Beta: Digitize27
Since I like to discuss stuff I made a forum for this story.
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"The worst cruelty that can be inflicted on a human being, is isolation" - Sukarno
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Daphne was an exceptional witch. Beautiful, talented, intelligent; though, her mother might say the worst thing about her was that she knew that she was all of these things. Daphne also knew that her mother meant that in all kindness, and often said it with a hint of pride.
"Your daughter is an incredibly bright witch," someone might say.
"And doesn't she know it," her mother would return with a smile.
She knew that her mother meant that she could be humbler, listen more to her peers, and be less independent. That she could be gentler like her sister, but Daphne had always done things on her terms, for better or for worse.
While he was alive, it had driven her father spare.
She did things her way; where possible, that is. Daphne was aware that there was always give and take in society and social situations. Never was that more apparent than in the case of Harry James Potter.
"Be back before dinner, and you k-" her mother started.
"Yes, Mom, 'Not one step down Knockturn Alley.'" Daphne finished in a passable impression of her Mom.
"Off for a date with your boyfriend?" Astoria giggled.
Daphne didn't bother to respond. Astoria didn't understand her relationship with Harry, and Daphne didn't bother to try to explain it.
Partly, because Astoria wouldn't understand even if she did explain it, she was also really just trying to poke fun at her older sister and wasn't actually interested in understanding Harry. But also because Daphne didn't fully understand her relationship with Harry. They were friends, but...
It was confusing, especially this last year. In a good sort of way. Kind of.
She wasn't really sure about that either.
"Jealous, Aster?" Daphne asked.
Astoria turned red and sputtered adorably as Daphne paced over to the fireplace. She took a handful of powder and enunciated clearly.
"Diagon Alley."
In a flash of green she was in the Alley. She took measured steps over to the ice cream shop where she had decided they would meet. He was already sitting there, looking as though he had been waiting for some time.
Daphne herself was five minutes early.
It was probably one of those neurotic Harry Potter things.
As though he felt her presence, which she confessed to herself was a possibility, his gaze snapped up to her face from where he had been eyeing a magical pet emporium with several runespoors on display in the front window.
She felt her breath catch for all of a second. Harry could be slightly unnerving, but he wasn't dangerous to her. There was no reason that her heart should be beating faster, nor she should feel a sense of anxiety when she saw him; except that it was, and she totally did.
And she knew there was a perfectly suitable explanation for that.
She used her occlumency and cleared it from her mind as best as she could. She gazed back at him. His eyes were a shade too bright to be anything other than magical. She knew that he once wore glasses to correct poor vision and that he had done something to permanently fix his eyesight, likely potions. An expensive process, to be sure, otherwise everyone would do it.
Perhaps the magic had left that twinkle in Harry's eyes. Though, there was a reflective quality in them, like they were mirrors. They seemed to show her, not Harry, but herself. That aspect had been there, even before he had them fixed, something that only those who were around him when he wore his glasses would know.
Daphne knew… very little about Harry, really. She knew the public stuff, but she didn't know where he lived before he started staying with Neville. In fact, he knew far more about her formative years than she knew of his. All she knew was that he had lived with muggles, and in first year had displayed anxieties about returning to them.
She did, however, know how Harry thought. At least a little. Probably more than anybody else.
Her breathing may have hitched, but her step didn't and in a moment she had sat down beside him.
There was a nervous energy about Harry. Something that she was sure, and took great pride in the fact, that only she could have detected in his mannerisms. He was rolling his wand slightly, and after looking at her his eyes met the table.
Harry wasn't afraid of anything. Well, that was completely false. He wasn't afraid of anything normal. She recalled the way that he had ignored the Dementors at Hogsmeade. He had nothing to fear from them, not now. The Boggart had taught her that he was afraid of something new, somewhat afraid of himself and someone named Tom.
She had dropped that at the time, and they had never discussed again. She knew not to push. Harry would talk if and only if he was ready, and if and only if he felt like it.
Harry gently pushed a copy of the Daily Prophet over for her to look at.
Pettigrew Murders Last of Potter Family Relatives
"Your muggle family?" Daphne asked looking at it. "Who were they?"
"My aunt, uncle and cousin," Harry explained.
"I'm sorry for your loss," she said honestly.
Harry shrugged.
Not much of a loss, then.
"But you're safe?" She asked.
"Dumbledore had taken to increase security around Longbottom Manor." Harry answered without actually answering.
"I thought he was last spotted in Greece?"
"He was." Harry nodded.
Harry only ever answered the questions you asked him, and he was an odd srt of conversationalist, if it could even be called that. He was plain and obvious though, if nothing else. It was clear when he didn't want to talk about something. In a world where everyone had an agenda and held grudges, Harry was a breath of fresh air.
"Are you worried about Pettigrew?" She tried to pin down his nervous energy.
"Not particularly," he said, frowning in slight confusion. She must be far off the mark if he had been that caught off-guard.
She would probably never know what was bothering him right at this moment, then. Another question to add to the puzzle that was Harry Potter.
