Hey, sorry for the wait. Life and motivation did it's thing. Anyhow, enjoy the chapter.
Thanks for the Beta reading work gamer0890 and DJKopper.
Chapter 9 - Open Doors
Harry glowered at Hermione. She read through the newspaper again, as if she hadn't figured it out instantly. He smeared some green jam on a slice of toast, the scraping of the knife was better than the silence.
"Well?" he repeated.
"I'm not sure, you're right it's strange, but I don't believe it's malicious. It's the Prophet's job to sell, not be honest, Rita Skeeter has shown you that enough already."
"But Hermione, they praised me and gave Fleur and Viktor nothing, no more than a line at the end."
Hermione met his eyes at that, a placating smile on her face. "Well, they are trying to use you—and Cedric—to spark some interest from the public. I'm sure the French or Bulgarian news outlets are praising their representatives."
"Still, it's not right." Harry murmured.
"What would you have them do, act like Malfoy and those idiots?" Ron asked.
Ron's attention had been on another piece of paper, one from Dumbledore asking for Harry to visit him after breakfast. Dumbledore still lounged at the top of the head table, his long beard tucked over his shoulder as he ate some yoghurt.
"If it's the truth then yeah, I guess."
"Harry, you were brave, and you did actually perform admirably." Hermione let out a disgusted sound. "I swear, you act like you should be winning this tournament, you're a fourth year. It was designed for of-age wizards, there's no shame in not winning."
Hermione's red face punctuated her tirade well enough. She had said that before, mostly after long sessions with Moody, but Harry hadn't really taken it on board. He picked up a slice of crispy bacon and chewed on it, thinking up a response.
"Honestly, I think I can win this. Fleur is talented, Cedric isn't a pushover, and Viktor is really calm under pressure, but none of them are untouchable."
"Well, certainly not Fleur…" Ron mused.
"Very funny Ron." Hermione snapped. She paused and took a breath, "Harry that's all well and good, but what happens if you actually die trying to win this stupid tournament. How will that do anything for you, or those of us who care for you!"
"I'm not trying to worry you, it's just… exciting. I can try and stand toe to toe with the best students from each school. When have I ever had a chance to prove myself?"
Harry snatched up a crumpet and smeared more butter than needed on it. His first bite was pretty unpleasant as the butter hadn't melted yet, but he hid his grimace.
"Just be careful, this tournament is dangerous and so is pushing yourself to your limit so often. I have no idea what it's like to have people expect so much of you, but I forbid you to act like an idiot."
Harry blinked, getting permission from Hermione felt strange, she had always been the voice of moderation. It almost seemed like she was trying to make him do the opposite, though maybe Moody's paranoia was rubbing off on him.
"So why does Dumbledore want to meet with you?" Ron asked.
"Oh, he wanted to talk about the lake, and about what happened down there. With the gobstones," he finished in a whisper.
Ron leaned in, his face red with excitement, "You think he's going to help you understand them? You think he knows something about how it all works?"
"I hope so, he knows more about magic than anyone, but I've not got my hopes up."
"Either way," Hermione cut in, "Dumbledore is an exceptional wizard, and many would kill to have him help with a project like this. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity Harry, make the most of it."
Harry couldn't help but agree, Dumbledore was a living legend. He hadn't grown up hearing of Dumbledore, but within a few seconds of being introduced to wizards Harry had learned of him. Apparently, the minister himself still regularly asked for help from the headmaster, which sounded a little odd. But he was the head Mugwump after all.
"You shouldn't hold anything back from him either, you could really—"
Katie Bell slid into the space next to Ron and greeted them. It wasn't long before Fred, George, and the entire Gryiffindor quidditch team descended upon them. It wasn't as if Harry didn't like them, but it certainly killed the conversation.
"Good job surviving yesterday, that task must have been awful." Katie offered a small smile, Ron nodded emphatically beside her.
"Not seen that much blood since—"
George was cut off by a pair of glares by the other two chasers on the team.
Hermione tutted and shuffled her plate aside so she could make room for a notebook.
"You should have seen Fudge, he was having kittens as you were pulled out," Fred said, "bouncing on his feet to get a look at you, not hiding anything inappropriate are you Harry?"
