Beta: Digitize27
I answer questions about this story on my forum. Link in profile.
To be honest I'm not sure about the future of this. I'm dealing with both mental and physical health issues and so writing is hard.
Thanks for your patience with that.
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"Always remember that the crowd that applauds your coronation is the same crowd that will applaud your beheading. People like a show." – Terry Pratchett, Going Postal
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Harry traced his wand around his head and over his clothes, murmuring as he did. He finished and directed his wand at his chest, muttering, "finite." Then he moved to repeat the motion again.
"How many times are you going to do that?" Daphne was resting comfortably nearby while he practiced his wand motions in the meadow.
"Until I can do it nearly instantly," Harry returned distractedly without turning around. "As I told you before, I need to master these protections before Saturday." He gestured, incanted, and the skin on his left arm became as hard as bark. He flexed it and rolled his wrist. It seemed fine even though the sensation was odd. It felt heavier, but it still moved like normal. He touched it with his wand arm and it felt numb. It would take more practice to make the skin hard but still behave exactly like skin.
"Yeah but it's boring. It's not like the usual magic you do." There was certain something in the way she said that.
"You insisted that you be here in the event my self-transfiguration fails."
"Self-transfiguration is very dangerous! Most people can't-"
"Merlin, you two bicker like a married couple." The smaller version of Daphne plopped into the meadow and sat down next to her older sister. "Mom sent a letter," she held out a page to her sister from an envelope. "This was what she sent you."
Harry inhaled to prepare himself and try Grindelwald's blade ward again. He closed his eyes and focused on warping the space around him.
Only the space. Not the air. Just the space.
"You know Aster its funny," Daphne began and Harry could hear her smirk. His own lips turned up just listening to it. "Mom said she would send both of us an allowance to spend in Cannes and yet it's not here? Isn't that strange? Do you think she forgot? Or-" Harry heard a fake gasp. "-Could it be that you would try and take the whole thing for yourself? Surely not. Not my sister!"
"Mucruitio." Harry spoke and made the motions of his wand as he had been told.
"I guess she must have forgot then. Oh well. I'm sure your boyfriend with the trust fund will give you a loan."
Harry saw no difference in the world around him. He held out his hand and a fallen branch flew towards him. If he cast the spell correctly, it should be shredded. Instead it hit his hand. He scowled and raised his wand again.
"I'm not going to mooch off Harry. Just hand me my share and then you can go your way."
"So he is your boyfriend. Congratulations! Well, I never thought I'd see the day- ow! Hey!"
"Fork it over Aster!"
"Would you let go!"
"Be quiet. I need to focus," Harry told them both. They both quieted and he exhaled.
"Mucruitio."
There was nothing again.
"What is the great Harry Potter trying to do this time?" Astoria whispered.
"I don't know that spell. It might be a new one," Daphne whispered back.
"It's one of Grindelwald's." Harry informed them with his back turned.
"From the memory?" Daphne asked.
"Wait Gellert Grindelwald? The Dark Lord Grindelwald? That Grindelwald?" Astoria asked.
"Yes and yes," he answered them both.
"Isn't he, you know… why are you learning a Dark Lord's spells?" She pressed awkwardly.
"Grindelwald was undoubtedly evil. His actions aren't worth emulating, but his magic is." Harry laughed at her expression. "I think I would like to see Nurmengard one day."
"The prison?" Astoria stage whispered to her sister.
Entering Nurmengard wouldn't be easy. It was half palace and half prison. The brick and mortar had been enchanted as they were added to create an overwhelming magical protection. The whole building had been sung into place using Grindelwald's magic. He would need a way to dodge all the wards and guards and, perhaps just as dangerous, the house elves. But it should be possible.
"Mucruitio." Harry snapped. The grass around him was shredded as it swayed in the light breeze in and out of their current space and into adjacent ones. Twisting fields turned the ground inside out around him and the earth violently popped and he felt his back hit the dirt as the spell failed.
"Now I see why Daphne likes to watch you work," Astoria murmured.
Harry laid in the dirt, closed his eyes, and emptied his thoughts.