Daphne set a hand down on the table, carefully reigning her power in. She didn't allow the flood of knowledge to enter her brain from the table. It was a confusing power at the best of times
Sometimes it came as visions, memories of something that had happened; almost like a pensieve, but from the perspective of an object. It was like seeing through the object's eyes, if it had any. Sometimes it was just sight or sound or smell and even once, much to her misfortune, taste.
Usually it was just knowledge; truth as plain as her own name, etched into her mind. Maybe a flash of vision to come with it. It was hard to aim into the history of an object and get the sensation she wanted. It was an awkward power to control.
What was even more difficult was pushing thoughts back.
Daphne reached down and withdrew a small plain black box. It was rectangular, no larger than two of her fists. She set it on the table and Harry immediately leaned forward in interest. She smirked slightly.
"What's this?"
"An early birthday present," she explained as he picked it up to examined more closely.
This was going to surprise him, surely.
"It's enchanted," he surmised.
"It should only open for you. You can keep things safe in it."
"There's no markings." Harry was examining all corners of it closely. "You didn't use runes." He turned it upside down. "How'd you charm it so only I can open it?"
"Well, I can open it too," Daphne admitted, still feeling smug.
"Ah, because you made it with your power," he concluded, still examining the device. "You didn't charm it at all. A side effect of the magic you pushed into it."
She felt her grin falter and was more than shocked. "You knew?"
Harry looked up at her, confused.
"You knew I could use my power to push into objects, to charm out their own enchantments," Daphne clarified.
"I suspected that you could weave intent into objects far better than I could ever hope to match, with practice."
"You didn't tell me." Daphne had thought this would surprise him, but it turns out that he knew her power even better than she did, apparently. "How long ago did you know I could do this?"
"Since you made the passageway," he answered without pause. "I thought you knew." He now looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"Is there anything else you suspect about my power?"
"Every mind is different," he prefaced, before explaining quickly, almost in a panic. "But I suspected that you'd be able to out enchant even Dumbledore with enough practice. I think that you can push emotions into objects and weave enchantments together to make them last longer than anyone else can. Well, anyone else who isn't psychometric."
She smirked as he quickly put the words out to try and appease her and resisted the urge to giggle at his franticness.
He thinks I can outdo Dumbledore?
It seemed a little far-fetched, but his confidence in her felt nice.
"In the future you should tell me when you have suspicions that could help me like that." She pointed an accusing finger at hi, which earned a hurried nod. He could be so adorable sometimes when put on the spot.
She sighed. He was giving her a worried look and she felt some amusement at his discomfort.
"Did I ruin it?" He asked.
She shook her head laughing lightly. "Not really. I just wanted it to surprise you."
I didn't want you to leave me behind.
"What?" He was still looking at her in concern.
"It's just, you're doing all these great things," she confessed. "Getting published, casting patronuses… How am I supposed to keep up?"
"I told Hermione not to try when she asked me that same thing." He could be ever so blunt sometimes.
"Hermione asked you this?" She latched onto that. She didn't want to do whatever Hermione did to push him away.
"She didn't understand the things I study. Why I need to study them."
"Like mind magic?" Had he shared that with Hermione? Daphne wasn't sure how to feel about that. It seemed like something deeply personal. Something that only belonged to the two of them.
"Blood magic, and soul magic." Harry corrected, only to pause for a moment and stroke his jaw. "She didn't understand me the way that you do."
She felt herself almost flush. It was true. She didn't care about that magic. Well she did care, but she didn't judge him for it.
If anything, there was a sort of respect for it.
Things were so different now, between them.
Or perhaps just for her.
He doesn't seem any different.
Someone came up to them, and she turned to find a girl with long platinum-colored hair and immediately knew who it was.
Luna Lovegood.
"Did she give you the box?" Luna asked airily.
"She did," Harry said stiffly.
There was an awkward silence while Daphne stared between the two of them.
It's like a bad joke. Three psychics walk into an ice cream parlor. Who talks first?
"We're friends," Luna answered Daphne's unasked question with a voice full of air. "We chat, at times."
Harry nodded. "She's never come and talked to me while anyone else is around, though." Daphne could hear the confusion in his voice.
"I just wanted to see," Luna explained, looking at Daphne. "Have you ever touched his wand?"
Daphne didn't flush at what most of wizarding society would see as an innuendo.
She most certainly did not.
Instead she looked at Harry. "You told her about me?"
"No."
Oh right, mind-bendingly powerful seer.
"I think I see father now." Luna drifted off in the direction of the pet emporium where an oddly dressed man who resembled the girl was being ushered out by the shopkeeper. She waived lightly and bid them "goodbye."
"That was… interesting," Daphne tried after a moment.
"She's sort of like that."
"You two talk often?"
"Not really. Just towards the end of last term."
Harry was watching Luna leave with an interested look in his eyes. Daphne would have wondered about that if she had never seen him looking at his Dementor Box with that same look. It was like he was calculating a particularly difficult arithmancy equation carved into the back of Lovegood's head.
He turned back towards her with a less clinical look and she couldn't help but laugh at the awkwardness.
"Come on," she said as she stood up. "You need new clothes."
He didn't really, though he was a bit taller, but she liked dressing him and teasing him.