"I might have snagged a date with Fleur Delacour, but I don't think I have the nerve to ask Fudge out."
"Certainly not!" Cormac Mclaggen burst out, the Gryffindor seeker even slammed a fist on the table.
None of his team mates reacted, well, not loudly.
Harry took the chance to look up at the head table and found the headmaster's seat empty. The note said 'after breakfast' hadn't it? He didn't want to be rude, and the headmaster could expel him if he didn't show.
"Sorry everyone, got to go, no rest for the weary."
"Be careful Harry, if our mum hears you nearly died again she might kidnap you, 'for your own safety' of course," one of the twins said.
"Better off just skipping the nearly," said the other.
Hermione started to admonish Fred, but Harry was already walking away. He spared a thought for Hedwig, who hadn't come down to greet him this morning. Not that he'd expected it, but it just meant he would have to treat her to something special.
The staircase revolved as Harry ascended, the entrance to Dumbledore's office always managed to impress him. A usual chill breeze washed down from the office above. Harry was more than a little eager for summer to come. The door was ajar and voices rushed to meet him.
"Severus, there is nothing to be done."
He hovered, his hand about to knock on the door, but it was a rare chance. Snape being admonished wasn't something to miss.
"If the dark lord is making efforts to regain power shouldn't we be acting too? Potter is locked into this tournament, that cannot be a coincidence, the world doesn't actually exist to feed his ego."
Harry rolled his eyes.
"And what would you have me do, Severus? Throw some inquiries about? Maybe send some out of practice veterans to prowl around looking for signs? Mr Potter is under my, our, protection while he is in school. Voldemort wants him? Then as I see it we have the upper hand."
"The dark lord is not going to be content with one child. He will be launching other plans, and sitting back waiting seems reckless to me."
Harry shifted, the cold stone walls and floor leaving little room for comfort. At his side was his pouch with an incomplete set of gobstones weighed down on him, which likely didn't help the chill about him.
"I do believe this is his single focus." Dumbledore's voice was clearer now, harder. "His latest brush with mortality will have left him more than a little bruised, his ego will need assuaging before he launches a second attempt at war."
There was a pause and Harry heard some shuffling footsteps. Someone was pacing. It was hard not to react, this talk of Voldemort was more than he had bargained for. At best he had expected Snape to be told off for being an over sized arsehole, worst—well that didn't need thinking of. Fawkes let out a croak of phoenix song, Harry smiled to himself. The memories of his encounter with Fawkes, while not pleasant, comforted him.
"And you're willing to risk lives on this small matter?" Snape retorted, venom dripping from his tone.
Harry wouldn't have believed it possible, Snape had been many things but never a decent human being. Expecting Dumbledore to explode, Harry reconsidered how wise it was to be waiting at the door. If Snape—no, being caught listening would end badly.
He knocked and pushed the door the whole way open. "Professor? Sorry I'm late, there was some delicious—oh excuse me." Honestly, he thought he had made a pretty good show of it. And yet Dumbledore's eye glittered in an amused way, the smile on his old face drinking in the scene. Snape gave Harry a single glance and turned to fix Dumbledore with a look.
But Dumbledore spoke first. "My schedule is a little full right now Severus, we will continue this discussion another time."
And with that Harry saw Snape dismissed like a student, though no student Harry knew was as greasy or bat-like.
"Well Harry, I trust you got your fill. Tell me, what did you think of breakfast?" He knew that Dumbledore wasn't talking about breakfast at all.
He wasn't sure what to say, Snape had been right in a way. Not about him, but about Voldemort. But to agree with Snape felt…odd.
"I think there is good reason to be cautious, breakfast has been dangerous before."
"Harry, Professor Snape left, you can speak freely." Dumbledore smiled, a small secretive smile. "Listening at doors isn't a good habit though, no matter how enticing."
Harry didn't chuckle.
Dumbledore made a comforting gesture, his arms spread wide and palms open. Harry chanced a look into his eyes and found him smiling up at him. Sitting at his grand desk Dumbledore almost didn't look real, his wrinkled wizened face wide with joy, his extreme exuberance blending with the eccentricity of the room; it seemed to Harry one step too far. Like something out of a dream, or a bad movie.