He felt the headmaster approach before he heard him.
"Are you busy, Harry?" Dumbledore loomed over him, Eyes twinkling. "I find myself quite surprised. You've never been one to be so idle."
"A spell ran away from me, sir." Harry explained, sitting up. "Perhaps I need more practice."
"It may have to wait. I am here to borrow you. I am afraid that there is much for us to discuss."
Harry stood up and waved his wand over himself. His robes smoothed and tightened themselves as the dirt simply fell off. As he followed the headmaster he made eye contact with Daphne to share a message.
We'll talk later.
"This spell which ran away from you, I could not help but hear the incantation and witness the wand movements. One of Grindelwald's, was it? Folding space so thoroughly and rapidly is quite dangerous. I myself never succeeded in weaponizing such abilities for duels, though, I am rather familiar with spells based on similar principles."
"Like the fidelius?"
"Just so. Speaking of, you must know that we are about to meet Sirius Black." Harry cocked his head up at the professor. "You see Harry, my capability to act as your guardian has come under a small bit of fire. We must prepare ourselves for the possible outcome that I am found wanting and that Mr. Black is appointed in my stead."
"How did this happen?"
"Well for one you must know that I have my own share of political enemies who are more than willing to exploit a bit of drama, though, I do sense Madam Malachite's hand in play. Money talks, Harry, and I find myself often lamenting the volume of its voice. Although in this case my opponents found a bit of leverage." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled down at him.
"Sir?"
"It seems as though Ms. Granger reported to her professors that you indicated your opinion that I was unfit to take care of you. Of course, Professor McGonagall, in line with her responsibilities, had no choice but to pass along this hearsay when questioned for the sake of this inquest."
Harry thought back to his parting conversation with Hermione. "That's not what I said… Is it really that much trouble for you?"
"The words of the child, even off hand, and even out of context, are certainly considered ammunition in custody battles. The possible impact aside, I find myself curious as to what your thoughts really are."
"I only told her that you'd made mistakes in handling myself, Tom, and Grindelwald."
"And what, in your opinion, were my mistakes involving Gellert?"
"It's often argued that you could have involved yourself in the war sooner. You yourself mentioned that you could have confronted him earlier." Harry hesitated. Those were the opinions of other people. That wasn't what Dumbledore had asked. "You were also friends with him, were you not?" There was a long pause and they walked in silence, Dumbledore stroked his beard with a small smile. "The copy of Alive, A Categorical Study by Harfang Munter you loaned me belonged to him." Harry continued when his teacher said nothing.
"I was correct in thinking that you haven't been idle." Dumbledore gave Harry a very evaluative look. "Yes, we were friends once. We shared dreams. I hope you can understand, Harry. That I was alone." With barely a moment's thought Harry nodded along. He did understand. He knew what it was like to be alone. He didn't know Dumbledore had felt that cold bitter sting too. "Oh I had family, and my share of friends, but I had no mentors. No one who understood me until I met him. Perhaps you are right, that I could have done something about him much sooner, but I can't bring myself to apologize for the friendship we shared. We were brilliant, Harry, and he understood."
Harry said nothing. He didn't know what he could say to the old wizard. His face was drooping and he looked so tired, but his eyes still shone. They still looked bright. So Harry moved forward in silence until Dumbledore was ready.
"I would prefer that you not use Grindelwald's spells in the tournament, not when there are those who would recognize them." Harry frowned but nodded. "At least not unless you feel you must. I shall share a handful of wards with you that can take the place of protective spells, and a handful of offensive ones, should you be interested."
Harry bobbed his head again. He could master Grindelwald's spells on his own time, and if agreeing to not use them so publicly won him a few more then he was game. "I'm always interested, sir." Harry glanced over at the Professor. "Does my interest in Grindelwald's spells concern you?"
"No, indeed if that were all you were interested in, I believe I would rest easier at night. You have shown you are also interested in his history and, if I'm not mistaken, some of his ideologies. Perhaps I am no better, some of his ideas are rather grand." Dumbledore stroked his beard. "A common world where muggles and wizards live together is a bold notion, one I was well taken with in my youth. But you don't care for muggles do you, Harry."
