~An Emerald Amongst A Sea of Stone~

Chapter Sixteen

Gemma felt someone touch her shoulder, pulling her away from the timeless haze her lecture for the night had provided. Slowly, her eyes swerved sidewards, where her mother, Catherine Fawley, gazed down at her, a soft, wary smile on the woman's near-flawless face.

She stroked her silky, brown hair as she spoke. "I'm sorry for interrupting…" She removed her hand from Gemma's shoulder, her lips thinning for a moment. "Your grandfather is asking to see you."

Gemma frowned, though not because she was surprised. After all, she had exchanged no shortage of letters with him recently. What more confused her, was why the Lord Fawley had deigned now – the very night she'd returned from Hogwarts – the perfect time to speak. Especially because, usually, he never showed his face around the manor till the later stages of August.

Softly, she closed the cover of her book, giving the leather's silver lettering one last glance before storing it away in her drawer.

Celtic Wardcraft by Alabaster Goyle.

For a moment, a blur of vivid, green eyes and messy, raven hair flashed past her. Her lip curled. Thanks, Harry.

Gemma turned towards her mother.

"Where is he?" she asked, voice measured as ever.

Her mother gestured towards the door leading into the hallway, smile fading. "In the Lord's study," she answered.

Not far at all then…

Sometimes, getting from one end of their home to the other took quite some time. Fortunately, Gemma had the entirety of the east wing to herself, complete with a small potions laboratory and direct access to the Fawley's small yet resourceful library.

"What does he want?" she asked, rising from her chair. Her sterling eyes scanned over her mother's posture. After a year of separation, she almost stood taller than her.

Catherine glanced downwards. "I thought you would know," she replied. Her eyes found her daughter's. Glistening worry met self-assured resolve. "You're not getting mixed up in anything dangerous again… are you?"

Gemma felt something tighten in the depth of her chest. Whether it was guilt, regret, or anger, she wasn't sure. Her levelled expression faded, lips morphing into a faint line and eyelids shutting for a moment. She exhaled.

"I am old enough to make my own choices, mother."

Silence reigned for a moment.

When Gemma opened her eyes again, she found a tear running down Catherine's cheek. It was almost like her mother had expected those very same words. The woman's voice was brittle. "That's what he used to say too," she whispered.

Gemma left the room.

The door shut behind her with a click of the lock. For a moment, she stood still, and felt her teeth clench in frustration.

…and yet I'm still not my brother.

Abruptly, she started to move again, beginning her stroll through the dark halls of Ravenwood Manor. Pictures of her ancestors pinned her from left to right with curious stares, yet Gemma stopped to talk with none of them. Her eyes fixed straight, she passed by the door leading into the library, instead taking a left turn and eventually finding herself in front of the Lord's study.

The double door leading into her grandfather's office was hewn of thick, pearly ebony, just like the rest of Ravenwood's walls. She knew the door was warded soundproof. Nevertheless, she knocked. Once, twice, and thrice.

A distorted yet familiar voice echoed from above her. A new enchantment of some kind, undoubtedly. "You may enter."

Gemma gripped the door's silver handle, turning it once before slowly pushing it open. The sight which greeted her inside was a familiar one. A large shelf, made of vibrant mahogany, lined the wall behind her, separated by the door she had entered. To her sides, the hexagonal room was adorned by countless rolls of parchment, pinned to the wall with regular, muggle-type pin-needles.

They all featured different diagrams and drawings, one larger and more complicated than the next. Her eyes trailed over towards the last wall, vis-a-vis her. A large, rectangular window offered a spectacular view onto Ravenwood's expansive grounds. In front of it, stood a large desk, made of the same wood as the shelves to her back, which housed countless, obscure trinkets – from small, rotating spheres to spindly apparitions that emitted a cold, silvery glow.

On a sturdy, uncushioned chair, sat her grandfather, the bowler he usually wore unpresent. Even in his old age, the Lord Fawley's hair remained full, his black and grey-streaked strands combed over with the sides cut short.

"You asked to see me?" Gemma said.

Slowly, her grandfather turned around. Sterling eyes met their serene counterparts. He stood up.

"I did," the Lord Fawley nodded. He turned towards one of the many parchments that littered the walls around them, smoothing out his moustache. Gemma's gaze followed.