"Professor, if Voldemort is trying to come back… why aren't we trying to stop him?" he finally asked.
Dumbledore's smile faded slowly, his eyes still shone with compassion but there was a more serious angle to his face now. Fawkes chirped and trilled once more.
"Going after Voldemort would put good men and women in considerable danger. Never underestimate a desperate person. We also know that he isn't incapable of defending himself, thanks to your dream this summer. And last of all, it would amount to nothing."
Harry forced his jaw not to slack, he knew he must have been staring bug-eyed, but he waited for Dumbledore to elaborate. It was a testament that he managed to wait at all.
"Tom Riddle was more afraid of death than anything or anyone I've ever known. He often boasted to his followers of his steps to gain immortality… Lord Voldemort is many things Harry, but he is not a fool. You have come face to face with his style of immortality thrice, and I am still trying to understand it."
"Is there anything I could do to help?"
Dumbledore didn't laugh, he didn't patronise even by accident. Instead, he met Harry's eyes with a look of greatest misery.
"No doubt you will, as you already have… No Harry, for now you must focus on what the tournament will try to do to you."
Fawkes flew over to the desk, a rush of orange and gold feathers, then the phoenix was gazing at Harry. The pair of too-intelligent eyes regarded him, and Harry felt like a slice of Dudley's watermelon being weighed by Aunt Petunia.
Dumbledore stroked idly at the plumage of Fawkes. "Between you and I, It's not so hard to attract the attention of a phoenix." Fawkes turned his gaze, no doubt fixing the headmaster with a very stern look. "However, to impress this one? A colossal task. More pride than survival instinct, terribly odd creature.
"Your bravery and desire to do good are a comfort, more than you could ever know, but please allow me to handle this. I am no great warrior, nor am I some general to order the masses, all I know is some silly tricks with a wand and teaching. One of those is a skill that can truly change the world, the other only seems to try and end it."
"Which is which?" Harry offered feebly.
Dumbledore chuckled.
!
Fleur adjusted her robes.
Under the gaze of this interviewer she felt as though she wore nothing at all. Madam Blanc had made the Minister sweat buckets when discussing the intake of refugees, no matter how needed it had been. The same Minister who had managed a resistance against Voldemort, no less. This woman had made countless people—
"Fleur, may I call you Fleur?"
"Of course."
She had answered far too tensely. She had to relax a little bit, but she could see the wireless in the corner, broadcasting the interview to every home in France.
"Fleur, It'll come as no shock to you that people are taken aback that Beauxbatons' champion is trailing the competition. How would you explain how this came to be?"
Fleur had known this was coming, how could it not? But the opening question—perhaps Madam Blanc was actually a hag.
"I would argue that so far little has involved magical prowess. The first task was designed to put us on edge, surprising us with facing down a dragon on short notice—not a stroll in the park." She took a second to let that set in, and to make anyone listening think about facing a dragon themselves. "And the second task was an exercise in avoiding ambushes. Not to say I couldn't have performed better, but my skills with my wand are peerless in this competition."
"The dragon… reports claimed you used a mix of charm-work and your Veela magic to combat it, and it looked like it was largely a success." It wasn't a question, it was an offer. Madam Blanc had given her a chance to talk about the elephant in the room on her own terms.
"I am proud of my heritage, we are a strong race and we are capable of being more than we are…" she took a second to regather herself, she had to be in control of her voice. "I wanted to prove to myself, my family, and everyone that there is a real path for all of us to be better than our reputation."
A single nod.
"As for the dragon, my technique was flawless, allowing me to gain the upper hand immediately. My focus slipped when I lost my footing and then there was a slight situation. But I regained my composure very quickly."
"Then the lake. What went so badly wrong?"
Fleur gulped. Of course this had come, why wouldn't it? She also had no idea what exactly she could talk about, and she really didn't want to get on to the subject of Harry Potter.
"Some complications arose, but I should have handled the surprise better," she admitted. "Honestly I lost my head a little, being twenty feet underwater and fighting for my life isn't something I had ever experienced. However, I see it as good preparation for the final task. Krum and Diggory didn't have to face half of what I did, and I can see that being a big advantage for me."
"I have reports of an unlicensed fire eel being set upon the students, can you confirm these reports?"
