A/N: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and her associates. Please support the official release.
"She did WHAT?!"
The outraged voice of one thoroughly irked Hermione Jean Granger reverberated across the walls of their shared bedroom in the Room of Requirement. Her downtrodden, borderline desolate attitude from earlier was nowhere to be seen – any such emotion had been replaced by utter indignation at the information Harry had just provided her with.
"Well, it wasn't entirely her fault-…" Harry started, only to be cut off midway through his sentence.
"I mean, the audacity of this woman! To think she could really be so careless as to invite another person's boyfriend to a hot tub rendezvous over some-…"
"Again, she wasn't the one who suggested we use the Prefect's Bathroom, that was-"
"And that she expects me to be perfectly fine with it?! That I won't raise so much as an eyebrow in objection at having my partner whisked away by some… some… harlot?!"
"Hermione…" Harry grinned, amused by her choice of words.
"What?! Why are you smiling like that? I'm being serious!" she barked, her eyes narrowing at the sight of him.
"Because! I think you're misunderstanding the situation here," Harry continued, doing his best to suppress the wisecracking jokes from bursting through the constraints of his self-control. "Fleur merely offered to help me with the next Task. And it's a good thing she did, too, because I am lagging behind heavily in that area."
"We don't need her help! We can… We can figure it out on our own, like we've always done," Hermione opposed, though Harry could tell her heart was not properly in it. His mention of the Second Task had activated some long-dormant part of her brain, a part that had gone mostly ignored since the week leading up to the Yule Ball.
"Normally, I would agree," Harry nodded. "But, to be completely honest, I'd kinda forgotten about the whole Triwizard Tournament thing. We've both just had so much to deal with recently that… preparations for the Second Task have been pushed to the side. Which is something that's coming back to bite us in the ass now, because of course it is."
"W-Well… That's…" Hermione mumbled, her tone growing quiet and restrained. Her overdeveloped logic senses were beginning to kick in, alerting her to the rationale behind Harry's words. He was right, and she knew it – they hadn't been preparing for the Second Task at all, which only made Fleur's offer that much more tempting.
"And besides, it's not like I was planning on going to this so-called 'hot tub date' without telling you first," Harry added. "In fact, I was just about to suggest you tag along as well, before you went off on your tangent."
"O-Oh…" Hermione blinked.
"Yeah," Harry smiled. "So calm down a bit, will you? After all… there's not a woman in the world who could hope to take your place."
"That's… very kind of you to say," Hermione swallowed. "I… I don't know what came over me, I just-"
"Hey - no harm, no foul," Harry shrugged. "If anything, your overprotective tendencies are cute. Feels good to know I've got a woman that's so devoted to me, she'd kill to get a taste of the Potter."
"Alright, don't push your luck now, mister," she joked, though her mirth was short-lived. Harry could see it in her eyes. The void lingering beneath the surface. The hole in her being, left by her parents' demise. It was tearing her apart, sucking the joy out of her every encounter. It broke Harry's heart to look at.
"I just… can't deal with this right now," Hermione sighed, moving close to rest her forehead against the top of his shoulder. "Why does it never end? Why can't we get a moment's rest from all… this?"
"Trust me, Hermione… I know how you feel," Harry breathed, wrapping his arms around her, and pulling her against him. Merlin, how good it felt to hold her like this. He could scarcely believe that there had once been a time where the thought of having a relationship like this had scared him. It truly was remarkable just how much he had changed in the past year or so.
"… Why can't we just run away?" Hermione mumbled into his shoulder, her brown hair tickling his nose ever so slightly. "Apparate back to London, and catch a bus to Heathrow. We could be out of the country by the end of the day, away from all this. Away from the Tournament, away from Voldemort, away from… from… my parents' funeral…"
A lump formed in Harry's throat at her words.