The depiction of an expansive runic array spread before her eyes. Hundreds and hundreds of runes labelled the diagram from side to side. A year ago they'd been nothing more than strange signs. Now, she knew what they were.

Runes. Celtic to be precise.

Her grandfather folded his hands behind his back as he continued to stare at the array. "Tell me, Granddaughter, what use does this particular cluster have?"

Gemma frowned, analysing the different facets of the array. The Celtic alphabet was similar to Elder Futhark, yet still remarkably different where it mattered.

Eighiz for defence… Othala for heritage… Sowuli for sun… Mannaz and Ingwhaz. Man. Blood. They're all interconnected…

Her face was blank. "A ward of some kind… Against… vampires?"

The Lord Fawley glanced towards her, his head tilting in curiosity. "Are you asking, or telling me, Gemma?"

The girl shook her head, her eyes fixing the diagram once more. She frowned, an idea slowly creeping onto her. She parted her lips.

"It could also be a blood-bound enchantment of some kind…" she murmured. "Some kind of protection that could be placed on a family grimoire to protect it from strangers." She glanced up into her grandfather's silver eyes.

He nodded, impressed. "Good," he said. His voice was pleased, though no smile found its way onto his face. The man's gaze shifted back towards the array on the wall. "I assume you managed to acquire a pass to the restricted section then."

Not exactly…

She crossed her feet over for a moment, biting her lip. "No… Professor Babbling refused." Her voice was even. "She said I'd have to complete my OWLs first."

Her grandfather didn't visibly react, simply continuing to eye the cluster in front of him. "So you broke in," he said, nodding.

Gemma shook her head again. "Not me…" she said, hesitating ever so briefly. "I just made sure my partner in crime had a clear path in and out." She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. One of the major lessons her grandfather had taught her as a child was to never give someone blackmail over yourself. And in that regard she had failed. If Harry had wanted to, he could've ratted her out.

The Lord Fawley turned, deigning her another glance. His thoughts were indecipherable to her. "And who was your partner?" he questioned, raising a brow.

She held her breath for a moment, trying her best not to look away. "Harry Potter."

Her grandfather tilted his head. "The same boy you invited to accompany us to Denmark," he stated, his eyes fixing the ceiling for a moment. He seemed thoughtful. "A first year with the capability to dissect wards…" A pause. "What can you tell me about him?"

Gemma felt her lips morph into a line. "He's… talented."

"How talented?"

"I…" Gemma struggled for words for a moment. "He was capable of casting an adequate disillusionment charm a few months into the first term. He achieved perfect marks on all wanded exams this year. He's the one that helped me prepare for the championship this summer," she said, ticking off one after the other.

The Lord Fawley raised an eyebrow, though he didn't seem disappointed. More so… amused. "You are duelling a first year?" he prompted.

She didn't fold. "He beat Diggory in his first duel."

"Yes…" The man nodded. "I'd heard old Flitwick had taken him under his wing." He paused. "What is he like? Who are his friends?"

Gemma paused. "He's calm. Calmer than anyone else his age." Sometimes, she wondered if that was bad rather than good. "He's confident but closed off. Doesn't share much about himself, especially if you don't ask. From what I understand he lived with muggles before arriving at Hogwarts."

Her grandfather nodded, prodding her to go on. "A half-blood in Slytherin doing better than everyone else. I can't imagine he was well received."

She shook her head. "He was attacked in autumn. Managed to save himself using an explosion hex." She paused, elaborating after a moment. "After that he started spending more time with Zabini and his friends. Greengrass and Nott. Some Davis girl. They don't seem particularly close though."

"Interesting…" her grandfather murmured, turning towards the window to his right. He glanced out onto the woods. "A more promising candidate for certain…"

Candidate? Gemma wanted to ask. Before she had the chance though, the opportunity was gone. The man turned back towards her, his weathered fingers brushing over his moustache.

"I would like you to continue correspondence with him," he said, taking his time to speak the words. He tapped his foot, though not impatiently. More so, because he seemed thoughtful. "Once you return to Hogwarts, I want to receive regular updates on his progress." He found her eyes. "I trust that won't be an issue."

