Hello! I hope everyone had a pleasant week!
I enjoyed writing many aspects of this chapter and I hope you all get a kick out of it too!
I wouldn't say a lot happens per se, but it's 12K of the best that I can write it :D
Enjoy!
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-=REVISED 4/7/2023=-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
I had some time and thought I thought I'd do some simple revisions-mostly grammar stuff, but also including changing the narrative from present tense to simple past tense. Hopefully, it's a better read this way.
When It Rains…
"What did you do to him?" Daphne asked.
Harry was in the Owlery petting Hedwig when Daphne entered. He started walking down the circular steps with his avian friend as he replied, "Such an open ended question, Daphne. I couldn't possibly know what you mean."
Daphne ignored his verbal evasiveness and continued, "Not that it matters, really. It only occurred to me to tell you if you're not more careful, it won't be hard at all to put two and two together, no matter how little proof you may have left."
"If you're worried about others learning where I got my information, don't," he reassured her. "I won't say anything, because there's nothing to say, let alone having to mention you. You have my word," he promised.
"I wasn't worried," she replied, walking beside him.
"Yes you were," Harry rebuked. "You'd be an idiot not to, and you don't strike me as idiotic."
"...And what about you?" she asked, moving past his offhanded compliment. "I expect you took precautions; to make certain it doesn't fall back on you?"
"I suppose I could tell you, 'I gave him a little something,' but in the interest of setting your mind at ease…" He cleared his throat before explaining, "You may or may not know throughout the centuries, there have been a lot of groundbreaking advances in the field of memory alterations, starting with, of course Mnemone-"
"Radford," Daphne interjected. "A witch, the very first to develop charms to modify memory. Before her we had to rely on potions in order to keep our society secret from the muggle world. Her breakthrough charms were efficient and invaluable. Of course I know. Look at who you're talking to," she answered with unexacting sass.
"Good," he replied with a smirk, momentarily recalling what it was like to speak with an intellect on Hermione's level. "Then you may also know that some hundred years before the memory charm, forgetfulness potions and drafts were mostly weak or ineffective, until a wizard by the name of Ameles Potamos discovered the key ingredient to make the current forgetfulness potions so incredibly potent: water collected from the river Lethe. Ameles researched this ingredient with a friend he knew at the time, Nicolas Flamel. So, when I say it's unquestionable that Hilliard will remember his punishment but mask his perpetrator's face and voice, you can count on it."
Harry walked outside, under the darkening sky with his snowy-white owl, and gave her a stack of string-ribboned letters. "To the Flamels, Hedwig."
As the beautiful owl flew away, Daphne continued saying, "You still ought to be less brazen with your... retribution. There may not be any proof but that's hardly mattered before. Potions aside, you must also consider the human element. Against our Board or in the Ministry itself, there have been many instances where just the appearance of motive is enough to find you guilty, convict you with a fine, political subjugation or be sent to Azkaban. And there's bound to be an investigation on Hilliard. I'm certain this will be pursued through all the official channels, and you may not like where it ends."
"All of that is as trivial to me as the Upper Order and I have far more important things to worry about," Harry said.
Daphne stepped forward, tilting her head, and staring deeply into his rich green eyes as she sensually asked, "Such as?"
Harry was suddenly acutely aware of her feminine figure, the length of her slender neck and the smooth way it curved into her trapezius. Deciding hormones were a curse and physically more distracting than he had expected, he quickly answered, "Such as getting a good night's rest. Good night, Daphne."
—
The calamity surrounding Hammond Hilliard was the talk of the school, but the rest of the week passed by with little event. The only highlights were the Upper Order attacking Draco instead of Ares. The Malfoy heir did well against his seven attackers but still ended up in the infirmary along with them. Instead of coming to Draco's defense, Harry stood by and watched, deciding to let Malfoy sharpen his skill with the wet stone that was the dwindling Upper Order.
He shared his decision to let the Malfoy heir handle his own battles with the blond by his hospital bed. If he happened to get hurt, caught and embarrassed, that was on him, because Harry would not rescue him from children. Draco was not surprised to hear it and, to his credit, he was more than fine with the arrangement.
Another point of the week came from Daphne's network. When she got wind that other houses learned about his How-To for phoenix hatching and owning, he couldn't resist placing charmed lines underneath all the benches in the Great Hall. There were so many students who had crushed egg dripping down their faces, Dumbledore had to make an official announcement to inform everyone to stop sticking eggs to the tops of their heads.
He explained to his students, as an owner of a phoenix, "Sticking an egg on the top of one's head will not give birth to a phoenix." The knowledge that Harry managed to prank both Fred and George was the highlight of his first week in his return to Hogwarts.
And then Saturday dawned.
While Draco took an evaluation test to determine whether he could join his year mates in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, Harry followed Snape up the Headmaster's tower. He wasn't surprised Dumbledore wanted to speak with him. This meeting was bound to happen at some point, if not for what he learned from Snape and Lily's conversation, or his alleged involvement with the Upper Order, then simply for being Nicolas and Perenelle's heir.
"Liquorice Arachnid Legs," Snape stated and the Gargoyle opened to allow them entry.
Walking into the Headmaster's large circular office to the oddest metallic sounds coming from a number of curious silver tracking instruments, Harry wasn't as amazed by Dumbledore's office as he was when he was younger—seemingly a lifetime ago—nor was he in awe of the old man seated behind his ornate wood desk. The room was occupied by Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall, which didn't concern Harry in the slightest, but if McGonagall stayed, it did tell him Slytherin business was probably not on the agenda. McGonagall took her place beside Dumbledore and Snape leaned against a bookshelf on the left side of the room.
Before anything else, Harry walked over to Fawkes on his stand and said, "Hello," giving the older phoenix a playful rub of its long neck. "I wouldn't have minded seeing you a few nights ago," Harry lightly jested to the elder phoenix. He turned to Nova and asked, "Reckon you'd like to meet Fawkes, Nova? You are related, after all." Nova took one look from Harry to the large red phoenix and hopped off Harry's shoulder to the second branch of the bird stand. They trilled softly to one another as Harry moved back towards the professors.
"Ares, my boy, please have a seat," Dumbledore started gesturing to the empty seat ahead of his desk.
"Albus, you old man, how are you?" Harry returned, chum-like, before taking a seat.
"Mr. Flamel," McGonagall exclaims aghast. "You will do well to remember your manners in etiquette and address the headmaster by his proper title or professor, promptly followed by his surname. Do I make myself clear?" McGonagall asserted with all the sternness in her authority.
"Certainly, professor," Harry replied, not at all sounding sorry. "I simply followed the Headmaster's example and assumed that a casual greeting of my own is implied, if not encouraged."
"It most certainly is not-" McGonagall starts.
"It's quite alright, Minerva," Dumbledore said with a genial smile. "Would you care for a lemon drop?" Harry declined with a palm up, before the headmaster continued. "Mr. Flamel, I'd first like to say, welcome to Hogwarts, and apologies for not having the chance to meet with you sooner."
"No apologies necessary, professor," Harry replied. "I wasn't expecting to meet you at all, if I'm being honest. Is it normal for students to have an exclusive meeting with the Headmaster, the Deputy Headmistress and one's head of house?"
"We make a valiant effort to meet as many students as we can," Dumbledore cordially explained.
"I see." Getting more comfortable in his seat, Harry asked, "May I ask why I'm here?"
"Of course," the sage wizard answered. "I must express my bafflement. You are more gifted than Nicolas led me to believe. I have received a number of reports from your professors." Dumbledore indicated to Snape and McGonagall before continuing, "The majority have all been glowing. Some members of the faculty have even questioned whether it would not be more prudent to advance you to a level they could more readily offer you an appropriate challenge."
"What level is that?" Harry asked, not at all expecting a conversation like this. 'Maybe that's the point,' the paranoia in his head answered.