"No." Harry answered. "I don't." There was quiet as they walked for a moment. "It's not that I hate them, it's just… you're right. I don't care for them. Isn't it normal to care about people you do know and not care for people outside that?"
"Hmm." Dumbledore hummed high in his throat. "Perhaps you are right. However, I find that the world would be a far greater place if it were normal to care about everyone."
"Another grand idea, sir?"
Dumbledore only hummed thoughtfully.
They paced into the center of island towards the area of the compound with the guest building. Harry recognized the building and looking up at the headmaster, but he only marched onwards, oblivious or apathetic to Harry's questioning look. Dumbledore stepped inside and towards one of the rooms before giving it a polite knock, the familiarity of the sound took Harry back three years to Privet Drive, the day his life changed forever.
The door swung inwards to reveal a lean looking man with a square face and short curly beard. He had rectangular glasses over dark eyes like beads and his face was rather nondescript. Even so, Harry recognized him immediately.
Dumbledore took the man's proffered hand in both of his and shook it firmly. "Nicolas, it's good to see you."
"Albus, my boy, you never call, you never write, you never visit! What's an old man to think?"
"He visits, writes, and calls all the time!" Harry heard an exasperated voice shout from within. "You saw each other just a few months ago in Cairo! Or did you both forget? Senile! The both of you!" The woman poked her head around the corner. "Albus," she greeted before looking down. "Oh, it's the boy." She sounded almost disappointed.
Harry blinked. This was a far cry from how Perennel had acted in the walled garden for the weighing of the wands. Dumbledore set a hand on Harry's back.
"So this is young Mr. Potter." Nicolas peered down at Harry. "Well come in, come in! You can't just stand out in the corridor!"
Dumbledore gently pushed Harry into the room as Nicolas shut the door behind him. The man strode forward and poured coffee into three mugs and reclined into a loveseat in a living room area.
He bade Harry and Dumbledore to join him at the coffee table set in the center of the room. Dumbledore took a wide couch and Harry sat next to him, suddenly feeling very small where just minutes ago he had crushed space like a tin can. "It's a pleasure to meet Albus' protege. I was beginning to worry he would never take a proper apprentice. Where are my manners? I am Nicolas Flamel." The man extended a hand with a jovial grin.
"Oh skip the introductions. Everyone already knows who everyone else is," Harry heard Perenelle shout from a kitchenette.
Well, she's not wrong.
But Nicolas' grin didn't falter in the slightest and even widened further when Harry took his offered hand. "Albus tells me you lack the inclination towards my areas of expertise. Transfiguration never caught your fancy? Nor potions?" He seemed to actually want an answer this time.
"Potions is interesting," Harry affirmed. "I harass my professor about their invention and how they work. And I'm only just beginning self-transfiguration." Harry took a drink of the coffee, Nicolas handed him. It was bitter but smooth, he supposed. He wasn't much for it, but it would be rude to turn it down.
"For the tournament?" Perenelle sat down next to her husband with a mug of steaming tea in her hands. It smelled fragrant, even from where Harry sat on the far side of a coffee table. She gave him an appraising look over her glass as she daintily crossed her legs.
Harry nodded. "Some skin-hardening and basic healing should serve me well, and not just in this."
"Of course. I have seen some of your work in herbology. I'm sure you are aware that my own field was affected by your discoveries." Nicolas smirked. "But that isn't your calling is it? I have been informed of rather than read myself your studies of dementors and their magic. I've even heard that you are something of an expert on thermomancy. Perhaps even a cryokinetic, too?"
Harry looked down at the last coffee mug which sat at the edge of the table, near an unoccupied arm chair. "Something like that, Sir."
Nicolas opened his mouth but Perenelle beat him to it. "Albus called you a mind artist," she deadpanned. "A legilimens at the age of eleven." There was something almost too sarcastic in the way those words dripped from her tongue. They sounded all too saccharine to be completely sincere, but Harry wasn't sure what would be attracting her ire.