"All I can say for sure is that something similar to a fire eel was set upon me."
A silence fell. Madam Blanc regarded her notes for a second, when she opened her mouth the corner of her lips were tugged into a victorious snarl.
"Historically the third task is almost entirely a large event with all the competitors in open, and often bloody, competition with each other. In this event who do you see as your fiercest rival?"
Fleur frowned, she had been told as much by Madam Maxime, but hadn't given it much thought. Harry instantly leapt to her mind, his prowess being well beyond his years and his devastating gobstone—but she couldn't say him.
"Krum, no doubt about it. His keen eye and sharp decision-making trained for quidditch have left him nothing short of formidable." Fleur let her answer float there for a second, then felt the need to add, "though I would say that Diggory and Potter are both much more competent than I had expected."
"Can you elaborate there please? Potter is well off the designed age of this tournament, and Diggory is said to be a respectable but unremarkable student."
Fleur smothered the tickle of anger. Madam Blanc's smirk redoubled, no doubt she had a probing question about her choice of dates.
"Diggory has barely put a step wrong and has been as good as anyone would ask. And Potter has exceeded all expectations. I don't see where you want me to elaborate really."
"Some were merely curious why you chose to rescue Potter in the second task, bringing him to the shore rather than save your own sister?"
Fleur gaped.
That was a vile twisting of events. But it was the job of a journalist to be a sack of shit.
"I was injured and exhausted by my struggles, the events in the lake were taxing, but I felt it was my duty to ensure Mr Potter's safety, as both a competitor and a person. As for my sister, she was safe the entire time, Madam Maxime and Professor Dumbledore would hardly let my child sister drown for my failings."
"Veela are well known for creating thralls, and going to great lengths to protect their investments…"
Fleur could see red, just creeping into the corner of her vision. So this was the angle of attack. Vicious and unfounded.
"Mr Potter is no such thing, we have been dating—of a sort—since Christmas time, and it is entirely of his own free will."
"An interesting choice of a date… the vanquisher of Voldemort. Perhaps you would be willing to explain that to us?"
"No, I wouldn't."
Another pause. This time Madam Blanc locked eyes with her and smirked.
"In your fourth year you finished as runner up in the Beauxbatons duelling championship…
!
"Wonderful!" Dumbledore exclaimed, his eyes reflecting the bright light of Harry's gobstones.
Three pairs spun and raced around Harry's outstretched hand, stuck together as if with glue but in reality only whatever magic he could manage with them. They filled the room with an abundance of colour, pulsing in a kind of pattern.
They were warm in Harry's hand and seemed to be easier than ever to manipulate. He felt the grin on his own face.
The night before he hadn't even taken them out of his dishevelled swimming clothes, he'd been avoiding contact. It had been hard to see them for the sources of peace they had once been. He knew Hedwig killed mice to eat, but this was different, he couldn't see them as anything but dangerous.
But here, with Dumbledore, it was different.
There were people who would kill for this opportunity, and Harry wanted to know what was going on. A small part of him wanted it more than anything, more than winning the tournament, more than stopping Voldemort.
"And this isn't draining you? Or hurting you?"
"No, I've not done so much before, the little stuff I could do for hours." He had shown Dumbledore the basics, bouncing a single gobstone around his fingers. It took Harry worryingly little time to ramp it up to fully flex the magical muscle he was displaying. Dumbledore's unreserved enthusiasm was effective kindling to the fire he felt from the gobstones.
"Remarkable. Would you please set them down on my desk?"
Harry didn't mind, he moved to do it immediately, though a small part of him wanted to keep going.
The gobstones spilled over the large cluttered desk, bumping into Fawkes, some scattered books, and some silvery instruments. Dumbledore prodded at one, and muttered that it was quite cool. Harry had expected that; gobstones never felt warm to others.
Without preamble Dumbledore pulled a hide bound book out of his desk and began flicking through it, until he found an empty page and began to scribble some notes. Harry knew the handwriting, he had seen it a few times, most notably when he had opened his fathers invisibility cloak. The handwriting was pretty enough to make him feel bad about thinking of it as scribbling at all.
There were a few minutes as Harry watched, trying his hardest not to shift or seem bored.
