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Harry Potter and the Perversion of Purity

By ACI100

Book 4: The Deadliest of Games

Chapter 10: Nighttime Visits

August 30, 1994
Malfoy Manor
8:18 AM

Grindelwald was pacing back and forth across the tower cell when Harry reappeared. The withered man whirled to face him and Harry took a step back. Never had he seen Grindelwald move with so much urgency.

"What has happened?"

Harry slumped back against the wall. Not a minute of sleep had come since his attack on the false Death Eaters. Those childrens' bodies bobbed behind his eyes any time he closed them and the memories of that awful rage haunted him. I've never been that mad before.

The whole thing was mental. What was I thinking? It was a small miracle none of the ministry officials had recognized him. Imagine if they'd have seen me cast that spell. There was no more Azkaban to send him to, but surely the sentence would have been something foul.

"Harry?" It was odd hearing Grindelwald use his name. He never does that.

"Some drunk idiots dressed up as Death Eaters and started causing trouble. My friend's father wanted everyone woken up and told the kids to go hide in the forest."

"I take it you did not follow his advice?"

Harry actually snorted. He was annoyed now — how had he been so stupid? "I did the opposite." Grindelwald waited. "I attacked them."

"You… attacked them?"

"Yes." His voice was stiff while he choked back anger. Now it was channeled not at the pureblood fools, but at himself. Snape was actually right — I really do have no sense of self-preservation.

"When you say attack them…"

"There was a huge group of them marching across the camp site. The ministry had a smaller force blocking them while they waited for aurors to turn up."

Harry stumbled over the words. They were so shameful he could hardly say them aloud. Can I even admit this? Will he think I'm a lost cause?

The same feeling he had felt about Pansy when talking about ending their relationship seized him. That just terrified him more. I don't want to lose Grindelwald — oh, Merlin, I actually don't. That thought scared him.

"Harry?"

He took a deep breath and cleared his mind. "Fulgura. The strongest blast I could manage directly into their front line. It hit a shield and there was an explosion."

Harry endured the silence and waited for the outburst. Now Grindelwald would tell him he was useless all along and end whatever they had going on. Now he would rage at him and say how young and foolish he was. Now he would banish him from this dream and never contact him again.

"How many are dead?"

"I don't know. A lot. Blood and bone sprayed everywhere. It was a big explosion — there was a crater and everything."

"Impressive." That was it? Impressive? "You look surprised."

Harry blushed. Did he dare speak these words? Is he just playing me? Something about Grindelwald's stare made staying quiet impossible. "I thought you'd be livid."

"Why would I be livid? Those fools mean nothing to me."

"Because it was stupid. I could have been seen, or something could have gone wrong. I didn't think, I just… did it."

"Actions like that are never done without thought. Something made you decide it was what you wanted." The former warlord looked remarkably nonchalant. "I trust it was a good reason."

His world spun. He trusts it was a good reason? Harry had just told him about a random bout of madness and the single most foolish risk he had ever taken and Grindelwald trusted it had all been for a good reason?

"Children," he muttered. It was the only thing he could think to say. "They were tormenting children — dangling them above the crowd like puppets. I wanted to hurt them." He had wanted so bad — as bad as he had ever wanted anything before. "Then a spell bounced up off a shield and almost hit one of them. I snapped."

Grindelwald's next words were the softest Harry had ever heard him speak. "You have always held a bias for children. Of all the things I showed you, the ones that troubled you most centred around the harming of children."

Wylla Nurmen slowly painting a coat of snow crimson, flames eating away at Grindelwald's pant leg, Ariana screaming beneath the Cruciatus Curse, two children brainwashed into stoning their helpless grandfather.

Raging tremors rippled through him. "It makes me sick."

"Use that passion."

"I thought you'd think it was a weakness." That Ariana memory stung like a fresh wound. "Shouldn't I be willing to do anything for the greater good?"

Grindelwald took a deep breath and stared out between the bars of his prison. "You must cling to some things. They are what make you human." He turned back towards Harry. Did he look desperate? No; Grindelwald would never look desperate.