"Sixth year," McGonagall answered.
For clarity, Harry asked, "Are you offering me the chance to move ahead?"
McGonagall nodded, though, she made a very clear point to say, "You must, of course, take your OWLs. That's Ordinary Wizarding Levels, in case you were not aware. We don't expect you'll face much difficulty there, but you must understand that should you gain unsatisfactory test results, we cannot allow you to advance."
"We are placing a great amount of faith in only a week's worth of witnessing your abilities, despite my objections," Snape said, though Harry didn't turn around to pay him respectful attention. "You should consider it an honor to even be presented with this level of advancement, as it's only been offered a handful of times since the birth of this great institution."
"As you might tell," Dumbledore said with a grandfatherly smile. "We are all taking this very seriously, and so should you. Come now, this isn't the time to be speechless. What say you?"
"Thank you, but no. I'd rather not," Harry flatly stated, quick enough to draw a long pause from the professors. Harry couldn't see Snape's reaction, and while Dumbledore seemed more calculated, McGonagall's jaw dropped a tiny bit in genuine shock.
"I beg your pardon," McGonagall responded, recovering her stern demeanor. "Are you... rejecting this great honor?"
"Yes," Harry bluntly answered, offering no further explanation.
"A wise choice," Snape bemoaned in a manner that certainly didn't sound like a compliment.
"There is nothing of notable importance that has to change if you would not like it to," Dumbledore calmly relayed. "You are more than welcome to stay in the same dorm room, eat and associate with your current friends; the only difference will be your classroom and the difficulty of the course work."
"Moving to the sixth year corridor or who I sit with during meals has nothing to do with my decision," Harry told the Headmaster, who deliberated for a moment.
McGonagall argued, "Surely you can see this would be in everyone's best interest. It's evident the fourth year curriculum is no challenge for you magically or intellectually. Why not join a group of students on the same educational level as you?"
'The teachers aren't even on the same educational level as me,' Harry mentally mused.
"Would this have anything to do with your foster parents?" Dumbledore interjected softly. "Do you believe Nicolas and Perenelle would not approve?"
'Foster? ...He's fishing,' Harry thought, then answered, "No, Headmaster. They'd support any decision I make."
"Then, would you be so kind as to indulge us as to the reason you'd spurn our humble offer," Snape challenged from where he stood.
"The primary reason for my being here isn't the education offered," Harry told the professors. "I wasn't expecting much of a challenge to begin with, and can learn on my own easily enough. It's just as Nicolas informed you, Headmaster. They wanted me to cultivate relationships with others my own age since the one-of-its-kind, life-sustaining stone they entrusted to you was destroyed in your care. So, in the event of their eventual passing, they'll feel better knowing I won't be quite so alone."
"Are you saying you have no other family?" Dumbledore asked, breezing through his culpability for the destruction of the philosopher's stone. "What of your biological family? Surely, you have extended blood relatives that you might turn to in an hour of need."
Internally, Harry rolled his eyes but answered nevertheless, "Couldn't say one way or another, Headmaster. I've been alone for most of my life, until I came across the Flamels, of course. But even if I did have other family out there, I don't need them any more than they needed me."
"Should that be the case, surely the knowledge of who they are is enough of a reason to search them out," Dumbledore reasoned. "If you like, I can make discreet inquiries on your behalf, and should you ever decide to finally have answers to those questions, we can discuss them however you feel most comfortable. How's that sound?"
"Generous, but I'll decline, thank you," Harry easily answered. "If I can help it, I don't outsource answers to my questions any more than I outsource solutions to my problems. So, your assistance, while appreciated, won't be necessary."
"Again-" Snape started to say at the same moment McGonagall spoke, so he yielded to her. "Your problems," she repeated. "And what problems might those be?"
Harry caught Dumbledore eying Snape before turning to McGonagall, and lamenting, "Well, my dear Minerva. It doesn't seem like Mr. Flamel is interested in advancing ahead, which is, of course, his right. If you'll excuse us, I do have some matters of a personal nature I'd like to discuss with him."
"If possible, Headmaster," Snape began. "I'd like to remain and discuss a few Slytherin affairs."
Harry couldn't tell if Snape was looking at the Deputy Headmistress, but she was certainly looking at the dark-eyed potions master. McGonagall took a moment to ruminate about her sudden dismissal, before reverting to her duty, nodding to Headmaster Dumbledore, then exiting the circular office.
When it was just the three of them, Dumbledore gave voice to presumption. "Might I hazard a guess, and say these problems you speak of are related to a group of troubled Slytherin students?"
"Troubled?" Harry singled out aloud, internally incredulous.
"Yes," Dumbledore maintained. "Do you not believe that those who act out tend to be the most troubled? I can tell you, in my many years as an educator, I've come to find that many students who act out aggressively, verbally or magically, tend to do so as a means of compensating for personal insecurities, low-self esteem, excessive exposure to violence at home, or complicated situations among the parents."
"Maybe, maybe not, Headmaster," Harry marginally agreed. "I just don't have it in me to play the victim simply because some simple bloke with an itchy wand is out of touch with his emotions."
Dumbledore nodded as he stroked his long white beard, then said, "I've also come to learn that a zero tolerance approach is counter productive to properly developing a troubled student's compassion towards their fellow wizard. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say you've never had a meaningful conversation with any of the troubled students that have given you a hard time, have you? It's a cry for help, Mr. Flamel, and we should show them our compassion if we ever expect them to reciprocate it in return."
Harry wasn't enthusiastic about engaging in more conversation than needed to ease the old man's curiosity about him, but he found it very hard not to argue with the sage old wizard. It was almost like Dumbledore didn't see a difference between bullies that were just starving for attention, and wizards who were violent monsters intent on inciting chaos for the pure joy of it. He just lumped them all together like they were one in the same and in need of the same discipline. In Harry's mind there were just some wizards who couldn't be made to see the light, no matter how much compassion you showed them.
Keeping with his rather aloof demeanor, Harry stated, "Well, I'm not an educator, but even I can see if you coddle bullies, that's no different than giving them your blessing to continue their behavior. Young as I am, I can only imagine the more you reinforce that the bully is the one with the power to invoke change, the more you empower them to carry on their dominance over whomever they see as weak. Why would they want to stop doing what they're doing if you, the authority, are the ones telling them they are the ones with the power to do, or not do? If anything, you're making the idea of getting away with abusing others more thrilling and attractive to them. I'd wonder if your approach isn't more detrimental to the reform you're hoping for, professor."
"...Is that what you believe?" Dumbledore questioned with the smallest of strain in his voice. Harry had to admit, the old man really knew how to hide what he thought or felt very well. "And have you considered any solutions for your opinion?"
"Not so much, no," Harry answered. "This is all so new to me, and I've only been an institutional student for a little over a week after all, but, there was an interesting perspective witnessed by the school a few nights ago that might have some merit."
"The night of Mr. Hilliard's unfortunate ordeal?" Dumbledore recognized aloud. Harry nodded and Dumbledore asked, "And what perspective would that be?"
"It's only natural not to want to cross the ledge of a cliff, for fear of falling to your death," Harry calmly replied, almost challenging them to argue such a simple point. "I'd imagine bullies would think twice about their behavior if the prospect of abusing others was as unattractive to them as committing suicide."
"That's..." Dumbledore began, taking a moment to consider his words. "A disturbing approach, if you don't mind my saying."
"Well, whoever did that to Hillard must be disturbed," Harry easily agreed with the Headmaster.
"Hilliard," Dumbledore corrected.
"Right, Hilliard," Harry replied to his feigned blunder.
"Don't you feel your approach to dealing with some of Slytherin's more troubled students is disturbing in it's own right?" Snape asked, finally stepping into view, exactly where McGonagall stood, his dark eyes trying to burn holes into Harry.