Harry snuck a glance towards the Professor, before flicking his eyes back to the Flamel's.
There was a firm and loud knock at the door, which shattered the tension Harry had felt growing.
"Oh, I'll get it!" Nicolas stood with alacrity. Setting his mug down and moving towards the door. "So glad you could join us Alastor. I saved you a coffee."
Harry heard a stiff grunt, and a series of loud alternating steps.
"Ka-thunk...ka-thunk...ka-thunk."
Harry turned his head towards the noise. There was a man- well, parts of a man, walking, if such hobbling and dragging could be called walking, with a staff and peg leg across the hard-tiled floor. He was missing most of a cheek and the better part of his nose and the whole of his eye had been replaced by a bright blue whizzing imitation. The rest of his face and what Harry could see of his arms didn't look much better. It seemed as though the man had tried snogging a weed wacker.
"Harry, meet my good friend Alastor Moody," Dumbledore introduced. Mary Shelley's inspiration sat with a loud thump into the armchair. The man pulled out his wand and began muttering over the coffee, something Harry found quite rude, before finally deciding to take a drink. "Former auror and member of the Order of the Phoenix."
"Order of the Phoenix?" Harry asked, piercing that together. Tearing his eyes away from the man to look at Dumbledore. "Your followers." Harry realized.
"My friends," Dumbledore corrected gently with a twinkle in his eye.
Perenelle scoffed.
"Let's not rehash old arguments," Nicolas intervened. "The purpose of this cabal is You-Know-Who."
Harry almost jumped. "Tom?"
Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed. I suspected that the attempted theft of the stone last month was his work, and after some convincing-"
"-and the fact someone has to replace you as a tournament judge-" Perenelle cut in.
"-the Flamels agreed to come here so I could help protect the stone and their lives."
"Plus Beauxbatons has formidable wards, and there will be a great deal of security and attention here, what with the tournament," Perenelle continued.
"You always suspected that he was still kicking." Moody growled. "You have evidence now?"
"None that I could share in a court of law or would stand up to a hearing," Dumbledore admitted. "He exists now as less than a wraith and more than a ghost clinging to life and seeking to return to power."
"How does he survive and how will he attempt to return?" Nicolas pressed.
"There are many ways he could rebuild a body. The creation of a homunculus by ritual or perhaps even possession," Dumbledore answered. "As to how he remains in this world… I am at a loss. -"
Liar.
"- I can only suppose that he used the vilest of soul magic to hold himself here."
Harry felt a stirring in his gut.
"We already guessed as much." Perenelle stirred her tea and took a sip, sharing a glance with her husband.
Mental fingers ached to reach into their minds and find out just what, but Harry stayed them. The Flamels would undoubtedly know occlumency.
"What is he capable of now?" Nicolas pressed.
"Possession, and while sharing the body of another he can do other magics, at the very least legilimency," Harry answered. "Maybe more."
"Voldemort was always charismatic," Dumbledore continued for Harry. "He could bend wizards and witches to his side even without magic. Only his words and presence, which I suppose is a magic all its own. It would be unwise to assume that he is not dangerous, even without magic. Should he make another attempt on the Stone, I intend to catch him, and seal him away."
"Use us as bait you mean," Perenelle interpreted. "Would you like to paint the bullseye on our backs, or should I?" Nicolas raised a hand to hush his wife and turned towards his drink looking pensive.
"Sir, it didn't work at Hogwarts, why would it work now?" Harry asked his mentor.
"Voldemort already made for the Stone once after Hogwarts, why shouldn't he endeavor a third?" Dumbledore turned towards Harry. "He should be deluded into thinking that the Stone was at Hogwarts, only those in this room know that the Stone was never there. Indeed, if he was willing to try Hogwarts surely he is willing to infiltrate Beauxbatons."
Harry scowled mulling that over. Would he, himself, try to steal the Stone again after failing twice?
If I was desperate enough.
Hell, Harry was willing to test Nurmengard for a handful of books. Surely the stone was worth more than that, just not to Harry.
