ccxiv. start to believe
The day had finally come. The last task of the Triwizard Tournament was upon them.
To tell the truth, Harriet couldn't wait until it ended. The constant tumult of emotions running high banged around in her head like an unbalanced washing machine, and she would much rather the school returned to a sense of normalcy. Next year would have its own challenges, but it would—hopefully—be a bit quieter.
A nice, normal year, she told herself. Though, I can't imagine Slytherin's changed his mind about me being on the Quidditch team. Blighter.
The champions' families arrived at the Headmaster's invitation to support their children. Harriet happened to spot them as she was on her way to drop off a book in the library and escape into the Aerie. She paused with a few other students to peer into the Great Hall, seeing Diggory with his mum and dad—"Amos," she heard him called. Neville sat with his dad, the Auror, whom Harriet had noticed walking about Hogwarts on patrol a few times, as well as his step-mum Catherine Blishen. She had a little comb in hand and was fixing the part in Neville's hair, much to his frustration. Harriet guffawed.
"Come, come—you must meet my maman!" Fleur gushed as she dragged Elara by the arm, the usually composed witch suddenly as graceless as a newborn colt. "Maman! Par ici!"
"I, err—," Elara stuttered. She caught Harriet's eye and gave her a helpless look, to which Harriet simply shook her head. Elara grimaced as she was brought over to a beautiful witch with Fleur's features, the witch already holding Gabrielle's little hand.
"I'm sure they tried their best to be here," Karkaroff soothed a quiet, slump-shouldered Krum. His parents were not with him. "It was a last-minute decision on Dumbledore's part, you see. The trip came so sudden—."
"Yes, I know," Krum replied with a short nod, eyes fixed on the far wall. "It vould be hard for them to come."
Harriet watched Durmstrang's champion for a moment longer and almost wanted to comfort him, maybe try to cheer him up—but she'd done a bang-up job of avoiding Krum this term, and she planned on keeping that streak going. With one last glance into the Great Hall, she turned away and continued on to the library.
She was almost there, too, when she heard a familiar voice.
"—awful amount of time for such a thing. You must be exhausted, Albus!"
"No more so than any of my staff. They've worked hard to make it perfect."
"Oh, but I fear for the state of your Quidditch pitch, oui? Those hedges—."
Harriet rounded the corner at the end of the corridor at a dead run, shoes skidding on the stones as she slid to a halt. The Headmaster stood there in a pair of dark gold robes trimmed in white, joined by Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel.
"Ah, I see Harriet has already found you," Dumbledore said when she appeared. "It seems I won't have to send Dobby searching after all!"
"Harriet!" Mr. Flamel boomed as he opened his arms. Grinning in disbelief, Harriet collided with him, earning an "Oof!" before the older wizard snagged her in a hug. She squeezed tight, hardly daring to believe they were there. He ran his fingers through her hair, over the crown of her head—a warm, solid weight. She opened her eyes and peered up at him. "Hello, petit oiseau."
"What are you doing here?" Harriet wondered as she let go, reaching instead for Perenelle. She gathered Harriet close, smelling of peat moss and gardenia. Her garden at home must be in full bloom.
"Oh, well," Mr. Flamel said, exchanging glances with Professor Dumbledore. "For the—Tournament's last task. It's ah, an 'istoric occasion. It is best to witness it for one's self."
Perenelle quickly nodded as well, and though Harriet thought they were acting a mite suspicious, she chose not to question it. She let Perenelle, tuck her into her side, more than happy to let the witch fuss with her hair.
"You've gotten so big!" Perenelle marveled. "But so thin! Albus! Do you not make sure your students are eating? Honte à toi."
Harriet blushed as Professor Dumbledore sputtered and prevaricated. Mr. Flamel came to his rescue. "Now, Perenelle, I'm sure 'arriet knows she is to be eating at every meal, yes?"
He said this with a pointed look at Harriet, who nodded and leaned in closer to Perenelle.
"I'm sure Harriet would enjoy showing you around the castle. She would make a far better tour guide than myself," Professor Dumbledore said.
"But you must have already been here before," Harriet replied. "And isn't it—dangerous for you to be seen?"