Harry turned to him, failing to feel intimidated, and answered, "Not at all. But since you're bringing that up, what are you planning on doing to punish them for attacking me, and have you spoken with my parents about this?"
Dumbledore and Snape shared a look for a moment before the headmaster said, "As you were never injured in these unauthorized practice duels, and don't seem particularly offended, we felt it didn't warrant notifying your guardians. However, since many of the injured students are claiming you enforced excessive and undue violence on them, as well as, destroyed their personal property, we've decided to have a word with you instead."
"Me?" Harry questioned curiously. "Why speak to me about their misbehavior?"
"Clearly, institutional education is difficult for you to grasp," Snape hotly remarked. "Compromise is the cornerstone of diplomacy. Everyone must make the accommodations necessary so no one group can be allowed to have everything their way—that only leads to disorder. These troubled students have been punished for their misguided acts, but for your part, you did not handle the situation properly. As such, you are also subject to strict guidance. Moving forward, I expect you to report any and all conflicts or disputes you encounter to me, your head of house, so that I can properly deal with the situation. Do I make myself clear?"
Dumbledore hopped on Harry's cue to answer by adding, "We'll be giving you a warning this time, Mr. Flamel, under the provision that you apologize to your seniors, shake hands to show no hard feelings, and of course, it's only fair you purchase new wands for those you destroyed. Then we can put all this unpleasantness behind us."
'No, no, no, no, no,' Harry's brain automatically repeated throughout all of their points. Looking around for Khan and the other Upper Order members, Harry asked, "Are they here now? Or outside the doors?"
"They are not," Dumbledore answered. "But it wouldn't be any trouble at all to have them join us. I can set out tea so we may work through this like young adults."
"Don't bother," Harry quickly asserted. "I was only asking because I wouldn't mind saying it to their faces. I have no intention of apologizing to any of them, shaking their hands, or buying them new wands, since I didn't do anything to warrant apologizing, I don't want to touch them, and I'm fairly certain they'll just turn around and use those new wands I paid for on me."
"How dare you be so arrogant as to oppose your headmaster's mandate!" Snape snapped, incensed at the disrespect. "If it was up to me, you'd most certainly be expelled; possibly brought up on charges."
Dumbledore suggested, "Be reasonable, Mr. Flamel, or this will only become worse for you. And I know that is not what you, or anyone, wants."
"What I want," Harry began to say in a clear tone. "Is to go about my day without being accosted for no other reason than to maintain their illusion of superiority. And as the one who was attacked, I fail to see how this will only get worse for me."
Dumbledore leaned in, then said, "We'll start with point deductions, and if you still refuse to compromise to a fair accord, then you will have to serve detention for disobedience."
"Am I here to learn, or to obey?" Harry asked rhetorically before continuing. "You're more than welcome to do as you like, Headmaster. Take all the points you want. Assign detention for every available day of the school year. I don't care for your arbitrary point-based system, nor will I serve one minute of detention I don't feel I deserve."
"And you don't feel at all remorseful for destroying the wands of other students?" Dumbledore asked with some disbelief.
"Not when they attacked me with said wands, unprovoked, three to one, and in the open where anyone else could've been hurt," Harry told the old man. "You may have heard of a muggle concept called self-defense. I was responding to the threat of injury to my person by using force in kind to defend myself. You should understand that considering one of your classes is called, Defense Against the Dark Arts. Am I not allowed to defend myself in your castle when attacked?" Harry asked pointedly.
"Defense is one thing," Snape began coldly. "You've far exceeded the limits of self-preservation, and extended well into impetuous savagery."
"Even Prefect Khan and his friends have expressed feelings of remorse after their misdeeds, and are willing to shake hands and settle this discord with you," Dumbledore claimed. "But if that is how you feel, we'll start by taking seven hundred points from Slytherin," the elder stated evenly.
"Headmaster-" Snape started, trying to reverse the flow of conversation, but Dumbledore continued as if uninterrupted.
"And every week you continue to feel unrepentant will be another hundred points deducted," he said. "We'll add to that a month's detention with Professor Snape and Mr. Filch."
Harry wasn't bothered by such a tepid form of discipline, but Snape continued to reason with the old man. "Headmaster, surely it wouldn't do to punish the entire house because of the selfish behavior of one ungrateful student."
"...Perhaps you're right, Severus," Dumbledore softly said, rethinking his course of action. "I can be reasonable. I will, instead, take five hundred points from Slytherin and forgo the weekly deduction. However, you will serve detention—not for your debatable involvement in dealing with some of the more misguided students, but for skipping your History of Magic course. It is noted here, that you have yet to attend a single one of Professor Binn's classes."
Unbothered, Harry casually reached into his robe as he muttered loud enough for them to clearly hear, "If you can call that a class." He handed Dumbledore the note Nicolas had written for him, excusing him from attending such a poor excuse of a class. Having read it, Harry couldn't help, but note several pointed opinions directed to the Headmaster. Nicolas had penned, in finely curved detail, what a disappointment it was to hear how mistreated such an important topic was in a school that claimed to be the best.
As Dumbledore read it over, Harry explained, "As first-hand witnesses to much of known history, it's not hard to imagine why Nicolas and Perenelle were more than disappointed to learn that a subject that's dear to them is being improperly instructed to students that will one day lead magical society into the future. That is a written, signed, and stamped consent from my parents excusing me from attending History of Magic with Professor Binns."
"That is not possible, nor is it acceptable," Dumbledore clearly stated as Snape read over the note. Dumbledore continued, "I will also personally speak with Nicolas and reassure him of the first-rate quality of our History of Magic course, but until then, you have no other recourse but to attend classes."
"I'm sure he'd like to speak with you as well, Headmaster," Harry said with a satirical grin. "However, until Nicolas says otherwise, I will not be attending my scheduled nap time, nor will I be going to detention for preferring to use said time more productively. If that puts you in a precarious position, I do apologize. That's not my intent, but I will not be forced to attend a sub-par curriculum for an important subject."
"An important subject?" Snape threw out, finishing the letter. "You act as if the only purpose for your blatant defiance is a desire for higher education, when it's more clear to me you suffer from an over-exaggerated self-opinion. You wish to learn History, but object to the manner in which it is taught simply because it's not on your self-imposed terms. That arrogance only encourages this compulsion you have to always prove how right you are, especially to authority. You are nothing new-"
"Severus," Dumbledore said, halting any further biting opinions from the potion instructor.
"Maybe I'd agree with you, Professor Snape, if I wasn't such a fan of history myself," Harry calmly replied, undeterred by Snape's candid tongue. "It's not a stretch to say my future is very much a product of the past, so I find history to be very integral in my decision making. It's also impossible to live with Nicolas and Perenelle and not enjoy a plethora of interesting, informative, or funny first-hand stories from as far back as the founders of this very school you hold dear, to as recent as the latest Dark Lord, Tom Riddle."
If there was ever a breach in Dumbledore's impervious mask of self-control, it was now. His eye brows rose, his eyes bulged, his shoulders slumped, and it was clear as day the Headmaster—along with Snape—were absolutely befuddled with shock that 'Ares Flamel' would know that name. Harry relished in their shock for only a moment before he added, "More commonly known as Lord Voldemort."
"How could you possibly know that name?" Snape asked aghast.
"The real question is why doesn't everyone?" Harry mused. "It seems like a fairly important topic to cover in a history class, don't you think? I can guarantee you everyone would stay awake in a class like that—if not have nightmares."
Blinking several times, Dumbledore implored, "If you would be so kind as to tell us how you've come to know that name."
"You seem surprised," Harry noted, acting heedless and faking mild concern. "It's all in his name, and you really should remember; Nicolas, Perenelle and I are astute students of history. For us, long-aged lineages are often discussed during dinners, almost like a game. The Gaunt family, descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself, are certainly one of the many interesting families we've discussed."
"You must tell us how specifically you've learned about that man," Dumbledore commanded. "As well as everyone else you might've told."