"Please heed me. If this is what anchors you, cling to it like a lifeline. When you change the world, change it in a way that will ensure your principles hold together its very essence. You must remain human — do not make my old mistakes."

Harry knew not what to say. I've never seen him like this. It was like he had just ridden a whirlwind and hadn't yet gotten his feet back under him. "I will." There was nothing else to say.

Grindelwald took another long breath. "Thank you."

Harry pulled his conscience from the tower cell and appeared back in the room he had occupied the summer before last.

I still need sleep. He had stolen off here once he could and let his mind drift towards Grindelwald, but still there had been no sleep and his eyelids were beginning to droop. It felt like a weight was settling behind his eyes.

His thoughts were interrupted by a hurried round of knocking. Harry groaned and rubbed his temples. What now? "Come in."

Draco looked no better than Harry felt. There were wrinkles in his fine, silk robes and his blond hair was a knotted nest of dishevelled curls.

Harry let himself drop backwards onto the bed that had been his for a summer. "What is it?" Nothing good, judging by the look of him.

"I made a mess of things." He's nervous — he's really nervous. Draco was leant back against the wall, but not a muscle in him was relaxed. He makes it look like he's about to walk the plank.

Harry's pulse quickened. This really isn't good. "What do you mean?"

Draco was pale and clammy when he stepped forward and offered Harry a thick roll of parchment. He frowned and took it, only realizing it was that morning's Daily Prophet when it had been unrolled.

The-Boy-Who-Saved-the-Quidditch-World-Cup
By Rita Skeeter

His next breath stabbed him and his heart tumbled deep into the pit of his stomach. She can't know! His heart had clambered out; it was racing now and faint patches of grey crept in on the edges of his vision.

Harry forced the panic back and scanned the Daily Prophet. None of this is right. None of it except his involvement. But the way she writes about me, you'd think I was Merlin. A young, innocent boy defending himself and the people around him? If she only knew…

His heart still beat hard, but its pace slowed and the panic reluctantly began edging away. "I don't see anything wrong with this."

Draco's brow furrowed. "You don't?"

Harry shrugged, but inside he remained wary. I'm missing something. "Why should I?"

"Well," Draco said slowly, "you know this will get you heaps of attention, right? You never liked any of that."

Voldemort will be happy. So would Grindelwald — this would help him change the world if he built on it and made sure his image stayed bright and spotless.

I guess not spotless. If anyone read between the lines, they would be able to deduce that there had been deaths and that he had caused them. Most people will drink this all up, but some won't.

Draco was still waiting for an answer. "I don't, really — at least not for something I don't even remember. It's stupid."

"So you're all right with all this?"

Harry shrugged again. "It's probably not the best way of getting my name out there, but it could be worse."

Draco was biting his tongue. There's still something else — none of this was the part that made him nervous. A part of him yearned to use Legilimency and find out for himself, but he held back. Draco's my friend.

"What's wrong? There's something you're not telling me."

Draco's eyes widened just a fraction. "It's my fault," he blurted.

Harry narrowed his own eyes. "What are you on about?"

"Father got back before you did and I told him you'd run off. Diana and Theodore kept quiet, but I thought… well—"

"Thought he should know in case anything had happened." Figures. Leave it to Draco to trust his father with anything and believe he could have fixed it. Lucius shouldn't be trusted with anything. Pieces clicked together. "Your father leaked it to the Prophet. He told Skeeter it was me who helped the ministry."

"I think he must have." Draco's voice was harsh and bitter. "I thought he looked pleased, but I figured the night was just getting to me." He wrung his hands. "I'm sorry, Harry. I… I never thought my father would do something like that. I should have considered."

Harry cleared his thoughts and decided how he felt. Proud. It was a strange feeling. Draco's actually apologizing right away — he actually realized he's wrong and that his father isn't trustworthy. That last part had to be some kind of miracle. He really has grown up a lot.

"I appreciate you telling me." It was true; he appreciated that a lot more than he was bothered by the article. Draco stuck his chin up and nodded.

Harry rode a streak of boldness. They've all listened to me for months; let's see how far they'll go. "Just promise you won't tell anyone anything about me or what I'm doing again unless you ask me first."

Draco's answer was immediate. "Of course."

