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Posted February 11, 2014.
SUMMARY: Harry and his circle retreat back to Skyrim until the third task; a new addition to the College is a source of unwanted complications; and the third task of the tournament has some expected, and not-so-expected results.
14. THE THIRD TASK
21 February – 24 June, 2005
"Why am I not surprised to find you in here?"
Harry set the weights back on their cradle, and sat up, finding Mazhe walking toward him. A quick glance at the wall clock told him it was just after 4 am—he had been in the Ragnar's athletic centre for the past two hours, trying to sort out the emotional mess left behind by the second task.
"Couldn't sleep."
"After yesterday, it doesn't surprise me in the least. This world, it truly has rather disjointed logic. If not for you and your friends, I would not wish to be here."
"I don't blame you, Mazhe. Believe me, when my job here is done, I'm returning to Skyrim, and not coming back here—ever. Your world is where I grew up. Things make more sense there than here. And... after yesterday... bloody hell."
"Tommy?"
"Just... That meddling old codger could've taken you just as easily... or Justin. He took Tommy just because he was an easy target—though you know that already, right?"
Mazhe gave a slow nod and frowned.
"The guy's still shattered emotionally, right? So to be twisted and used like that... just... gods. Dumbledore's lucky Tommy didn't outright kill him yesterday."
"I think he realized that would have only made things much more difficult for all of us. He does have some level of control, Harry."
"I... yeah, I guess."
"You're worried about him."
"Of COURSE I'm worried about him, Mazhe! He's only been with us for a few months, but... he might as well have been here from the beginning. And yesterday... when I realized what had happened... gods... I felt like someone had dropped a stone into the pit of my stomach."
"Ah. I see."
Mazhe smiled and put a hand on his best friend's shoulder.
"My little brother's growing up."
Harry scowled and wiped his brow with a nearby towel.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Harry. You're fourteen and a half. You're getting to the stage where, uh, relationships start to have different meaning. I was just a little older than you when I started to... well... you know of Asbjorn?"
"Balimund's apprentice," Harry answered, "Yeah, of course. But what's that got to do with... well..."
"You remember we were in the orphanage together?"
"Sure."
"We, uh, well, explored each other."
Harry arched an eyebrow. "When? But... what does that have to do with—no. NO! I... I'm not bent!"
"By no means am I insinuating that you are. It's something we each have to figure out for ourselves. And really, I'm probably not the best person for covering the—how is it phrased here... birds and the bees, I guess."
Harry felt ill. This was most definitely not the sort of topic he'd planned on discussing with his best friend.
"Let me ask you this. When you are in his company, how do you feel?"
"Tommy's?"
"Who else?"
"I... no different than if it were Justin... or you."
"You're kidding yourself. Your body language betrays you, Harry."
"I just want to keep him safe."
"Outside the magical world, I have no doubt he would have any issue taking care of himself. But that's beside the point. When the pair of you embraced yesterday—though he initiated it, you held on for dear life. Couple that with the side-long glances you cast his way now and then..."
"I don't have a crush on Tommy!"
"I beg to differ," Mazhe answered.
"Right. Piss off."
"It just means you're growing up. I've been there already, and it is perfectly normal. Even in our world."
"Honestly, even if it is a crush, I don't have time for it. I'm thankful for all of you helping me out, but really... dealing with Voldemort is all that matters right now."
"The things is, if I remember something healer Ferris said, denying your thoughts and feelings will only cause harm later on."
"I remember that. But really, I don't know what this is, and I'm... I'm just gonna leave it at that. Besides. Even if I was bent, I strongly doubt Tommy is."
"I don't think he knows what he is at this point. To lose so much in the blink of an eye. Gods, I know all too well what it feels like. It took me nearly a year to get things sorted again. I barely said a word in that time. Of course, old Grelod didn't make things any easier.
"I think he's purely driven by his purpose here—helping you-us-out. You're his only focus right now."
"I guess I sort of know that. I mean, the very little he's told me, his life hasn't been all that great. Then to be dropped in the middle of our world and the skewed politics of it? He's still using at least one calming draught sometime during the day."
Harry tossed the towel in a nearby bin, and stood up.
"I'm gonna try and get some rest."
But rest did not come. Mazhe was right in so many ways. The feelings he was experiencing had come right out of left field, though only now was he truly taking stock of them. If he were honest with himself, it had started not long after the accident in potions. The guy looked younger than Mazhe now. Couple that with Harry's emotional maturity, and his legal status, it was hard to say what was the cause.
His self-awareness kicked in, and he felt his face flush. Had Tommy noticed those side-long glances? Last thing Harry needed was to alienate the guy, possibly drive him away. It wouldn't serve anyone any good, as they would be down a trainer, and a friend—something he would sorely miss. Harry again felt his face get warm, and he had to admit it. Just perhaps, Tommy was quite fit, was he not?
Dumbledore returned to his office later that morning. It had been a rather painful night in the hospital wing, but the headmaster's jaw was as good as new—or as good as one could hope, given he was past a hundred and fifty years old. Madam Pomfrey had performed a few cursory examinations in addition, as well as asking a few very pointed questions, to establish just how much memory loss the headmaster had suffered. To his luck, he was only missing a few hours' worth—the contents of his short-term memory, and nothing more. At worst, it had been a rather painful lesson that he should not underestimate what Muggles were capable of. Nevertheless, there was always more than one way to skin a kneazle.
He gave his customary hellos to the numerous portraits in the room, then took a seat at his desk, noting a sealed letter waiting for his attention. No surprise, it bore the seal of the Commonwealth of Valicadia. He didn't have to guess what the contents were, but opened it anyway.
Headmaster Dumbledore,
You have gone too far. This is our notice that Harry Potter will not be returning to Hogwarts again this year except for official, mandatory events of the Triwizard tournament. This also serves as official notice that you are to have no contact with Thomas Riordan (nee Conlon), or Justin Fraser, without a third party present of our choosing. The notice of non-contact with regard to Harry Potter is most definitely still in place, though we are sure this needed not be said.
With due respect,
(A signature was scrawled here)
A. Sampson, Crown Attorney's office, Commonwealth of Valicadia
(A second signature was scrawled here)
Abagaile Wentworth,
Attorney General, Commonwealth of Valicadia
It was only natural the Commonwealth would react in such a way. And, once again, they had reacted by imposing a no-contact order. There had already been one warning from the ICW with regard to the no-contact order covering Harry. It would likely be short order for another warning, or worse. From his few contacts within the ICW, there were rumblings about opening an international enquiry into the business at Hogwarts. Dumbledore knew he would never survive that sort of scrutiny.
Dumbledore plucked a lemon drop out of the candy dish, and popped it into his mouth. The actions of the Commonwealth were a nuisance, that was true. However, if what he was hearing from his contacts there was correct, a few nasty truths were going to come out within the next few months. As it stood, Harry clearly saw them as lily-white, capable of doing no wrong. Perhaps, so did that little bastard who busted his jaw yesterday. The truth would hurt far worse, and then, perhaps, the boy-who-lived would come back to reality.
The terrorist attacks within the Commonwealth's own borders had came as a bit of a surprise as well, and carefully placed enquiries had turned up a rather interesting bit of information. Under the right circumstances, the Commonwealth could be dealt with in a much more permanent manner. They were outside of the control of the ICW, posing a risk to the Wizarding community at large. Even a large portion of the international body agreed on that fact. So, if there were a way to eliminate that threat, then so be it. After all, it was for the greater good.
The next few days saw Harry reestablish his schedule back in Skyrim. He began teaching Novice Destruction at the College, and so now he only had an hour for potions on Tuesday. He continued teaching his Novice Alteration class on Fridays, but otherwise retained his fourth year class schedule. He was too far along in the year to throw it all away.