"I have seen the like a few times, nothing with gobstones, but I don't think that's what's at play here. What I think has happened is you've grown attached to them. More than just fondness, more akin to how we feel about our pets." He stroked at Fawkes, who simply nuzzled into the touch as if it were a cat.
"Did you make these yourself?"
"I did… how did you know?"
Dumbledore chuckled, his hand found his long beard. "I just told you I've seen the like before—both times were when someone, with no small talent mind you, made something magical in nature and found themselves deeply attached to them."
"Hermione bought me a kit, to make my own, in second year," Harry replied. He wanted to explain more, but felt that sharing was a little too much. The Dursleys had never taken them, leaving him with something to pass the time.
The headmaster inspected a gobstone closely, his half-moon glasses mere hairs away from it. "You did a wonderful job, no cracks or imperfections." He placed it in Harry's palm. The faintly purple gobstone seemed to vibrate once it was in his hand once more. As if it was reacting to being back with him, or the praise—both thoughts made Harry's stomach sink.
"What happened with the others?" Harry asked.
"What—oh, yes. Friends of mine, one simply ended up breaking her walking stick and when making a new one she found herself with a talking companion. Nearly drove her crazy, like an old married couple. Her husband wasn't a fan."
Harry rolled the gobstone around. It bounced as he laughed.
"The other started a war."
!
Fleur dried the tears, or tried at least. Her makeup was smeared, no doubt her eyes were bright red, and her sleeve was damp. It wouldn't take a genius to put them together. And whoever was pounding on her door was no genius.
Venom ready to lash at her intruder she flung the door open, and then tried to swallow her tongue.
Madam Maxime stood in the doorway, the right size for the doorway unlike everyone else who had set out for England. Her face was gentle with a comforting smile, though Fleur didn't doubt there was steel-hard fury lurking below.
"May I come in?" she asked.
Fleur nodded. She had always been in awe of her headmistress, for such a large woman she carried herself as if she was a regal French heroine of old. From her walk, to her controlled tone, every aspect of Madam Maxime was pristine and perfect.
The door closed with a gentle click. Fleur regarded the woman through teary eyes, and she found open sympathy in her expression.
"Sit down Ms Delacour, I wish to speak with you."
The bed seemed far too intimate, so Fleur settled at her writing desk. She gestured to Madam Maxime and the bed groaned under her bulk.
"When I was a young woman, it was clear that I was… different, and people tried to use that against me." Madam Maxime's voice betrayed just how deeply it had affected her. "Until very recently I believed myself to be one of a kind, a small comfort believe me." She chuckled darkly to herself.
Fleur had never heard Madam Maxime hint at her biology, it was always an unspoken rule—never mention how giant-like she looked.
"As a girl, I cried myself to sleep many nights. Children can be vicious, but adults at least are supposed to know better. So believe me when I say, I'm sorry you had to experience that. You are an excellent student, an excellent person, and an excellent role-model for any young girl—Veela or human."
Fleur had to fight back the tears, and much like the interview today she was unsuccessful.
"I wish I could have protected you from that, but I only run a school, those who ought to be better don't care much about the feelings of people like us."
Fleur made to protest, what was a headmistress supposed to do to stop the ministry from sticking its nose in, but Madam Maxime cut her off.
"At least one good thing came from this mess. Someone, somewhere, needed to hear what you said. Having pride in what you are isn't easy…" Fleur nodded, the reputations of both of their bloods were tainted, in blood and death. "Whether it was your sister or some other little girl, your words will have found a heart to change. I just wish I had heard someone stand up for me as a child."
Silence seemed to cling to them, neither made an attempt to break it.
"How was your time at Beauxbatons?" Fleur asked after a minute.
"Lonely, very lonely," she replied. Her large hands brushed her robes, fixing an imaginary imperfection. "They were all afraid of me, I was so much bigger than they were, so much more dangerous."
Fleur made an angry sound. "You're one of the gentlest people I've ever known."
"I wasn't always. I was half again as big as my peers, self defence or practice were common for me to accidentally hurt someone."
Fleur nodded. "I guess that makes sense. I've had a few incidents."
"Only a few?"
They shared a giggle.
"Those weren't my fault, not really."