"Non." Mr. Flamel waved off her concern. "Our faces are not so recognizable, especially among students. And, it iz only natural we would want one of Poudlard's best to show us around. Isn't that right, ma moitié?"
"Oh, oui, oui," Perenelle agreed. "It 'as been so many years."
Harriet needed no further convincing. She was excited to show the Flamels around, and though they must have visited most of the places Harriet led them to before, they expressed genuine interest in the stories she attached to those locations. She brought them to Slytherin's Redoubt, showing them the view across the grounds, late spring redolent in the humid air. She brought them to the Aerie, where Perenelle had a spirited conversation with the portrait of Rowena Ravenclaw and Mr. Flamel marveled at undiscovered inventions the school's founder hoarded in her workroom. They even popped by the kitchens, and the elves loaded their pockets with as many cakes as they could carry.
As the afternoon waned and they ended the tour with tea in the Headmaster's office, the morning's happy glow dimmed, and the shadows of Harriet's worries began to creep forward like the hands of a Boggart from under a bed. She stared into the surface of her cooling Earl Grey, watching it ripple from side to side inside the cup.
Perenelle chatted with Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, the latter taking a break from wrangling Ministry officials and spectators arriving for the task. Mr. Flamel sank onto the seat next to Harriet, stirring her from her straying thoughts.
"How have zings been with your studies?" he asked—and the question 'How are you doing with being Slytherin's apprentice?' went unvoiced. Harriet could only shrug one shoulder, jostling her tea. She didn't want to talk about Slytherin.
"Fine," she said. "I've been studying for finals with Hermione and Terry. We're feeling confident about our marks."
"Who iz this Terry?"
"Hermione's boyfriend."
"Oh, I see. And where is Elara during this studying?"
"She comes sometimes. Other times she has choir practice—or she goes with Fleur." He must have seen Harriet's nose wrinkle ever so slightly because his brow rose.
"And what iz wrong with Fleur?"
"Nothing. She's nice enough. She's also rather snooty, but I think Elara likes that about her."
Mr. Flamel chuckled. "And how has your Animagus training come along?"
Harriet fidgeted with her cup—taking a sip, setting it back down on the spindly end table before she could spill any. "I did make some progress. But not—not since I had my accident."
"Ah, oui. You said in your letter. Perenelle and I were very worried for you."
"I'm okay now. Madam Pomfrey fixed me in a jiffy." That wasn't quite the truth, but Harriet thought telling a little white lie was fine. She looked up to Mr. Flamel, his eyes fixed on her face. "I have a form, apparently, but I've been too…scared to try again." Harriet dropped her eyes again. "I'm scared."
Her meaning wasn't lost upon the alchemist. Harriet feared more than just trying her Animagus transformation again; she feared the upcoming term and what challenges waited for her under Slytherin's tutelage. She feared what would happen if she failed, if she let everyone who'd helped her and believed in her down.
"There is nothing wrong with being afraid," Mr. Flamel murmured, reaching out to brush Harriet's fringe from her eyes. "The greatest things we will do in this life are often things that frighten us. There is no shame in it."
"But what if I'm always scared? What if I can't do it?"
Mr. Flamel shrugged. "Maybe you will always be afraid—but, ma petit oiseau, if we allow fear to rule us and make all our choices, then we would get nowhere at all. Merlin would not 'ave changed the fate of the Isles. Albus would not have stopped Grindelwald's tyranny. I would not 'ave asked my Perenelle to marry me." He broke out into a toothy smile. "Maybe that last one is not so world-changing as the others, but ah, I would not 'ave made it far without my dear wife."
Harriet grinned, seeing Perenelle still deep in conversation with Professor McGonagall. She noticed her and Mr. Flamel looking in her direction, and she paused to smile at her husband.
Harriet didn't much understand love like the kind Mr. Flamel and Perenelle shared; despite almost being fifteen, the idea of having a boyfriend or girlfriend felt murky at best, and she knew that was yet another oddity separating her from her peers. Nevertheless, Harriet hoped she could have a partner like that one day, once it was safe. Once Voldemort was gone.
