
"Might be." There was a pause and the sound of shutting doors resounded loudly. "Hören?"
Gellert paused. He had not heard Albus say that word in many years. At first he thought his ears were playing tricks on him, but it came again – whispered, desperate. "Hören?"
It was a codeword from their younger days, one of the few German words Albus had ever deigned to learn. Literally translated to "hear", but it held a different meaning for the pair. "Is anyone listening?" was what it meant.
"Nein." Gellert answered, when he could no longer sense the guards' presence. "What are you up to, Albus?"
"What I should have been doing since I got here, Gellert. Escape."
Eyes grew wider, hands gripped iron bars tensely, and his entire body became rigid. Gellert felt like lightning had just struck him. Escape…it was a thought that he had entertained over the years.
"Impossible." was the first word that left his lips.
What he didn't expect was for Dumbledore to laugh. "That is a word you have never uttered before. What was it you used to say? 'There are no limits to Magic, but those placed by feeble men.'"
Gellert huffed. "I know these walls, Albus. I built them! There is no escape from Nurmengard."
"Even with help?"
"What?"
"Tom has made a mistake, visiting me. His men, they are not as loyal as he believes." Dumbledore's voice lost it merry tone and he spoke now in one of complete seriousness. "Again, I ask, can it be done?"
A rush of memories flooded into his mind as he reevaluated and discarded all of the plans he'd made over the years. Nurmengard's layout, the rotation of guards, mealtimes, protective enchantments, traps – none were spared from consideration.
Finally, he answered.
"Yes." A feral smile played on his lips.
"Excellent." Dumbledore said and he could imagine his friend smiling, just as rabidly.