"...Mnn, this is starting to feel very 'secret society,' so maybe some other time, Headmaster," Harry conveyed, raising his occlumency for the possibility of a sudden intrusion. "I'm not comfortable discussing this with strangers. And besides, I should be going," Harry said, standing up. "Nova likes to fly early, and as often as I can muster."
"You have not been excused, young man," Dumbledore called sternly, but not domineering.
"Are you going to hold me against my will?" Harry blatantly asked, turning back toward the headmaster.
"This is of the utmost importance," Dumbledore proclaimed, standing up as well. "You must stay and share what you know."
"And as I've said," Harry began, staring down the professors, feeling an itch in his wrist of his wand hand. In his mind, the possibility of a fight between them had jumped up to very likely, but he maintained, "I don't feel comfortable disclosing what I've learned to strangers."
"Strangers?" Snape repeated with a scoff. "Even if I am but a footnote in the annals of history, Headmaster Dumbledore is a Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. He has defeated the Dark Lord Grindelwald and is the only wizard Lord Voldemort fears. Even an imbecile should be able to grasp how immensely prevalent this man is. You must tell us everything you know, Mr. Flamel, for there isn't a more capable wizard on this planet you could place your trust in."
"Maybe, that's true. I couldn't say one way or another," Harry returned, shrugging his shoulders. "You certainly are revered, Headmaster, and seemingly for good reason, but besides titles, I don't know anything real about you. And you're not asking me for my trust, you're asking me for blind obedience for no other reason than because you're older and I'm younger. Maybe in time, I'll feel comfortable talking to you about all sorts of subjects, but right now, all I see is a headmaster who's trying to convince me your History of Magic class is the best thing since Butter Beer, who didn't inform my parents that I was attacked multiple times in this castle, and who thinks I should buy new wands for said bullies—excuse me, troubled students—because I destroyed theirs whilst defending myself. So, no, professors, I don't feel comfortable telling either of you what I know or how I've come to know it."
"Comfortable or not, we are your authority, and we demand you tell us," Snape stepped forward, but Harry didn't back down. In fact, Harry stepped forward as well, stern with no hint of fear or wavering in his kill-me-green eyes, tempted to draw wand first.
After several long moments of tense silence, Dumbledore sagely expressed, "Trust is a very precious thing." Harry didn't move an inch as the Headmaster said, "Perhaps in the future, I'm certain you will come to see me as a character worthy of your faith, and deserving of your trust. Until then, I think I will speak with your guardians... soon. Severus, if you would escort Mr. Flamel out and inform Minerva I must attend court shortly."
"Nova," Harry clearly called and his phoenix returned to his shoulder as they are escorted out by the potions professor.
There was only silence as they traversed the halls until they were about to part ways. In his deep, drawled voice, Snape warned Harry, "Tread carefully, Mr. Flamel. I would not be surprised if the rest of Slytherin house didn't take kindly to the student responsible for losing five hundred points. Fortunately for you, I am here to help should the need arise."
Snape left, the fringe of his cloak billowed impressively behind him. Harry made his way out of the castle, walking through the crisp September air of the valley before heading towards the Forbidden Forest. In the distance, near the Beauxbaton carriage, he spotted Fleur dueling two other girls at the same time. They seemed quite tired, as if they had been practicing all morning.
At the sight of him, Fleur hesitated and the loss of focus was enough for her to be struck in her side by what looked like a stinging hex. She dropped to one knee and gripped her side while her friends rushed to check on her. While worried himself, Harry was certain she was fine and didn't walk over to make sure. Instead, he continued into the Forbidden Forest, walking deep enough to be sure no one could see him flame to the Flamel's London townhouse.
After setting the kettle on, Perenelle inquired if his sudden visit had anything to do with their meeting and subsequent dinner with Sirius Black and Amelia Bones.
"No," Harry told them. "You can tell me now if you like, but I figured the probability of getting an invitation on the first meeting was low and expected a letter saying as much."
"He's a very charming fellow," Nicolas confirmed with a smile. "Much more butch than I'm accustomed to, but with a good head on his shoulders and a good heart to match." Harry smiled at the compliment, recalling precious good times with his Godfather.
"It was refreshing to hear him speak of his fiancee without the usual high society drivel that passes for ideals," Perenelle happily added. "Genuine love for another is very rare and it's nice to see them flourish in spite of the social stigma."
"We talked about you a great deal more than I was expecting," Nicolas said. "Though nothing more was brought up than what we were already prepared for," he added with some disappointment.
When Perenelle returned with kettle and tray, she explained, "We spoke about all our teenagers, Susan and Tracey included. It was an amusing point of note that none of us at the table have actually birthed a child, but find ourselves responsible for the life of one." Harry looked at her weirdly and expectantly, to which she returned, "Oh, calm down, you. You know very well I only mean in regard to the narrative."
"By the way, Tracey did write to Sirius, as you hoped, and he got quite a laugh from your egg prank," Nicolas mentioned with a smile. "Best prank he'd ever heard of, to hear him tell it. I enjoyed it as well—though a little forewarning would've been nice, Harry. All in all, I think we're making good progress. I have another meeting with Sirius and Amelia next week. It's just a luncheon to discuss the current political climate, but if we're going to be more involved in the political war associated with the rise of Voldemort, we're going to need as much information about the Ministry, as well as all the members in the Wizengamot, their families, and most importantly, where their galleons come from."
"Should that luncheon go as well as dinner, I expect we may receive an invitation to the scandalous wedding of the year before long," Perenelle commented.
"Sounds like a plan," Harry optimistically agreed. He then proceeded to inform them of the meeting he had with Dumbledore with regard to Voldemort. "You should be prepared to hear from him soon, because he definitely won't let that go."
With a smile, Nicolas mused, "If you didn't want Dumbledore's attention, you have a funny way of going about it."
"I'll admit I didn't have to say anything," Harry confessed, stern of eye and tense in the shoulders. "But that'll only keep him like he is—too set in his ways. If there's ever any chance of making him a proper ally, we have to rattle him, little by little, and break him out of his upright attitude—challenge without antagonizing him. I figure we have some down time before I snag Crouch, might as well start now."
"Is there anything specific you want us to do or say," Perenelle asked. "Or just play the simple, mistaken discovery as we planned it."
"I gave them a subtle hint, but I don't think they spotted it. So, the way we planned it should be enough for now," Harry answered. "I also thought I should prepare you..." Harry then explained to them what he discovered as far as the abuse going on in the school and the gist of what he did to Hilliard.
"I would not have been opposed if you had done more," an irate Perenelle stated in a vile tone. Harry understood. It was a detestable state of affairs that shouldn't correlate to a school or its students, and he hadn't even explained how personal it was for him—only that the girl was really nice and smart. "In the many centuries I've been alive, violence and power are two of the most terrible constants, but in a school, among our youth, it's just evil."
"Oh, Albus..." Nicolas grumbled before turning to Harry and asking, "Do you expect he'll contact us tonight? Because I'm looking forward to giving him a piece of my mind."
"The impression I left was mainly to do with Voldemort and skipping history. I don't think they suspect me for Hilliard or the wards, so be careful with what you say. I'd let him lead, so when he doesn't mention something he should, you can trap him," Harry told him. "He mentioned going to court, so I imagine it won't be long after that, if not tonight, then tomorrow."
"Ah yes," Nicolas stated, raising his index finger in the air. "Amelia brought it up during dinner—giving me the distinct impression she's looking for a political ally, not that I'm opposed. She explained the debate will center around whether the Wizengamot should intervene in the ministry's decision to allow no age restriction for the TriWizard Tournament and wanted my opinion."
"What did you tell her?" Harry asked curiously.
"Prrfft! I told her the truth, what else," Nicolas delivered indignant, shaking a hand in the air. "A thousand Galleons and 'eternal glory' don't last longer than a year. Risking some of our most promising students for that is just utter nonsense."
