Greetings to my awesome fanfic friends.
First, thank you all for the warm welcome back. I appreciate your kindness and patience. Without further delay, I got another chapter for you.
WARNING: Violence, blood, and torture.
Words: 11.7K
Enjoy!
The Wedding Hunt
The highly publicized and eagerly anticipated wedding day of Sirius Black and Sharon Davis had finally arrived, and within Room 11, preparations were in full swing. Harry kept a watchful eye on everyone's comings and goings. He knew that Sharon, Lily, Molly, and a number of the children had departed earlier to the safe zone, the Black ancestral home, Black Manor. Tracey and Daphne were by Sharon's side, helping her prepare for her big day. Lily was stationed at the grand fireplace, ready to explain the situation to arriving guests while Molly and the house-elves meticulously inspected the decor in the ballroom, where the ceremony was scheduled to take place.
Meanwhile, Harry, Draco, and Sirius made their way to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the designated welcome area for the wedding guests. This precautionary measure was an essential step in ensuring the safety and security of all attendees and had been in place even before the dark Goblin attack. Every guest would need to travel to Grimmauld Place to enjoy a beverage and mingle, before continuing to Black Manor for the wedding ceremony.
Fortunately, the guest list for the wedding had already been a short one. The Davises didn't have a lot of family and friends, and Sirius didn't consider the many people around the Black family name as loyal or genuine. In total, there were thirty-two guests—mostly Aurors—and the small catering company tasked with serving the guests. Despite all the Aurors attending, slipping into the heavily warded Black mansion undetected would be far more dangerous for Týr and his team, leaving Grimmauld Place as their best point of entry.
Until the wedding later that evening, or the following day, it was decided that the rest of those in Room 11 would remain there, guarded by Alice, Tonks, and Bill. The most concerning part of the plan was the transportation of innocent civilians from Grimmauld to Black Mansion, as that would be the most vulnerable window for Týr to strike. With their magical blades, the Goblin assassins possessed the ability to kill several seasoned Aurors before their own demise, let alone untrained civilians. Harry was determined to prevent such a tragedy, and fortunately, Sirius had the manpower and wards to prevent the worst from happening.
Standing in the empty waiting area, Harry and Draco stood nearby as Sirius had a final briefing with his Aurors. While the plan had been thoroughly reviewed before, Sirius had a habit and reputation for rehearsing every point of the strategy until there was no doubt that everyone knew their role. Despite the seriousness of the operation ahead, they were already dressed in their wedding attire and looked rather dapper. Harry paid more attention to the house-elves—Kretcher, Dobby, and Winky—working on the decor and gobo lighting; all in an effort to never allow Sirius too long of a look at his face. Draco helped get in the way at times as well.
With a sense of urgency, Sirius addressed his team. "The operation is minutes away," Sirius told them. "Kingsley," he called, his sharp eyes fixated on the sturdy, well-dressed Auror.
"Sir," he replied. "I escort all the guests directly to the safe zone, where more of our men are waiting." He paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "With the guests' permission, we take a few samples of their hair. An agent uses polyjuice potion and returns to the party pretending to be a guest."
Nodding approvingly, Sirius stated, "All the while you keep an eye out on anything suspicious—good." He turned his attention to the next senior Auror. "Scrimgeour."
"Sir," the sturdy wizard responded crisply. "I coordinate with the head chef and catering team while my team and I make certain none of them are injured should any danger befall us."
"The only way they are in danger is if they are amongst the crowd—specifically around Ares," Sirius reminded them, his voice carrying a stern tone. "So make sure the staff stay in the kitchen as often as possible. At the slightest hint of danger, they are your sole priority. You and your team get them to safety immediately."
"Are you certain we shouldn't warn them?" Kingsley asked the Head Auror, unable to keep the concern from his tone. "We're placing innocent civilians in harm's way without even the courtesy of making them aware of the danger."
Sirius, however, remained resolute. "Limiting information is key to the success of this operation," he firmly asserted. Kingsley didn't appear accepting of that response, thus Sirius added, "But you're not wrong. I don't like it, either, which is why I have extra safeguards in place to protect them. Remember, this house—its wards—belong to me. Any enemy of mine or my guests will immediately be shut down."
Kingsley nodded, though appeared unconvinced, nevertheless.
Sirius turned to his next set of instructions. "Proudfoot, Savage, you two will screen everyone before Kingsley escorts them to Black Manor. If anything feels off-"
Proudfoot, a stocky Auror with graying hair, nodded as if he'd heard the instructions many times, and raised a dark coin for all to see as he interrupted the Head Auror. "We press the coin and it'll alert everyone that has one with the location of the possible threat."
Standing beside Proudfoot, Savage added in a droll tone, "Vibrate once: we're investigating the threat. Non-stop vibrating: and the threat is credible."
"Aye," Sirius affirmed, locking eyes with his team members.
Scrimgeour, however, felt compelled to voice his dissent. "For the record, I'd like everyone to know that I don't approve of this plan." He addressed not only Sirius but also directed his words to Harry and Draco, who stood nearby, adding, "The Aurors have a sacred duty to protect children, not use them."
Sirius turned to Scrimgeour, weariness all over his face as the Head Auror tiredly replied, "Your grievance has already been logged with Department Head Bones, Rufus." He turned to face the assembled team and reiterated, "I want everyone here to keep in mind I'm the best duelist in the department, and I have yet to beat Ares Flamel. We all saw the memories of him fighting multiple Death Eaters at once and winning. So, while I agree our duty is to protect every man, woman, and child within our borders, Ares is the one wizard who's earned special consideration. Do I make myself clear?"
A unanimous chorus of "Yes, sir!" echoed through the room.
"Dismissed," Sirius ordered, and the Aurors dispersed, each heading to their designated stations. The Head Auror took a moment before approaching Harry, who was gently petting his avian familiar, and asked, "Are you ready for this?"
Playing out different scenarios of how he'd fight Týr and his team, Harry sighed, his emotions and doubts evident, before answering, "Ask me tomorrow."
Sirius smirked, stating, "Fair enough."
As he stood within the imposing and storied walls of Grimmauld Place—a place laden with memories from his previous timeline—Harry couldn't help but feel a heaping helping of nostalgia. Despite his reservations about dwelling on the past, his plans required him to ask, "Do we have time for a tour?"
Though taken aback, Sirius nodded and led Harry out of the receiving room. Harry shot a glance at Draco, who had started to follow them, and silently instructed him to remain behind. As they ventured through the house, Sirius played the part of the knowledgeable guide. He led Harry through the spacious kitchen, with its antique yet well-maintained appliances, and into the adjacent dining room. Sirius shared tidbits of Black family history and, in his characteristic brashness, spoke candidly about his own role as the family's black sheep.
Harry, however, was relatively reticent during the tour. He offered only occasional responses, like when Sirius mentioned the Black family's history around the Middle Ages. "Nic and Nelle told me stories about the Black Family from that era," Harry commented casually.
It was on the second floor that Harry spotted what he was looking for. Hung upon the wall was an empty portrait bearing the name 'Professor Phineas Nigellus Black.' He paused, gazing at the vacant, yet elegant frame, and sardonically remarked, "Your great grandfather. I heard he was the most unpopular headmaster in all of Hogwarts."
Sirius chuckled in agreement before stating, "You're not wrong." He stood by Harry, staring at the empty frame, and added, "He doesn't like me very much."