"There's nothing I would like more than to see the world with you, Hermione," Harry whispered, placing a loving kiss to the top of her head. "And it is my hope that… one day, we'll be able to do just that. Travel far beyond the borders of England together, to places we've only read about in books. But… today is not that day."
An audible sigh escaped Hermione's lips.
"I know," she responded, tilting her head up so she could look at him. "Nothing is ever quite that simple, is it?"
"I'm afraid not," Harry smiled. "But we'll take it one day at a time. Together."
"Together," she breathed, before getting up on her toes to capture his lips with her own. An explosion of warmth detonated somewhere deep within Harry's core, sending little chills running up and down the length of his spine. He willed his all into that kiss, hoping that maybe, just maybe… the act would convey that which words could not.
"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said once they broke apart. A light shade of red had settled on her cheeks.
"No need for any of that," Harry smiled in return. "Now let's get going, shall we? Best not to keep Fleur waiting for too long."
"Alright… You win. Let's go to the Prefect's Bathroom," Hermione sighed. "Let me just… go find one of my bikinis first. If you think I'm skinny-dipping with that woman, you are sorely mistaken."
The Prefect's Bathroom
Harry's immediate reaction was that it might just be worth becoming a prefect solely to use this bathroom. A splendid chandelier cast glimmers of soft light on white marble, bathing the space in a comforting glow that welcomed any and all to take refuge in its soothing embrace. An empty, circular swimming pool had been sunk into the middle of the floor, the bottom tiles covered in lush drawings depicting silver-haired mermaids and cresting waves. All in all, one could easily fit at least twenty people in it without having to make any significant sacrifices in regards to personal space.
A fountain of bath taps rested at the far side of the pool, totaling well over two dozen, made from what appeared to be pure gold. Behind it, one could look straight out at the Black Lake from three large windows that spanned the length of the wall. An assortment of bath supplies was lined up on the side - soaps, bath oils, bath powders, bath salts, shampoo, hair spray, and conditioner - and upon closer inspection, Harry came to realize that these were not the kind often found in general stores in Diagon Alley. In fact, most of them appeared to be decades old, judging by the wrapping paper and design.
"An enchanting bathroom," Fleur commented, nodding appreciatively at the décor. "Though it does not 'old a candle to Beauxbatons' grand bathing areas."
"You have entire bathing areas?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. Not for the first time, he wondered what Fleur's illustrious school might look like. The way she spoke of it, he couldn't help but imagine some sort of fairytale chateau made of the purest silver, casting glimmers across the Pyrenees mountainside as it reflected the light of the sun.
"Oui," Fleur replied. "One for males, and one for females. Though the female bathing area sees significantly more use than its male counterpart."
"Sounds about right," Hermione chimed in. "I mean, it's not exactly a big secret that girls hold personal hygiene and general cleanliness to a higher standard than guys do."
"A gross generalization of the male gender," Harry said. "But you're totally right."
"So… Shall we get comfortable?" Fleur asked, turning to address the two of them with an ever-so-slightly mischievous smile playing at her lips.
"Sure," Harry shrugged, undoing his Transfigured clothing with a wave of his hand. The black dress robes he'd been wearing quickly dissolved into tendrils of shadow that faded out of existence underneath the grand chandelier hanging from above. A pair of dark green swimming trunks revealed themselves to the astonished eyes of the two girls, who had not been expecting him to drop his clothing so casually.
"Wandless magic?" Fleur blinked, completely ignoring his sudden bareness. "In your Fourth Year?"
"Uhh… Yeah, I've been training," Harry said ambiguously, forgetting for a second that she did not, in fact, know about his dabbling in blood rituals.
"Training?" Fleur asked, raising an eyebrow. "Then you must've been training for a long time, if you're able to produce such a believable Transfiguration and maintain it."
"He started early," Hermione added, her facial expression entirely neutral. "After all - what is a wand, if not a shortcut designed to extract magical energy from one's core?"