"Alright." He stood up.
They meandered through the Alley together, and she had a wonderful time messing with him and giggling at his various faux pas and enjoying the experience before they settled back at the ice cream parlor and she picked up a vanilla cone.
"Are you ready to practice?" She finally asked. This was what she had been waiting for.
He smiled lightly. "Whenever you're ready."
She had been looking forward to this and not even Luna's awkwardness would bring that down.
She nodded and after a moment felt him in her thoughts. It was almost comforting by this point.
Perhaps above all it was...intimate. More than anything else could possibly be.
Sure, she knew about sex and all that, but this was different. It was on another level… almost. Kind of?
She felt fingers lightly brushing against the inside of her skull before grabbing hold of something. Daphne tried to yank the strand away from his touch but he held firm and she felt a twinge of pain. A reminder of what he could do if he so chose.
But he didn't.
He was gentle.
She cleared her mind and twisted away, and his fingers slipped.
She grinned. "You didn't see that coming?" She said playfully.
He shook his head. "You're certainly improving." He gave her that small smile of his.
"Could you have stopped me?" She asked.
"Yes." His reply was immediate and honest.
That sort of dampened her spirits. "You let me succeed," she accused.
"I didn't want to hurt you," he said softly, considering her with his eyes as he spoke, and didn't the way he said that just make her chest feel all warm?
"I'll never grow if you just let me succeed."
"You'll also never grow if I torture you and turn your head inside out," he returned easily.
She scowled. "Do it again."
He gave a slight nod and did so. He grasped a different memory this time.
[She stuck his hand to a desk in the room, before it was enchanted, and she laughed. He was grinning softly too, even stuck to the desk.]
It was a fond memory of being with her friend. She tried to pull back and she felt him coax her and…
O-o-oh.
She nearly moaned out loud when he coaxed her gently with his mental fingers. She felt herself relax into the table.
He immediately pulled out and some part of her whimpered.
She suddenly received something from the table, her mental defenses falling, letting foreign images rush forth.
[A child spilt their ice cream, blueberry flavored, and cried loudly. The young girl's mother rushed to hush the toddler and-]
The transmitted sight and sound was followed by a little context which entered her mind. She somehow just knew that the mother often took her son to get ice cream, once a week at least when she could spare the time from her work at the ministry.
She shot back up away from the table to meet his eyes. He seemed content to wait until she caught her breath.
She noticed that she was biting her lip and stopped. "It feels good," she said, far more breathlessly than was perhaps entirely proper.
"I think that we should be done for now," he asserted definitively. There was a deep concern on his face.
She wanted to argue. Like before, she wanted to ask him to do it again. Not for practice, but to just linger in her head and brush her thoughts and coax her.
It's what she wanted to ask before she was interrupted in the room just before Christmas.
She knew what this was, really. That she liked him more than 'like.' It was kind of incredible that he didn't know. Or didn't act on it.
But did he know? And would he act on it if he did?
How could he not know, though? How could he not know how she felt about him when he spent so much time in her thoughts?
Though it was more incredible that she hadn't mustered the courage to tell him, to ask him.
She put it behind her occlumency. She was good at that. Her visions were more controlled too, a sure sign of progress, yet she still couldn't resist him.
She sighed as he stood up.
"I'll message you another meeting time," she vowed.
He just nodded.
"Bye Harry," she mumbled quietly to his back as he paced away.
Good god is he frustrating.
The exceptional witch thought.
And she was exceptional, and pretty, and talented, and independent. But she was also a fourteen-year-old girl.
A fourteen-year-old girl who was crushing on her friend.
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Harry had stared at the letter for a long time.
G.G.
He had opened it to find a mostly blank sheet of yellowing parchment.
It still sat in his notebook, latched shut. Harry had translated the letter from German with his notes and it lingered in his thoughts now. It was almost frantic, the way the letter clung to his mind.
Hello Mr. Potter,
May I say that it is a pleasure to correspond with you. So young, and already receiving publications. I, myself, was older when I began but talent blooms in all shades.
You may have heard of me.
My name is Gellert Grindelwald.
Should you wish to reply, this parchment is enchanted for such communication.
That was it. The entirety of the message from Dumbledore's other. The debate roared in Harry's mind. He should tell Dumbledore! He should tell someone! Yet he hadn't. He kept it sealed in his book and spoke of it to no one.
There were the usual questions, of course. Why and how did Grindelwald deliver this to Harry? Harry was supposed to be protected at Longbottom Manor, a place Grindelwald should have no way of knowing about, nor knowledge of Harry's residency there. Grindelwald was hundreds of kilometers away, trapped in an impenetrable and inescapable fortress.
Supposedly.
Even meeting with Daphne hadn't been a sufficient distraction.
Harry had measured the parchment and found no curses, merely a bridging scrying enchantment, not unlike what he himself had used on his friend's mirrors. Though, much more powerful and much longer lasting, in all likelihood.
Further, was this even Grindelwald? Who was to say? Harry wouldn't recognize the penmanship of someone a century and a half his senior, whom he had also never met.
His quill hovered over the opened parchment while he debated. He already knew that he wanted to write back. The letter, brief as it was, had spoken to him. He knew that he could not ignore it.