"I reckon if you stopped treating 'low-borns' like they're your equals, he might give you a shot then," Harry joked.
Sirius laughed, and Harry grinned, their shared amusement briefly lifting the weight of the impending events. Harry very nearly felt like he was back in time with his Sirius, but that caused an ache in his chest he didn't need today. The young wizard cleared his throat and changed the topic.
"I need to leave for a bit," he informed the auror. Sirius turned to him with a confused expression, and in front of the empty portrait, Harry explained, "When Nic and I bargained for the basilisk hide suits, I asked for a special pair of daggers—like Týr's. They're expecting me to pick them up at Gringotts."
"I can arrange for Kingsley to escort you," Sirius offered.
Harry shook his head, stating, "Thanks, but that won't be necessary. I just need to know when you expect the catering team to arrive."
"Thirty minutes," he said.
With a nod, Harry turned and began walking away as he said, "I'll be back in twenty." With that, he flamed away.
Harry smoothly landed in the heart of Diagon Alley, in front of the lopsided facade of Gringotts Bank. However, he didn't immediately enter. ion. Instead, he leaned casually against the imposing marble wall, his gaze fixated on the bustling thoroughfare before him—several of whom noted him and his phoenix. After five minutes of waiting, a brilliant flash of flame illuminated the area before Dumbledore appeared, standing with a slight hunch and Fawkes on his shoulder.
At a glance, it was evident Dumbledore wasn't showing a serene and wise appearance. Instead, he appeared positively irate. His stern eyes could burn a hole through Harry, and his whole demeanor seemed ready to erupt at the slightest provocation. If the venerable wizard had his wand in hand, Harry imagined their ensuing battle would raze Diagon Alley to the ground. There were faint signs of wariness on his face, such as the shadows under his eyes. If anything, Harry would say the Headmaster looked a mixture of disappointed and angry.
Despite the charged atmosphere, Harry's demeanor remained remarkably composed, regarding the high potential for a cataclysmic duel with a casual indifference. With a hint of bemusement in his voice, Harry couldn't help but comment, "Huh… Didn't think you'd show."
Before the Headmaster could reply, he walked into the grand entrance of Gringotts. Venturing into the splendid white marble and black stone of the interior, Dumbledore followed Harry and walked beside the teenager. Always sharp-eyed and observant, the goblins cast curious glances their way. The witches and wizards couldn't help but stare in awe at the pair of magnificent phoenixes that had graced their presence.
After a contemplative moment of thought, Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes bore onto the young wizard as he surmised, "…What you mean to say is that you were aware Headmaster Phineas overheard your conversation with Auror Black." When Harry's expression remained the same, the sage wizard added, "Meaning you wanted me here."
Unperturbed, Harry approached the open bank teller and asked to speak with bank manager Ranrok. "Tell him Ares Flamel is here to collect his package," Harry instructed. Though the goblin eyed him with a hint of irritation, he did as asked and scurried away. Harry turned his attention back to Dumbledore and responded, "I did, but it wasn't essential to my plans. I couldn't be sure Phineas would tell you, could I?"
His patience gradually wearing thin, Dumbledore didn't mince words when he replied, "I can only imagine why."
"I believe you have questions for me," Harry instigated, curious if he would outright ask about Tom Riddle's Diary.
"Please drop your willful ignorance, Mr. Flamel," he sternly demanded. "This act of yours will not convince me you had no part in the theft of my desk."
Feigning a look of shock, Harry innocently asked, "Someone stole your desk? Did you get it back?"
Dumbledore dispensed with the formalities, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. "My patience has nearly reached its limits, young man," he warned. "To the best of my ability, I've endeavored to extend a hand in friendship and respect. But at every turn, my efforts have been met with consistent rejection. Well, no longer. Moving forward, it's imperative you become unequivocally transparent with me. Failure to do so will leave me with no other recourse but to escort you to the DMLE myself, and bring upon you charges of thievery. Do I make myself clear?"
Far from intimidated, Harry calmly replied, "I know you'd like for me to be completely transparent, Headmaster, but I'm not going to do that—not completely, anyway. Your fixation with the past colors your entire worldview, and I can't focus on that—not when the future obviously matters more."
"If you hold those words to be true, then you are not alone," Dumbledore espoused with unwavering belief. "Every action I take is to safeguard the prosperity and well-being of witches and wizards everywhere."
Having none of it, Harry rolled his eyes as he returned, "Oh, spare me—I'm not buying. And more to the point, pretty affectations aren't going to help people survive what's coming—least of all me."
"I'm not putting on airs, Mr. Flamel," Dumbledore defended. "Change is only possible when one fiercely upholds the belief that the morally righteous path can lead to a host of positive outcomes—not simply for the individual, but also for society as a whole."
Exasperated by his preachiness, Harry regarded the elder with squinted eyes of disbelief as he retorted, "What did I just say?"
"Why so resistant?" Dumbledore persisted. "Ideals are powerful motivators—providing a sense of direction and purpose. Many positive changes occur in society when people are driven by strong ideals. Shouldn't we all strive for that? Wouldn't you?"
"In case you couldn't tell, I'm not in the mood for your sanctimonious word vomit," Harry quipped with a sigh of annoyance. "The only powerful motivator I want to hear come out of your mouth is how you plan on taking out Voldemort—because that's all that matters. And in all honesty, that should be the only thing about me you ought to care about."
Before Dumbledore could offer any further argument, a different bank teller from the one Harry previously instructed returned. Though Dumbledore clearly wanted to say more, he refrained while Harry turned to the goblin.
"Bank Manager Ranrok is unavailable at the moment," the new teller said. "However, he has prepared your delivery. If your companion would like to wait for you-"
"It's fine, he can come," Harry said.
Turning to Harry with a quizzical expression, an astonished Dumbledore asked, "You trust me now?"
Unable to resist a knowing smirk, Harry sarcastically quipped, "Just what you've always wanted, Headmaster."
The goblin didn't move, citing, "I must insist he remain-"
"I said it's fine," Harry reiterated. "Or we can wait for Bank Manager Ranrok."
With a reluctant grumble in his throat, the goblin finally said, "…This way, please."
They followed the goblin to a private room. There were plush black couches facing each other, with a polished coffee table between them. Upon the table rested a large, ornate wooden box, taking up a quarter of the length of the table and standing at half a foot in height. Considering there should only be two daggers inside, the box seemed bigger than necessary.
'There it is,' he happily thought, looking forward to testing its full capabilities against Týr and his crew. Turning to the goblin teller, he asked, "What was your name?"
"…Grodbert, sir," the teller replied.
With a calculated assessment of the situation, Harry had an expectation of the enemy ahead. Despite only meeting Týr once, Harry knew that the goblin assassin was a professional—he trusted that—and thus asked, "Grodbert, please bring me the box. I'd like to take it with me."
Grodbert's snarl deepened as he impatiently responded, "…I am unworthy, sir."
Arching an eyebrow, a curious Harry asked, "Do you know what's inside?"
Grodbert confirmed, with a hint of irritation, "Of course, sir. Through the itemized receipt."
"Fine," Harry acquiesced, expecting as much. "Then just open the box and you may leave."
"I'm afraid that is not permitted, sir," Grodbert replied.
Dumbledore scrunched his brow in confusion, observing the exchange between the teller and Harry curiously as the teen boy remarked, "Figures." Before anyone could react, Harry whipped out his white wand, and in a swift motion, he instantly paralyzed the goblin with Petrificous Totalus.