She was quick to nod. "Of course not, Grandfather."

"Good." He gestured towards the door leading out of the study. For a faint moment, the ghost of a smile adorned the man's aged face. His eyes fixed the spot where he knew Gemma's wand to be located.

"Then let us see just how much you have improved under the tutelage of a child."

Harry sighed as he glanced into the large, full-body mirror right below his wardrobe.

After returning from Hogwarts, he had spent the last few weeks in the Leaky Cauldron, reading, testing spells, and practising magic day in day out. And though he would have never suspected it, after more than a dozen times of living the same exact day over and over, he had grown somewhat bored with his predicament.

Professor Flitwick had offered for him to visit his mother a few times, but each time, the boy had declined. The memory of that night returned whenever he thought about her, and his failures still laid heavy on his mind.

"Besides…" he murmured. "It's not like it'd be any use." Why visit when she wouldn't even remember he'd been there at all? Thick, auburn hair shone brightly before his inner eye. "When I see you again, I'll have a cure," he said. "I promise."

His eyes flickered towards the opened letter which still adorned the surface of his desk. Its envelope's seal, a raven made of black wax, laid broken next to it. He pursed his lip.

At least Gemma's coming to pick me up soon… It's time I finally got out of here…

Shortly after the end of year feast, the older girl had handed him her address, explaining that the enchanted notebook she had gifted him with wouldn't work over the summer, since its magics were tied to Hogwarts's wards. Harry had been too tired to ask any specifics beyond that.

A scowl surfaced on his face for a moment, his eyes trailing towards his scratched, bloody fingers. I wouldn't even mind if it wasn't for the fact that her ruddy owl keeps trying to chew my hands off… He waved his wand, sealing the gaps in his skin without a thought. Perhaps it's time I get a bird of my own…

Flicking his tongue, he glanced back up into the mirror, allowing his gaze to roam over his body. A pair of cold, dark-green eyes stared back at him – so very unlike the one he had seen that night. Abruptly, he cut himself off, shaking his head.

I need to stop thinking about it… What's done is done. The stone was destroyed and there was no way to get it back. At least not for another few decades… His eyes zoned back in on his reflection. Also, I'm in desperate need of a fucking haircut…

Discarding the fact that his raven mop was even messier than usual, in general, he liked the changes his body had undergone over the past year. He stood taller. His voice was deeper. His jaw had grown more defined and the contours of an adam's apple now traced the pale skin of his neck.

Fourteen…

For a moment, he wondered how his dear cousin had changed since the last time they'd seen each other. The ghost of a smile appeared on his face at the thought. Probably blew up another 50 pounds…

With a wave of his wand, he removed the last remaining crinkles which littered the set of tailored, charcoal-black robes he'd been gifted by Blaise for his birthday. Italian craftsmanship, his friend had claimed, was far superior to British one. And as Harry stared at himself in the mirror, he couldn't help but agree.

His gaze flickered over towards his bag. A distasteful look entered his eyes for a moment. Doesn't fit. He raised his wand.

"Colovaria."

The mahogany leather turned black, its golden accents shifting towards silver. Nice. He summoned it, swinging the strap over his shoulder. His lip curled in amusement. I look a bit like Blaise…

He was startled by the sound of three knocks echoing on his door. Harry turned right, levelling his expression and taking a breath. They're here. Without further thought, he pushed down the handle, putting on the reserved yet polite smile he always used whenever the occasion called for it.

The door opened.

Clad in a jet black muggle-style suit, and with a height of 6 '3, the older gentleman who appeared in front of him cut an imposing figure. His weathered face appeared expressionless, but storm-coloured eyes emitted a self-assured serenity reminiscent of Dumbledore's. Unlike the headmaster's unique brand of grandfatherly charm, however, this man's aura had a cooler, more calculative touch to it.

Harry bowed his head. "Lord Fawley," he greeted with the proper humility expected of him. Only once he looked back up, their gazes met. He felt a faint itch somewhere in the back of his head yet he refused to look away, instead wiping his mind clean within a moment's notice. The sensation subsided almost as quickly as it had come. Did he just use legilimency? His eyes shifted slightly downwards, coming to a rest on his tutor's face.