Harry gave him a definitive nod to hear.
"For as long as we've lived, we should know," Perenelle added before taking a sip of tea. "At least everyone at dinner wholeheartedly agreed."
"Were you able to learn where the trophy's located?" Nicolas asked.
"Without drawing attention for asking, or going door to door, no," Harry answered. "Besides, I never minded the idea of having a direct path to Voldemort. Should an alternate plan present itself in the future, I can always destroy the trophy or take it out of play some other way."
"Does this mean you'll be entering your name in the Goblet?" Nicolas asked with a slight uptick of excitement.
"Why do you sound so happy?" Harry asked, eying the elder warily. "I thought you said it was nonsense."
"I'm not happy, and it is," Nicolas defended. "But the tournament's going to happen anyway, and I can't say I'd worry about you like I would a normal student, now can I?"
"Uh huh. No, I'm not entering my name," Harry answered him sternly. "There's no need to. I don't need to be in the tournament to get to the portkey."
"I suppose not," Nicolas agrees, slumping his shoulders down again.
Harry said his farewell to both of them and returned to the Forbidden Forest for a good solitary walk, giving Nova time to stretch her wings and enjoy the high skies. Exiting the forest, he sensed a figure approaching him before identifying Fleur in her form-fitting blue Beauxbaton uniform. She seemed intent on approaching him, so he didn't try to avoid her. The delicate sway of her walk ended a few feet away, and she stared intently at him, as if attempting to read the makeup of his soul like a book written in a foreign language. While his occlumency could easily make it impossible to read any facial expression, he allowed some of his guilt to bleed through.
"Monsieur Flamel," Fleur stiffly addressed him.
Harry understood if she felt awkward being around him, but she shouldn't have to when they both knew he was in the wrong. She had every right to be angry with him. "Miss Delacour," he returned.
"I was informed 'ow treacherouz zhe Forbidden Forest ees," Fleur said, nodding toward the forest behind Harry.
"It is," he agreed. "But no more than school, I think."
Fleur smiled much to beautifully before saying in her lovely French accent, "Like our first meeting, I would like us tu be een good termz. I want you tu know I do not believe you 'ad any intent tu 'urt me. So please, do not feel zhe need tu walk away from me in zhe future. I am not mad." Her soulfully deep blue eyes seemed to heighten the silver glow around her.
Harry could feel trace amounts of warmth and yearning in the air, but knowing her allure was the cause, it didn't sway him as he replied, "I really am sorry for what I did."
"I know," Fleur said with an unmistakable smirk as she tucks her long silver-blonde hair behind her ear. "But you did not 'urt me. Een fact, you 'ave made me remember certain promises I made tu myself, and for zhat I zhank you."
"Please, don't thank me," he asked of her. "I don't deserve it."
"Eet is not a zhank you like you 'ave bought me Gelato," she expressed with a gentle sway of her head and a smirk. "Eet ees simply acknowledgment for 'elping me tu remember."
"Oh... okay," Harry said, unsure. "You're welcome." Harry began feeling uneasy. She seemed to have an easier time putting the incident out of her mind than he did.
"I can see a lot more zhan ozhers realize," Fleur claimed before shaking her head and correcting herself. "Non, 'see' is zhe wrong word. Eet ees a sense I 'ave due to my nature as part Veela, but eet ees quite accurate. W'en I look at you, zhe only zhing I can say I 'see' for certain ees pain."
Harry could tell she was eying his scars and quickly replied, "I have scars, Miss Delacour, like a lot of people do. And what's a scar without a story or the pain that comes with it? Though, mine are not ones I'd like to discuss."
"Yes!" Fleur exclaimed, taking a panic step forward. "I neverr meant to imply to. I only mean to say, I can unzerstand. In my culture, scars only display zhe war one 'as gone t'rough and zhe bravery zhat was necessary tu survive eet. My pappa 'as one as well; on 'is chest—though eet ees smallerr zhan yourz. But w'ere I am from, we considerr scars tu be beautiful."
Harry felt her allure heighten with her frenzy, and while it was much stronger than the trace amounts he picked up earlier, his mind still resisted succumbing to her magically enriched enticement.
"That's nice of you to say," he replied. "It says a lot about your character and how you were raised. 'There is no place like France,' my parents like to say. Thank you for your kind words, and understanding, but I should be going. I'm late for lunch-"
"Wait," Fleur called out, taking another step forward, now standing close enough to touch him. "Your pupils are dilated, zhere ees more color in your cheeks, and you breaze 'eavier, but you do not lose control. 'Ave you encountered any ozhers like me? Ozher Veela or half-Veela? You must 'ave, or 'ow else can you rezist more zhan 'alf of my allure tu zhis degree?"
"I, uh, have, once, when I was much younger," Harry admitted, wondering how she'd react to learning she was the first one he'd ever met. "I wouldn't say she taught me how to resist allure, but I often work on my mental fortitude," Harry oddly answered about himself.
"May I-" Fleur seemed to argue with herself, before shaking her head and just asking, "May I relinquish control of my allure een front of you, s'il vous plaît?"
"You mean-" he didn't finish asking as she nodded her head sweetly.
Harry had been very confident in his mind's control over his body's natural responses, which was the only reason he could diminish the magically inspired urges. So, he nodded his head in acceptance and nearly instantly, he felt a very physical magnetism capture him—body and magic—and gravitate toward her. The sense of his magic surging like ocean currents took much more concentration to keep under control, giving his body slightly more leeway to fixate on Fleur. He gazed at her and the natural perfection of her entire being, the crisp grass, the flowing trees, even the taste of the scent in the air; everything around her became that much more beautiful because of her. It drew him to her like a bee to a flower, determined to take her, resolute to have her, and rapt to devour her stunning figure—to the point he clenched his fist in defense.
Though her magnetic lure felt like the size of a mountain, it didn't change the nature of what it was. He knew why he felt this way, this intensely, and why mentally it could seem artificial: it was magic. He had always thought of magic as making the impossible possible. And just like everyone else, no one—especially those as beautiful as Fleur—would love him without magic. So even if his heart pumped at a critical rate, his hands itched to hold her, and his breathing was both deep and shallow, his mind didn't fall for the breathtaking fairytale before him nor did it relinquish control of his actions. Though his fists were clenched, Harry stayed put.
She seemed to almost relax, as if a huge weight had been lifted off her delicate shoulders. Her brilliant smile and perfect teeth almost made him forget where he was or why he was there, but he stayed strong. "I can feel 'ow robust you are... simply amazing, Monsieur Flamel! I 'ave neverr encountered such rezistance tu my allure een my life. Eet ees simply astonishing!"
"It's- Well," Harry was almost at a loss at what to say. Talking to her felt like a slippery slope and he was desperate to retain himself. "Ms. Delacour-"
"Call me Fleur, please," she happily insisted.
Harry had to take a deep breath to resist her exuberance, then began walking around her as he said, "Fleur, I really would like to grab something to eat, before..."
"Oui, of course," she said, dialing down the strength of her enslaving charisma. "May I join you, Ares?"
Harry preferred to maintain a healthy distance, but with her lovely scent lingering in his nostrils, he couldn't think of a reason to refuse. "Sure, I'd like that," Harry answered, and they walked toward the castle side by side.
The conversation on the way back to the castle was light and only covered what many already knew about Harry. When Nova landed on his shoulder, she became the center of attention for all the questions, but they were nothing new.
Walking through the halls toward the Great Hall, the sound of heavy wood clacking against stone alerted Harry to the presence of the monster he hoped to torture soon. He spotted Faux-Moody hobbling ahead of them towards the dining hall—late to meals, as usual. Harry's mind became automatically conscious of the sandy-haired impostor, making sure he interacted with Fleur normally in case Moody's highly convenient eye was spying on him. However, it was more likely that Fleur would be the target of the former Azkaban prisoner's lecherous peeping than Harry.