"Mister Flamel!" Dumbledore called out, his wand already in hand, and aimed at Harry.
Though the teenage wizard wasn't a fan of having the most powerful wand in existence pointed at him—escalating the tension in the room—he ignored the Headmaster for the moment. He carefully strode over to the polished wooden box, heightening his level of magic to an extraordinary degree and sensing a hundred times more than he normally could. Harry's vibrant green eyes illuminated with power as his magic-sight appeared, and the young wizard scanned the box closely, revealing an ominous, twisting aurora exuding from the box.
He'd seen such a pattern before, but he was more concerned with what was inside the box. With his magic-sight, Harry could detect heavily enchanted metal, wood, and leather—his daggers weren't set up to ensnare him like the box was. They were genuine and ready to be used.
"Risky… though, I reckon he thought I wouldn't touch the box if I sensed they were fakes," Harry murmured to himself.
"Mr. Flamel… you've gone too far!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "Attacking a goblin within Gringotts? I cannot allow you to continue as you will. Hand over your wand or I'll be forced to take it from you."
Dumbledore raised his wand at the young wizard, a gesture heavy with forewarning, but Harry didn't mind. His magic-sight sensed Dumbledore's aura and it told him he had a few seconds to say, "I'm not related to Salazar Slytherin. Nor am I related to Tom Riddle." As Harry began to slowly levitate the coffee table, Dumbledore stilled his wand, allowing the teenage wizard to continue. "That's what you've been trying to learn, isn't it? Why you keep forcing me into situations… to figure out if I'm the next Dark Lord or not?"
As Harry began to rotate the table, Dumbledore's gaze remained locked on him. When the polished box atop the table began to slide, the teenage wizard stopped it with a sticking charm whilst continuing to rotate the furniture.
With his wand still pointing at Harry, Dumbledore cautiously asked, "Then who are you? Where do you come from, and what is the source of your magic?"
As the gravitational force began to open the lid of the rotating box, he answered, "Again, with that. Look, forget about my past. I don't have a shred of interest in sharing what I've done or where I come from with you or anyone! Ever!" The lid was fully open now, and Harry could see his beautiful weapons as he added, "But I'll tell you this much about me. If by some miracle I don't die killing Voldemort, expect my disappearance within the day. I've had my absolute fill dealing with society's problems. All I want is to live by myself in a place where no one knows me."
At the flashes of faces of his friends, Harry wondered why his words didn't feel as true as they used to. Soon enough, the contents of the box fell out. On the floor, dropped two needle-point daggers and a black holster designed for them. The weapons, each eleven inches (28 cm) in length, sported six-inch double-edged blades with an intricate gold and black pattern. These were not meant for slicing off limbs; they were designed for the visceral work of close-quarters combat—for up-close, bloody work. The black holster was fashioned to sheath the blades at Harry's lower back, fitting snugly over his vest but beneath his coat.
As Harry summoned the weapons to him, the daggers quickly bonded with his magic. He could feel their presence, as if they were an extension of his hand. They must've had a core as well since he could focus his magic through them, lighting them as if he cast Lumos.
'Nice,' Harry thought, mentally reminding himself to ask for specifications later. After donning the black holster, he slid the combat knives back into their space—hearing the audible click which told him they were secure—as he said, "Getting in my way for something as useless as learning where I was born is only going to help Voldemort. And I have no faith that you'll stop bothering me with this obsession, so the only thing I care to know right now is: will you—at the very least—help me save your students."
"Is that why I'm here?" Dumbledore inquired, his voice tinged with a mix of caution and contemplation.
"Again, I wasn't expecting you to actually show, but now that you have, yes, that's why you're here," Harry replied firmly. "I'm still going to do what I need to, regardless of your answer. So, what'll it be?"
After a grumbling second of thought, a skeptical Dumbledore inquired, "How exactly would you like me to assist you?"
"Once I'm gone, take Grodbert to Bank Manager Ranrok and tell him what happened," Harry began in a business-like tone. Extending his forearm, his midnight black phoenix hopped on it. Eying his familiar, he said, "Nova, I know you're not going to like it, but for me, I need you to stay with Dumbledore for as long as you can. When you flame to me, bring him with you, understood?"
Nova eyed the revered Headmaster a moment. For a moment Harry wasn't certain if Nova would, not after the binding Dumbledore put on her leg. However, Fawkes' soft trill seemed to convince Nova, and she flapped her mighty wings—causing a gust—and leaped toward Dumbledore, landing on his shoulder.
Harry's glaring green eyes bore into Dumbledore's as he issued a chilling ultimatum, "If you do anything to Nova, I'm killing Fawkes. That's a promise. Do we understand each other?"
Under the weight of Harry's homicidal green eyes, Dumbledore eventually nodded, a tentative understanding passing between them. And though the Headmaster asked for more details about the students, Harry simply summoned the box to his hand. The instant his fingers touched the surface, the room seemed to shift and twist. As he guessed, it was a portkey, and the moment he touched it, the teen wizard immediately warped out of the private room.
In the blink of an eye, Harry landed in a dark cavernous room made of cold stone. Immediately, a heavy atmosphere weighed on him, threatening to suffocate him, and almost instinctively, he knew down to his bones what it was—a dark cell. His conscious mind was instantly transported to that deep, dark, and cold cell in Azkaban. Panic surged through every inch of Harry and his heart raced with an unparalleled need to escape. But as he reached the iron door and gripped the coarse bars, a sudden wave of despair crippled his body. The world began to blur at the edges, his vision fading until he saw nothing but black.
Pain quickly spread throughout his body, waking him. Eyes still closed, Harry groaned as he heard cursing in what sounded like gibberish, and then the sound of a heavy door closing with a loud CLANG. Jolted by the grating sound, Harry's head snapped up and he realized he lay sprawled on the floor. Since Nova wasn't with him, he surmised it hadn't been long since he lost consciousness.
'I'm in a cell again,' his mind slowly realized. The crippling anxiety began to build, but just then, an unsettling sound pierced the silence—a guttural, malevolent cackling. It sliced through his despair, and Harry recalled himself. Fighting the dread, his indomitable will told him there was an enemy that needed killing. He told himself he needed to protect his friends or they would end up just like those he had lost—heads on a wall.
A hoarse groan escaped his parched lips, and Harry managed to summon enough strength to croak, "…Týr?" Mildly disoriented, as if the room was spinning, he struggled to collect himself as he asked, "Wh-where am I?"
"I knew you would come, boy," Týr said, his sadistic voice slithering through the bars. "Your capabilities have made you arrogant. That is why you will die today—alone, in the cold."
Pushing himself upright, Harry approached the metal door with its barred window. His trembling hands instinctively checked his equipment, confirming that he still had his wand and his knives. He thought it odd; as disarming him would've been the first thing he'd have done if he were in Týr's position. Then a hazy memory recalled two key details—passing out not long after entering the cell and the anti-tamper mechanism in his suit.
Glaring at the goblin assassin through the bars, Harry retorted, "'Arrogance,' he says… Unfortunately for you, it's not arrogance if you can back it up, and you made the monumental mistake of coming after me and mine. I mean to bury you!"