Equally, their morning training schedule hadn't changed either. Up at 5 am, something quick to eat, then it was off to the Ragnar's Virtual Projection Room where they worked on fitness training until 7 am. They got cleaned up, had a larger breakfast, and then it was back to the College (or Riften, depending on the schedule).
From there, things fell into an easy routine, as time and distance pushed away the unpleasantness of the fall and winter. Being at the College most of the time and back amongst friends did wonders for Harry, raising his spirits considerably. Tommy noticed the change the most, being the newest member of the circle, but he also understood. Hogwarts was rife with tension.
Tuesday, 8 March, 2005 / Tirdas, 8 First Seed, 4E200
As Harry stepped into the Hall of the Elements, on his way to teach his afternoon class, he found the Arch-mage talking with an Altmer wearing Thalmor robes. Although the Arch-mage was doing his best to be polite, his body language betrayed him. He loathed the individual in his company. The Altmer seemed to regard Harry a moment.
"This is Harry Potter," Savos introduced, "He is one of our youngest, but brightest students. Harry, this is Ancano, he will be joining us in an advisory capacity for the next while."
"Oh. I see," said Harry, wishing to be polite, "Err, welcome, sir." Between Mazhe, and a few others at the College, he already knew exactly what the Thalmor were all about.
"Tell me, how long have you been a student here," Ancano asked. The way it was said, he practically demanded an answer.
"Well... I don't know why you believe that sort of thing is your business, but, I've been studying here since I was six. Officially, since I was seven."
"And you live here at the College?"
"Maybe."
"Do not be rude to your betters, human," Ancano sneered.
"Excuse me? No, you have no right asking me personal questions, elf," Harry hissed right back.
"Gentlemen..."
"I have a class in five minutes. If there are no more questions, I have to go."
"We will continue this conversation later," Ancano drawled.
That night, as the haughty elf lay down on his bed, he shot up again, and let out a yelp. It felt like a thousand sharp quills had poked him—hard. He cursed under his breath, and examined his bed, but found nothing wrong with it. A figment of the imagination, then?
He went to lay down again, and once again, it was as if... he had laid down on a bed of sharp quills. He flew from his bed as if his pants were alight. Definitely not a figment of the imagination, then. Feeling the bed with his hand, he could feel nothing there that shouldn't be. Then how was this happening? After several more tries, he gave up, resigned to sleeping on the floor of his quarters. It was humiliating.
The following morning, he asked the Arch-mage to try the bed and see if the same thing happened. The Arch-mage was doubtful of the story, but tried the bed. It was even more humiliating, as he could find no fault with the bed, and in simple terms told the Thalmor agent to stop wasting his time.
Over the next week, the Altmer experienced a few other forms of humiliation. Perhaps the worst was the instance where his clothes would vanish the moment he left his rooms. It so happened that Harry, Justin, and Tommy were on their way down from the upper floor of the building on one particular occasion. Harry stopped dead, and Tommy ran into the back of him.
"What?"
"Just..." Harry had to suppress a giggle.
"Jesus H. Christ," Tommy muttered. Justin, although silent, was also a little shocked at the sight.
"Crazy person... something must be wrong with its head, to strut around like that," J'zargo muttered.
He had come out of his own room, and was equally surprised by the display. He paused a moment, before disappearing down the stairs.
"You... meddling boy," Ancano cursed, his junk swinging in the wind for all to see, pointing an accusing finger at Harry, "I know you did this."
"How about you prove it, Ancano. Meanwhile, do us all a favour and put something on. You might scare people walking around like that," Harry smirked.
Ancano stood there, fuming a moment, before storming back into his rooms, slamming the door behind him.
"Y'know, one of these days he's gonna go off like a firecracker, and it ain't gonna be pretty," Justin laughed.
"Oh, but it will be," Harry smirked, "Sirius sent me some Peruvian itching powder last night."
"Shit, Harry. I'll remember not to get on your bad side," said Tommy.
"You guys? Never. You're my circle, remember? People outside my circle, on the other hand? Ancano stepped on my dick nerve."
"And when will his punishment end?" Justin wondered.
"Haven't decided yet. Maybe when he stops asking me personal questions. He's not my friend, and at this point, he never will be. He's an arse and a prick who wants to stick his overly large nose where it doesn't belong."
13 First Seed
"Excellent. Well done," said Mazhe, peering over Tommy's shoulder. They were all gathered in a now unused room in the Hall of Attainment, which had then been set up as a potions lab. Mazhe had been teaching Tommy alchemy off and on, and the guy was finally starting to catch on to the nuances that came with the craft.
Harry, meanwhile, was busy with his latest potions assignment—his last assignment had earned an 'Acceptable', but Snape had still been rather caustic—though nothing was new on that front.
The door to the room burst open, and Ancano framed the doorway, looking furious. His clothes and his hair were now a variety of rather obnoxious colours.
"You've gone too far, boy!"
"Is that so? In doing what, exactly?" Harry asked, turning to face the elf.
"You're responsible for this, I KNOW it and I demand you cease!"
"I'm only fourteen. I strongly doubt I could pull off something as... colourful... as that, but I certainly applaud their effort."
KAWHACK! The icy spear missed Harry by inches. He responded sending a fireball at the Altmer's face, which also missed by inches. Mazhe made to join in, but Harry waved him off.
"Stay out of it, it's between him and I," Harry said, drawing his wand. He was again forced to duck a yellow blast which he did not recognize. He responded sending a fear spell and a concussion hex—the fear spell missed, but the concussion hex found its mark, and Ancano collapsed to the floor, dazed and confused.
Harry crossed the floor and crouched down beside him.
"I don't care if the Aldmeri Dominion sent you here. My business is my business. This is your first and only warning. Stay away from me and my friends, or next time you will suffer something far more unpleasant. Now PISS OFF."
May 24, 2005 / 24 Second Seed, 4E200
The missive had arrived by owl that morning as they were having breakfast in their suite aboard the Ragnar. The details regarding the third task of the tournament would be revealed that evening after dinner, down at the Quidditch pitch.
Now, Harry joined the other three champions at the edge of the Quidditch pitch, which had been transformed dramatically. Someone had planted a very twisted-looking garden over every square inch of it. But... not a garden... a maze.
Ludo Bagman was present, and he began to explain the third and final task to everyone: simply get to the centre of the maze, and claim the Triwizard cup. The first one to do so would win the tournament and its prize, one thousand galleons. The maze, of course, would only be part of the equation, however. It would also be populated with numerous obstacles they would need to get by or get around.
Back on board the Ragnar, Harry related the details to the others.
"Can't be any worse than the second task, then," said Mazhe.
"I think it could be every bit as dangerous," said Justin, "Shit, they could put anything in there. He said twenty feet, right?"
"Yeah," Harry said.
"From here on out, until the start of the task, no one from Hogwarts will be permitted aboard the ship, and all incoming correspondence will be checked," said Brandon, "We don't want a repeat of the second task."
"I don't think they'll be taking hostages this time, but... yeah, good thinking. The mail thing should've been done from the beginning though."
"I'm almost tempted to have the rest of you to wait here until the task is finished," said Brandon, "Don't give them an opportunity and all that."
"No. We'll be joining Harry's Hogwarts friends in the stands," said Justin, "I think it would be a little late to pull something once the task gets started."
"Fair enough. We'll be posting lots of extra security around the maze as it is. Ludo Bagman approached the ministry of Defence a few days ago."
Harry let out a snort. "Find that rather amusing. Considering the Ministry has its own Auror department, they readily accept help from a foreign country."
"Oh, the Minister for Defence found that rather amusing, too—not that he said so in the presence of the English ministry and all," said Brandon, with a laugh. "They'll learn eventually."
"At least I see an end in sight," said Harry, "Then I can put all of this behind me. Facing a dragon... one of my best friends put in terrible danger... Forgive me if I get piss-drunk come the end of it."