"Gemma," he nodded, unknowing that the smile on his face had disappeared.

The older girl raised an eyebrow. Her dirty-blonde hair flowed just past her shoulders, having grown longer in the month they'd been apart.

"Harry," she greeted, her sterling eyes carrying a challenging glint. Her lips were pursed. "Ready to go?"

Trying to shake off the strange, small headache which had nestled itself at the back of his skull, he nodded. "I've got everything."

The only things he had decided to leave behind were the Map, his collection of wit-sharpening potions, and the books he'd stolen from the restricted section. After all, it wasn't like he'd been using any of the three lately… He held his words for a moment.

"How are we getting there?" he asked eventually.

"By Portkey," Lord Fawley addressed him. His voice was deep and clear, even though he spoke quietly. From the pocket of his jacket, he produced a small, silver cube with strange, trench-like lines running across its surface. "Niklas and his wife are expecting us in five minutes."

Harry had to do his best not to raise both eyebrows. Portkeys were heavily regulated and highly illegal to own out of ministry jurisdiction. Subtly, he glanced towards Gemma, a question in his green eyes. The girl stared back at him flatly.

Don't ask, her expression said.

He nodded. "Feel free to come inside then," he offered, gesturing them through the door.

He locked the three latches with a flick of his wand. While the Lord Fawley merely eyed the opened letter on Harry's desk, Gemma's gaze swept all over the room. Eventually, her grey settled on the burn marks at the far end of his outside wall. She snorted.

"Been practising, have you?"

Harry grimaced. "Not as much as I'd like. The last time I tried using Lacero I ripped a clean hole into the stone."

And when a simple Reparo hadn't been able to repair the damage, he'd been forced to spend the entirety of his remaining afternoon learning how one fixed magical brickwork. He sighed. At least I know how to enchant stones to make them more durable now… he figured.

Gemma tried her best to keep the amusement off her face. She failed. "Well, we'll have plenty of time to practise once we arrive in Denmark. The Moritzens offered to let us use their duelling hall for the duration of our visit. Just make sure not to tear their manor down or we might get kicked out," she said.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Very funny," he drawled. Still – he had admittedly missed the duelling sessions with his partner. Emerald eyes flickered towards the watch on his wrist. He turned towards Lord Fawley. "I suppose it's time?" he inquired.

The man nodded. He opened his large, rough hand, revealing the strange, silvery cube from earlier. "Are you familiar with portkey travel?" he asked. Harry nodded. He'd never used one, but had read up on the theory behind it. "Good." Clearly, Gemma's grandfather wasn't a man of many words. "Touch it."

He did, pressing his finger against the object. Gemma followed his example. For a few seconds, no one spoke. When nothing happened, Harry wondered whether the portkey had malfunctioned. But then, out of nowhere, something violent tore at his navel, and he saw the world around him blur to a sea of white.

The wind which harrowed past Harry's face was far harsher than he had expected when they'd arrived in the so-called capital of duelling a few days back.

Even during summer time, temperatures in Denmark rarely ever rose beyond 18 degrees – and though he'd packed for cold weather, he wasn't accustomed to the climate of the coast. His one saving grace was that Gemma had been kind enough to teach him some of the beauty charms witches commonly used to keep their appearance untarnished. And even though his entirely too long hair hadn't really been able to profit, messy birds nest that it was, the spells shielding his pale complexion from the unpleasant weather had come in rather useful.

Currently, he found himself strolling through the magical district of Copenhagen, Heksens Havn, by Gemma's side. After the girl had consecutively battered every single contestant into the ground during the qualifiers, her grandfather had commanded them to spend an afternoon exploring the city.

Not that he could fault the man's line of thought. After all, Gemma hadn't even been close to losing even once. A fact that made him feel slightly better about yet having to beat her. Determination washed over him for a moment. Once I come back from France she'll be in for a surprise.

"Did you know over fifty percent of Denmark's economic output comes from duelling alone?" his tutor commented as they walked along the harbour, her wavy hair blowing in the wind. Evidently, she hadn't bothered to make use of any of the charms she'd taught him earlier today.

Harry shook his head. Most of the random tidbits of trivia Gemma had dropped over the duration of their stay had been unknown to him. Perhaps I should've read up a bit in advance… he thought absentmindedly. Not that he was really regretful. His research on the country of France had and still did hold priority, after all.