Entering the Great Hall, they caught the tail end of lunch, but there were still enough students present for many longing eyes to quickly land on Harry's company. Seated with his rowdy brothers at the Gryffindor table, Bill was also drawn to the vision that was Fleur, and quite suddenly, Harry felt extremely immoral for being this friendly with her. There was nothing indecent or shameful about walking into a large room together, nor was Fleur an ultra-close friend on Hermione's level, but he was getting along far better with this Fleur than he did with the Fleur of his timeline. And now Bill was watching them, wondering—not unlike any other male in the room—what the story was between them.
'There's nothing going on!' Harry mentally yelled.
Fleur's doppelganger's husband from a previous timeline was watching them, and it was enough to make Harry uncomfortable. He would rather deal with the glares he was getting from the dozen or so remaining Slytherins, who made it extremely evident that they knew he was the reason why Slytherin House was now in a 450 point deficit.
Draco seemed to be explaining something to his year mates, and Daphne—along with the rest of them—did not look pleased at all. Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy were clearly the angriest. Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things, but their antagonism toward him was bound to be more annoying than their friendliness towards him.
Turning instead to the Ravenclaw table, he was further dejected to see that the day was not done being miserable as Hermione stopped Faux-Moody to ask him a question and show him something from the fourth-year textbook. It was always uncomfortable to see students approach him, unaware of the significant danger he posed. But seeing Hermione so close to him was double the aggravation.
Yet, despite the homicidal impostor among them, all blatant or spying eyes were on Harry and Fleur. In fact, there were so many that Fleur had to ask him, "Eet ees too strong?"
"Reckon it might be, yeah," Harry answered as Hardwin stepped up to him from beside the Hall's entrance, as if he was waiting for him.
"I know where you've..." Hardwin started to tell Harry, but was then enthralled by Fleur's presence. The Potter heir couldn't take his half-lidded eyes off of her until she reclaimed full control of her allure.
Hardwin cleared his throat garishly before addressing her with a slightly deeper tone, "Hello, I think I might've seen you here a few times. I'm-" his voice cracks, "I'm Hardwin Potter, heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter. You may have heard of me, but please, I'm just like everyone else. And you are?" he asked, extending his hand.
While Fleur smiled gracefully and introduced herself, Ron raced over to Hardwin, absolutely stunning Harry, because gripped in his best mate's left hand was the Maurader's Map—the very thing Harry had been coveting since he entered those hallowed halls. Harry didn't retract his wand right away as his best mate pulled Hardwin's shoulder, spinning him about and interrupting his coquetry with Fleur. Though it would have been the easiest thing for Harry to just take the map that was only an arm's length away from him, it wouldn't have been a clean snatch. He would have rather avoided the resulting attention. For now, it was enough to know they had it and were clearly using it.
'At least I know what I'm doing tonight,' Harry thought to himself, as part of his mind began running simulations about breaking into Gryffindor and stealing the map. As Draco got up from the Slytherin table, Harry wondered if he should give the task of retrieving the map to him instead, but upon catching Draco's piqued gray eyes, Harry quickly changed his mind. The silver-blonde was smirking suggestively at them, like an idiot, obviously alluding to something indecent between him and Fleur arriving together.
His attention returned to Ron and Hardwin and Harry's entire being was immediately gripped with paralyzing fear. Harry couldn't breathe as Ron pointed purposefully on the map—likely at a dot—then pointed to Faux-Moody.
'He wouldn't,' was all Harry managed to think before his reckless brother called out to the dangerous impostor that was standing beside Hermione in a room that had far too many potential casualties.
"Oi, Professor Moody! When was your name ever Bartemius Crouch?" he called out, loud enough to draw in plenty of attention; smiling as if this was some sort of secret the school could joke about; as if there must be some sort of innocent misunderstanding; as if Bartemius Crouch Jr. wasn't one of the Death Eater's strongest fighters disguised as the retired Alastor Moody at the behest of Lord fucking Voldemort!
Turning to the current Boy-Who-Lived, there wasn't a trace of humor on Faux-Moody's enraged face, and Harry was the only one in the room who had the insight necessary to know what was mere moments away from happening. For a fraction of a second, everything in the room was still, silent, and calm, in sharp contrast to the storming rage ready to destroy everything near it, starting with Hermione.
Wands were instantly in hand as Harry summoned Hermione to him—none too delicately—with a strong, "Accio!" and Crouch fired "Confringo" directly at Ron and Hardwin. Even as Harry felt his magic grip his best friend, he managed to fiercely kick Hardwin out of the way, hard enough to knock him and Ron to the ground. The dark charm scalded down to the skin as the blasting curse grazed his thigh and blew chunks of ancient stone off the wall by the entrance.
With a strong arm wrapped desperately around a wincing Hermione, Harry was afforded a moment as Crouch took stock of the threat that was Ares, to realize this was the worst possible way to confront Barty. While the Hall had only a fourth of its usual gathering, there were still far too many innocent bystanders spread throughout the room to think everyone was going to make it out unharmed. Emotionally, it already felt like another win for Voldemort.
The heartless concept that should any person be injured, or worse, killed by Crouch when Harry—with all his knowledge and strength—should be able to prevent it felt like the future he came from was still a very real possibility. And why wouldn't it be? He hadn't done anything yet, he hadn't saved anyone yet, he hadn't killed Voldemort yet, and that realization made him absolutely furious. The past was all his fault. All that suffering, pain, and murder, because he was too weak.
'Not again,' Harry thought. 'Not again! Not ever again!' He repeated over and over in his head, getting angrier and angrier at the one available person he could take all his pent up rage out on: Barty Fucking Crouch Jr.
Within the delayed reaction it took for everyone in the room to catch up to the idea that a battle had sparked and was about to rage, Faux-Moody flicked his tongue over his upper lip as Harry forced Hermione behind him. The resulting screams filled the room as Faux-Moody manically attacked Harry with a murderous, "Avada Kedavra!"
That curse didn't incite the same panicked fear in Harry as it did everyone else around him. Magical barriers may not work against that Unforgivable, but solid objects did, and Harry shielded himself, Hermione, Fleur, Hardwin, and Ron by summoning the nearest plate to him and fluidly enlarging it to cover the entirety of the green killing curse. The impact with the large shield-like plate vibrated his bones venomously.
"Nova," was all Harry said, picturing the terrified and stunned students around the hall. He felt Nova withdraw from his shoulder with a powerful lift and somehow he knew she was going to help evacuate as many children as possible.
Even angrier than he was a second ago, Harry carefully employed the best strategy for the combat situation, wordlessly returning a curse of his own. With Nova assisting the overcome students, he focused the entirety of his combat on Crouch, not wasting time or advantage by voicing his attacks, and more than anything, he needed to be fast. Faux-Moody's surprise lasted a second as he protected himself from Harry's Confringo with a shield not quite strong enough, as the residual force of the blasting curse pushed him back a step.
Harry noted a lot of frantic movement while Nova dragged scared children out of the Hall by their robes to safety. Meanwhile, the dueling pair began to cast spell after spell at one another, rapidly and without uttering a word. Harry had hoped for a longer opening when Crouch realized a fourteen-year-old was keeping up with his casting speed, but it was raw mania and determination in Faux-Moody's eye, and Harry didn't hesitate to match. While certainly the most impressive duelist he had faced, Crouch Jr. was no Horcrux-Voldemort. Harry took a step forward, in front of the line of fire, to keep the threat on himself, and because he could.
At the rapid-fire pace they were leveling spells off at one another, neither Harry nor Crouch was able to waste the time to voice their dark curses, but as they quick-cast curses and shields, it also meant the offensive magic couldn't be obscenely destructive in nature. It took time to cast truly devastating spells, and Harry wasn't going to give this monster that chance. So while the spells fired were simple, they were the best strategy Harry had to keep Crouch preoccupied, give everyone time to escape, and avoid mass casualties.