"Uh, legal age or not, I think Will and Alice might have a few things to say about that, Harry," said Justin, shaking his head.
"Vekel can probably help you out there," Mazhe smirked.
"I'm sure he can. Gods, he's put you into a stupor more than a few times," Harry grinned.
"He's put the whole Flagon under, I think."
"For real?" Tommy was instantly interested.
"Y'know, if you're interested in some especially exotic concoctions, I should hook you up with Talen-jai. His creations will make you forget who you are for a week," said Mazhe, with an evil grin.
"No way, his stuff'll give you brain damage," said Harry, shaking his head.
Mazhe shrugged. "No different than Vekel."
"Whose shit is stronger?" Tommy asked.
"About equal, I think," said Mazhe, "Why?"
"You can send shit by owl, right? I might send Dumbledore a nice present."
"My friend, you are truly demented," Mazhe smirked, "Harry's hangover cures don't work on most of them."
"Good." Tommy smiled evilly.
Harry could only grin madly. 'Dismiss the ingenuity of Muggles at your peril, Dumbledore,' he thought.
"Might land him in St. Mungo's for a few nights. 'course, we'll have to put it in something. It's common knowledge he loves Muggle sweets."
"Maybe we should be talking to the twins then," Mazhe suggested, "They're the masters when it comes to that sort of thing, am I right?"
"He does love his tea, why not just slip it into his tea?" Harry suggested, a nasty smirk crossing his face, "We could enlist the help of the house elves. Dobby would help there."
As he lay in bed, thinking over the events of the evening, he got to thinking about the first task, and his lengthy conversation with the dragon. With all that had been going on, he'd completely forgotten about it. Being able to talk to a dragon was unheard of in his own world. And he thought speaking parseltongue was rare!
Perhaps he might ask Tolfdir or the Arch-mage about it. Speaking the dragon tongue was rare in Skyrim, but not unheard of... he had several books on the language as it was.
More important, was a word the dragon had mentioned several times: Dovahkiin—Dragonborn. He had pressed the dragon about what it meant, but she had avoided giving an answer. What was so special about it? Tomorrow, then. He would ask Tolfdir. He finally pushed those thoughts aside, and tried to relax.
The following morning, he sought out Tolfdir as soon as he returned to the College, and related the events of the first task of the tournament.
"You actually spoke to a dragon?" Tolfdir was astounded. "It has been many, many years, since someone has been able to do so. How easily are you learning the words?"
"Difficult. I was able to greet the dragon, and say a few words, but she switched to... she called it the common language."
"A she? The dragon was female?" Tolfdir leaned forward in his seat.
"Yeah."
"I only have a limited understanding of the dragon lore, but from what I have read or heard, the dragons here were always male."
"How were they born, then?"
"Once again, it's something not known. It is said that perhaps Akatosh himself created them. But in your world, they lay eggs?"
"Yeah. Um, about this big..." Harry held his hands apart, roughly about the size of a Quaffle.
"Astounding."
"One thing she kept mentioning... but I don't know what it means: Dovahkiin, or, Dragonborn."
"Now that I can tell you about, Harry. A man born with the soul and blood of a dragon. The one they fear, for only a Dragonborn can truly slay a dragon for good, by stealing its soul and its power."
"But... couldn't a soul gem work just as easily?"
Tolfdir only shook his head. "There are some things who are far too powerful to be captured in such a way. Dragons were truly powerful beings, requiring a truly powerful adversary to defeat it."
"Are they still around?"
"Thankfully, it has been a long time since a dragon was seen here in Tamriel—the last dating back to the reign of Tiber Septim."
"Oh. Good. Last thing I need is to encounter something like that."
Harry thought a moment.
"There's something else. The, uh, incident at the end of Frostfall..."
"When you met Tom?"
"Yes. Something rather strange happened. I... maybe I'd better show you a pensieve memory, rather than try and explain it."
They returned to Harry's set of rooms, where Harry retrieved his pensieve, and drew out the appropriate memory using his wand.
"Some of the shit that was going on here was unpleasant. Even with Tommy explaining, I still don't get it really. Just watch what Mazhe does." Harry dropped the memory into a pensive, and the pair put a finger into it.
They returned only a few seconds later.
"Intriguing. You had a small taste of the Thu-um. Remarkable."
"The Thu-um? Shout, you mean?"
"Yes. Legend has it, the Dragonborn could harness the power of a shout... words of power. I must stress, this is all legend and conjecture, as it has been a long time since a Dragonborn has walked on Tamriel."
"Gods... last thing I need, something else that will make me special."
Tolfdir let out a laugh and put a hand on Harry's shoulder.
"My boy, I strongly doubt you are Dragonborn. If Mazhe's power is taken into account, between the pair of you, I believe it may be Mazhe who carries the dragon blood."
"What would it mean if he was?"
"Then there are truly memorable events in the near future, a turning of the age. A Dragonborn only appears for a good reason, a dire need."
Harry wanted to bang his head on the table. As if he didn't have enough problems back in his own world, not it looked like turmoil was on the way in Skyrim, the place he knew and loved... a place he called home.
It was strange. Albus usually came down to the Great Hall for breakfast, and now, half-way through lunch, he had still not made an appearance. Concerned, McGonagall excused herself early, and made her way up to the headmaster's office.
After giving the password and ascending the spiral staircase, she made to knock on the door, but stopped. She could hear the headmaster, and it sounded like... singing? She pushed the door open, and stopped dead at the scene which greeted her.
The lower part of the office was in disarray, and that was putting it mildly. It looked like half the books had been yanked off of their shelves, and several small tables had been overturned, their contents scattered on the floor. If McGonagall had to guess, it looked like there had been a fight there.
She drew her wand and held it firmly in front of her, expecting the worst. "Albus?"
The inner part of the office was just as scattered as the lower part, and the individual of her query was seated at his desk, half-dressed, singing a lewd version of a Weird Sisters tune.
"Albus! Good heavens! Ex... explain yourself!"
"Good ev'nin, M'nerva," the headmaster sputtered, looking at her with a dazed expression.
"Good evening? It's the middle of the afternoon, now what have you done to yourself?"
"I feel jus' fine, M'nerva." Dumbledore moved to fix his glasses, and it took several attempts in order to get things right. "I do believe we had a date..."
"Up you get."
"Will it be my rooms or yours?"
"Albus! Get a hold of yourself!" McGonagall snapped, "We're going to visit Madam Pomfrey. Whether you get there on your own power, that's up to you."
"I love it when they play rough."
The deputy headmistress sent Dumbledore a glare that would send first years scattering. Dumbledore tried to stand, but fell backward into his chair, and from there, McGonagall was forced to levitate the very intoxicated headmaster and drag him to the hospital wing in that fashion. It was not one of the headmaster's best moments, considering his transit was observed by more than a few individuals, including students from the visiting schools, and one disguised reporter from the Daily Prophet.
If there was any hope of keeping the incident quiet, it was soundly quashed by the rather graphic article adorning the front page of the paper the following morning. The top half of the paper included a rather hazy image of McGonagall levitating a rather animated, poorly dressed headmaster through the halls of the school toward the hospital wing.
ALBUS DUMBLEDORE: ALCOHOLIC?
Suffered poisoning, confined to hospital wing for six days
While covering the events of the Triwizard tournament, this reporter has uncovered a truly delicious scandal involving the Hogwarts headmaster. It seems the dear old man may have a vice!
It was yesterday afternoon that I observed the deputy headmistress levitating a clearly intoxicated headmaster through the halls of the school, to the hospital wing. Following along closely, I was able to discern that indeed, the headmaster was heavily intoxicated, and suffering from a moderate bout of alcohol poisoning. Madam Pomfrey, the resident medi-witch at Hogwarts, has confined Professor Dumbledore to the hospital wing for nearly a week, while she treats the condition, something not normally encountered by witches and wizards.