It's not like I'm staying in Denmark for much longer anyways…

The finals would take place in the second largest stadium the country had to offer – what had once been the official arena of the ICW's duelling league before a new one had been built to accommodate for the rising interest in the sport. In three days time, they would be gone from this place.

"I mean… It's not like you can go anywhere else to watch." Harry replied, picking up on the girl's question. There were lots of smaller, local duelling leagues spread across the continent, but the truly talented people were all here, at the only internationally recognized grand circle – the franchise which hosted the World Championships.

Briefly, the face of his Charms Professor flashed past him. It stirred a question within his mind. "Is Flitwick going to be there?" he asked. He hadn't heard from the man since they'd said goodbye to each other at the Cauldron earlier this summer.

Gemma glanced towards him, shaking her head. "Can't make it. Says he's terribly sorry, but has too much on his hands with the recent rumours of a goblin rebellion emerging in Romania," she shrugged.

Understandable, Harry nodded. Not having anything to add, he allowed silence to settle once more. In the distance, he could hear a couple of seagulls whining.

"Is there anything specific you wanted to do?" Gemma asked as they came to a halt on one of the many piers leading out onto the sea. The view was nice. Another seagull squawked far away.

Harry nodded. "I thought about getting an owl," he said, his eyes glued to the horizon. "It would make communicating remarkably easier over the summers." Not just with her.

She nodded, clearly approving. "A good investment," she agreed, twisting her lip. "Shall I get us something to eat while you shop for one then?" she suggested.

Just then his stomach grumbled. Gemma failed to hold a snort. Inwardly, he rolled his eyes. "Sure," he replied, his voice lacking any actual bite. He yawned. "Meet here again in thirty then?" he proposed.

Gemma stretched her limbs, glancing off towards the food mile in the distance. "Works for me," she nodded. "I'll see what I can get us," she told him.

"Thanks," Harry said gratefully. He was quite hungry, after all. "I'll see you later then."

"Yup."

And just like that, they parted ways, Gemma heading off towards the food mile and him going the other way. As he cleared the space which remained between him and the shopping district, he was once again made aware of just why Denmark was revered as the country of architecture.

Compared to the crooked, run-down buildings which made up Diagon Alley back home, Heksens Havn shone with its pristinely white houses and perfectly parallel facades.

Fortunately, most of the signs which littered the shops around him weren't too indecipherable. He wasn't versed in the Danish language, but that was hardly an issue, considering that Magisk Menageri wasn't all that far off from Magical Menagerie.

Greeted by a comforting warmth and the pleasurable absence of wind, Harry stepped inside the shop, his gaze roaming the many shelves which hung from the walls. In unit with the house's outer appearance, its insides were also neatly organised in a way which made it easy to see where each particular type of animal was located. Something that was rather nice, seeing as the shop's narrow design had him feeling more like he was standing in a particularly wide hallway instead of an actual room. Cramped.

There's also no one here…

On the floor to his right, rested a large terrarium filled with dozens upon dozens of small, colourful snakes. If he'd listened carefully, he might have detected a faint hissing noise protruding through the thick glass. Instead though, Harry's eyes wandered farther, settling on a collection of cages at the far end of the tight shop. Birds…

His feet carried him past a vast array of creatures, before he finally came to a halt in what appeared to be a larger, circular-shaped room. Its ceiling seemed to be nonexistent, as the brilliantly blue sky twinkled at him from above. Perhaps a way to make the birds feel less like they're prisoners…

It even seemed to be working. Nearly all of the owls he saw were fast asleep. There was only one indignant squawk echoing through the room, coming from one of the cages at the back. Harry peered around the remaining aviaries which blocked his view, and found a raven, black as the night, screeching its voice raw. The sound clawed at his ears like fingernails being dragged across a chalkboard. Nevertheless, he took a step closer.