The seconds dragged on and with every calculated step forward Harry was able to take, the match intensified. While Faux-Moody had the rage, focus, and violence needed for powerful curses, Harry was simply magically more potent, pushing Crouch back as Harry slowly advanced on the man. Harry was hoping to close the distance and tag Crouch faster than the man could defend.
However, Moody side-stepped a cutting curse to shoot a spell to the side—a one-off towards the Gryffindors before resuming his attack on Harry. Harry's combat mentality kept him from panicking, and he just barely managed to shield a terrified Lavender Brown from a destructive spell. At nearly the same time he defended Lavender, he had to wandlessly cast a shield on himself with his left hand, stopping a Blood-Boiling Curse from hitting him.
Evading the straight-shooting curse with a side-step would've been the best tactic, but with Fleur, Hermione, and Merlin knew how many others exiting the Great Hall behind him, Harry had no other recourse but to shield. However, his left-handed defense wasn't stable enough, and he was knocked back a couple of steps, shredding bits of his robe's sleeve off and making the blood in his body warm sourly. While his insides felt hotter, making him sweat even more, the effects stopped there. With sweat dripping off of him, Harry reoriented himself and continued to press forward with more fervor than before.
Nearly at the same moment Harry began to dread the idea of Faux-Moody attacking innocent bystanders nearest to him, Crouch began to randomly shoot off spells around the room in hopes of forcing Harry to give the maniac a fatal opening. Booming screams of fear-laced panic repeatedly pierced the air in the room as Harry managed to shield curse after curse from finding their frightened targets.
Within the second of every large shield charm he cast, Harry was attacked with a Disintegration Curse, Cutting Curse, Blasting Curse, or an Entrail-Expelling Curse. The shields he raised to protect himself were so close to his person he could feel the impact rattle his bones, and momentarily mute the chaos surrounding him, leaving an eerie ringing in his hearing.
As Harry created large shields around the room, effectively blocking Crouch's indiscriminate attacks from hitting many of the students, he noted that Bill, Vector, Trelawney, Pince, and Filch were the only adults who were in any position to help, even if they didn't have the ability to do so. While Bill did manage to corral many of the Gryffindors he was seated near to a corner and protect them, the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were forced to hide around their tables as best they could only had Harry's fast reflexes to keep from getting hurt.
"Draco!" Harry yelled between deep breaths. "Get! Everyone! Out!"
In the heat of the battle, he couldn't tell who or how many were behind him trying to flee, but it kept him rooted in place, and he was going to need some room to move if he wanted to take this madman alive. Though Harry might have had to protect everyone scattered about the room, he could wield magic with both hands. He used his wand hand to protect the Hogwarts students and attack, and used his left hand to protect himself with relative success. However, stationed as he was, he couldn't overtake Crouch and protect everyone without some wiggle room, and that was Crouch's only advantage over him, which he exploited spectacularly.
"You bloody whelp!" Faux-Moody called out, amused, hurling deadly curses at him, then immediately at a Hufflepuff witch. "How about another scar to add to the collection?!"
Moody sent a targeted cutting curse towards Draco, who managed to see it and defend from it. Harry had little time to question how he knew Draco's Protego would be too weak, but didn't hesitate to shield him and the students around him when Draco's shield shattered against the dark curse.
As Harry blocked it, Crouch had enough time to catapult the entire length of the Hufflepuff table high in the air, barreling toward the running or hiding Slytherin and Hufflepuff students that Draco was trying to evacuate. Harry arrested the length of the large dining piece from burying the students with his hand and wand, but in the process, Crouch shouted, "Expulso!"
The dynamite curse was mostly stopped by a section of Hufflepuff table Harry used as a shield—mostly. The wood splintered on impact, blasting dagger-like shards toward Harry, sinking deep in multiple spots on his flesh. Lowering his arm and ignoring the sharp, sticking pricks on his chest and arms, Harry slammed what was left of the table still in his magical grasp on Crouch, who used the Ravenclaw table to intercept the strike.
Within the boom of colliding furniture, Harry returned an "Expulso" of his own, erupting fragments of wood to rain down on the impostor. A quick Evanesco vanished the dagger-like splinters of wood protruding from his wounds before Harry pressed his attack on Crouch again, who was gripping the side of his bleeding neck where a splinter had nicked him.
Crouch defended himself silently and relentlessly under Harry's continuous barrage. Step after step, Harry pummeled Crouch with as many of the strongest curses he could rapid fire, certain that if he could get close enough, Crouch Jr. wouldn't be fast enough to react. However, pushing Crouch into a corner was not unlike trying to catch a wounded animal backed into a corner alive, and in Crouch's desperation, he cast a large ball of fire at the Gryffindors stuck in the corner before tumbling under the large debris of broken table to avoid Harry's attack.
With Harry's unusual magic-sight, he felt certain that the cursed fire could not be doused with the regular water Bill tried to cast and douse it with. Instead, Harry quickly levitated the Gryffindor table to catch most of the deadly flames, and what remained of the fire was mitigated by Nova flying into the curse's path, taking the cursed flame squarely in the chest, and protecting the Gryffindors.
Harry's heart tightened at the sight of his avian familiar being struck, bounced off the wall, and dropped to the floor. A touch of rage permeated his wand work, but Harry remained focused and clear of mind—losing control would mean losing the fight, and he wouldn't allow that.
Harry raised the flaming Gryffindor table still in his magical grasp and dropped it where Crouch should be as Bill rushed the remaining children into the antechamber just past the teachers' section. Crouch destroyed the large burning projectile with an explosive curse, sending burning planks everywhere, yet Harry pressed forward, praying that all the students and staff were safely away so he could focus all his efforts on capturing Crouch.
Faux-Moody and Harry went back and forth, from defense to offense, rapidly and without uttering a word when an errant spell was shot at Crouch, who had sense enough to block it, but it was enough to give Harry a short opening to cast a quick Reducto. Crouch was good enough to stop most of the Reducto, but the impact was stunning. He took a few steps back, and Harry pressed his advantage, keeping him on the defensive. Harry's magic sight told him that the spell was Draco's.
"Is everyone safe?" Harry yelled.
"Almost!" Draco called back. "Just a few-" he started to explain before a strong Confringo blasts through his shield, whirling Draco off his feet and onto some fire lite debris.
"Draco!" Harry called, hoping to hear a response, but even as he strained his ears, he heard nothing.
While continuing his barrage, he sacrificed his advance to conjure a great swarm of fire arrows to rain down on Faux-Moody. He took his eye off the enemy for a second to turn to his fallen comrade, wandlessly gripped, and tossed him emphatically towards the entrance of the hall, hoping someone would see to him. Taking that split second to note Hermione and Fleur trying to help two other students—one of whom was Neville Longbottom—trapped under debris was a costly price to pay when he heard a loud, "Crucio!"
Harry was instantly wracked with a familiar, intense, and excruciating pain, making him scream through gritted teeth. His body seized painfully, and not of his control. Every nerve throughout his body felt like it was blistering and splitting, his brain was expanding too large for his shrinking skull, and every bone of his skeleton felt like it was being drilled by thousands of rusty nails. Harry couldn't even hear Faux-Moody's maniacal laughter over his own screams. Agonizing as the seconds were, he was more familiar with this pain than he was with anything else, and so, with gritted teeth, called desperately on his ample magic to force the pain to go away.
Faux-Moody was surprised when Harry ripped away the sinister and intrusive unforgivable with his left hand, as if he were swatting away a fat annoying fly. Even as Harry roughly inhaled a dull-pained breath, he brought his wand up and returned a sharp cutting curse. Along with his swimming vision, his wand hand shook sporadically, so his aim was slightly off, and instead of cutting off the man's wand arm, the curse connected with Faux-Moody's left shoulder, left ear, and part of his scalp, drawing plenty of blood and a nice grunt of pain.