With this incident, this reporter does have to wonder, what other nasty skeletons lie hidden in the headmaster's closet? Further, perhaps it might be time for the ministry to take a more active role in the business at Hogwarts. It is, after all, rather shameful that a foreign body should be doing the business of our own.
Equally, our children should not be exposed to such outlandish and unacceptable behaviours from those who are supposed to be acting as role models.
-Rita Skeeter
Harry smirked as he set the paper down.
"Maybe the government will pay a bit more attention to what he's up to."
"Unlikely, Harry. We know the British Wizarding government isn't all that into change, no matter how much it's needed," said Justin, idly stirring his coffee, "And even if they did start taking an interest, it would probably bring about changes in the wrong direction, if you get my drift."
"Yeah, that's true. The English Wizengamot and competence shouldn't be mentioned in the same sentence. It doesn't fit."
"You can't trust the government anyway," said Tommy, "Ain't really interested in doing any good and all that shit."
"I take offence to that," said Justin, scowling, "We do try and do some good, y'know."
Tommy shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not."
"Pick your poison. Some places are worse than others, right?" Mazhe pointed out, as he spread jam on a slice of toast. "Still better than anarchy."
"Fair enough."
"Between the Commonwealth and Wizarding England, I trust the Commonwealth explicitly," said Harry, firmly, "They haven't done me any wrong. They've done what Wizarding England should have done from the start, back when I lost my mum and dad."
"Agreed. All right, enough of that talk," said Mazhe, "Gods... alcohol poisoning though."
"Fucked him up pretty good. Looks good on him I think," said Tommy, nastily.
"I believe it might be a long time before he trusts his tea again," Justin smirked.
"I'll keep this, I think, show it to Vekel next time I'm in the Flagon. He'll get a laugh out of the results," said Harry, picking up the newspaper.
June 24, 2005 / 24 Mid-year, 4E200
In the short month between Bagman's instructions and this point, the hedges planted on the Quidditch pitch had grown to a towering twenty feet in height. And, like in Bagman's instructions, there were indeed a number of obstacles to get past. Harry had encountered a Blast-ended skewt, a boggart, and a sphinx thus far.
The sphinx had been challenging, giving him a riddle.
"Voiceless, it cries; wingless, it flutters; toothless, bites; mouthless, mutters. What am I?"
"Voiceless... cries," Harry muttered, thinking over the clue. He had to be careful. Get it wrong, and the sphinx would attack. He asked the sphinx to repeat the clue again.
"Toothless it bites... something... air? No. The wind! The answer is the wind," Harry said, firmly.
The sphinx smiled broadly, got up and stretched her legs, then moved aside, giving him room to pass.
"Just about there, Harry," came Justin's voice in his earpiece. He had remained aboard the Ragnar, and they were using a large map in the AIC to view the task, and more accurately, Harry's progress. They had not actively instructed him on how to get through the maze, as it was agreed that could be considered cheating. It did not, however, prevent them from giving him encouragement.
"Hold on... Balls, Cedric's ahead of me. He's got it in the bag," said Harry, although his voice carried that of relief.
It was short-lived, as something large and black emerged from a side path.
"Cedric! Your right!" Harry bellowed.
He wasn't quick enough, as the spider was on the older boy, snatching him up in its front legs.
"Gods..." No time to produce his wand, he cupped both hands together, a white, frosty glow forming in them. "Sorry, Hagrid."
KAWHACK! The ice spike unleashed from his hands impacted the hard body of the spider, and it collapsed in a heap, releasing Cedric from its grasp. It was dead.
"Ced? You all right?" Harry closed the distance quickly, and knelt down beside his fellow champion.
"It got me good, Harry. Go on, take it!" He flicked his eyes toward the Triwizard cup, gleaming only twenty yards ahead of them.
"Can you shoot up sparks?"
"Yeah, I reckon so." Cedric held his wand aloft, and shot a burst of red sparks at the sky. "Go on, I'll be fine."
"Not until someone comes to rescue you."
"Already here, Mr. Potter." Professor Flitwick stood on top of the hedge, looking down on the pair. "Go on, you've nearly got it."
"Thanks, professor."
"What happened, Harry?" came Justin's concerned voice, while Harry stood up and made for the cup.
"Spider got Cedric, he's being rescued. Everything's okay." He came to a stop at the pedestal on which rested the Triwizard cup, gleaming in the dim light of dusk.
"Take it Harry!" Cedric called. Professor Flitwick was then on the ground, checking him over for injuries. Harry hesitated, but reached up and grasped the cup... and felt a familiar hook about the naval.
Next thing Harry knew, he was bound securely to a large statue of some kind, with dozens of grave stones around him. At the centre of the scene, however, was a cauldron large enough to immerse a fully-grown human being inside of it, simmering on a fire.
"Ragnar code four," Harry whispered.
"Copy code four. We're looking for you," came Justin's reply in his earpiece. He sounded relieved.
"Where are you? What can you see?"
"Graveyard. There's a giant cauldron nearby."
"Can you get free?"
"No. Whoever it was they've got me bound—AAAAAAH!" Harry screamed, as his scar exploded in pain.
"Harry!?"
"What's wrong?"
A chatter of other voices filled his earpiece, but he was in too much agony to respond, as it felt like someone had jabbed a white-hot poker into his scar.
Someone else was speaking now... Wormtail. Harry remembered it from the interrogation over a year earlier. He was speaking to the cauldron... or something in the cauldron. He then turned, and pointed his wand at Harry's feet.
"Bone of father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son."
The tomb Harry was tied to rumbled, and a low, fine dust rose from it, speeding toward the cauldron. The surface of the water in the cauldron broke, scattering bright sparks in all directions, then turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.
And now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs.
"Flesh - of the servant - w-willingly given - you will - revive - your master. "
He stretched his right hand out in front of him - the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward. Harry knew exactly what he was about to do, but morbid fascination prevented him from looking away. Wormtail let out a terrible cry as the deadly knife sliced easily through flesh and bone, and there was a sickening 'plop', as the severed hand fell into the cauldron. The vile concoction turned a burning red, casting its evil light across the graveyard.
With agonizing slowness, Wormtail came to stand in front of Harry, the silver dagger now firmly held in his remaining hand.
"B-blood of the enemy . . . forcibly taken .. . you will. . . resurrect your foe."
Harry knew what Wormtail was about to do, but was powerless to prevent it, as the knife penetrated his forearm, drawing a trickle of blood. Dropping the dagger, Wormtail pulled out a small vial, and used it to collect the blood from the wound, then crossed back over to the cauldron, and emptied the vial into it. The liquid instantly turned a brilliant, blinding white, while Wormtail collapsed to the ground, cradling his injured limb.
Harry hoped against hope that perhaps it had gone wrong, but he knew his luck all too well. Terrible things tended to happen in his presence. This was no different, and with a great hiss of steam, a shadowy outline stood up in the cauldron.
"Robe me," came a high, cold voice.
Wormtail scrambled to collect the black robe laying on the ground a short distance away, and with his good arm, helped the figure to dress. Then, the figure climbed out of the cauldron, all the while staring at Harry. He was whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snakes with slits for nostrils. The face of evil: Lord Voldemort.
Voldemort looked himself over for several minutes, seeming to admire the handiwork of his servant, then drew a wand out of the pocket of his robes. He then demanded Wormtail present his good arm, and Harry could just make out a tattoo burned into the skin, before the Dark Lord touched it with his wand.
"Now we shall see, who is brave enough to return."
Minutes later, there was the tell-tale sounds of Apparition, and the swishing of cloaks confirmed it, as shadowy figures began to gather around the clearing in the graveyard. Each of them stepped forward, and knelt down, to kiss the hem of the Dark Lord's robes, then stood up, allowing the next to repeat the ritual. To Harry, it was nauseating.