That cage is far too small for a bird that size…

The raven barely had enough space to spread its wings inside the metal enclosure. He could certainly understand just why it seemed so upset about its living conditions. Why is he even here in the first place… Harry wondered. I don't see anything other than owls inside of here apart from him…

Memories started to stir from somewhere deep inside his head. The cupboard under the stairs, the hours spent locked away by the Dursleys, the unjust punishments… Despite not caring for any humans growing up, he had always felt for animals which had been wronged by them. First the abandoned cat he'd found as a child, cowering in the alley, and later, the unicorn brutally mutilated by Quirrell… The same pain and suffering he had seen in the cat's and unicorn's eyes were mirrored in those of the raven.

No one deserves to live like this…

He allowed his gaze to wander around the shop. There was still no one in sight. At last, Harry's eyes settled on the singular door which led into the backrooms. Carefully, he reached into his pocket.

"Moneo," he whispered. An unpleasant tingle snaked its way down his arm. I'm not making the same mistake as with Longbottom again. "Colloportus." For good measure, he added a locking charm.

Harry glanced back towards the suffering raven. It had stopped squawking, and now stared at him with a tilted head, its beady eyes curious and wary. Slowly, he closed in on its cage, lowering his wand, indicating he wasn't a threat. He tried a smile.

"I'm not going to hurt you…" he promised softly. "I'll get you out of here. Just… trust me, okay?" he said. "Don't scream."

For some strange reason, the animal seemed to understand his words. Hesitantly, it nodded, ruffling its shiny, black feathers. They glistened like obsidian in the skylight that shone down from above. Harry carefully raised his wand, pointing it at the silver lock of the enclosure.

"Alohomora," he whispered.

With a faint clicking noise, the cage's door sprung open. Harry took a step back. Tentatively, the raven hopped forward, using its beak to push its aviary open. It continued to stare at Harry, a question in its dark eyes.

"Come on," he urged.

The raven squawked. It jumped out of its cage, landing on the cage by his side. It tilted its head at him once more. He revealed his empty hands.

"I don't have any food… Sorry."

Its beak snapped forward, embedding itself into Harry's hand. The boy hissed, pulling it back. What was that for? he glowered.

The raven squawked once more, though the sound wasn't hostile. Rather… affectionate. Harry grimaced.

"Listen, just…" He gestured towards the open skylight, ignoring the blood that was trickling onto the floor. "Just go, ok?"

The animal's eyes turned sad for a moment, but, eventually, it nodded, ruffling its shiny feathers. With a last squawk, it took off into the sky, vanishing in the distance.

Disspelling the blood on his robes and the floor, Harry smiled – that was, at least, until he felt his forearm tingle in alarm.

Fuck.

About twenty four hours later, Harry yawned, only moments away from falling asleep. His eyes flickered towards the large, intricately decorated golden and silver clock which dangled from the ceiling of the stadium. In his tired state, the muffled sounds of the crowd outside his box almost sounded like someone humming a lullaby. He sighed as he remembered the reason for his current grogginess.

Last night, just as he'd been finishing up his occlumency practice and planned on heading to sleep, an aggressive knock had echoed against the door leading onto his room's balcony. Confused about its origins, Harry had grabbed his wand, and gone to investigate in his boxers. His first instinct had been that Gemma hadn't been able to sleep and decided to use their shared balcony to see if he was still up, but when he had drawn away the covers, he'd been surprised to find a familiar, jet-black bird, as dark as the night, hacking its beak against the glass. The faint moonlight had been just bright enough for Harry to notice the maroon splatters of dried blood on its glistening plumage.

He still couldn't help but shake his head at the memory.

Somehow, and for some inexplicable reason, the raven he'd saved from the Magical Menagerie yesterday had found him. He'd only been able to stare at the bird in utter puzzlement, before it had released one of its indignant squawks, demanding to be let inside.

He still wasn't so sure what had convinced him to follow the bird's demands. But once he had granted the raven access into his quarters, he'd been forced to watch as it had begun to fly circles around the room, fluttering its wings in content.

He'd tried to get it to leave his room again for nothing short of two hours, but none of his efforts had been able to persuade it whatsoever. So, hen he'd been moments away from flinging an Incarcerous at the animal, he had decided to just lie down and hope that the raven would be gone by the time he woke up.

Something which, unsurprisingly, had not been the case.