"Perhaps the Stone should be destroyed," Harry hedged into the room. "That would be the safest course?"
Harry saw Dumbledore heave an almost imperceptible sigh before Perenelle opened her mouth. "Safest for whom? Surely not safest for myself and my husband who would surely die!" Harry raised his hands in placation in the face of her venom. "Perhaps you should give up your life to stop this wraith. After all it is you who he has an interest in."
"He's just a boy, he didn't mean it," Nicolas pleaded. "He couldn't have known and remember darling, no old arguments, please."
Perenelle huffed, but seemed to calm down. Harry decided to keep quiet for the rest of the meeting.
"I don't like this plan, Albus, it targets both me and my wife especially," Nicolas continued.
"You'll always be a target. Destroy the Stone, don't destroy the Stone, he'll be gunning for ya' either way," Alastor cut in. "The only thing that changes by staying here with Albus is that he can keep a close eye on the two of ya' and hopefully catch the bastard. Minimizes risk while maximizing reward." Alastor sat back. "Unless ya' think you can hold 'em at bay on your own?"
"We'll have to talk about it." Nicolas looked at his wife, then back to Dumbledore. "We can't make a decision like this without due thought."
Alastor stood, drinking the last fluid from his mug and set it back on the table. "Well, I'd decide fast before he decides for ya'."
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Harry exited with Dumbledore's guiding hand on his shoulder and the door shut behind them both. Harry waited for Dumbledore to begin walking before he followed.
"What do you think of the Flamels, Harry?"
"I always assumed that out of the two of them, Nicolas would have more presence."
"Mmm." Dumbledore made a non-commital noise. "Being a genius does not make one powerful or charismatic or even well-adjusted to social norms. I am rather surprised. I had thought you would understand that, given your relationship with Ms. Greengrass." Dumbledore turned a bright eye onto Harry. "Unless I miss my mark."
Harry furrowed his brow in thought. "No. You don't," Harry returned, shaking his head slightly.
It was true. Harry was powerful and smart but he would always prefer to leave the talking to Daphne.
They walked in silence down the corridor.
"Here we are." Dumbledore looked at his watch. "Your godfather should be settling in about now." He gave a firm rap on the door.
"Yes, yes! One moment!" The door swung open. "Dumbledore!"
The man was lean, too lean. Unlike Nicolas who had a healthy gait the tall man before Harry looked as though a strong breeze might do him in. His hair was long and unkempt, falling over his eyes and his facial harry grew in a wild fashion, as though the man had simply forgotten to shave for the last few weeks. His eyes were slightly sunken, in line with his thinness, like the man hadn't had a warm meal in a month and the whites were a slight yellow. The smell of alcohol hit Harry's nose as he stepped over the threshold.
He held out his hand and after a moment the man shook it, grasping it tight but almost weakly.
"Harry Potter," he introduced.
"I'm your godfather, Sirius Black." Sirius hardly maintained eye contact. "You look so much like your father, James. But not the eyes, no, you've got Lily's eyes."
Harry nodded along with the line.
"You were a friend of my father's." Harry stated.
"I was, yes. The best." The man tried what Harry was sure was once a roguish half-smile but it quickly dimmed. Sirius cleared his throat and turned to Dumbledore. "It's good to see you as well, Headmaster. It's been a while."
"Just a few years." Dumbledore brushed off with a small upturning of his lips. "I'm sure Remus will be glad to hear that you are out and about."
"Remus?" Sirius asked, as though the name was distant. "How is he?"
"He's doing quite well. Teaching at Hogwarts, believe it or not."
"Good, good. That's really good."
The conversation began to die down almost immediately. Harry reached out with mental fingers to touch the inside of his godfather's skull.
Harry was suddenly tethering on an edge, down from which there was no bottom and no climbing up yet he could not seem to regain his balance. A sense of vertigo washed over him and he swallowed some bile in a suddenly tight throat and dry mouth.
"Jump,"something whispered to him.
I'd never come back, Harry retorted.
"Of course not," it whispered back.