Voldemort accused all of them of disloyalty, and cast the torture curse at least twice, but rewarded Wormtail by creating a new hand of silver for him. And then, finally, the Dark Lord turned his attention to Harry.
"Finally ready to acknowledge my presence, Tom?" said Harry, casually. "You should know, the Commonwealth will be here in less than a minute."
"Then we had best finish our business here. Unbind him and give him back his wand," Voldemort directed.
"M-master?" Wormtail whimpered.
"I said unbind him!"
Wormtail swished his wand toward Harry, and the binds instantly vanished. He fell to the ground, his scar still throbbing.
"And his wand."
Wormtail was clearly not sure of the saneness of the idea, but still followed Voldemort's instructions, and handed Harry his wand back.
"I will kill you one day, Wormtail."
"My master will finish you tonight, Harry."
"No, I doubt that. Good bye, Wormtail, Tom." Harry reached into his pocket, and pressed a button on his mobile. He vanished in a blur of limbs.
That action coincided with dozens of noisy pops in all directions. Realizing the danger at once, Voldemort popped away, as did the majority of others, leaving only a scattering of Death Eaters behind. They were either captured or killed, there was no middle ground.
Harry landed roughly on the floor in his suite aboard the Ragnar, which, naturally given the tournament, was deserted. He hissed as the wound in his forearm flared, but that was nothing compared to the searing pain coming from the scar on his forehead. Voldemort was in a towering rage.
"Guys... safe... back on Ragnar," Harry managed.
"On our way," came Justin's voice, among others. Harry reached up and switched the earpiece off, then stowed his wand.
"Dobby."
Pop. "Harry Potter sir call for Dobby?"
"Yeah. My stores in my room, can you bring me a calming draught, a pain-relieving potion, and two potions of health?"
"Right away, Harry Potter sir!" Dobby popped away.
So it had begun. Harry knew this event would come eventually, but until this point, it had played out like some bad fiction somewhere. Now, that fiction had become a reality, and the time for games was truly over.
Dobby reappeared, bringing the potions Harry had asked for, and Harry consumed them quickly. The healing potions were from Skyrim, as they healed injuries a lot faster. A single wave of his wand banished the dirt, mud, and blood from his person.
"Is Harry Potter sir needing anything else?"
"No, thank you."
The excitable elf popped away, but Harry wasn't alone for long, as moments later, the door to the suite opened, and Justin entered, followed closely behind by Mazhe, Tommy, Ron, and Hermione.
"Harry?! Are you all right?" Hermione asked. They were all gravely concerned.
"Considering what just happened, yeah. Voldemort is back. He got his body back."
"We knew it would happen. Can you draw a pensive memory? The government will want to see it as soon as possible," said Justin.
"Yeah, sure. Someone have a vial handy?"
"Here." Justin reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a small vial, while Harry touched his wand to his temple, and drew out the appropriate memory. He let it fall into the vial, and put the stopper in it, then passed it back to Justin.
"He used my blood to resurrect himself. There was an enormous cauldron there... Wormtail carried out the ritual."
"Shit. The Commonwealth will deal with him this time."
"Not if I get to him first. Kill on site from here on out. I want the bastard dead," said Harry, dangerously. "He betrayed my parents, and now his actions alone... they put everyone in danger."
"I'll make the government aware."
"But... aren't you lowering yourself to their level? Killing him won't solve anything, Harry," Hermione disagreed.
"And what would you do with him, miss Granger?" Tommy asked, harshly. "He's already been convicted, right?"
"I guess."
"And whatever joke of a jail they got in your world obviously doesn't work... then you do something more permanent. Have to agree with Harry here."
Hermione huffed. "It's just not right."
"No, Hermione! What happened tonight is not right! Even after the plot was uncovered in the fall, this shit still happened. Can't wait to grill Dumbledore about this!"
"The Commonwealth is already preparing a petition to the ICW asking for international charges to be laid—criminal negligence," said Justin, "Dumbledore knew about the plot and yet still did nothing to prevent it from being executed. You could have DIED, Harry."
The door to the suite opened, and Captain O'Toole entered, followed by Commander Dawson.
"Mr. Potter?"
"Sir."
"We just wanted to see you in person, and see if you needed anything."
"No, sir. Nothing a few healing potions couldn't set to rights."
"We're all set in the Virtual Projection Room... unless you didn't wish to go on with the party scheduled," said Commander Dawson.
"Given what just happened—"
"Harry, it's meant for everyone, not just you," said Mazhe, "Gods, I know you feel out of sorts, but this is likely exactly what you need right now. Besides, it's over. This tournament is done, you're free."
"Freed from one cage, only to be put in another," Harry scowled. "Though I knew this was coming... I didn't think it would come this year. It's as if... Dumbledore WANTED things to happen tonight."
"We can't know that for sure. Just leave it for now, we'll look at things with clear heads tomorrow," said Justin.
"All right, all right. Never have I ever... stolen money from my parents," said Justin, and sat back with a smug look on his face.
It was one of those infamous drinking games. Three bottles of Firewhiskey sat at the centre of the table, with one of them nearly empty. Mazhe, Justin, Tommy, Harry, and the other three champions all sat around it. Harry had been somewhat reluctant to participate, but with the others nagging and prompting, he finally gave in, and by this point, he was half-pissed.
The party was winding down at this point, with most of the guests already departed to their respective schools. A few had actually fell asleep on the beach, and members of the crew were seeing to their comfort, providing blankets and pillows.
There were a few groans, and Justin, Harry, Mazhe, and Fleur did not take a drink. There was no question the lot of them were in no shape to make it anywhere at this point.
"It iz my turn, no?" said Fleur, "Never have I ever... worn ze clothes of ze oppozite sex." She leaned back in her seat. Both Mazhe and Justin groaned and took a drink.
"Really?" Harry grinned.
"Gods, don't ask," Mazhe muttered, feeling his face flush.
"A play I was in in grade six," Justin answered, "It was a disguise, see."
"Right, my turn, I reckon," said Cedric, giving a wicked grin. He leaned forward. "Never have I ever... kissed a bloke!"
Justin, Harry, Viktor, and Cedric did not drink, and it was the first time Harry saw Tommy reluctant to drink alcohol. He scowled, and finally took his shot. At Mazhe's unasked question, he shot him a dirty look.
"Don't ask."
"Don't be a sour puss, friend," Mazhe grinned.
"Let me guess... part of your, uh, experiments with Asbjorn," Harry laughed.
"About the size of it. And I liked it, too!"
"Too much information, mate," said Cedric, shaking his head.
"You posed the question." Harry was still grinning like mad.
"Okay, um... my turn then?" Justin leaned forward. "Never have I ever... snuck out of the house without my parents knowing." He leaned back, as did Harry and Mazhe.
Harry leaned forward again. "Append that. Guardians count as parents!"
"Shit." Mazhe took a drink along with the others. He leaned back. "How about we append the rules a bit. You can decline to answer, but you have to accept a dare."
"I like it. And you have to do it, it's not optional," Harry agreed.
"My turn then," said Mazhe. "Never have I ever... been nude in public."
Viktor scowled and took a shot, as did Justin and Tommy.
"Really?" Harry grinned at Tommy.
"It was on the base when I was still serving, okay?"
"Let me guess... alcohol may have been a factor." That earned him a rude gesture.
"My turn, then," said Viktor, leaning forward. "Never haff I ever... taken... err... illegal drugs." He leaned back, a smug look on his face, while Justin, Tommy, and Mazhe all took a shot. Harry hesitated for a moment, but also took a shot.
"Really?" Viktor arched an eyebrow at Harry.
"In Skyrim, there's something called Skooma. I didn't know what it was, and I'll tell you this. Anything in this world has nothing on what Skooma can do to you."
"That so?" Tommy immediately looked interested.