"Most wizards go their entire lives relying on said shortcut," Fleur argued. "Wandless magic is a practice only adopted by the vast minority, and that's without taking into consideration its difficulty. So 'ow come a school-boy, who is only 'alfway through 'is education, is doing it?"
"It's practical," Harry shrugged. "Wands are nice and all, but what happens if you get disarmed? Are you just supposed to stand there, and accept defeat? 'Oh well, he took my wand, guess I'm useless now?' I don't think so."
"Oh, do not mistake me; I can understand why it is a useful skill to 'ave. I'm just surprised at the fact that you are so proficient at it at such a young age," Fleur explained. "Even I did not start studying 'ow to perform wandless magic before last year, and I'm a Veela. We 'ave a natural advantage in that area, because we can summon fire with our 'ands."
"Well, as much as I may hate it, I am the Boy-Who-Lived," Harry said. "There's been a target on my back ever since I was an infant. If I want to live long enough to see my twenties, I need to be able to protect myself, and wandless magic seemed like a pretty important part of that package."
He was, of course, purposefully omitting the part where he had undergone a sinister ritual that had completely reworked the way his magical core functioned, but there really was no reason for Fleur to know that. And no matter how friendly the two of them might be, she was still a direct competitor in this Tournament, meaning he had to withhold some information.
"Hmm…" she mused, lips pursed in contemplation. "You are a very strange boy, 'Arry. I fear I may 'ave underestimated you."
"Heh… I get that a lot," Harry smirked, before shifting to stare at the pool instead, which had suddenly begun to fill itself up. Streams of hot water burst forth from the myriad taps, splashing across the tiles at the bottom and making the paintings there come alive.
Behind him, Hermione started to undress, removing her brown sweater and baggy jeans to reveal a periwinkle-blue bikini that was simple in design, yet fashionable enough to pass mostly unnoticed at any Muggle beach or swimming pool.
Fleur soon followed her example and started to undress as well. She had elected to go for a silver swimsuit that accentuated just the right curves, and gave her just the right amount of cleavage to attract the eyes, yet not enough to encourage long-winded staring or ogling.
To Harry's surprise, however, Fleur seemed much more interested in Hermione's appearance than her own. The Veela was gazing at his girlfriend with unmistakable interest in her eyes, evaluating her from top to bottom and clearly liking what she saw.
Is Fleur bisexual? Harry wondered to himself, consulting his mental memory of what he knew about Veela. They're supposed to be pretty sexual creatures, if I remember correctly, but not to the point where they'll sleep with just anyone. And Fleur is pretty picky with her romantic partners, as she implied during our talk in the Owlery…
Shaking his head, Harry rid himself of such thoughts as he walked over to the edge of the pool. If Fleur was interested in Hermione, then that was her business. She was more than welcome to admire her from a distance. At the end of the day, Hermione was devoted to him, as he was to her. One rogue Veela could hardly do much to change that at this point.
At last, Harry allowed himself to slip into the warm embrace of the pool, a small sigh of satisfaction escaping his lips as he did so. The hot temperature and light caress of the water felt amazing against his skin, and he quickly submerged himself entirely, until only his head remained above the surface. Settling into a more comfortable position with his back against the wall, he couldn't help but appreciate his own idea all the more – coming here truly had been a great suggestion.
Directly across from him, Hermione dropped down and got comfortable as well, her hair set up into a bun now to keep it from getting wet. The pool was big enough that she could easily stretch out her legs without infringing on Harry's personal space, though he had a sneaking suspicion she would have done so regardless, had it been smaller.
Fleur, on the other hand, chose to maintain a respectable distance from the couple, though not so far as to make conversation difficult.
"Yes… This is more than acceptable," Fleur noted with a smile, closing her eyes to revel in the sensations she was currently experiencing. "Although I would prefer the water to be a bit warmer. But that's due to my nature as a Veela."