Týr nearly seemed humored as he explained in his venomous tone, "The prison that you're trapped in is made of a silver ore only known to goblins." Harry recalled Ragnuk using a similar metal as the dark goblin continued. "It's enchanted to prevent escape, to torture you, or to kill you all by my will. And we've taken special precautions to nullify you and your phoenix from aparating. If you so much as attempt to use magic, you will be gassed with a concentrated torrent of Essence of Death. It will feel as if a dozen Dementors are sucking every ounce of goodness from your entire being, and the best part is, you won't even die. You'll simply go mad. So, I beg you come closer, boy. I want to relish the look of despair carved onto your face as you inevitably realize you're powerless to do anything but die when I deem it so."
"'…When you deem so,'" Harry repeated, a glimmer of amusement curving the corner of his lips. "So, not now, I reckon."
"In time," the dark goblin confirmed with a snarl. "For the moment, I have every intention of making you suffer for staining my honor. For the humiliation you brought upon me, I will break you here, boy."
Harry couldn't help but taunt with a touch of scorn in his voice as he easily reasoned, "Ah… because you failed to kill me before, even though you took me by surprise and had me trapped. Yeah, that would be pretty embarrassing." He snickered before adding, "So, what's the plan, then? Are you going to serve me up to your false king in the desperate hopes he'll no longer think you're a pathetic loser-AAAHHHHHMMMMNNNNNNN!"
A searing jolt of electricity shot through his system, tearing a raw, agonizing cry from his lips. It took the suit a moment to dampen the pain and shock seizing his body, but it couldn't fully shield him from the torment stabbing him from the inside out. The writhing agony seemed to stretch on for an eternity, and when the electric torment finally ended, Harry slumped to the cold floor, his body trembling and gasping for air.
"Mind your words, boy," Týr angrily hissed. "That insolent spirit will change when I deliver to you the heads of your parents, of your friends, or anyone you hold dear."
More than the lingering pain traversing his every nerve, Harry felt the icy terror of imagining the beheaded forms of his loved ones presented to him. He was dreading it with every fiber of his being. However, he also felt his phoenix. He could sense Nova was growing restless, and that small comfort was enough to calm him.
Harry chuckled before stating, "So… y-you were… going to attack the wedding."
"To get to you or your parents, the Black wedding seemed an easy enough target—no matter how well you prepare," the goblin affirmed.
Panting with sweat dripping down his nose, Harry huffed, "You know… I told Black… that was the best way to trap you… and your crew."
"Of course you did," Týr said, not at all surprised, as if it was factored into his plan. As gleeful as goblins could, he gloated, "You should've stayed in your hole forever. Now my goblins will infiltrate the Black home on Grimmauld and end your parents' lives for king and nation."
Harry leaned languidly against the cell door, his back to the bars, as he said, "You don't get it. I knew you wouldn't fall for anything fake… which is why we had to go with the wedding. Just like you knew I wouldn't fall for anything fake to draw me out, which is why you went with the daggers. You already had someone inside Gringotts, which is how you knew what Nicolas had done, and used the blades to draw me out."
"Before you get ahead of yourself," Týr began. "The only reason you're conscious is to bear witness when my team returns with the head of your parents. There is no escaping this cell-"
"Spare me," Harry interrupted. "The first thing you tried to do was take my weapons from me, but you couldn't, could you? At least, not with this armor, and not before I woke up. But even if you had managed to take my wand and my knives, haven't you noticed that I don't have my phoenix with me?"
Týr was silent, as if running calculations in his head.
"It's a funny thing about that bird," Harry continued defiantly, recovering more strength with every passing second. "In the beginning, she was incapable of staying away from me for longer than a minute or two. Now, she can last for many more minutes and pops up near enough around me. And if she happens to bring someone with her… Albus Dumbledore, for example—one of the strongest wizards alive. Professor Flitwick, an undefeated dueling champion; or maybe King Ragnuk's strongest goblin, followed by his armies. Maybe all the above? Maybe I let myself get caught because I'm willing to bet my connection with a legendary creature will trump any concealment charms you have. She'll bring the weapon that'll destroy you, Týr." Harry laughed, glaring at the frustrated goblin before stating, "Have fun."
Týr cursed emphatically in his native tongue. Before he raced away to likely warn someone, he pressed something on the wall beside the cell door, stating, "Then, obviously, it only makes sense to kill you now."
In an instant, the room began filling with noxious gas, prompting Harry to quickly rip a healing button and swallow it before holding his breath. Týr must've pressed something else because he suddenly felt like every nerve in his body was being stabbed with thousands of knives. With every ounce of willpower he possessed, Harry held onto the iron bars to stay upright, knowing he only needed seconds. He couldn't think but to hold on, waiting as he was tortured with wave upon wave of unbridled pain.
The room resounded with screams of Harry's agony, reverberating throughout the hallway of cells. Under a maddening whirlwind of pain, desperation for it to end made him plead incoherently for death or release, or both. When the Essence of Death finally entered his nostrils, Harry instantly felt frozen and decaying, as if dead and dripping chunks of flesh. As the gas erased all hope, happiness, or love within him, Harry could no longer think of a single reason to hold on, which would only extend his agony.
Just as he let go, falling back into the dark, thick plume of Essence of Death, a hand swiftly reached through the iron bars and snatched his. It was a frail-looking hand, but its grip was strong, and without the time or presence of mind to comprehend how, Harry was magically pulled through the narrow bars of the cell door.
Once free from the suicidal smoke and crippling pain, Harry dropped to his knees, his breathing irregular and labored. Nova was on his shoulder soon after, her healing talons in his flesh to help ease the pain. It took Harry several moments to shake the severe pain and depression, but he finally heard Dumbledore's seemingly distant voice ask, "Mr. Flamel, are you alright?! Can you hear me, Mr. Flamel?!"
As Harry tried to gather his breathing, Dumbledore continued trying to get a response from him, and after many more moments, the sweaty teen finally nodded. His first instinct was to take out the shrunken trunk on a chain around his neck for his medical supplies; however, Týr opened the metal door at the end of the hall. At the sight of Harry—out of his cell and with the revered Albus Dumbledore behind him—the shocked goblin stopped in his tracks. On the other end, the sight of the goblin assassin brought a sinister smile across Harry's face.
"What was that… about arrogance?" a weary Harry asked, his voice slicing through the distance like a blade. The irate teenage wizard began advancing on the goblin, his every step resonating with an exponential surge of magical power. The very air around him seemed to ionize, warp, and wave, as if bowing to his sharp increase of power. Harry's emerald eyes blazed like flickering green fire, darkening the space around him.
Rather than engage the crazy wizard, Týr slammed shut the metal door, and a loud clanging, as if a locking mechanism was initiating, could be heard. Harry raised his death-white wand, and without uttering a word, cast a Confringo that obliterated the entire wall to pieces, as if a bomb detonated. Out of the rubble, Harry saw a dust-covered Týr shove debris off himself and stand. Blood streaming down his face from the wound on his forehead, the goblin struggled to flee.
Before Harry gave chase, Dumbledore called out, "Mr. Flamel! I understand they've wronged you, but do not cross a line you will come to regret. Prove to me that you're not like those men who'd happily subjugate or murder others whenever they wish."
Harry tilted his head to speak, his voice chillingly calm as he said, "Protecting the bullies again, Headmaster? Would you like to have a chat with them over tea and crumpets? Maybe figure out if they have low self-esteem?" Harry continued walking down the corridor as he boldly declared, "The time for talk is over. They're the ones who crossed the ledge. Now it's time for the fall."
Dumbledore aimed his wand squarely at the young wizard's back, but with as much magic coursing throughout Harry's entire being, he could feel the fluctuation in the air. He quickly transfigured three sturdy walls between them before flaming to the end of the hall. Dumbledore's magic was so concentrated, that his stunning spell—judging by the red light and feel of the spell—broke through all three barriers, but missed the teen.