Bloody hell. Things really had changed since first year.

August 31, 1994
Malfoy Manor
11:43 PM

Déjà vu dizzied him when he finished explaining things to Diana. It was like old times back at Hogwarts — back when he had been naive and foolish. Everything was so much simpler back then.

Then they had so often talked on a balcony just like the one they stood on now. The one at Hogwarts overlooked an ancient courtyard and sprawling lawns. You could see the Black Lake sparkle in the sunlight and the forbidden forest's branches sway back and forth in the breeze. Here the view was of a beautiful garden and the trickling fountain, of rows and rows of neat hedges and the wrought iron gates far off in the distance.

Diana had always been a good listener. She listened, she pondered, she answered. She was pondering now, quiet enough that the only sound around them was the chirping of small birds nestled on the roof above their heads.

The skies around the manor were clear, but Harry could see banks of mist coiling in the distance. The dementors must stay close in case Voldemort needs them. He wondered what would happen when they no longer drifted aimlessly around the countryside. They've stayed away from wizards so far, but I bet they'll be one hell of a weapon.

"You're overthinking it."

Harry tilted his head; that had not been the answer he had expected. "What do you mean I'm overthinking it?"

Diana smiled. Is she mocking me? "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're just kids. No one expects their relationship at thirteen to last forever."

"It's not that. It's just—"

"That you're worried she'll stop being friends with you." Her smile turned sad when Harry's head jerked up. "I remember the little boy on that balcony, you know — the one who hadn't figured out how to have friends yet. It's not hard putting the pieces together."

"Fine, you're right. So what? I just tell her?"

"There isn't really any other way of doing it. Pansy is…" she hesitated.

"Emotional?"

"That's not quite I was going for." There was a delicate air about her words.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Just say it. I'm not gonna explode over whatever it is."

"Pansy is the jealous type and can absolutely be petty. Nothing you say will be perfect. I don't like telling you that, but it's true."

His lips pulled down into a scowl. "Great, so I have no chance no matter what I say."

Diana's posture was as patient as ever. "That's not what I said. Pansy is the jealous type and can sometimes be petty, but I don't think she'll hold a grudge. She'll pout and distance herself for a bit, but she'll come back."

Diana took a step closer and rested a hand on his shoulder. She was fairly tall and probably still had half a head on him, but that gap was beginning to close the older they grew.

"You need to start trusting your friends." It took everything he had not to sneer. I don't even know if I can fully trust you. Things like this were one thing, but could he share his unfiltered thoughts about other things? Or would they just find their way back to Lucius. "They've stayed with you through a lot these past three years, haven't they?"

Two fights with Draco, nearly dying at the end of first and second year, the return of Voldemort, Black last year. The longer he thought, the warmer he felt. It was a relief — the first time he had really appreciated his friends this way in ages. I'm still human, just harder to please.

That was almost sadder in a way. It was so easy not that long ago. His first sight of Hogwarts, racing through the air on a broomstick, learning a new spell, Pansy's beaming looks. The smallest things got me so excited.

Antonin Dolohov was a man who looked as though he had never been excited in his life when Harry walked into their duelling instruction some fifteen minutes later. Who pissed in his pumpkin juice? Dolohov always looked rigid and sour, but today he looked stiffer than steel and bitter enough to make a lemon blush.

"You have wasted two months of my time!"

Harry's step faltered. What the hell is he on about? His abilities had grown in leaps and bounds. Never had he seen anyone improve so fast at anything.

"Wasted your time?" There was a certain bite in his voice. I won't let Dolohov goad me. It would be like him to try.

"You played me for a fool." Dolohov's voice was cold as chilled steel.

"When did I—"

"You made me believe that you were a strong duellist, not a mage-level spellcaster."

Harry blinked. What is he… oh, the World Cup. He wondered just how many of the Death Eaters knew exactly what had happened. If I wanted to keep things secret, there goes that chance. A bitter lump welled up in his chest. Thanks, Lucius.

There was no point in being slippery now. "I didn't really think you'd want me throwing around lightning."

Dolohov's hands curled into fists, then slowly opened again. "You will not deceive me again. It only hurts the both of us."