"That makes sense," Hermione commented. "Veelas are hot-blooded creatures that thrive at higher temperatures, after all."
"Oui. You are so knowledgeable, 'Ermione…" Fleur breathed. "It is an attractive quality."
"W-Why, thank you," Hermione stammered, the traces of a blush ghosting across her cheeks. "I spend a lot of time studying. It's… It's fun."
"Well, I'd gladly let you study me sometime," Fleur winked, eliciting a minor coughing fit from the brown-haired girl.
"Oi, stop flirting with my girlfriend," Harry said, not quite able to hold back a smile. "She's already spoken for, I'm afraid."
"I know," Fleur nodded. "I'm just 'aving some fun. Don't mind me."
There was a moment of silence as the trio basked in the glow of the bath, before Fleur moved to speak once more.
"But tell me, 'Arry… Are you truly not concerned?" she inquired. "The Second Task is right around the corner, you know."
"A little, I suppose," Harry hummed, lost in the feeling of the hot water against his skin. "But worrying about it isn't going to help anyone."
"You are far too relaxed for your own good," she sighed in response.
"There's one thing you need to understand here, Fleur," Harry noted. "And that is that… I haven't felt anything since the Kennedy assassination, and even then, the only thing I felt was recoil."
A delightful laugh slipped from Fleur's lips at the comment, and Harry could've sworn he even saw Hermione crack a tiny smile.
"I can believe that. You do not strike me as a very emotional man," she nodded.
"You'd be surprised," Harry said. "I can be sentimental when I want to."
"Is this true, 'Ermione?" Fleur asked, turning to address his better half.
"Hmm…" Hermione replied, putting a thoughtful finger to her lips. "If nothing else, he's certainly cried more this past week than ever before – at least, for as long as I've known him."
A nice shade of crimson settled on Harry's features as he sank lower into the bathtub. "W-Well…" he mumbled. "My partner's in pain. Of course I'd get affected by that…"
He wasn't ashamed of the empathy he felt for Hermione, but hearing it spelled out so directly was bound to be somewhat embarrassing, no matter the circumstances. Casting a quick glance in Fleur's direction, he half-expected to find a mocking grin playing at her lips. Instead, he was met with nothing but admiration.
"You two care about each other a great deal, don't you?" Fleur smiled; her blue eyes clouded with some undiscernible mix of emotions. Joy, delight, appreciation, and… a touch of jealousy, perhaps?
"I love him," Hermione stated with striking firmness.
"And I love her," Harry replied, matching her fervor with ease.
"Ahh… Such devotion…" Fleur breathed, closing her eyes. "Allez, c'est si beau… You should be grateful. Not everyone is fortune enough to share a bond as intimate as the one that exists between the two of you."
"Oh, we know," Hermione replied, locking eyes with Harry from across the tub. Her gaze was filled with such affection that it set his heart hammering beneath his ribs.
A lull in conversation followed the statement, as all three of them sat in comfortable silence, lost in their own respective thoughts. It wasn't before Fleur opened her mouth to speak again that the serene atmosphere was broken.
"Should we talk about The Second Task?" she asked, phrasing it more as a suggestion than a genuine inquiry.
"I suppose…" Harry sighed. "But I'm just… so damn comfortable right now… There's gotta be something in the water here."
"Mmm… We should come here more often," Hermione breathed. "I fear I may have severely underestimated the power of the Prefect's Bathroom."
"The Second Task," Fleur reminded them with a smile.
"Alright, alright. The Task," Harry said. "Tell us what you've got, then."
A flash of interest sparked in Fleur's eyes, before she launched into explanation.
Upper Flagley, England
An exhilarated sigh left grisly lips as Fenrir Greyback took in the sight of Upper Flagley, its cobblestone streets and wooden buildings scorched by spellfire and sprayed with blood. To his left, an elderly man was groaning in pain as a black-furred Werewolf tore open his chest cavity with vicious delight, bathing in the vermillion red of his life essence. Next to him lay his daughter, her body already turning cold from the leaking wound in her throat.