Can you prove that you are Grindelwald?
He wrote in German into the parchment, just beneath Grindelwald's writing, and as he did, the Dark Lord's scrawl dissolved away.
He waited five minutes eagerly, watching for a reply.
Perhaps.
Harry frowned at the unhelpful response.
Is there a way I can that you would believe?
That was fair. It had to be something only Grindelwald would know. Harry gestured and his journal opened to the chapter for the Great Duel, specifically the section he had dedicated to Grindelwald's spells.
He hunted for a moment for a spell he knew nothing about.
Gellert Grindelwald used an air-based spell against Albus Dumbledore in their final duel. He made no incantation, yet in the midst of other spells one can spot the fluctuation of air, as though above a fire.
What was the purpose of this spell?
Harry's German was getting better. In writing, at least. He doubted he could speak it and he still needed to cross the channel to study French, but making the time was difficult with the protections in place around the house.
Harry waited for a reply, and he didn't have to wait nearly as long this time.
A type of conjuration I designed by studying the strategies of an Aerokinetic whose friendship I had the pleasure of receiving.
It was designed to make the air an instrument to crush or cut. Though it had other uses.
I once used it in 1942 to rip the breath from the lungs of an opponent.
Harry frowned. He recalled the incident in question. A battle near Moscow where Grindelwald had indeed stolen the breath of his enemies but he had also torn their innards out with it.
There was one way to find out. Harry walked to the kitchen of the house and grabbed an orange before returned to his room.
Harry focused a touch of Aerokinesis in his palm, focusing on the sensation he felt while flying and making the air as flat and sharp as he could. He panted from the exertion and felt sweat run down his head.
Air naturally resisted conformity due to its free nature. What he was doing was as exhausting, if not more so, than any other conjuration.
He swung, slicing the fruit in half before rolling his hand into a fist and crushing the rinds with the air.
Strenuous.
He threw the mess away and sat down. The spell had worked.
Which implied…
Harry began to write back.
Hello Gellert Grindelwald,
It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hate to be impolite but I'm not sure I understand why you've written me.
He waited.
Don't deceive yourself.
We have already begun.
Harry eyed the response.
You're teaching me.
He wrote back.
I am, and I will, should you choose.
Harry leaned back. He felt a tension that was hard to put down.
He made his decision.
What will you teach me?
One word answered him.
Anything.
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Dear Mr. Potter,
It is my pleasure to inform you that due to your high academic standing, you have been invited to attend Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons this year as a representative of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.
As a student in a foreign country, you and you alone are responsible for overcoming any and all language barriers you may face, as well as representing your school and country in a dignified manner.
If you are unable to attend Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons for any reason, please reply by owl no later than the tenth of August to inform us that you are surrendering your position.
The Hogwarts Express will leave from King's Cross station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o'clock sharp, bound for France on September 3rd.
Your letter from Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons is enclosed.
Yours sincerely,
Professor M. McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry turned the letter over and set it aside.
He opened the next letter. It was written entirely in French.
Dear Mr. Potter,
Please note that the new school year will begin on September the Fourth. As a foreign student you will be responsible for arriving on the proper date.
Second Years are permitted to leave the school grounds and visit the city of Cannes at their discretion, with the permission of a parent or guardian.
A list of books for next year is enclosed.
Yours sincerely,
Professor Alexandre Du'Mont
Deputy Headmaster
He could only imagine the logistical nightmare involved to set this up.
Harry himself had gone to the Ministry to acquire and apparition licence over the summer so he no longer had to hide his abilities, and he had finally gone to France to learn French.
Just a few dozen hours a week and he had mastered the language in short time. It was almost cheating, in a way. He could immerse himself in a foreign language in a way that any school with language classes would be jealous of.
Harry had met with Daphne one more time to practice occlumency and had sent Luna a mirror so she could contact him if she so wished. He set up her mirror so she could only bother him. He didn't want her harassing Daphne at all hours of the day, and night; which she would, in all likelihood.
He couldn't deny himself the sense of growing excitement he felt at the prospect of spending time learning magic elsewhere, though he would miss Hogwarts and his friends dearly.
Neville had already left for Scotland on the first of September, while Harry stayed behind so he could catch the train bound south for France.
He apparated to King's Cross at 10:00 sharp and proceeded to board the train. He climbed aboard with his trunk, noting that the whole train had shifted on the inside. There was a corridor that ran the length of the express, but instead of compartments on both sides there were rooms on one of them and compartments on the other. Near the front where he had boarded, there was a door off of the hall with number and a symbol above it.
The symbol was the figure for Venus and the number was two. This compartment held the second year, girl's dormitory then.
They must have set up the train to be liveable. Beauxbatons likely couldn't accommodate the flux of incoming students. In each train car there was a compartment that looked exactly the same as normal across from a dormitory.
Harry made his way down until he reached a room that had a four and the symbol for Mars. Inside was a dormitory for three. Harry claimed the bed next to the door.
Harry felt someone approaching. He recognized Dumbledore's mind. He tensed internally and muted his frustration with the Headmaster using occlumency.