Harry felt his patience waning; the way Dolohov talked, you'd think he had committed some heinous crime. "It hasn't been a waste of time. I've gotten loads better."

"Bah." Dolohov waved his hand with a disgusted look. "I didn't realize what I was working with."

"What does it matter?" The annoyance was really building now; Dolohov had a special way of getting under his skin.

"Do you have any idea how talented you are? Any idea what it means to cast magic like that at an age like yours?" Harry said nothing. Kind of, but not really.

"You will be better than me." Dolohov said it plainly, just like it was some fact from an old and well-known textbook. "Already you cast magic that is well beyond my wildest dreams."

Dolohov shook his head. "You must understand that there is not one way of duelling. I learned that lesson years ago. I could not throw around magic like you or the Dark Lord. I was not the most talented in my class in any subject. Elaborate shows of magic and advanced transfiguration were of no use to me, so I learned my own way. Swift and technical; beating power with precision and elaborate spell casting with elegant efficiency."

Harry could imagine Dolohov slaving over a library's worth of texts on duelling. His style definitely works for him. Nearly thirteen years in Azkaban following the Prewitts' murder and still he was as sharp as any blade.

"Your duelling style depends on the magic that you can cast," Dolohov went on. "Mine was developed to mask my limitations — yours must accentuate your strengths." A real look of anger crossed his face for the first time. Harry nearly took a step back. "I have been mistakenly teaching you to walk with a cane when I should have been teaching you to walk without one. You have handicapped yourself with your own false modesty."

Harry gritted his teeth and made to bite back, but something stopped him. That actually makes sense. How could he master duelling if he wasn't using all his tools? How could they remain sharp while they sat neglected rusting in a shadowed corner.

He took a deep breath and forced his mind clear. His annoyance ebbed away. "All right," he said at last. "What do you need me to do?"

Hours later, in Diagon Alley…

It was late when Harry and his friends finished shopping. A few of them had longer lists than ever — having to purchase not only supplies for Hogwarts, but for both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.

Long shadows crawled across the cobblestones while the sun dipped behind Gringotts' marble roof off in the distance. The crowds were thinning, their chatter now a soft buzz whereas before it had been a raging storm.

The entrance of Knockturn Alley yawned up ahead. "Does anyone need anything here?" Harry asked.

His heart was beating hard and there was a thick lump forming in the back of his throat. Soon he had to return to Malfoy Manor for his final lesson that summer with Crouch. I'm running out of time; I need to do it now.

Cassie shrugged. "Not really, but I want to look around." She grinned. "I've heard there are a few places like Knockturn around Durmstrang, so that should be fun."

"Would you guys mind waiting a minute?" The words felt thick and clumsy, but they just barely squeezed out. "I need a word with Pansy, then I'll be off."

"Off?" Diana asked before things could get too awkward. I wonder how many of them know what I'm gonna tell her.

"Yeah," he said while scratching the back of his neck. "I have some last minute things to handle before going back tomorrow."

Cassie leant up against a weathered stone wall. "I can wait."

The others clustered nearby while Harry led Pansy across the cobbled street and into the shadow of an old shop selling wizarding antiques.

How do I even start? A hundred times he had tried planning this conversation, but no words had ever come.

Pansy sniffed. "You're dumping me, aren't you?"

Oh, Pansy… Sharp pins sank deep into his heart and sent painful pulses shivering up his spine. His lips yawned open and the word 'no' almost forced its way through, but he stopped himself. He would not give up that easily. Just keeping it going isn't good for anyone.

"I wouldn't put it like that," he said instead. He noticed each blink of his eyes, each twitch of his fingers, each itch of his skin. Never had he felt so awkward in all his life.

Pansy sniffed again and the bottom tumbled out from Harry's stomach when he saw tears rippling in her bright brown eyes. "I knew it would happen." There was a tremble in her voice that made him want to hug her all over again.

Merlin, this is unfair. What could he do? Diana herself had said there was no good way of doing it. Nothing he could say would make any real difference. I just wish it didn't hurt her so much.