There was little in the world that could rival the callous beauty found on the battlefield. The bestial scent of death mixed with the blood of the slain, paining a scarlet image so elegant, so magnificent, so dazzling, it nearly caused Fenrir's eyes to water. The pure rush of adrenalin flooding through your veins as you cut down your opponents in a kill-or-be-killed scenario, where the only winner was the one who lived to see another sunrise. The artistry of warfare, and the glory of a warrior's death.
Fenrir loved it. He loved every part of it, every grotesque detail and horrifying complexion. It would not even be a stretch to go as far as to say that he lived for it.
And yet, as with most things, the pleasure of battle was best experienced in moderation. After all, even the most splendid and delicate of meals could turn stale and repetitive if served too often. So Fenrir thanked his Master for the opportunity afforded this day, because a meal of this grade was rare, and thus, made all the sweeter for it.
A loud groan brought Fenrir's attention back to the man in front of him - whom he was holding by the neck - his feet kicking wildly as they searched for ground to stand on. He looked positively terrified. His movements were turning maniacal as his desperation grew. The realization that he was going to die this night was beginning to set in.
"You won't get a-away with this!" the man sneered, though his voice lacked conviction, marred as it was by the stench of doubt and fear.
"Oh?" Fenrir grinned, amused by the comment.
"The A-Aurors… They'll come for you! You won't make it p-past sunrise!"
"They will come, yes," Fenrir said. "But you'll be long dead by then."
The man went for a scream, but Fenrir did not allow it. A crude smile met manic eyes as a yellow nail tore open the man's windpipe, spilling his lifeblood across the blackened dirt with a sickening squelch. Fenrir's wolflike tongue came out to lap at the liquid as it fell, savoring the taste of it. The man lived for several moments afterwards, his last memory the sight of a creature feeding on his blood as he died in its arms.
"My liege," a brown-furred werewolf named Furbrow called, his teeth stained crimson, and cluttered with strips of flesh. "We have killed the last of the stragglers. The ones who tried to run."
"Good…" Fenrir breathed as he dropped the man's now lifeless body to the ground. "No point in letting good meat go to waste."
"Shall I order the men to begin the feast then, my liege?"
Fenrir thought it over for a moment, before dipping his head in affirmation.
"Yes. Let them eat. Our objective here has been accomplished. It is time to reap our spoils."
"Much appreciated, my liege," Furbrow grinned, before turning around to address a lower-ranked member of their crew. "You there! Begin rounding up the corpses! Stack them in a pile in the middle of town! We shall distribute them evenly amongst the men."
Fenrir looked at the scene of carnage unfolding all around him, and felt another smile flash across his lips. They had struck hard and fast in the sleeping hours of the night, giving the residents of Upper Flagley no time to prepare. Death had descended upon them without warning nor pretense, and now, their home lay in ruins.
The Aurors would come eventually, yes, but they would be too late. There would be nothing but blood and ash waiting for them.
Now, despite its apparent senselessness, there was an ulterior motive behind the attack, other than wanton indulgence. The other Werewolves did not know it, but Fenrir had secretly been instructed by the Dark Lord himself to carry out this assault for one simple reason – to charge the relic currently resting in his robe pocket.
The unsightly-looking thing was positively buzzing with vitality now; it had drunk freely from the well of slaughter, absorbing the magical energy released by the death of countless wizards. In this way, the villagers' suffering had not been pointless - they had been feeding the relic with their very lives, which would in turn facilitate the revival of the Dark Lord himself.
Yes… There's not much left to go now. The journey has been long, but at last, the Dark Lord shall return. And with him, a new Golden Age for Werewolves. We shall reclaim what is ours, and take our rightful place in society. For lycanthropy is not a curse – it is a blessing.