"Early, Harry?' Dumbledore stepped into the dormitory.
Harry nodded. He hadn't seen Dumbledore since his aunt, uncle, and cousin were killed, he certainly hadn't told the wizard about his new pen-pal, though he had yet to ask Grindelwald the big question:
What did the former Dark Lord know about soul magic, and the connections between souls?
The one thing Dumbledore refused to tell him, perhaps Grindelwald would.
He hadn't asked, because he didn't trust Grindelwald, despite the small pointers Harry had received from the man. And, though he cared for Dumbledore, he couldn't help but feel concerned regarding the subject.
He supposed he was in an odd place about the whole situation, and he could admit that to himself freely.
"Have you mastered the language of love yet, Harry?" Dumbledore continued, in the language in question.
"I am confident that I am bilingual. I intend to begin working on German next," Harry returned. He could now slipping between the two languages easily. Of course his German was getting better too, as he asked more and more questions to the yellow parchment gently folded and hidden in Daphne's box.
"Well done young man." Dumbledore beamed. "And of course, I saw your latest paper."
"The one Arithmantically quantifying basic Thermomancy?"
Dumbledore nodded his affirmation but chuckled. "The rest of the magical populace may disagree with you on what should be referred to as 'basic,' but yes."
Harry never would have published it without help from Grindelwald. A few questions here and there about complex linear equations had set him straight.
"I also wished to inform you that you have indeed been granted permission to leave Beauxbatons' campus in your spare time. Further, I took the liberty of signing you into the fourth-year dueling classes. Of course, the French begin dueling third year, and the art is a core component of the Durmstrang curriculum. If you intend to be competitive you must be prepared to bridge that difference."
Harry had been studying the greatest duel in history for nine months, practicing dueling chains for longer, and he had access to the advice and teachings of the Gellert Grindelwald and Headmaster Albus Percival Dumbledore on the subject.
He could compete, or he would damn sure find a way to do so.
"I won't disappoint you," he told his Grandfather figure.
"While I'd enjoy staying and chatting for some time, I'm afraid I must prepare for the journey," Dumbledore bemoaned cheekily. "When you reach my age you'll understand the difficulties in traveling, and I must see the conductor besides."
Dumbledore stepped out of the dormitory. Harry watched him go and relaxed slightly. He could find no indication that Dumbledore knew about Harry's growing suspicions.
That wasn't of course the same as Dumbledore not knowing. Just that Harry could not detect it.
Harry settled his things in. Taking careful measures for the arrangement of his possessions and a certain degree of pleasure in the control it granted him.
Harry set Daphne's box in his robes. Inside were the memory of the duel and Grindelwald's parchment. Harry set aside a small stone bowl and began to carve runes into it.
The process would take time to create a pensieve more manually rather than by sacrificing and receiving one as he had done before. But it wasn't as though he could take his other one with him and there were aspects of the memory he still needed to study.
Doubting that he would have a place to hide its effects if he should take it out of the box, and knowing that it requires constant reducing, Harry had decided that the best option had been to let his Dementor go. He owed it his understanding of Thermomancy, but he was aware of the dangers it posed and had ruled it too risky to leave behind or take with him.
He took his time settling in before he heard a voice from the mirror in his pocket.
"Harry?"
He picked it up and looked into it to see Daphne's face.
"Are you already on the train? Astoria and I have just arrived." Daphne glanced to off to something he couldn't see. "I already gave my sister the slip."
"Your sister got in?" He asked in French. He caught her annoyed look. "You do realize all our classes will be in French all year, don't you?"
"Yeah yeah, rub it in," she mumbled at him. "I'll pick it up eventually," she affirmed more confidently.
She would. Psychometry likely lent itself to learning languages better than perhaps even legilimency did.
Well some brands did. Being able to taste the history of objects probably wouldn't be too helpful.
He knew Daphne could pick up sight, and sound at least from objects, that or pure knowledge, or some combination of all three. He based audio on her knowledge of his and Neville's conversation that one time – though that could be explained by magic just filling her brain with truth – and visual information being received based on her foreknowledge of the boggart and of his damage to the table.
So, she was either a combination of psychometrically clairaudient and clairsentient or psychometrically claircognizant. Perhapseven more.
He really couldn't say what her upper limits were, or what her control is, or really how it worked. It was a modality he could never truly experience.
She had been nervous about touching that blood-stained book. Could she control what she received, or was she at its mercy? He hoped not, and he suspected not. That could drive her to madness faster than even Luna's gifts could.
"I'm in the compartment across from the fourth-year girl's dormitory." She informed him. He reached out mentally and felt her familiar mind quite close by.
"I'll be right there."
He cut the connection and put the mirror in his pocket again.
He made sure his most valuable things were well hidden – his cloak, the memory, the parchment – and he brought the start of the new pensieve with him to the next compartment over, carrying it in the pockets of his robes.
Someone walked into the dormitory. Harry turned and recognized Ernie Macmillan. The Hufflepuff had spoken out against Harry during second-year, but Harry had taken his vengeance at the time; he could let what the other boy said go. It wasn't like he had ever attacked Harry's friends or set himself against him.