"You were exceptional. The first incident, with Mr Walbert, I had so many parents write to me. Those fools would have had you expelled and cast out at thirteen. Only a real monster could do that to a child." Madam Maxime had pride glowing in her eyes as she spoke.
Fleur tried to hide her blush, and her guilt, but it was beyond useless.
Madam Maxime broke the silence with a loud clap.
"Now, about the third task… we need a plan."
The grin Madam Maxime flashed Fleur did more than she could have hoped.
!
"They are safe, as long as you want them to be. Of that I'm sure."
Harry nodded, a weight seemed to shift from his heart. He had been worried, who wouldn't be, but he hadn't known just how bad it had been until now. His shoulders hurt as if he had been slouching, his feet ached as though he'd been carrying something heavy uphill, he smiled.
"I believe they work due to the emotional connection between you, the bond you forged using them, the need in which they were used—unknowingly or not—these forces are obscure but breed a potent kind of magic." Dumbledore paused. "Not unlike one your mother provided for you."
Harry swallowed, it felt silly to swell at hearing that, he should have been sad or something. But he had been told how much he looked like his dad so often it was almost tiring, so a connection to his mother was strange to absorb. Had Dumbledore been worried about saying that? Harry got the impression that he had weighed it before saying it.
Their eyes met and it seemed to loosen something in the headmaster.
"When you got out of that first task I suspected as much. One of them broke, only a little split, and you escaped dragon fire without as much as a hair out of place."
"Except for the ones already out of place." Harry added.
"Naturally, you Potters have been at war with your hair for generations untold."
They shared a chuckle. Fawkes merely fluffed his feathers and continued to ignore them.
"So why did it…"
"You were in danger, struggling to remain conscious. Accidental magic appears in such situations often, and when you've been so accustomed to using this specific item… it was natural that survival took precedence. It won't always work like that. Though I do think the manner was important."
"When the one in the first task broke you were unaware, and it shielded you from considerable discomfort."
Harry snorted at that, which Dumbledore echoed.
"The second was in a fight, and I think you chose to destroy it rather than lose it. That kind of connection isn't broken easily, the effects are no doubt wild and dangerous. I would not suggest much exploration of that aspect. No doubt it seems alluring but the costs could be too much."
Harry was quick to offer promises, but Dumbledore waved him off.
"You are young Harry, I was once—long ago, I still remember how it was. Power seemed to be so important, it is no wonder how Voldemort seduced so many young fools to his side, but I just ask that you proceed with caution."
"He told me that, 'There is no good or evil, only power and those too weak to seek it.'"
"It was his favourite method, you'll notice that he rarely espouses blood superiority, he keeps his followers blind with righteous anger for a cause he himself contradicts. A foul and dangerous man. A shame…"
It was hard not to press further, Voldemort had murdered his parents. Had tried to kill him too. Learning about him was as enticing as the Mirror of Erised had been. But Dumbledore had sounded so sad, so lost, in that last.
Still, something came to him.
"He said he was only there to kill me that night."
It wasn't a question, he had asked that once before, and been refused an answer.
And he waited.
Eventually, Dumbledore cleared his throat.
"Please don't think that I am avoiding this. There is no good way to tell you about It."
"You could just tell me everything, I can take it. It's not like he can kill my parents again."
Dumbledore frowned up at him, but nodded. To himself more than Harry. But slowly he started to speak.
Harry was glad for the chair. His feet felt numb and his legs were an awful lot like jelly. Dumbeldore went from bad to worse, with all his usual care and gentleness.
Harry was destined to defeat Voldemort. Well, face him at least, and that was why he had sought Harry out.
After a while silence fell.
Harry didn't blame Dumbledore, he had asked to hear it after all. And he had been right, it didn't make anything worse. But knowing that there was a prophecy about him challenging Voldemort made things different. Writing Professor Trewlany off as a hack was easy enough, but this had enough weight to convince Voldemort and Dumbledore.
Harry was very glad for that chair.
Before he knew it the morning had passed.
AN: Glad to be back writing this story. I'm getting really close to some scenes that were instrumental to my writing this fic in the first place. Let me know what you thought of this chapter, it took some turns and twists as I was writing it, but I love how it turned out.