"No. You can't try it. The stuff'll give you brain damage, I think." Harry grinned, and leaned forward. "Never have I ever... touched a bloke's junk."
"WHAT?!"
"Harry... you can't ask that!" Justin was shocked.
"C'mon guys, drink up!" Harry smirked, leaning back in his seat. Fleur, Justin and Mazhe downed a shot, while Tommy scowled.
"I'll take a dare."
"You sure you wanna go that route?" Justin smirked.
"Not answering the question," Tommy said, firmly.
"Right. Since Justin seems to be wanting to do this one..." Harry grinned.
"Excellent."
"Actually... if I might," Mazhe smirked. It was one of those looks that usually didn't bode well for anyone.
"Go on." Justin inclined his head.
"Great. Tommy. You have to... kiss Harry."
"What?!"
"NO way." Both Harry and Tommy were shocked.
"Either that or you take a drink."
"Ze question is, which is ze lesser of two eveels you admit to, mister Riordan," Fleur giggled.
Tommy huffed. "Just remember, payback's a bitch." He then grabbed Harry's face with both hands and closed the distance. It was rough, forced, and lasted only a few seconds, but... Gods... Harry felt his face get very warm, and knew his body betrayed his opinion on the matter.
Tommy, too, flushed, now whether this was from embarrassment or something else, that was debatable. He downed a shot, then tried to stand, but his legs appeared to be like rubber, and he collapsed back into his seat.
"I'm done."
"Same," Harry decided, leaning back in his seat.
"No fun, Harry," said Mazhe, "But I'm still in." There were voiced agreements from around the table.
"Now if I was to rate that, um, snogging session, it rather sucked, Harry."
"Piss off."
"Let me show you," Mazhe cackled, and for the second time in minutes, Harry found himself kissing another boy.
"Ack... Gods... Mazhe!" Harry exclaimed, once again feeling his face flush. He was seated in between Mazhe and Tommy, with Justin sitting opposite. Fleur, Viktor, and Cedric had seats to their left.
"I believe Mr. Potter may have liked that," Justin smirked.
"Right. Fuck off," he cursed, then muttered, "Snogged by my best mate... seriously wrong..."
As the virtual sky began to brighten, Harry was still awake, if it could be called that, practically crushed in between Mazhe and Tommy. The three of them were all quite muscular, though Tommy had it in the bag when it came to muscle mass.
The game they had been playing ended up taking on a serious tone, although in truth it had been his fault in a way. His final question had been rather shocking, and perhaps shouldn't have been used. His newest friend was forced to admit to something very uncomfortable in public. Given his emotional state was still rather fragile, it could have ended up far more disastrous than it had.
If anything, Tommy had been a good sport about it, but it had clearly left a bad taste in his mouth, hence the immediate exit from the game. Harry had felt bad, and so had joined him in being only an observer, claiming one of the bottles for themselves.
His mind ventured to the other burning topic: the Dark Lord had returned. The simple fact that changed everything now. How would he keep his two non-magical friends safe from that? Once Voldemort learned of them, they would rocket straight to the top of the list of people in danger—not that they weren't in danger now.
Perhaps it might be best to have them remain at the College. Being members of Harry's circle of friends, they were respected there, and with a little explanation, there wouldn't be any difficulty in making sure their needs were taken care of.
NO. That would be like confining them, locking them away. He knew all too well what that felt like, and it was something he would not do to another—particularly to people he called friends.
Sleep finally found him, but it was by no means peaceful. Nightmares of unspeakable horrors befalling those of his circle, and those outside of it filled his head.
It was early afternoon before anyone stirred. Harry awoke to see members of the Ragnar's crew helping people up and toward the door. The sun felt warm on his face, and he extracted a hand to get the time. 2:30 in the afternoon. Justin was still passed out in his seat, as was Viktor, but everyone else had gone... perhaps back to his suite. There had been an agreement that the champions would all meet in his suite before departing the ship, though the original idea was to share breakfast beforehand. Perhaps a late lunch, then.
Harry reached over, and gently squeezed Tommy on the shoulder.
"Time to get up."
"Huh?"
"It's the middle of the afternoon," said Harry, also reaching over and giving Mazhe's shoulder a squeeze.
"Yeah, I'm up," Mazhe muttered. "Gods. I'll need one of your hangover cures, Harry."
"Got it covered back in our rooms."
"Fuck. My head..." Tommy muttered, as he attempted to stand. In fact, the three of them were very unsteady on their feet. Harry woke Viktor, who seemed to be faring better, and the quartet slowly and painfully made their way back to the suite.
As expected, the rest of the group were still collected in the suite, with the remains of lunch still set out in the dining room. A collection of potions were also present, much to the appreciation of the late-comers. Tommy practically fell into his seat, and hurriedly snapped up one of the potions, already knowing which was which.
"I had a wonderful time, Harry," said Fleur, "Thank you for eenviting us."
"I'm glad you all came. Last night was... fun, for the most part. Considering the future ahead, I think we all need it now and then, don't you agree."
"Well said," Cedric agreed. "I still don't understand how this was allowed to happen, though. Professor Dumbledore knew of the Dark Lord's plot and yet still it happened."
"Questions we're all asking, Mr. Diggory."
Harry glanced at the doorway, and no surprise, miss Connor and her colleague framed it. "The government is already ramping up security within our own borders, and just so all of you are aware, that most certainly includes here aboard the Ragnar. Come and go privileges are being revoked across the board."
"Well, we won't be needing to take up space here anymore as it is," said Harry, "With the tournament over and me returning to Skyrim semi-permanently, and so on."
"Her majesty has made it very clear that the Ragnar always be open to you, Harry. You can consider this a second home, given it is perhaps one of the most secure places we can offer," miss Connor explained.
Harry again wanted to bang his head on the table.
"I don't want to be special. Gods... more bending over backwards for me."
"Even if you don't want it, you have to face the fact that you are an important person, Harry, though not by your own choice," said Justin, "Now I guess what we need to know, what is the new security protocol?"
"The private floo here has had its access list revoked, save for you four." Miss Connor pointed to Harry, Tommy, Justin, and Mazhe, respectively. "It cannot be changed unless there's an emergency. No regular Portkeys will work here—though the emergency Portkeys in your mobiles will. Any individual not already cleared by security will be scanned for the Dark Mark, dark curses, glamours, and Polyjuice potion before they are permitted aboard."
"Funny. I thought that shit would be done anyway," Tommy said, sarcastically.
"We're moving to a wartime posture, Mr. Riordan. I'm sure you would understand the difference."
"Fair enough. Still. With Harry here and all..."
"Guess that means it'll be more difficult for people to come visit, then."
"Harry, I'm sure we can set things up so that can still happen. It wouldn't be fair to keep you away from your friends," said miss Connor.
"And Harry. Something else that changes. We'll be keeping you company from here on out, even at the College. That's Queen Susan's direct order," said Brandon. It was rare he joined them inside the suite, choosing to stand outside in the corridor during his shift.
"Great. I'm sure the Arch-mage is gonna love that. Considering he originally only agreed to Justin and I."
"I strongly doubt he has any trouble having the lot of you around," said Mazhe, shaking his head. "I think if anything, he's constantly astounded by your magic. It's foreign and all."
"Still..."
"Just leave it, let us worry about the details, Harry. You just keep at your education and training."
"Speaking off..." said Viktor, "If it is possible, I vold like to continue."
"I'd like that a lot. All of you are welcome. I mean, it's getting to high summer back in Skyrim. Lots of places we can do our training outdoors. Lake Honrich is beautiful now that it's not frozen over."
"It goes without saying, you're all Harry's friends—given what you've all done together this past school year," said miss Connor. "We'll have to see about getting you clearance to visit here as well as his home in Skyrim."
"And Sirius and Remus. What of them?" Harry asked.
"We'll likely move them to Skyrim as well, along with Mr. Riordan's nieces."