Harry didn't run up the stone stairway connected to the dungeon. To catch up with Týr and remain ahead of Dumbledore, he flamed up the stairs by sight. The stairway turned at sharp right angles, and after four jumps, Harry was already at the metal door leading to the level above the dungeon. With a wave of his wand, he blew through the door and the surrounding portion of the wall, rocketing out large chunks of rubble.
The thick haze of fine dust covered the entire area, but with Harry's magic-sight, he could easily see through the swirling particles. He saw that he was in a large cavernous area with many goblins throughout. Stepping over the scattered remnants of the destroyed wall, one of the many goblins in the room apparated to his side.
The goblin warrior seemed primed to thrust a blade into Harry's side, but in an effortless display of power, the young wizard banished the attacker with such force, the goblin cratered inches deep into the stone wall. The group of goblins all witnessed their comrade being launched out of the smoke and into the wall before listlessly slumping to the ground, unconscious.
"Týr!" Harry's voice boomed, getting the attention of every dark goblin in the room. He magically settled all the dust in the air so they would see his enraged presence as he demanded, "Say their names again! I dare you!"
With his glowing death-green eyes, Harry could see heavily fluctuating emotions from the gathered group of dark goblins. Some of the magic he sensed felt young to Harry, while others felt old. The expansive space around them seemed to be a training area with various equipment and apparatus. Harry surmised the room was used to train goblin soldiers, explaining the hesitation of the younger warriors when confronted by his overwhelming magical prowess, while the others only hardened themselves.
"You had the gall to threaten the lives of my friends and family!" Harry's voice thundered, pointing his deathly white wand at a group of goblins and banishing them all with such force, it was as if they were shot out of a cannon.
A team of six goblins attempted a coordinated attack, apparating in sequence to fool him into missing the ultimate blade that would stab him. However, Harry sensed the nearly imperceptible intent in the displacement in the air and banished all six veteran goblins the moment they popped into physical space, rocketing them in different directions.
Initially primed for battle, the mass of warrior goblins seemed wary of the deadly wizard now. As they reexamined their enemy, Harry yelled, "Call them, Týr! Call your team back, or I bring this entire mountain down!"
Týr finally appeared ahead of his uneasy company, covered in dust and bleeding from the forehead. He glared at Harry as he said, "It would seem you still care for their welfare. Wouldn't it make more sense to scar you for life with their deaths than to recall my brethren?"
Harry felt Dumbledore step off the staircase, through the large hole Harry had created. Though Harry was prepared to counter any spell the sage wizard casted, he simply walked up beside him. The gathered goblins knew who the wizard with the long white beard was, and at the possibility of facing two formidable wizards, their trepidation doubled.
Harry took his glaring green eyes off the goblin assassin to focus on the enormous structure of the entire mountain. Sensing through the stone walls, he stated, "There are nine levels in this underground city. I can see the residential area, the educational and medical area, the agricultural and crafting section, and what looks to be a throne room. What a large seat. Must be for an important goblin—though, he seems nervous." Returning his glowing eyes to the threat to his loved ones, Harry told Týr, "All I need to know is who matters more."
Harry began vibrating the earth around him with the spell he learned in Herbology—Terrae Motus. The ground trembled beneath his feet and streams of dust began to fall from the stone ceiling above. The threat to everyone in the mountain was clear to everyone gathered as Harry's resolute voice demanded, "Does killing those I care about matter more to you than the brethren behind you? Than the families in the residential area? Than the king in your throne room? Because I won't hesitate to kill them all if you don't call your team back!"
As the seismic tremors intensified—causing the quaking room to reverberate with the frightening sounds of stones cracking—Týr remained silent. He only glared at Harry while his mind raced with the pros and cons of his next few words.
"To what end, might I ask," Dumbledore interjected, raising his voice over the rumbling. "If this goblin recalls his team, what will you do?"
Looking at all the warrior goblins gathered in the room, he amplified his voice as he asked, "Do the goblins here keep to the old ways?"
"More than any other," Týr yelled with ferocity.
"Then I challenge Týr and his team to a Wager of Battle," Harry yelled. "As per your ancient custom, you cannot refuse."
"…And the terms?" Dumbledore inquired, though seemingly in disapproval.
"To the death," Týr practically spat out, his vitriol for Harry evident.
Dumbledore tried to dissuade the goblin, stating, "Surely, it needn't go-"
However, Harry readily agreed with the stake. "Fine, but after you're dead, my friends and family are off-limits. In fact, everyone at school. If you want to war with Ragnuk, I don't care, but don't drag those I care about into your feud. Is that clear? Or do I have to explain how I will salt the earth with the bones of dark goblins if any of you target anyone I care about again?"
"In keeping with the old ways, no wands, no armor," Týr stipulated.
"Fine," Harry quickly agreed, promptly removing his overcoat.
"No phoenix," he added.
"Fine," he agreed, unfastening the leather holster that held his knives.
Casting an appraising look at Dumbledore, Týr added another condition: "No interference."
"Merlin's balls! Fine!" Harry snapped back.
With a sneering approval, Týr snapped his fingers, producing a purple spark, as he stated, "I accept your Wager of Battle." Harry ended the Terrae Motus charm and the mountain finally ceased quaking. Just then, two pairs of goblins appeared on either side of Týr. They were clad in a magical black attire that obscured the regular sight. However, with Harry's magic-sight, he could clearly see them—their magic and intent.
The only thing Harry demanded to know of Týr was, "Did they …?"
Sensing the gravity of Harry's glare, the goblin team leader exchanged a quick look with each of his teammates. They all shook their heads, easing Harry's concern for the safety of his friends. The confirmation was all Harry needed to continue removing articles of his protective garments. Once he was down to his boxer-briefs, he had intended to hand over his clothes to Dumbledore—who was astonished by the other, larger scars on his body—when he suddenly thought better of it. Instead, Harry conjured parchment and a pencil and wrote a fast note before giving it all to Nova.
"Take it to Draco and come right back," he instructed his avian familiar before she disappeared in a flashy burst of flames.
Nova reappeared moments later and rested on a stand next to Fawkes when she returned. There was no stage prepared for the impending duel. All the dark goblins simply moved back several meters, giving the combatants ample room. Harry clutched his twin knives tightly, while Týr and his team spread out, moving into position to strike. No one began until their leader, Vorkalth, entered the large training area, and the ensuing exchange took some minutes.
Dumbledore stood beside Harry and asked, "For you to insist on doing this… Is there a message you'd like me to relay to anyone, should the worst happen?"
Harry didn't dignify that question with an answer. His attention was fixed on the enemies ahead of him. The exchange between Vorkalth and his men didn't last long, and their king seemed to agree to the terms. Harry thought the goblin leader was lucky, for if he hadn't agreed to the Wager of Battle, he would've simply killed everyone in the room.
As the pressure in the room doubled, Harry suggested, "You should step back."
Though he appeared to want to say more, Dumbledore stepped away from the impending battle, returning to the phoenixes perched on their bird stand.
The room resounded with an uproar of cheers for Týr and his team, chanting for their victory, and yet, Harry heard none of it. His unbroken focus remained on the assassin team, imagining the strategies they would employ to try to kill him. He knew the five were fast, precise, and efficient, and considering their numbers, the most obvious strategy would be to overwhelm him. Even if Harry killed four of them, as long as the fifth one killed him, his efforts would mean nothing.