"Potter," Ernie greeted nervously.
[Oh no...]
Harry pulled from the teen's mind that he had been nervous about accepting the position because he was afraid Harry might hold a grudge.
Harry thought he could alleviate that fairly easily.
"Call me Harry," he welcomed in a pleasant tone. "You might as well if we're going to be rooming together."
Ernie looked more than a little relieved.
"You've taken this one, then?" Ernie gestured to the bed and the space Harry had claimed.
Harry nodded. "But it doesn't matter much to me, I can move."
Ernie shook his head and took the middle bed. "Nah this one is fine." Harry stepped out as Ernie set his trunk down next to the bed.
Harry stepped down a train car to find Daphne talking to a redhead Harry had never actually talked to, but in a class of forty students it was hard not to know everyone's names.
"-st me. You don't have anything to worry about," Daphne was saying. She turned around as he walked in. "You didn't tell me you were publishing something new."
Harry shrugged as he walked closer. "It must have slipped my mind." He met eyes with Susan Bones and caught her nervousness.
"Harry, you know Susan, right?"
Harry nodded. "We've had classes together, but I don't think we've ever actually met." He extended his hand. "Harry Potter."
She took it, and he felt her anxiety decrease slightly. "I'm Susan Bones."
"Did you get permission to visit Cannes from Dumbledore?" Daphne pressed. "And the permission to duel?"
"I did."
"It's a little embarrassing that we'll have to duel the third-years, though," Daphne complained, "just because we don't teach dueling at Hogwarts. I hear that if we display enough talent we'll be allowed to move up to a competitive place."
Harry said nothing.
"What? What is it?" Daphne pressed him, reading his silence.
"Dumbledore informed me that I should be put in the fourth-year dueling curriculum." Harry informed her, slightly anxious at her response.
"Of course he did." Daphne rolled her eyes and sighed. "You realize that you are going to teach me."
"I supposed as much," Harry nodded.
"Wait, what does the Headmaster have to do with this?" Susan asked.
"He's Harry's legal guardian," Daphne clarified.
"Too little of my family survived Voldemort for me to go anywhere else," he dismissed.
Susan accepted that. "Have any of the other fourth-year boys arrived yet?"
"Ernie Macmillan did, though I'm not sure about the last," Harry answered.
Susan walked away to see her fellow Hufflepuff.
"The Bones family has a long tradition of powerful witches and wizards." Daphne informed him. "You-Know-Who personally killed most of her family to reduce their influence in the war. Only Susan and Amelia, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, survived."
Harry frowned at that. "I didn't know that."
Having said and heard everything she needed, Daphne settled into silently reading some of her text books for the upcoming year.
Harry had already read his, so he took the stone bowl out of his pocket and began to carve runes across with his wand.
Su Li stepped in and gave a nervous wave before walking into the dormitory. Michael stepped in with Susan and Ernie and they sat down. Su re-joined them and conversation flowed around Harry as he worked.
"Harry probably knows."
He glanced up at his name.
"Harry probably knows what?" He asked.
"We were talking about how we're going to get to France." Michael said. "Do you know?"
Harry considered it. "I imagine… That we'll use a portkey inspired system. Bend the space between us and Beauxbatons, then arrive in Cannes."
"Would that work?" Su asked, intrigued.
"It's what I would do if I had to move something as massive as the train."
"But you don't actually know," Michael confirmed. "You didn't hear anything from the Headmaster."
Harry shook his head. There was a whistle and the train began to pull out of the station.
"I suppose we'll find out soon," Ernie concluded and Harry dived back into his work. There were many runes that needed to be carved to make a pensieve, and it was both meticulous and painstakingly slow work.
The train started chugging south, and he figured they would probably head in that direction as far as the tracks would allow, but the view outside was getting faster and faster until it was blurring.
"It looks like you were right about bending the distance. It looks like the view from the night bus," Daphne mused.
Harry just nodded.
The countryside flew by until they reached Dover and, to the wonder and amazement of those on board, left the tracks behind completely, taking to the air to clear the channel. The wheels ran over invisible airborne tracks, once again accelerating to ludicrous speeds until they touched down again in Calais.
Assuming Beauxbatons was indeed near Cannes, they still likely had more distance to travel until they reached their destination than they normally would to Hogwarts.
Onboard, Harry watched the French countryside become less soggy, like England, then drier and brighter, with acres and acres of vineyards, before they reached the southern humidity. The warm mediterranean air was enough that several members of the compartment left to change from their warmer, mid-autumn, English clothing.
Durmstrang was supposed to be from the far north, perhaps in Siberia, even; a permafrost bitten place of the world. Harry could only imagine how students used to that climate would have to adjust for the warmth of southern France. Harry had already cast a cooling charm on himself and they hadn't even reached their destination yet.
The train reached Cannes and didn't slow as it once again lifted itself off its tracks and charged across the city, over a beach and towards the ocean. From there, it blitzed across the surface of the Golfe de la Napoule, throwing tons of water into the air.
There, south of Îlot de I'llon, was a fifth Island that Harry had never seen on any map.
"There it is!" Su Li excitedly exclaimed.