"Harriet? Is something the matter?"
Blinking, she cleared her throat and pulled her hands apart, noticing the shallow indents of her nails pressed into her skin. Mr. Flamel sighed, gently setting his hand over her own.
"All will be well, Harriet," he told her. "All will be well."
xXx
The hour grew late, the sun making its inevitable progress toward the horizon, and Harriet bid goodbye to the Flamels to join her friends in the Great Hall for dinner. She had never heard the room so loud before—horns blowing, competing chants rising from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, feet stomping on the floor. A traditional supper had been exchanged for bowls of snacks, as no one seemed keen to stay still. The professors made no attempt to reign in the madness.
"Diggory better win," Harriet grumbled as Hermione smeared a line of Hufflepuff-yellow grease paint on her cheek. "I'll find him wherever he's going next year and hex him if he doesn't."
"I believe he's got an internship somewhere in the Ministry lined up," Hermione hummed. "Hold still; you're smearing it."
"I'll brave the Ministry to hex him, then."
Hermione finished up just as Fleur swept over them in her usual flourish of silvery blonde hair and ridiculous grace. She took one look at their faces and said, "Hmph, you've made a miztake. Let me help."
A quick flick of her wand doused them in blue sparkles and confetti. When Harriet and Hermione shook their heads to clear their eyes, they found Fleur had disappeared. Harriet looked at Hermione—and snorted.
"That cheeky cow," she huffed, pointing. "Your left cheek is Beauxbatons colors now!"
"Really? Just the one? She did both of yours."
Scowling, Harriet rubbed at her face until her skin reddened and blue streaked her sleeves. Elara managed to squeeze through the crowd to join them—and Harriet jabbed a finger toward her suspiciously clean face.
"Hey, why hasn't Fleur Charmed you with Beauxbatons colors?"
Elara simply raised one imperious brow. "She wouldn't dare."
"Bollocks."
When enough food had been eaten and the volume had Harriet's ears ringing, Headmaster Dumbledore vanished the plates and stood at the head of the Great Hall with the other Tournament judges—including Gaunt, of course. He called for everyone's attention.
"The final task in the Triwizard Tournament is set to begin. If you would all make your way through the entrance hall to the Quidditch field, we will find the final challenge waiting for our champions."
Benches screeched on the floor as they slid and bodies moved, heading the doors. Harriet and her friends hung back, not wanting to get caught in the crush.
"Quidditch field?" Hermione inquired aloud, a slight furrow between her brows. "Well, that would explain why they've had it closed for much of the year. I assumed they were using the chance for maintenance."
"Mr. Flamel mentioned something about 'hedges,'" Harriet said. "Can't imagine they planted those. The Quidditch players would faint dead away."
The crowd thinned enough for them to stand, Hermione mentioning Terry would meet them there. Elara decided to go ahead because she wanted to wish Fleur luck. Harriet teased her, making silly faces—and promptly received another burst of glitter in her face.
Can't say I didn't deserve that one.
"I'm going to go clean some of this off and feed Livi right quick. I don't know how long we'll be gone, and he gets—peckish. Makes me fear for Millicent's cat to tell you the truth."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
"No, no. Go on and meet with Terry. I'll catch up."
Harriet pulled away from the others and dashed down the dungeon stairs, leaving a trail of blue and green and silver glitter with every step. Most of it had shaken off by the time she reached the dormitories, though when she finally flared the lamps in the bathroom, she realized the smeared greasepaint looked more nightmarish than she'd expected.
"I'd hex Delacour's hair green if it wouldn't upset Elara," Harriet grumbled, reaching for a flannel.
"My goodness!" the mirror exclaimed. "You look a fright!"
"You don't say?"
Harriet managed to remove the paint with Elara's stash of 'Myron's Miracle Microfoliant,' using nearly a third of the little squat jar. She dried off, then returned to the dorm to quickly change her messy shirt and tend to her snakes.
"Behave," she hissed at Livi as she set out a plate of prepared meat given to her by Rikkety the house-elf. "Don't get into mischief."
Livi made a displeased noise, though his eyes flickered between her and the food. "No missschief."