Harry recoiled back to himself. The shock and terror was enough that he almost flinched away and gasped for breath. It was the sort of horror one felt when they realized how short their life was, how meaningless anything they could ever do was. It was the feeling of hating yourself for wasting your life but knowing in your soul that there was nothing you could do to change that. It was anxiety attack inducing nihilism. It was the paradox of not wanting to die, yet wishing you had never been born.
Sirius didn't seem to notice the intrusion but Harry was violently repelled all the same, left almost choking by the sudden swell of intense emotion.
Dumbledore turned an eye on Harry before engaging Sirius once again.
Harry tuned it out and thought of Voldemort who hounded him and the tournament which ensnared him. It would be so easy to give up. To just… bow out. Step aside. Be small, because no matter how hard he tried he would always be small compared to something. So why bother? He always managed to handle the solipsism, and the helplessness that came from the realization that everything he did was preordained when he talked to Luna, he could get through this too.
"But you've never managed to refute those ideas," a conspiratorial thought whispered.
He shook his head, trying to free himself from the infectious thought pattern. He blinked the thoughts away as best as he could, tried to focus on what gave his life meaning.
I've never known someone to defend their mind by creating such a horrible- suicidal- feeling.
I can use that.
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Harry and Dumbledore stepped out after what may have been five minutes or could have been an hour.
"Did something happen, Harry?" Dumbledore looked down at him.
Harry winced and grit his teeth. "I should have known better than to try to read the mind of a suicidal and depressed man." He returned Dumbledore's gaze. "The thoughts and feelings are infectious."
"Are you alright?"
"It's fascinating, sir. I never imagined using a depressing feeling to repel mental attacks!"
"Oh, is that all?"
"Well, no. Every time you hear, read, say, see, or think something, you make another copy in your mind. Even as I try to analyze what just happened I float dangerous close to the same thoughts I received when I had the idea."
"I don't believe I follow."
"By passing along an idea which attaches to many trains of thought, a person's memory can be turned against them. You could easily poison someone's mind to always be looped back to the same thoughts. You wouldn't even technically need legilimency to do it. You could just remind someone of that thing and it would take them back. Those thoughts could then be something toxic, suicidal, depression inducing, or paranoia inducing. I bet I could even make someone schizophrenic."
Dumbledore gave him a worried look. "Are you saying that when you read his mind he passed his depression and suicidal tendencies onto you?"
"Well, yes. That's where I got this idea. A depressed mind comes back to the same thoughts over and over. It dwells on them. It loops back. The person's train of thought always comes back to being negative and as it spreads through a person's mind it attaches more and more. It makes more copies. That's why depression is hard to beat."
"That is not confidence inspiring… You are now yourself suggesting that you cannot escape that mental train of thought. The same one that left your godfather in such a state."
"Well yes, it's a dangerous thought. But for me it's a great tool." Seeing his mentor's face Harry rolled his eyes.
"It seems to me you could do such things with Legilimency by placing so many thoughts in someone's mind. You could twist and turn their thoughts or use a pavlovian reaction to get the same results."
"You mean use brute force to manipulate their mind to the same effect? Well I suppose this memory poisoning is less efficient, but it's still fascinating all the same."
"Harry, such illnesses are no joking matter, especially if what you are suggesting is true."
"Sir, I promise to tell you before I kill myself." He chuckled softly and smiled.
Dumbledore did not.
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Harry found that the headmaster had kept his word when he woke up Friday to find Hedwig perched outside the compartment window. She pecked loudly at the glass and Ernie turned over in his sleep.
He silenced the noise so as to not wake up his compartment-mates, dressed, and exited the compartment and train. He went around rather than let Hedwig in. He accepted the letter and parchment from the bird who nipped at his fingers incessantly.
He opened it to find to sheets of paper, likely copied directly from a personal tome onto these pages. The contents were fairly standard affairs for spell descriptions in Dumbledore's stylized handwriting.
When Harry read the spells' names he couldn't help but smile. There was no mistaking Dumbledore's handiwork, even in the naming. The first was called Minute Meteor, the second was Energy Efficacy. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if all of Dumbledore's spells were alliterative.