Despite the many ways they could attempt to trap him, Harry was confident of two things. Firstly, the battle wouldn't take long—a whirlwind of chaos all within the span of a heartbeat. Secondly, he was certain they would come to him, whether for honor or glory, it didn't matter to him.
Harry's hyper-aware senses felt a subtle disturbance in the air near Nova, a telltale ripple that preceded a goblin appearing there, its blade ready to stab his familiar. Swift as a thought, Harry unleashed a torrent of magical force to summon the goblin by its neck with enough force to create an audible SNAP. Despite the death of the goblin hurtling through the air toward Harry, two goblins appeared on opposite sides of him, ready to attack while another attempted another attack on Nova. They apparated with such precision, as if they were a hive mind, and wouldn't allow Harry a moment to think. However, it was fortunate they were so precise.
In the heart of the intense skirmish, Harry's thoughts raced as swiftly as the daggers aimed at his ribs, honing his focus as he invoked the incantation, 'Arresto Momentum.' Time itself seemed to slow for the two goblins flanking him on either side as he summoned the goblin attacking Nova. It was in that very moment that Týr apparated in front of him, his dagger primed to stab Harry in the heart. The point of his magical dagger would've pierced his skin if Harry hadn't twisted his torso enough to allow the very first goblin he summoned to take the hit.
Týr's blade cut into the body of his comrade just when Harry let his daggers go and magically controlled them to orbit around him with the strength and speed of a blender. Immediately, Týr's hand was sliced off while chunks of his team's flesh were sliced off. It was as if the dark goblins had thrown themselves into a hurricane of blades, splattering blood everywhere.
Amidst the carnage of blood, Týr struggled to crawl away, gripping the heavily bleeding nub of his severed arm. He inched desperately away across the cold, stone floor, but Harry was a tempest of unrelenting fury and magic. He extended his arm, summoning the goblin, and the helpless assassin flew through the air before being caught by his neck. Glaring at the young wizard with goblin blood splattered across his face, the enraged Týr screeched violently, and Harry didn't hesitate to stab the goblin in his heart. His face twisted to one of pain and then eerie nothingness. Harry watched the light escape Týr's eyes before unceremoniously dropping the body.
The frenetic battle unfolded in a breathtaking blur, and the surrounding observers were reduced to silence. As his daggers flew into his hands, Harry turned to dark goblins—his emerald eyes still aflame with raw power—and warned, "Come after me or anyone I care about again, and there won't be a Wager of Battle. I'll kill every last one of you."
Vorkalth's gaze shifted from his butchered warriors on the stone floor to the green-eyed death incarnate, and though trembling with frustration, the goblin leader reluctantly nodded. Despite the different dialects of gobbledegook, Harry understood Vorkalth as he explained something along the lines of honoring tradition, as it was their way. So long as they understood, that was all that mattered to Harry. When Nova landed on his shoulder, Harry felt comfortable turning his back to the dark goblins.
With a sense of regret in his tone, Dumbledore said, "Though it would appear Hogwarts students are no longer in danger, I'm saddened by the loss of life it took to achieve it."
Harry shook his head as he replied, "Yeah, I'm sure Daphne would prefer to have her father back."
"It is not our place to serve as judge, jury, and executioner," Dumbledore lectured, ever the advocate for mercy and restraint.
Unswayed, Harry countered with, "I wasn't the one who proposed a duel to the death."
"You didn't decline either," the steadfast Headmaster returned.
Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head as the pragmatic teen replied, "Whatever, I'll gladly accept your disapproval if it means those I care about are safe."
"So it seems," Dumbledore ultimately stated. "Before returning to Auror Black's wedding, I'd like for you to accompany me to St. Mungo's so that they may look you over. The torture you sustained in that cell is no doubt still afflicting you."
"I'll have Nelle give me a once over," Harry cited. "Plus… I could do with some clothes first."
"Before you go," Dumbledore began. "You ought to know you destroyed something important—not only to me, but to others."
"Who?"
"That diary was the best opportunity to learn how to defeat Lord Voldemort," he revealed. "And because of your actions, the Potters remain in mortal peril."
With a hint of skepticism, Harry asked, "Do they know that?"
"I see no reason to reveal what are only my suspicions," the elder unabashedly reasoned, maintaining an adherence to secrecy.
'Of course,' Harry thought in disbelief before stating, "I'm sure Professor Potter is old enough to make that decision on her own."
Guided by his grand beliefs, Dumbledore emphasized, "If you would but trust me when I say all I do is for the betterment of witches and wizards everywhere—beginning with Hardwin and Lily Potter—then we may have a higher chance of saving us all."
"If you want me to believe that, tell them everything you've been withholding," Harry countered, not at all buying his words. "I do think you can be of help, professor. You proved that today. If you hadn't intervened, I'm pretty sure there would've been a lot more bodies. You just need to stop thinking you can do this all by yourself. Someone I loathe told me you need to create a space where you're completely comfortable moving in if you want anything to change."
"I may have lost such a space a long time ago," Dumbledore admitted with a hint of deep-rooted sorrow.
Harry knew he was referring to the tragic loss of his sister. Although Dumbledore loved his younger sister very much, a much younger Dumbledore was resentful when he was forced to abandon his ambitious plans to stay home and take care of Ariana after their mother's death. He blamed himself when she tried to intervene in a fight between himself, Grindelwald, and Aberforth. As someone who knew what it was like to lose loved ones, Harry could imagine why Dumbledore was so driven to be the opposite of what he once was.
"It's never too late, as the saying goes," Harry offered empathetically. "I'll see you at the wedding."
With those parting words, Harry flamed away and landed in the elegant study of the Black townhouse on Grimmauld. Expecting to meet Draco, Nicolas, and Perenelle—as they are who he wrote his message to—Harry was taken aback to find Hermione, Fleur, Daphne, Tracey, Sirius, Lily, Remus, Arthur, and Bill waiting along with them. They were just as surprised to see him, covered in blood and dust, wearing nothing but his necklace, a wrist holster for his wand, and his boxer-briefs.
Hermione, Perenelle, and Lily quickly directed their concern to his bloodied and bruised state. Daphne and Fleur seemed more aware of his near-nudity, a fact accentuated by his well-sculpted, muscular physique in his thin boxer-briefs. Draco covered Tracey's eyes, but Harry couldn't feel overly embarrassed. He spent six months working out and the results showed despite being covered in blood, dust, and grime. The others in the gathered group seemed surprised by the knives in his hands.
Feeling a tremendous urge to break the stunned silence, Harry turned a stern eye on Draco and demanded through gritted teeth, "Why're there so many people here?"
"What was I supposed to do?" Draco defensively retorted. "Your bloody bird flamed in front of everyone and left nothing but your clothes. They wouldn't believe me when I said you were fine."
Lethargically removing her wand, a somewhat frustrated Perenelle approached the bloody boy as she interjected, "Please tell me that's not your blood?"
Hiding his daggers behind his back, Harry tried to reassure her, stating, "I'm fine."
Sirius kept everyone back to give Perenelle room to examine him. After a moment, she sighed, slumping her shoulders as she said, "You are most certainly not fine!" As a stubborn Harry grumbled and looked away, she turned to Sirius and added, "I need to treat him. Is there a room you can spare?"