With his conviction renewed, Fenrir set out to join his brethren in the feast. After all, his Master was not expecting him for another hour or so, which meant there was more than enough time to partake in some delectable festivities before he had to leave.
And if the Ministry turns up – well, that just means we get added entertainment, he mused, the thought of sinking his teeth into an Auror's neck bringing a smile to his face.
Nicolas did his best to ignore the sounds of chaos and ruination that rolled across the hills as he walked. The cries of dying villagers meeting violent ends at the hands of the Werewolves haunted his every step, yet he blocked out their screams as best he could. There was nothing he could do for them, and Perenelle was waiting for him just up ahead.
"Have you found anything?" he asked as he arrived at his destination, coming to a halt some distance away from his wife.
Lifting her head from the ground, Perenelle got up into a standing position, and took a moment to consider the information she had acquired.
"I cannot claim to know precisely what kind of spell is at play here," she started, putting on a speculative frown as she spoke. "But there is one thing that is obvious to me; this is old magic. Magic stained by the unyielding greed of Man, and the taint of corruption."
"Hmm," Nicolas said, shifting to stare at the village in the distance once more. "Yes… I sense it too. This… ominous presence. A chill in my very bones. As if… something is watching me. Something wicked. Something I cannot truly comprehend."
"I doubt the Werewolves are capable of picking up on it," Perenelle nodded. "Or rather, they are shielded from its influence. They probably think this is just another routine raid for the Dark Lord, meant to scare and terrify. But there is something else at play here - of that, I am absolutely certain."
"Can we intervene?" Nicolas asked, mouth drawn into a strict line. He doubted they could, but felt it necessary to ask regardless. If Perenelle told him to, he'd dive right in, no matter how hopeless the battle might seem. That fact alone spoke volumes of his trust in her, and her judgement.
"I don't think so," Perenelle frowned. "We're powerful, 'tis true, but not even we could withstand such a force. Not to mention the legion of Werewolves separating us from the source."
"Merlin damn it all," Nicolas spat, enraged at his own inability to act. "Why couldn't Tom have just died that night in Godric's Hollow? Spared us all the headache…"
"Thoughts and prayers will not change our current situation. Tom is back – that is the truth of it. We do not get to choose which cards are handed to us," Perenelle sighed. "All we can do is strive to bend the rules in our favor."
"Let's report back to Albus, and then go see the Minister," Nicolas said, turning his back on the ruined village, where beasts of the night were feasting on the corpses of the innocent. "He cannot be allowed to deny Lord Voldemort's return for much longer."
"A sound course of action," Perenelle nodded, rising to join him. "I've yet to meet this Cornelius Fudge, but his reputation does not paint him as much of a reasonable man. Let us see for ourselves how much of it is truth, and how much of it is fiction."
A/N: Apologies for the long wait for this chapter. My life has been, uh... pretty terrible recently, so I've had a lot on my plate. Hard to find the motivation to write when most of your energy is needed to nurture a general will to live lmao. No worries though - I'm not suicidal just yet! This too shall pass.
The next chapter will wrap up Act 3 of The Crimson Sorcerer, and is likely to be pretty long. This means that it might take me a while to write, as there are a lot of things that need to happen in said chapter (including Harry's trip to Hogsmeade with Daphne, NO I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN ABOUT IT). Therefore, I make no promises on a release date, other than "it'll be here when it's ready".
Oh, and don't worry about the convenient cut-off right before Fleur's explanation in the Prefect's Bathroom. You'll get to know the contents of that conversation soon enough - just not right now. I'm not gonna fade to black and give you nothing, after all. All shall be revealed in time.
I hope you're as excited about Voldemort's return as I am. He's going to become a MAJOR player in the story rather soon, so look forward to that. I also have some pretty significant plot-twists lined up as well that I don't think you'll be able to see coming, so... yeah. The story is far from over.
Thank you once again for your continued support, and I'll see you again in the next chapter.
-Twisted