The Island was low, and there was a peaceful looking school of blue and white amongst palm trees and rocky beaches.
"Durmstrang beat us here." Ernie pointed out the window. There was old-style three-masted galleon sitting in the water near the island. It looked Scandanavian in origin, if the intricate Nordic scrollwork along the forecastle's rails was anything to go on, although Harry couldn't profess to be an expert on ships.
The train glided up the rocky beach to a pre-cleared patch and coiled around itself like a snake until the caboose linked to the conductor car, giving the express the appearance of a bright red ouroboros.
"Well it's time to show off how impressive Hogwarts is to the other schools and remind them why England is top dog," Daphne announced with a smirk as she stood.
That seemed to be the signal for the rest of them to get up as well, and they filed out along with the other years to meet before the Headmaster.
"Now then, all changed? Very good." Dumbledore looked out amongst them and nodded, speaking very seriously. "Remember that your actions will reflect upon Great Britain and Hogwarts. You would do well to conduct yourselves accordingly." Then in a much more jovial tone, said, "Off we go."
Beauxbatons seemed to be divided into separate buildings, with spacious courtyards and gardens strewn between. The buildings themselves were all no more than three stories tall and each structure contained so much glass that they looked as though they may shatter, they seemed so delicate and dainty compared to the hard stone of Hogwarts.
The Beauxbatons students had assembled before a great circular structure in the middle of the campus. It was a was a tall building, the second tallest on the island, with an arcing ceiling.
A monstrously tall woman stood and greeted the Hogwarts Headmaster with a hug, and Dumbledore turned to greet another man with yellow teeth who shook Dumbledore's hands in both of his.
Harry took the opportunity to glance around the forum-like courtyard. There were light blue uniforms mixed with harsher grey, almost military-esque ones, which clearly divided the Durmstrang students from the rest. The Durmstrang students seemed to have dressed for the occasion, but Harry could see some discomfort in their posture. The airy, silk uniforms of Beauxbatons couldn't have been better suited for the climate.
Several students were glancing at Harry, having spotted him and recognizing his fame out of all the student from Hogwarts. Just as many were staring at a strong jawed boy in a Durmstrang uniform. Harry absently thumbed his wand.
As much attention as Harry and the Durmstrang boy received, more was being given to an upper year girl in a Beauxbatons uniform. Harry didn't recognize her in the slightest, nor the Durmstrang boy. Perhaps they were both famous.
Harry looked to his right to see Michael gaping at the girl. Harry hit his side. The boy sent an angry look Harry's away before giving him a murmured, "thanks." Harry just nodded, examining what he could see of a large building across from the dining hall.
He could see soft warm light inside, illuminating rows and rows of books in long shelves behind tall glowing windows.
I'll see you later.
He thought in the direction of the books.
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All the students were sorted inside into different tables by age, one for each year. There seemed to be more students who attended Beauxbatons than Hogwarts. Though, Harry was willing to bet that was because they pulled from Spain and central Europe, rather than because of a greater magical population.
The United Kingdom contained a third of the magical population of Europe, due in no small part from the fact they had been sheltered from Grindelwald's wars on the mainland.
Harry took a seat at the fourth-year table and others from his year sat around him. They received several odd looks as the French remained standing until the tall woman herself had taken a seat.
Cultural differences.
Harry shrugged it off.
The Headmistress gave a short speech that Harry ignored, welcoming the Hogwarts and Durmstrang delegation and announcing that the Triwizard tournament would begin after the meal. It was explained that Dumbledore would be drawing an age line around an artifact called the Goblet of Fire. It was that which captivated Harry's interest through the speech.
Harry eyed the Goblet. It was ordinary looking, if it wasn't so large, at least, but it was filled with blue and white flames that clung hungrily to the otherwise unassuming wood.
The cup would choose its champions through some means by Halloween, meaning that there was quite some time to decide if one wished to enter the tournament.
The Durmstrang Headmaster swept his students out of the hall with a flourish, and Harry only barely watched the man go. Instead he watched, fascinated, as Dumbledore traced a golden line around the enchanted wooden chalice.
A French boy at the table seemed to notice him staring.
"Going to try to find a way into the tournament? He asked in his native tongue.
Harry shook his head. "No. It's not for me."
"I suppose excitement and danger isn't the Brits' cup of tea," another boy joked, earning laughter from the Beauxbatons group.
Harry ignored them. The tournament would demonstrate Harry's power and present him with challenges, but he preferred Dumbledore's almost quiet and contemplative achievements and air much more than that of some violent school student.
Besides, I killed a Basilisk, what would you know about danger?
He thought absently at the French boy.
"I 'eard that the 'ogwarts students were placed in ze beginners dueling class." Some girl said obnoxiously from further down the table.
One of the other students bumped the rude girl and Harry went back to ignoring them.
Dumbledore stood from the high table and began gathering his students, starting at the seventh-year table. Harry stood up when he saw that and slowly his peers followed his lead. His eyes never left the Goblet until a tall, lithe man approached him. The Beauxbatons students began to disseminate and take their leave, and the man was met with several polite mutterings of 'Professor' as he passed.