He nodded and informed them of the second door down the hall. Perenelle was shooing Harry out of the door when he stopped and turned to everyone. His original plan was to get dressed and alert Sirius that the threat had been neutralized. However, since many of the witches and wizards Týr threatened were there, he cleared his throat to speak.
"Everything's fine now," he solemnly told them. "Dark Goblins aren't going to come after you anymore." Eyeing Hermione and Fleur—giving him thoughts of the past—a haunted Harry couldn't help adding remorsefully, "I'm sorry for putting you in danger. I didn't mean for that- I'd never want that for you… any of you."
"We would never want that for any of you," Perenelle corrected, placing a comforting hand on his bare shoulder. She eyed him as if to remind him that they were a team, and Harry nodded.
"They were targeting us and that put you all in harm's way," Nicolas stated beside them. "For that, we are forever sorry."
"You have nothing to apologize for," Lily spoke up, stepping forward. "They were the ones trying to harm us, not you. Don't put that on yourselves."
Standing beside Lily, Sirius chimed in with a charismatic, "You have friends here, not clueless bystanders. So, rather than apologize, how about we celebrate with a glass of Ogden's later tonight?"
"He's underage, Padfoot!" Remus staunchly reminded him.
"I think he's earned it," Sirius mischievously returned with a grin.
Harry smiled. Turning to Hermione, Fleur, and Daphne, he said, "I'll see you later."
"Save him a dance," Nicolas added with a knowing grin.
Before Harry could refute that, Perenelle playfully pressed him out of the room. As it turns out, Harry was suffering lingering effects from the Essence of Death and the Cruciatus-like curse he suffered in the cell. His muscles and nerve endings had sustained damage, and his psyche suffered under the weight of a persistent cloud of negativity, making him more susceptible to anger, depression, or melancholy. After a refreshing shower, taking all the potions Perenelle gave him, and eating a generous dose of happiness through the magical effect of chocolate, Harry felt noticeably better.
Harry spent the hours leading up to the ceremony in the embrace of a comfortable bed. Nova and Dobby stood watchful guard over him out of a sense of duty and care. As the evening drew near, he dressed in his formal wedding robes before entering the Black family mansion through the grand fireplace. Despite dressing the part of high society, Harry couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place in the grand and opulent foyer of the luxurious home. He had encountered wealth and luxury in the wizarding world before, but nothing quite like this.
As he was led to the banquet hall where the ceremony would take place, he was overwhelmed by the sheer sight of it all. The floor beneath his feet was an intricate mosaic of marble and precious stones, arranged in patterns that showcased exquisite craftsmanship. The ceiling was at such a height, Harry had to crane his head back to take in the immense height. The white and gold walls of the spacious hallway were lined with dark oak framed oil paintings of aristocratic witches and wizards he was unfamiliar with—likely distant ancestors of the Black family. The portraits all eyed him and his phoenix curiously, but did not speak with him.
Guided by Dobby, they walked past a grand sweeping staircase—with its elaborately carved mahogany banister—that led to the upper floors. With each step toward the heart of the mansion, they passed suits of armor and display cases, showcasing many unique magical artifacts. Though, in all honesty, the grandeur of his surroundings felt less like a home and more like a palace steeped in history and luxury.
Amidst the enchanting ambiance, Harry met Hermione and Fleur at the entrance of the grand ballroom, and in their dresses, they looked beautiful—far more so than he had expected. Fleur was a vision of ethereal beauty, captivating him with every sway of her poses. Her dress was a masterpiece of design, hugging her form exquisitely and accentuating her model curves. Its off-the-shoulder neckline framed her delicate collarbones and layers of pleated fabric cascaded around her, exuding an air of regal splendor to her presence.
As stunning as Fleur was, Harry felt just as captured by Hermione. She wore a delicate floral lace bodice that highlighted her graceful figure. Her ruffle-trimmed skirt flowed gracefully as she moved, creating a soft and enticing allure to her. She had chosen to leave her chestnut brown hair down in loose waves, framing her face beautifully and enhancing her natural beauty. Her warm, honey-brown eyes sparkled with intelligence and a touch of zest. What entranced Harry the most was the sheer radiance of her smile. It was a genuine, heartwarming expression that reminded him the most of the Hermione he'd lost so long ago. The Hermione in front of him was just as beautiful, not because of any extravagant adornments, but because of her own natural grace and charm.
Harry struggled to find the words that could truly express how he felt at the sight of them. "Wow… you two… look… beautiful," he managed to stammer out.
He hated how long his gaze lingered and how warm his cheeks and neck felt. The intensity of his emotions—his attraction—caught him off guard, as though his body could not deny feelings of desire for them. His heart, generally steady, now raced. Not simply for their obvious beauty, but for the profound impact they had on his life. They shared bonds of friendship and love and he was acutely aware of how lucky he was to have them in his life.
After thanking Dobby for guiding him, the trio entered the breathtaking ballroom bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. The ceiling, high and vaulted, was a masterpiece of enchanted frescoes that depicted moving scenes of Sirius and Sharon meeting, dining, and falling in love. There were no more than forty comfortable chairs—twenty on the groom's side of the aisle and twenty on the bride's side—in front of a beautifully decorated staircase where the groom waited. As Harry walked to his seat, many other guests—mostly Aurors and other ministry employees—stole glances of him and his phoenix.
Harry knew that Daphne, Tracey, and even Draco were part of the ceremony, so they weren't around when he settled in his seat beside Nicolas and Perenelle. Beside him sat Hermione and her parents. In front of them sat the Delacours, Amelia and Susan Bones, and Cornelius Fudge. And Harry noted in the first row was Sirius's family—the Tonks, and Narcissa Malfoy. Across the aisle, familiar faces included Dumbledore, Minerva, the Weasleys, the Longbottoms, and the Lovegoods. Some of the attendees were, of course, strangers to Harry, and there were several vacant seats throughout, likely for those taking part in the ceremony, such as Lily, Hardwin, Remus, Daphne, Astoria, Tracey, Draco, and a few others.
When the air in the grand ballroom began to shimmer like snowfall, a hush fell over the gathered guests, and the soft strains of enchanting music began to fill the space. The ornate chandeliers above caught the setting sun's golden rays and cast a warm glow below.
Led by the groomsman, the bridesmaids—in their elegant gowns—formed a graceful procession. Each step taken by the pair was accompanied by soft music, and their smiles radiated happiness and excitement. Harry's gaze couldn't help but fall on the effortless style of Daphne, in her chiffon lace evening gown adorned with delicate sequins and an A-line scoop sweep train. Her blonde hair was styled elegantly, cascaded in soft waves around her bare shoulders. Walking down the aisle, the elegant and graceful girl exuded regal beauty, with her long neck, high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes. In the soft shimmering created in the room, Daphne was truly captivating.
At the heart of the ceremony, Sharon, a vision of grace and beauty, walked down the aisle on the arm of her father. Her pure white wedding dress was masterfully crafted, a form-fitting gown with delicate lace and intricate embroidery that shimmered along with the dancing lights in the room. Her veil cascaded like a waterfall, and couldn't hide her sunny smile as she stepped closer to her husband-to-be.
Harry observed the immense happiness on Sirius's face when he took Sharon's hand. As the officiant began to speak to the couple and their assembled guests, Harry couldn't help but question why his Sirius couldn't have that. Surrounded by love and joy, he couldn't help wondering why all the people he loved were denied their happy endings. All they wanted in life was to live in peace and raise a family, yet a megalomaniac took it all away in the selfish pursuit of power.