"Thank you," said Tommy, quietly. His features darkened, as he was once again forced to face a terrible reality he found himself in.
"The Commonwealth will also see to your grade ten material, Harry. You're aware level five magic is important?" miss Connor asked.
"Ordinary Wizarding Levels, yeah, I know."
"Good. Though I'm sure miss Wheeler and Mr. Jarvis will be more of a help there. We'll be returning to Trevelyan tomorrow."
"Right, of course. Thanks for all of your help, I really appreciate it," said Harry, gratefully.
"It's only right we were here," said Mr. Sampson, "And should the need arise, we'll be right back here."
"I hope that's not necessary, but... knowing my track record, we'll be seeing each other again, I'm sure."
Cedric stood up, and Fleur and Viktor followed suit. "Time to get back, I reckon."
"Yeah, this is true. Don't want Dumbledore or Madam Maxime or Karkaroff coming down on your heads," Harry agreed.
"Here. A port key that'll take you back to Hogwarts," said Mr. Sampson, producing a length of rope.
"Actually. Cedric, do you mind delivering a letter for me?"
"Of course."
"Just give me a minute."
Harry got up, and left the room. He returned shortly after, bringing a page of paper and a pen, then hurriedly scrawled out a note.
"This needs to go to Professor Dumbledore, or if not, Professor McGonagall."
Cedric glanced at the note. "You're not coming back?"
"No. Not as a student."
"It's truly a shame," said Cedric, shaking his head, "There are a good many who will miss you, whether you realize it or not."
Harry blew out a breath and sighed.
"It's likely I haven't seen the back of Hogwarts though. Knowing my luck and the old man's persistence, he'll find some way of dragging me back."
"Vell. I guess this is good bye, for now," said Viktor, offering a hand. Harry gladly shook it.
"Officially. Unofficially, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Likewise, Harry." Cedric also offered a hand.
"It haz been a pleesure, Harry!" said Fleur, and rather than a handshake, it was a kiss on both cheeks from the Beauxbatons champion. And then, the three of them vanished in a blur of limbs.
Harry sat down heavily in the seat beside Tommy. "It's done then."
"You plan on returning to the College sooner or later?"
"Probably after dinner. I might go die in the shower, then catch some more sleep. Gods... still can't believe..."
"Not all of last night was bad, Harry," said Mazhe, smirking.
"And you. I so want to hex you."
Harry faced Tommy.
"I'm sorry for last night. I wasn't thinking."
"It's all good. Kissing another dude's the least of my worries, I think."
He reached over and put a hand on Harry's shoulder.
"And sometimes, you're an open book. I think you wanted to do that for a long time."
"All right, fine, I surrender," said Harry, shaking his head, which had now become beet red, "Gods. Fine. I admit it. I think you're quite fit." It all came out in a rush and he snapped his mouth shut, waiting for the explosion to follow.
"Um..."
"He means good looking," Justin clarified, "English thing."
"Right." Tommy felt his face get hot again. He felt like a fish out of water. "Um..."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"Trust me. You don't want me. I'm damaged goods, Harry."
"And I'm not?" Harry let out a hollow laugh. "Granted, my life has been better than it could have been, but really. I think we're all damaged in some way. Orphaned in some way. Think about it. Mazhe... lost his parents before he was ten, survived a brutal orphanage. Me... orphaned before I was two years old, by the nightmare that returned last night. I think Justin's probably the most normal out of the lot of us."
"Thanks, I think," said Justin, rolling his eyes.
"Locked ward at St. Mungo's, here we come!" Harry exclaimed, throwing a hand in the air dramatically.
Justin smirked and said, "I've heard it said somewhere... everyone is crazy, it's just that, some people are crazier than others."
"This is true," Mazhe agreed.
"I was sane once, but then I got better," Brandon chimed in.
"Yeah, hanging out with this bunch," Tommy smirked.
"And you exclude yourself from this lot, do you?" Mazhe grinned.
"Right..."
Harry stood up. "Anyway. I'm going to die in the shower for a while, then I'm catching a nap."
After taking a long shower and having a short nap, he returned to the common room to find a familiar bird perched on the back of one of the couches, looking at him expectantly.
"Oh, hello, Fawkes," Harry greeted.
He spotted the rolled up parchment secured to one of his legs. "The old man's got you delivering the post now, does he? You can do better than him you know."
Fawkes let out a musical call, that to Harry, sounded like laughter.
"C'mon, you know I'm right... meddling old man. Thought you guys are normally bound to light-sided people and all that."
He was rewarded with another string of musical notes, while he relieved the bird of its burden.
"What's—oh. Hey there, Fawkes," Justin greeted, stepping into the common room. "What's he doing here?"
"Acting as a lowly post-owl. I was just telling him, he can do better than that."
"No doubt there. What's the headmaster want now?"
"He's got something to tell me and he needs to do it in person."
Harry let out a sigh. "Of course he wouldn't let me just walk away. Guys! Come here a sec!"
A half hour later, Harry, Justin, Tommy, Mazhe, Brandon, and Eric were gathered in the headmaster's office. As was the requirement of the no-contact order, Dumbledore had asked Professor McGonagall to be present, knowing that Harry trusted her.
"Harry, I do understand your desire not to return here, and given some of the incidents, I can not find fault in that. However, I ask that you at least allow me the chance to explain a few things," the headmaster said, nodding toward a pensieve which rested on the corner of his desk.
"I guess I can give you that much," Harry agreed.
"Thank you. Harry, I'm sure you have to ask, why is it that Voldemort—Tom Riddle—has taken such an interest in you. It all returns to a prophecy which was spoken the summer before you were born."
Here, Dumbledore tapped the pensive with his wand, and unlike usual viewings, a shadowy figure formed above it, and began to recite the familiar words Harry had heard nearly eight years prior.
As it finished, Harry simply leaned back in his chair. "I already know about the prophecy, Professor. I have since I was eight years old. Will and Alice shared it with me then."
"The Commonwealth wanted Harry to be aware of his future long before, so he had an ample chance to prepare for it," Justin picked up, "Professor, how would you have handled this?"
"I would not have shared the prophecy with him then, I can assure you that much."
"And why not, sir?" Harry asked, "This is my future. I had the RIGHT to know about it... don't I?"
"And to deny you any sort of normal childhood? Harry, you must have time to be a boy, with childhood issues."
Harry burst out laughing.
"Gods above, you can't be serious. Normal childhood he says."
Harry laughed again, but this was hollow.
"Professor, I've not ever had a childhood. You remember what I told you about the Dursleys during our meeting at the end of first year? You placing me with them ensured I would NEVER have a normal childhood. Growing up in Skyrim, among people much older than I was, that reinforced it. I'm almost fifteen, but I might as well be twenty or so. Most people pass me off for eighteen or nineteen as it is."
"Harry, I do truly have many regrets. To see you robbed of your childhood, this is one of them. If there was anything I could do that could undo it, you have to know I would quite willingly do it," Dumbledore said, sincerity in his voice.
"But you and I both know you can't. We only get one go 'round. My life hasn't been easy, but I know what I've been put on this earth for, and I promise you, sir, I will do the job I've been given... one way or another. The thing is, every day... every time there is some sort of interference on the part of you, the school, or the British magical government, I lose reasons to fight.
"Right now, what truly drives me are my friends... Mazhe, Justin, Tommy... Sirius, Remus... my other friends back in the Commonwealth. I fight to protect a place which stands behind me, willing to place their all in my safety and comfort. I will not fight for a place who brands me a cheat, a liar, and an attention-seeker one moment, a saint and a martyr the next. The people of magical Britain—with a few exceptions—have not earned my help nor my protection."
Dumbledore leaned forward and steeped his long fingers together, seeming to think for a few moments.