"Mr. Potter?" The man greeted. Harry took his eyes off his target towards the man. He had aged features, but was dressed in clean silken robes. "I am Professor Du'Mont."
Harry took the man's hand. "The Deputy Hedmaster? It's a pleasure."
"I was speaking to the Albus about some of your accomplishments, I teach Herbology, you see."
Ah.
"I wanted to welcome you into my office if you ever wanted to discuss my subject with me." The Professor Du'mont finished.
"Thank you, Sir. I just may take you up on that," Harry returned respectfully.
Du'Mont smiled and Harry bid him a good evening.
Susan leaned towards Harry, "When did you make the time to learn French?"
Harry frowned feeling confused. "We had almost a year to learn."
"Yeah but weren't you busy, you know, writing stuff?"
Harry just shrugged and followed the other Hogwarts students out of the hall and back to the trains.
Harry had a lot of work to do, really, and he couldn't wait to get started.
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Harry hadn't slept that night; he'd been too busy.
However, early Saturday mornings, after the third-year classes, was when the dueling class for fourth-years took place, and Harry wasn't going to miss that.
A courtyard to the west of the main Hall, far from the library, was where the class was held and he made his way over to it in time to see Ernie get trounced by a second year Durmstrang student. Daphne had already finished and was waiting on a bench towards the outside of the courtyard.
Harry watched the teaching referee, a grim-faced man who was taking care of several duels at once, calling the session to a close in time for the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons student in the next session, Harry's session, to arrive.
"You didn't come and watch me duel?" Daphne asked.
Harry frowned. "Did you win?"
She frowned and looked away.
"Maybe it's better that I didn't see, then." Harry laughed lightly and stood.
He met in a huddle of other students around the referee who quickly went over the rules for the duels they would have in class. It was fairly standard, disarming and stunning and being knocked out of bounds would count as an end to any duel.
Harry was quickly put up against a Durmstrang student who eyed Harry carefully. Had he been informed about Harry's magical successes? Or was he just a cautious duelist? Harry wasn't sure, but he lined up across from his opponent and bowed deeply. The boy reciprocated politely and, at the signal, began by incanting and hurling a disarming spell and a stunner Harry's way.
Harry silently blocked both spells with a shield charm, causing the other's eyebrows to raise.
Harry dipped gently across his opponent's mind and felt the teen's weariness.
Harry cast a disarming spell followed by a knockback hex in quick succession, quickly flowing into a light chain he had practiced, setting his opponent on the back foot.
"Protego!' The other boy cried out to shield himself as Harry sent half a dozen spells across the distance in just two seconds.
Harry pointed out of bounds and cast the yanking spell he had designed, the effect pulling objects around the spell towards where it impacted.
The Durmstrang student had been expecting a blow against his shields, not the opposite, and was promptly lifted right off his feet.
It pulled Harry's opponent out of bounds and to the ground, marking an end to Harry's first duel, a disappointing one at that.
Due to the number of dueling pits available, there were only so many duels able to occur at any time. Harry stepped out to allow the next to take place, walking back over to Daphne. From the look of things, she had been watching quite intently.
"You look disappointed."
She could always read him.
"He couldn't challenge me," Harry informed her.
"When'd you start casting silently?"
Harry just shrugged and watched some of the duels around him.
A platinum haired girl in a Beauxbatons uniform sent a Durmstrang boy to the ground without much effort. Her second victory over Durmstrang, if Harry remembered correctly.
"See something you like, Harry?" Daphne had a challenging tone.
"The Durmstrang students have four years of dueling experience correct? And Beauxbatons students have one. So how did she beat them?" He pointed at the students the Beauxbatons girl had defeated.
"Harry, are you serious?" He looked back at Daphne and frowned lightly. She grinned like the Cheshire cat. "Could it be I know something you don't?"
Harry chuckled. "It's always possible."
"Go duel her, find out for yourself," She said.
Susan had lingered with Daphne to watch some matches. "You want him to duel her? But sh-"
"-Don't ruin this for me." Daphne hushed the other girl and then turned back to him, still smiling. "And don't you go peeking and find out."
Harry rolled his eyes and stood up. She meant don't use legilimency to just find out, and Harry decided to play her game.
And why not?
He asked himself.
He walked over to her.
"Excuse me, Miss. I was wondering if I could challenge you as your next opponent?" Harry told the girl.
She had blue eyes and straight white teeth and her frame was wreathed in long very blonde hair that ran down almost to the middle of her back.
"Oh, you must be the famous Harry Potter." The girl smiled. "Gabrielle Delacour."
She shook his hand.
"Why would you want to duel me?" She asked.
"You beat them, even when they should have more experience than you." Harry explained emphasizing the word 'should' in French. "I would very much like to find out why."
Her eyes glittered lightly.
"Very well," she said, then smiled. "I always wanted to beat a celebrity."
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"If you're unwilling to order the deaths of thousands of people, you're already off the list of potential great figures in history." - Dan Carlin
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The first quote for this chapter is probably the most quintessential to this story which I have stated so far.
You can ask me questions at my forum and I may have answered your reviews there already.
WG