Minute Meteor summoned fist sized magical lights that orbited the caster and nothing more. Energy Efficacy turned heat into electricity and that was all.
Someone else might have been disappointed with the two spells. Someone else might have questioned Dumbledore's use of them. Harry wasn't someone else and he had seen Dumbledore's duel with Grindelwald. Both spells made use of Dumbledore's natural inclination towards transfiguration, how the world could flow from one form into another.
However, more importantly, both spells were incomplete. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. If someone followed the instructions the spells would work exactly as they intended. The arithmancy was balanced.
Neither spell was designed to be used as they were. They were meant to be used in conjunction with another or modified. There were both begging to be modified.
Sure, Energy Efficacy could be used to turn heat into electricity, but with a slight modification it could do the opposite. Or turn heat into light, or motion into lightning. It was designed to make energy flow from one form into another. Something so small was simultaneously enormously powerful.
Of course, the spell had limits, as all magical workings did. One such limit was range, one could not transfigure the entire world after all, but, all things considered, it was undeniably useful. Harry even imagined that with practice and extreme control, the spell could be used to absorb energy, store it, then release it at a latter point.
Reading this spell, Harry was almost certain that this was how Dumbledore had turned Grindelwald's stone lions and their enchantments to powder with a casual flick. It explained why those who stood behind Dumbledore had survived Grindelwald's initial spell in the legendary duel, as well.
The second was similar. The points of light could just as well be motes of fire, or balled lightning, or solid steel, all to be hurled at a foe or even, with practice, block incoming spellfire.
The simplicity of the spells allowed complex operations to emerge from them inherently. It was at times like these Harry felt humbled.
Suffice to say that Harry was pleased by the spells. Enough so that he set to practice them immediately. After all, he only had another day before the first task.
"Decided not to come to breakfast?" Daphne interrupted his attempts to convert kinetic energy into electricity. "I saved you a croissant." She held out the small pastry wrapped in a napkin.
He took it graciously before he took a bite. It was still flakey and buttery, if a little cold. He hesitated when he looked her in the eyes. She was beaming and her eyes were full of mirth.
"What?"
"Oh I figured something out is all," Her eyes continued to dance.
"Something interesting?"
"You could say that. Have you seen today's paper?"
"I don't read the paper." She knew that. The opinions of… mundane wizards on things like proper broom stick regulations didn't concern him.
"Maybe you should today." She held out the paper.
He took it.
A Beastly Tournament
By Elise Villaneuve
Every Triwizard Tournament has its denouncers and naysayers. Some are concerned for the safety of our children and the dangers of promoting such a brutal sport. Politicians debate the benefits of hosting the tournament. Still others have well founded woes regarding the safety of the spectators, the last tournament was cancelled due to a rampaging cockatrice which killed many of the audience members.
It is from the magical creature perspective that my guest is speaking for today.
"We take some of the most dangerous creatures in the world, transport them hundreds of miles, put them in the center of a crowd, and then we are shocked at what happens next."
Amelia Turpin, from the British Ministry's Department for the Regulation and control of Magical Creatures had to say.
"And sometimes it's not just stupid it's cruel. Once the first task revolved around stealing fake eggs from a dragon's nest. Did they even consider the trauma for these poor creatures? Depression is well documented in dragons which lose their egg clutches.
And this year-well… let's just say it's an especially large dose of cruelty."
It's worth noting that within this year Amelia Turpin put her job on the line to care for a young magical creature. The ownership of which is a crime in Britain, even to save its life.
I for one stand behind Turpin. Cruelty for the sake of amusement is too far.
"And?" Daphne pressed.
"I don't know what you want me to see."
"The Tarasque, that's the creature for the tournament," Daphne's triumphant look turned exasperated.
"This doesn't say that," Harry said, turned the piece back over with his eyes. "Besides, just one creature for all three of us?"
"Ugh, that's why I talked to Lisa. She told me that when their mother was found out, the creature was slated to be killed and then shipped off, without an execution."