The emotions in the room were palpable—a blend of joy and hope for the future—and Harry had a hard time enduring it. His hands were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. As Sirius and Sharon exchanged their heartfelt vows—words of love and promises of a better future together—Harry felt the urge to flee. However, to his surprise, Hermione placed her hand over his and gave it a gentle squeeze—helping him to calm down. As the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, Harry squeezed Hermione's hand in gratitude. The newlyweds shared their first kiss, and the ballroom erupted in jubilant cheers and applause.
The enchanting ceremony transitioned seamlessly into a lively celebration, and the grand ballroom transformed into a dazzling spectacle of festivity. Hundreds of floating candles and crystal chandeliers above cast a warm, golden glow that painted patterns of light and shadow on the polished dance floor below. The live orchestra filled the air with rich, melodious music, adding to the atmosphere of magic and merriment. Drinks were passed around to all, and the celebration was in full swing.
Having changed into their evening attire, Mr. and Mrs. Black were introduced as husband and wife for the first time before taking center stage on the dance floor. Harry had never anticipated Sirius would be so graceful on his feet, a sight he enjoyed. Midway through the song, Remus, the best man, stepped forward to dance with Sharon while Sirius danced with Tracey, his now stepdaughter. As the second song began to play, an invitation to join the dance floor was extended to the remaining guests.
For six songs straight, Harry was forced to dance—not that he hated the activity, but it was still a lot. He simply couldn't refuse Daphne, then Fleur, followed by Hermione, Perenelle, Tracey, Luna—though, in her case, they simply stood in front of each other and swayed from side-to-side—and to his surprise, Narcissa.
"I'd like to express my gratitude," she said in the middle of the dance. He wasn't sure what she was referring to, until she added, "I feel Draco has changed for the better ever since he became friends with you. He's even told me he wanted to pursue a career in medicine, as a healer. For all that you've done, I'm forever grateful."
"Oh," Harry replied. Feeling as though he should say more, he added, "Don't mention it."
There wasn't much talking in the middle of dancing—words became secondary to the language of movement. Partners communicated with grace and finesse, letting their steps and glances convey emotions in a way that words couldn't. However, aside from Narcissa, he complimented Daphne, telling her how beautiful he thought she looked. With Fleur, Harry faced a unique challenge. Her form-fitting dress, her alluring scent, her warmth… Harry struggled to maintain his composure, fighting himself to remain in control. He couldn't believe how strong the magnetic pull between them felt—as if he were a hormonal teen—and that worried him.
As their dance came to a close, Fleur's voice took on a seductive tone as she whispered, "Meet me in two hours. Come alone."
Harry didn't want to go. He knew it would mean submitting to a primal, illogical, useless side of himself. But somehow, he knew he was going to meet her in two hours. The complex emotions within him were the reason he took solace in his dance with Hermione. Because of all the girls in his life, she was the least complicated. Simply being with her was peaceful.
After dancing for what felt like hours, Harry finally took a break, settling at a table with his friends, where he recounted to them all that happened when he left that morning. To his surprise, the Weasley brood, Hardwin, and Susan Bones also sat nearby and listened. Harry was worried about how Hermione would accept his taking of goblin life, but she seemed accepting of the outcome. Dumbledore had likely already briefed Amelia, Sirius, Stéphane Delacour, and Cornelius Fudge on what happened.
Through the dancing, eating, and talking, the minutes ticked by painfully slow. Even at the two-hour mark, when Harry began leaving the ballroom, Nicolas and Perenelle stopped him to inquire if he'd like to walk the gardens with them, which he gently declined.
"I have to use the loo," he said, but that only made Perenelle more concerned.
"You're not feeling any side effects, are you?" she asked. "Should I check?"
"No, no," Harry quickly asserted, taking a step back. With a tight grin, he quickly replied, "I just drank too much butterbeer. That's all. You go. Have fun."
Nicolas and Perenelle eyed him curiously for a moment before taking their leave. Harry instantly activated his magic-sight to track the colorful trail of Fleur's scent, only to immediately shut it off when Sirius approached him and wrapped an arm around his neck.
"There he is!" the happy Auror bellowed.
Though Harry enjoyed seeing the man so happy, his agitation was only growing. Fortunately, Sharon was waving Sirius over. Harry pointed as he remarked, "Oh, your wife's waving."
With a big grin, Sirius admitted, "Oh Merlin, I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that." He turned to her and called out, "Coming!" before lowering his voice to tell Harry. "She just can't wait to open presents." Harry half-heartedly laughed, clenching his fist. "Anyway," Sirius continued. "I just wanted to say, that thing we've been searching for in the Black family home…" Harry instantly knew he meant Slytherin's Locket. "We found it."
Wide-eyed, Harry asked, "Really?"
"Sure did," Sirius confirmed with his ever-persistent grin. "We tested it and it's as you said. Let's you, me, your parents, and Amelia meet tomorrow and discuss what to do next. Sound like a plan?"
"Tomorrow. Got it," Harry agreed.
As Sirius joined Sharon to revel in the joys of opening their gifts, the teenage wizard was finally free to activate his magic-sight and follow Fleur's trail. The lilac color of her scent led him out into the wide hallway. After taking a left, he quickened his pace and soon arrived at the second door on the right. Stepping into the room, the space appeared to be a spacious coat room. The walls were adorned with ornate hooks—each holding a finely tailored robe or coat—and the air was thick with the scent of polished wood and ancient tapestries.
His heightened senses easily felt her presence before she pounced on him. With his instinctive reflexes, Harry effortlessly turned around and caught her around the waist, their bodies pressing together. In that electrifying moment, any pretense of control or restraint melted away as their lips met in a passionate kiss. Relinquishing control of her allure, they made out with such longing, as if they hadn't seen each other in months. Time seemed to stall as their locked lips moved in perfect synchronicity, rediscovering the taste and texture of one another.
While Fleur's arms were wrapped around his head, pulling him into her with fervor. Harry's hands were torn between holding her as close as possible and caressing the soft curvature of her back, hips, and rump. He was hungry for all of her—with a desire that assumed control of his body more than logic did—and couldn't decide where to focus. Their kisses deepened, each moment drawing them further into a whirlpool of passion, until an unexpected interruption shattered the spell.
A blade of light pierced through Harry's heart, protruding out of his chest, and jolting them apart.
I know. What a terrible place to leave the chapter on. You won't have to wait too long for the next chapter. A week at the max.
Terrea Motus charm doesn't exist but I imagine such a dirt digging charm would exist.
Just to be clear, Harry could've executed his plan without Dumbledore. I just assumed he would show up. But if he didn't, he could've used Sirius or Draco. Ultimately, I see Dumbledore as someone unwilling to bend his ideals and adapt to the situation. Whereas Harry is very much focused on any means necessary to get the job done. It was very interesting to write their interaction. I wanted to write more but it just didn't fit.
The fight between Harry and Tyr could've gone many different ways. I personally didn't see a one on one situation until Harry is facing Tyr last. The goblins fight as a single unit, so in my mind, they would all attack just to suss out that weak point in his defense. That blender move Harry did was also used when he was fighting the acromantula. There was also the option of having the battle at the wedding but I felt if the Dark Goblins had someone in Gringotts, they would know about Harry's order and Tyr would use that to snatch Harry. It was definitely interesting thinking about all the angles to ambush someone.
I think the next chapter will be interesting. Hope you guys enjoyed this one. Take care and have a great one,
-Grae