In the periphery of his eyes, Harry quickly noted his wand hand was dripping with more blood than sweat. The red of his life essence quickly reminded him that several of the warm pinching pains on his chest and shoulder were beginning to throb and ache, but after the Crucio, it was easy to ignore it for the chance to end it all with the impostor.
Harry was disappointed by how slowly he returned to form as he continued his barrage, Faux-Moody defending himself despite the great misfortune of losing his magical eye. With part of Faux-Moody's ear missing, it wasn't hard to assume the strap holding the magical eye in place had been cut.
It was a fortunate moment that didn't last as Crouch transfigured a wall of stone that Harry easily destroyed. However, it gave Crouch Jr. enough seconds to cast a stream of powerfully enchanted fire. Harry sent a desperately quick banishing charm, but it didn't interrupt Crouch soon enough. He might have blown back Crouch, but a large serpent—nearly thrice Nāga's size—made completely of cursed fire, scorched the stone it was on as it slithered towards Harry, burning everything it touched.
'Fucking Feindfyre,' Harry thought as it savagely slithered towards him.
"Bombarta Maxima!" Harry heard Crouch Jr. yell, followed by a reverberating boom and large sediments of stone crumbling. Harry easily assumed Crouch was trying to escape, but he had precious little time to do anything about it before it was too late, and dealing with Fiendfyre was no small thing. Instead of slowing it down, Harry used valuable seconds as it closed in on him to put forth maximum concentration in conjuring enchanted water.
"Aguamenti!" Harry yelled, creating a very large, swirling blob of water encasing the blazing inferno in the shape of a snake. There was immediate wet hissing as cold water attacked searing fire, producing large quantities of thick steam. Harry focused on conjuring more enchanted water as the raging Fiendfyre steamed its watery cage, losing volume nearly as fast as Harry could create it. He nearly had the entire snake blackening and crusting over when the large serpent began to expand, repeatedly beating against its own crusted skin before erupting like a furious volcano in the ocean. Expanding and thrashing, the Fiendfyre soon burst the orb of the water prison.
Stuck in the Great Hall mostly filled with thick white mist, Harry wasn't excited about his options for dealing with the fire serpent. As the flow of mist was sucked out of the large hole in the wall created by Crouch Jr., he had all but given up on having enough time to catch him. Instead, Harry recalled the location of the Great Hall and decided the best tactic he could employ at the moment was forcing the sinister fire outside.
While the flaming snake resisted his strong magical banishment toward the hole, Harry heard a mighty screech. Covered completely in blazing-white flames, as if she were made of fire, Nova dove to the snake of fire and clutched its head with her sharp talons. Though overjoyed to see his familiar, Harry didn't spare a second.
"Take it outside!" Harry instructed Nova, as he made his way to the hole. He avoided a wide strike from its flaming tail, catching his robe instead. "Toss it in the lake!" Harry yelled, tearing off his bloody and burning robe before jumping out of the hole into the crisp autumn air and sunlight.
On his way down, Harry easily spotted Barty, already past the lake, scampering along the field as fast as his handicap would allow him, towards the front gate to the edge of the anti-apparition ward. He felt feverishly hot despite Scotland's chilly air as he mentally tallied the few clusters of students watching the commotion from a safe enough distance to be disregarded.
Harry slowed his descent, mentally citing, 'Arresto Momentum!'
He touched down firmly and sprinted after the mad man as quickly as he could. The first few steps sent a shooting pain throughout his chest and down his arms and legs that refused to be ignored. Gritting his teeth, and gripping his blood-stained wand tighter, he pushed his legs to their maximum velocity. Though thankful he had been training his muscles with Muggle exercises, he wished—now more than ever—that he had purchased that broomstick like he intended on doing.
Overhead, a roaring screech from a raging phoenix descended fast from on high and produced a roaring whistle, giving Harry the strangest image of an asteroid hitting water. Harry could hear the loud splash and steaming hiss behind him as Nova dived into the lake, dragging the cursed fire snake in with her. From reading Hogwarts, A History, Harry knew that the lake's water had some enchantments protecting the aquatic plants, creatures and merfolk within from all sorts of dangers; icing and poison being chief among them, but also from extreme heat. Harry's perfect recall knew the book mentioned fire, but whether cursed fire like Fiendfyre counted was anyone's guess.
Harry hoped it did.
Though completely able-bodied and faster, Harry didn't calculate he'd reach Crouch Jr. before he made it to the border—free to disapparate back to his wretched master and out of his reach. Harry conjured a mass of arrows to hail down on Faux-Moody, slowing him down, but not completely stopping him. Fake Moody zagged as he shielded against the rain of sharp bolts and returned a blasting curse, followed by the killing curse. Harry dodged both and sent a cutting curse of his own. Crouch Jr. dodged with a roll to the ground before getting up—now facing him—and started to walk backwards as he fought. It was a much slower approach to the open gate, but Crouch Jr. was close enough to make it and, clearly, didn't want to risk getting tagged in the back.
Harry and Crouch traded curses again. Despite enduring their fair share of injuries, they were no less fierce than when they first started fighting. Step by step, Harry's forward advance was matched by Moody's retreat to safety.
Without the added stress of protecting innocent lives in a castle that resisted magic manipulation, Harry had a far easier time moving around and incorporating transfiguration into his attacks. He didn't have to stand in one spot or use time to defend others. He could dodge and attack Faux-Moody's footing. Dodging allowed him to advance and focus more potency in his curses and charms, effectively shredding or destroying every shield Crouch Jr. erected, and shifting or spiking the earth to halt or slow his retreat. Distracted by the unexpected swamp earth, a cutting curse managed to destroy Crouch's shield and cut more than halfway into his left bicep.
Crouch yelled in pain as his arm hung on by a bit of muscle and skin, but he was nearly to the edge and the freedom it brought, so while Crouch took that last desperate step, Harry tried to summon him with, "Accio!"
Fake Moody felt the strong magical grasp take his arm but instead of allowing his body to follow, he yanked away from the rest of his magically gripped arm and threw himself over the gate's threshold. The very moment Barty Crouch Jr. was outside the anti-apparition ward, he disapparated with a loud crack. Harry lamely caught the wrist of the Death Eater's torn-off arm, staring at the spot his best chance of learning Voldemort's location had just disapparated from.
The majority of Harry's front—his dress shirt and loose Slytherin tie—was covered in his blood, hemorrhaging freely from several inflamed wounds on his face, chest, shoulders, and arms. His head was spinning, he was in ever-growing pain, and he had no idea how many others who suffered through that nightmare were injured too. However, nothing could feel worse than his gutting failure to capture Barty Crouch Jr. He couldn't capture one of the several Death Eaters after the Quidditch World Cup, and now he couldn't capture the one Death Eater that actually mattered.
Harry stood there, dejected, staring so long at the spot the enemy escaped from, Nova flamed to him, landing on his shoulder with a very weak grip. It was her exhausted wobble that snapped him out of his disgrace. His avian familiar fell forward and Harry caught and cradled her in his free arm.
"You did great girl," he weakly said as he slowly limped back to the castle. "You did great, so stay with me, okay? Stay with me," he continually repeated.
Well... well, well, well. I've been waiting a while to add this fight. It's a very pivotal moment from I'm Still Here that stayed with me since Katheryn wrote it. Mine isn't the same as hers but I still hope I did it justice. So again, I want to say thank you to Katheryn for giving me her support and if anyone hasn't read her fic, definitely check it out on .
I would like to thank everyone so so much for all the positive comments and words of support! It's been such an amazing experience and I look forward to continuing to be worthy of that support :D
As always I'd love to hear your thoughts and thanks for reading.
-Grae