"It is only fair that you feel that way, Harry. In your shoes, perhaps I would feel the same. And I do have to be honest with you, it is likely to get far worse. If you wouldn't mind, I would like to see what happened to you when you left the maze last night."
"Voldemort's rebirth," Harry guessed. While Dumbledore collected the memory still in the pensieve, Harry drew out the appropriate memory, and added it to the pensieve.
"Harry... do you mind if I join the headmaster?" Justin asked.
"Sure. Anyone who wants... go ahead. Though the Commonwealth also has a copy of this... I'm sure the Ministry of Justice is looking it over very carefully," said Harry.
"I'm sure Madam Bones would be very interested in speaking to her Commonwealth counterpart," said McGonagall.
Harry waited patiently, while just about everyone else took a trip in the pensieve—only Eric remained outside, wanting to keep some level of security. Harry leaned back in his chair, and pulled out a sixth-year Transfiguration textbook out of his satchel. They would likely be gone for a while, and it only made sense to make use of the time.
When people began to return from the pensieve, he marked the page he was reading, and closed the book. He was surprised to suddenly be seized in a bear hug, courtesy of Justin.
"My God, Harry, how... just... you've got more stones than I do."
"I knew you guys were coming. Or someone was, and that your voices were on the other end," Harry answered, as they broke apart. That only made way for Mazhe to do the same thing.
"Harry, I always have your back, no matter what."
Tommy put an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Harry, you gave me something to fight for again—even after all the shit that's happened to me. I'll stand beside you as much as Mazhe will, or Justin."
They sat back down, though Tommy seemed to be reluctant to move too far away from Harry, appearing to act the role of a big brother. Mazhe had already claimed the seat on Harry's other side.
"Harry, how is it you managed to escape?" Dumbledore asked.
"Emergency Portkey," Harry answered, "I won't tell you what it is, for obvious reasons. Know that each of us carries one."
"They can't be taken off of our bodies, and we can't be coerced into removing them," Justin added, "One of my ideas, actually."
"Most ingenious. You must have done very well in Charms," Dumbledore assumed, to which Justin nodded enthusiastically.
"Charms was one of my strongest subjects, actually. I scored an Outstanding on my NEWT."
"Sir, I have to ask how it was that this managed to take place, even though you were well aware of the plot," Harry asked, "I went into that maze, expecting a few dangers, but really... to be trapped exactly as it was planned? I almost have to believe you wanted this to happen."
"Now Harry, I have to take exception to you making such an accusation. I do truly have the safety of everyone in mind, even with the difficulty this tournament presented."
"How about you answer the question," said Tommy, glaring at the old wizard.
"I... did not wish for any of this to happen, Mr. Conlon," Dumbledore answered, sadly.
Harry let out a sigh. "Guess that will have to do. I won't ever get a straight, honest answer out of you, will I? Moving on then."
He reached into his satchel, and drew out the diary Justin had collected out of Ginny's cauldron the summer before second year.
"What do you know about soul containers, professor?"
"Merlin..." The look on Dumbledore's face betrayed his shock, as he handled the book. "Where did you get this?"
"Lucius Malfoy put it in Ginny Weasley's cauldron the summer before second year. Sir, I warned you, Malfoy is dangerous, and now I know exactly where he gets it from. His father's a twisted, evil man... and this... this journal..."
"It had a piece of Voldemort's soul in it," Mazhe finished.
"And it no longer does, I am assuming," said Dumbledore, thumbing through the pages of the book.
"A mage in Morthal helped us capture the soul in one of these," Mazhe explained, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a dark-looking gem. "This is called a soul gem. There is a kind of magic that can catch the soul of a living thing when it dies, trapping it in one of these."
"And what happens to the soul?" McGonagall asked.
"As the mage explained to us, there are a few theories, but the more widely accepted version is that it ends up in the Soul Cairn, a plane of Oblivion. A very unpleasant place."
"Is it possible for a soul to escape from there?" Dumbledore asked.
"As far as I know, no, it's impossible. One-way trip," Mazhe answered.
"Given he has still managed to return, it is safe to conclude he has created more than one soul container—something called a Horcrux here," said Dumbledore. Inwardly, he was frustrated, having to reveal details with far too many ears present, including his deputy headmistress. He summoned a book from one of the shelves. 'Secrets of the Darkest Art' was stencilled on its spine.
"How many do you figure?" Tommy asked.
"I cannot be certain. But I will tell you, it would be a significant number. Something that meant power to him."
"Three, or seven," said Mazhe, "Both numbers are significant magically."
Harry blew out a breath. "Knowing Voldemort, he likely made seven. Gods, as if this isn't difficult as it is."
"Harry. I think they're irrelevant. We cast soul trap on the bastard, then blast him with every bit of destructive magic we've got. He dies, his soul gets snared in one of these-" Mazhe held up the black soul gem, "-and it's game over for Mr. Riddle. An eternity trapped in the Soul Cairn."
"Perhaps it might be worth trying. I need not warn all of you the danger involved in confronting Riddle. Even in the state he may be in now, he is a most formidable wizard," Dumbledore warned.
"I wouldn't expect anything less, Professor," said Justin, "And you should know, Harry has the full support of the Crown on this. We'll provide whatever he needs to get the job done."
"Minister Fudge will not like intrusions of a foreign government, Mr. Fraser."
"It won't matter what he wants. Quite honestly, if the situation truly requires it, we won't hesitate to invade and occupy."
"Really?" Harry was surprised, only now just hearing this.
"There was a message sent out to all departments this morning. The Commonwealth is moving into a wartime posture."
"That is a very grave statement, Mr. Fraser," said McGonagall, "The Commonwealth of Valicadia would go to war with us?"
"If that is required, then yes, that is what we will do, ma'am," said Brandon, from his position behind the seated guests, "Our fight would only be with those who take up arms against the innocent. Quite honestly, I hope it doesn't come down to that. War is an ugly thing, no matter its reasoning. In war, there are really no winners, only losers."
Tommy nodded slowly in agreement.
Dumbledore let out a sigh, seeing there was no point in trying to argue here. Anything he could say would not reach the right ears at this point. He frowned mentally, seeing how close Harry and Tommy were sitting. That was a new development. Who was protecting who in this case? Ah... the Muggle, of course. He knew nothing about what was truly going on. That would change in the future, it was the way of it.
Dumbledore was still in discussions with the American Department of Magic, pulling in a few favours. A Muggle terrorist whispering in the ear of the boy-who-lived? No, they wouldn't like that too much. If things worked out as planned, the Commonwealth would be getting a visit from the Americans in the near future regarding their fugitive Muggle. It was all for the greater good, right?
He turned his attention back to the group. "I daresay I already know the answer, but I truly wish you would consider continuing to attend Hogwarts, Harry."
"How about no. Maybe I should spell it out for you. N. O. No. I will not be returning in Hearthfire. Period," said Harry, forcefully, "What part of 'no' don't you get, sir?"
"After everything that's went on this past year? Really I don't blame 'im," said Tommy, "Way too much shit goin' on here. And you want him to come back? You're fucking crazy old man."
"Mr. Riordan..." McGonagall pursed her lips. "Please refrain from such dreadful language."
"It is truly regrettable you have come to that decision, Harry, but I do understand your reasoning. But know this: Hogwarts will always be here for you, no matter what capacity you return in."
"Thank you, Professor."
"If there is nothing further you wish to ask, I'll let you get back to the Ragnar."
"Thank you, sir."
Dumbledore watched as the large group left the office. Things were very difficult indeed, and if the Commonwealth went through with their threat, it would be far worse. To bring Harry back to the school in September... he would have to tread very carefully.
UP NEXT: Harry and his friends are called to testify at a government inquiry into the incident at Boardwalk Hall the previous fall; Harry celebrates his fifteenth birthday and receives an awesome present from his friends; Harry receives his Appirition license; and an incident aboard the Ragnar once again thrusts Harry into the spotlight.