"And no bullying Kevin." Harriet stroked his snout, trailing one finger along the ridge of his horn. "See you in a bit."
Harriet tucked him beneath her bed's skirts, brushing dust and flecks of glitter from her knees. If she listened closely—beyond the sound of Livi eating and the hollow echo of the water rolling against the windows—she thought she could hear the band starting up.
Aw, I'm missing the school song! Harriet thought as she slammed the dormitory door and ran through the common room back into the dungeons. My favorite bit is the horrified looks of the visitors when we're finished.
The June air felt warm and inviting against her scrubbed face as Harriet exited the empty entrance hall. The sun laid low, but the glow from the distant pitch beckoned, the path lit by dim faerie lights.
Harriet was crossing the grass when a voice called out to her.
"Harriet."
She came to a halt, her shoes crunching the loose gravel. A body pulled away from the shadows cast by the bluffs leading down to the pitch, and Harriet frowned as she recognized the person approaching her.
"Krum?" she asked, confused. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be getting ready?"
He didn't answer her. His heavier boots tamped down the damp grass as he came to a stop, watching her, the corner of his mouth twitching. Harriet noticed he had his wand in hand, and he tapped it against his thigh.
"You didn't open my letter," he said, apropos of nothing.
Startled, it took Harriet several seconds to recall what letter he meant—and that she'd fed it to the common room fire when she'd found it in her pocket weeks ago. She'd never had any intention of reading it.
"Er—sorry about that? Listen, I—uh—don't think we should have this conversation right now. We have to get going, or you're going to be late." Wasn't he meant to be there already? The Champions needed to be briefed while everyone else found seats.
Krum scoffed. A slight laugh left him as he shook his head, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. "You really have made this so much more difficult than it needed to be."
"What are you on about?" Harriet was getting frustrated. "Merlin, take a hint. Can't you bother one of the other witches always following you about? At least they're interested."
Krum's amused expression never faltered—not as Harriet glared, not as the breeze curled through his dark hair, and not as he lifted his wand and pointed it toward her chest. Harriet froze.
"You really are a stupid girl."
She kept her eyes on the wand. "What are you doing?"
"Whatever my Lord bids of me. Come over here."
"No." Harriet's heart plummeted to her toes at the mention of 'my lord.' She nearly fainted. Spots flickered and bloomed in the corners of her vision. No, no…not him, not now—.
"Get over here—!"
"Potter?"
The inquisitive voice came from behind her, and had Harriet not been held at wandpoint, she would have turned to see Terry Boot coming from the castle. He shrugged into his cloak as he walked, leveling Krum a befuddled look. Krum hadn't lowered his wand. "…What's going on here?"
"Go ahead of me, Terry," Harriet said, voice thin, shaken. "Just—keep going."
Terry glanced at her, then at the wizard. It was probably Harriet's panic, but she thought Krum's skin was moving.
"Go, please."
"No, I don't think I will. What do you think you're doing, Krum?"
There was no warning. No monologue, no culmination of willpower—nothing but the swish of a wand cutting the air, and the arc of green light despoiling all it touched. "Avada Kedavra!"
Harriet felt Terry go limp. Horrified, she spun and reached for him as he fell. She didn't scream. She didn't have the breath for anything more than a gutted gasp. The green light hadn't left her eyes.
A hand coiled around her wrist. Harriet jerked against the touch, reeling—.
Krum stood over her. His skin really was moving, and he appeared ghastly in the dying light of day. A smug grin spilled across his mouth. Blue flared in his closed fist. "No time for spares, girl."
She opened her mouth to shout—and the sensation of a hook lodged itself behind her navel. In the next breath, Hogwarts disappeared in a whorl of bleeding colors. They vanished without a sound.
A/N: RIP Terry. Congratulations to the 6 other characters who survived me considering them dying instead while I was writing this book's outline. You go on to the next round of the Hunger Games.
Yes, all the questions will be answered next chapter. Patience! aha
Flamel: "We are definitely here for the—."
Flamel: *checks notecard*
Flamel: "Triblizzardment and not because our daughter has been sad and we wanted to see her. Not at all."