"How did you get her to talk about it?"
"That's not the important part."
"Then what's the important part."
"The important part," Daphne stressed. "Is that you're the executioner, Harry. That's what she means by this year being especially cruel."
"I don't know… I don't think they could just publish it."
"Well if they retracted it, that would give it away for sure."
Harry really wanted a mind to read. "I'm just not sure."
"Do you have any better ideas? Besides, just trust me on this one."
"So I need to prepare to survive one of these, Tarasque?" Harry hadn't heard of the creature.
"Well, kill it if you want to win," Daphne agreed.
Harry took a bite of his croissant. "I haven't heard of a Tarasque," he continued after he swallowed and handed the paper back to Daphne. "At least it's something to work on. Thanks Daphne." He took another bite of the croissant.
"So…" She trailed off.
"'So?'" He repeated.
"So this is the part where you tell me what happened with Dumbledore yesterday." She flicked her hair back exasperatedly as she spoke.
"Nothing much." He paused. He had promised to tell her more. "I met my Godfather, he'll be watching the tournament, and the Flamels for a meeting about Voldemort."
"Oh is that all."
"Nothing came of it," he defended himself.
"What was the meeting with the Flamels for?" Daphne pressed. Harry would tell her what she asked but she had to ask.
"Dumbledore thinks that Voldemort still wants the Stone, so they're in danger."
"That's always been a risk." Daphne considered. "I mean how many Dark Lords have wanted the stone since its inception? A lot probably."
Harry nodded his agreement. "That's what Alastor Moody thought too." Seeing Daphne's confused face he elaborated. "He's one of Dumbledore's friends. Probably a follower."
"I know who he is, you didn't tell me he was here," She huffed. "He's a well-known supporter of Dumbledore. It's a widely known secret that he was a member of Dumbledore's order."
"The Order of the Phoenix," Harry confirmed.
"Ah, you do know something about Dumbledore's political power."
"What does politics have to do with this?"
"Everything. At the end of the last war Dumbledore had a paramilitary organization working for him. A well-trained group of talented and useful wizards and witches. You think that they would follow him if they didn't agree with his stances?"
"They always have followers," Harry refuted. "Grindelwald, Dumbledore, Voldemort, what of it?"
"How do you think they got them. To organize a group you need a purpose. Even if it is world conquest or muggle extinction."
Harry wrinkled his nose slightly. "I need to look into these Tarasques if I can."
"So you're headed to the library?" Daphne affirmed. "What about classes?"
"Classes won't matter if I'm dead tomorrow."
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Compendium of British Magical Artefacts Through the Ages by Hebert Nikal: Excerpt from 'The Goblet of Fire'
The purpose of the Goblet of Fire is to select three names from three groups best suited for a given role. Setting this role is an abstract process that must involve three different nationalities and their governments. However, the Goblet's magical can only be used in regard to enforcing this preset role.
Though the most famous use of the Goblet is to select participants for the Triwizard Tournament, the original use was to select political leaders from the magical populations of Celts, Romans, and Scots during the Roman occupation of Britain between the first and fourth centuries.
The idea was that any one member of any group could be nominated to represent that group politically and the members could be assured that their representatives could remain incorruptible during their term, and that only the greatest leader could possibly be selected, even against their will.
Amongst societies where nationality was a key component of culture, this idea of compelled state service was considered moral, however, even after the cup was rediscovered in the era of Merlin, it has never since been used for political purposes.
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"Cauldron blazing in the fire, lapping flames grow ever higher. Tongue of toad, and wing of bat, Mixed within this bubbling vat. Raven's claw and serpent's scale, Dragon's blood and scorpion's tail." - Nox Arcana
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I always wondered what might happen if a mind reader looked into the head of someone with mental disorders. Like anxiety, or schizophrenic paranoia, or even depression. Or how about someone on drugs?
So, yeah. That's a red flag. For a note Harry has always used gallows humor, but what happened will have some effects.
Because I like to discuss things, I made a forum for this story. Link in Profile.
-WG