If only Pansy knew Occlumency. This whole mess would be so much cleaner if she could get a grip on her own emotions…

It was like a shock ran through him. I can make it easier for her. There was something he could do to ease her pain. If I'm good enough.

Harry reached out with psychic fingers and probed behind her eyes. His own face smiled back at him while Pansy leant against his shoulder in the common room, walked hand in hand through Hogsmeade, and chattered on the Black Lake's edge.

Focus.

This was still the hardest part. Breaching Occlumency shields was becoming simpler and simpler, but not letting the new flood of thoughts and memories overwhelm him was a different sort of challenge.

Harry plunged deeper until the memories stopped coming. Stillness greeted him, but there was something lurking in its depths. Pained pulses of hurt and betrayal, dull bitterness, and the heavy sense of loss.

Harry conjured up his own distant, detached feelings and pushed them through their link. Her own sensations ebbed away and he opened a third stream of thought. There were almost always two open these days — he had become adept at that trick while practicing with the time turner — but he needed another to focus on talking while the rest of his mind did its work.

"I'm sorry." He meant it — meant it more than almost anything he had ever told her before. "I just don't want to lead you on. It's hard for anything to make me happy these days and I don't want it to hurt you anymore."

Harry brought up the pleased sensations he remembered feeling whenever she used to praise him or stare admiringly while he lectured or casted spells. It was the closest thing he had to what she should be feeling.

"I know." Pansy's voice still shook, but the tears stopped flowing. "It's hard, but I understand." Harry forced all his fondness through their link until a sad smile crested Pansy's lips. "Thanks for being honest."

His heartstrings tugged, but he made himself smile. This is better than Diana thought it would go; better than I thought it would ever go. "Always."

He waited until she was halfway back to the others before turning on the spot and letting blackness swallow him. Tight knots constricted his chest while he apparated — one of his first ever unmonitored apparitions. Diana was wrong — there's always a way with magic.

That night…

Rushing air slid across his hairless head and the wind whipped his robes around him. It stung his eyes and made him want to blink, but those feelings were distant and masked by a strong and well-honed mind.

If only these wards were half so strong. Harry ripped open a hole at the topmost point and descended straight through until his feet touched lightly down atop the roof and its shingles. The breeze was strong and smelled of sea and salt. The home was more a cottage than a house; small but elegant and with green lawns sloping down towards the water.

Harry drank in the salty air. Good memories — some of the only ones from that awful place. He remembered how the wind tugged at his threadbear clothes while he clambered up the rocky sides of cliffs that were said to be too rough to climb. Then there had been the cave, the snakes, and the two pitiful children who screamed like swaddled babes.

A good place. A place worthy for the honour of housing something so precious as what he'd left behind.

These aren't my memories. Harry forced his mind clear long enough to get a grasp on things. Voldemort's memories — something about terrorizing children and leaving behind some gaudy locket in the same cave. Harry wondered what was so special about a locket. It doesn't matter — whatever he's doing right now is more important.

He let himself sink back into Voldemort's thoughts — there were advantages in knowing what the Dark Lord was thinking.

Voldemort vanished a patch of roof and glided down through the opening before restoring the patch above his head. Moonlight shone through a window on his left and a distant lake sparkled in the picture hanging just to his right. Will she come, or will she try and flee?

He never heard the door open, but Voldemort sensed her coming and waited while his wand shuddered between long, pale fingers. Not tonight; not unless she gives us no choice.

"I wondered if you might come," said Gemma Fawley from her place just feet away from him.

There was no sign of fear. She made this whole ordeal look casual. A brave girl. "You must have known I would."

"I guessed." There was a faint tinge of fear leaking through her mind, but she hid it well. A strong grasp on her mind for one so young. Unusually strong.

"I would like to ask you some questions." She waited. "How did you come to discover what I found in Barty Crouch's home?"

Harry forced his mind clear to process what had happened, but he found the warm mattress back underneath him.

Shit, I jolted myself from the dream. His heart pounded. That's not good. Voldemort had no plans of killing her, but if she was an ally of Grindelwald's…

Harry seized the pendant between his fingers and closed his eyes again. Not much sleep tonight, I guess.

A special thank you to my high-tier patron, Cup, for her generous and unwavering support.

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