Thus, accepting his fate, Harry had spent the early hours of the day buying a perch and treats for his new companion. He sighed. I never specified I needed to have an owl for a messenger bird, I suppose…

Afterwards, he had, as planned, headed to the playoffs with Gemma and her grandfather, the latter of whom was sitting next to him even now. They had dropped the older girl off at the prep rooms after a very short pep-talk, before they had continued their way up to the top box, where they would be able to watch every performance without the annoyance of having to stand in the crowd and the comfortability of being completely on their own.

Originally, Harry had intended to study every duel carefully, wanting to learn as much as possible. After the second boorish one in a row, however, he had given up on his endeavour. The first few contestants had been remarkably incompetent, at least for the level they were supposed to be at. I could probably take them on a good day…

Nevertheless, he'd had no choice but to wait till it was Gemma's turn. After all, leaving wasn't really an option. Thus, even after more than two hours of lazing away in his seat, he still found himself emptily staring at the wall of the stadium, half between dozing off and listening to the announcer's annoyingly monotonous, overexcited voice.

"And… next! Applause for Leonard Hopkins of Scotland against Lena Schneider of Germany!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Surely it's gotta be her turn sometime," he muttered to himself.

Lord Fawley raised an eyebrow by his side. "You should have slept more," he said, though there was no judgement in his words. Harry figured it was the longest sentence the man had spoken around him for the entire duration of their trip. "But I'm inclined to say it won't take much longer. Gemma is putting on her gown as we speak."

Really? The teen straightened his posture, glancing down into the arena below. And indeed – in the outer circle, he could make out Gemma's honey and chocolate streaked head of hair, getting into her duelling robes – midnight blue and embroidered with the sigil of a raven.

The announcer's metallic voice cut through his observations. "And that's the win for Hopkins! What a performance! Next up, Viktoria Romanenko of Ukraine against Luka Mariczék of Poland!" he exclaimed.

At the same time, the door leading into their box opened, revealing a family of three. The man had neatly styled, combed-over black hair and a moustache of the same colour. The pretty girl in front of him looked to be around Harry's age, though her facial features seemed rather undeveloped. At last, his gaze shifted towards the woman on the man's arm.

She was more beautiful than anyone else he had ever seen. Full, platinum blonde hair, eyes the colour of the deep-dark ocean, and a face as beautiful as an angel's. Golden jewellery dangled from her ears, framing her flawless, glowing and smooth skin in a mixture of opulence and luxury. For the first time in his life, Harry Potter couldn't stop himself from staring. His eyes scanned over her every detail. The perfectly arched eyebrows and high cheekbones. The full, slightly parted lips revealing a brilliant, perfectly white smile. The way her sensuously sculpted body seemed to move with such ease and fluidity she almost looked like a goddess.

A seductive voice whispered into his ear. Impress me… Come on… You want it… You need only do what I ask and–

Promptly, he snapped out of it. The woman's intoxicating grasp on his senses vanished as he rid his mind of all thought and feeling. For a moment, he wasn't in the arena, but in a dark void made of nothing. When he returned to the stadium, he shuddered, looking anywhere but at her.

What was that?

The only other time he'd felt so utterly captivated was when… Crimson eyes, a blood-red gem, and thick, auburn hair flashed past him for a moment. He flinched. The mirror… At some point, he had wanted nothing more than to stare at his mother's reflection for all of eternity.

This woman's pull had been slightly different.. More intoxicating. More direct. Yet he couldn't help but feel that their nature was somewhat alike. Especially, since he had managed to overcome both of them with occlumency.

Lord Fawley's voice tore him out of thought. "Not bad," he said. "For how long have you been practising?"

Harry stared at the man, not entirely sure what to reply for a moment. Then he remembered the slight tug in his mind he'd felt when they'd first met. Of course, his lips thinned. He already knows I'm studying occlumency…

He glanced back towards the family for a moment. They had settled into their seats and were obviously chatting quite excitedly. Strangely enough though, Harry wasn't able to hear them.

"Privacy charm," Lord Fawley said.

"I…" Harry paused. "A few months. I was hoping to reach the advanced stage before the end of the year," he replied. His intuition just told him that, no matter what he said, Lord Fawley would know if it was a lie.

The man glanced into the difference, his face straight as ever. "It's certainly ambitious," he said slowly. His eyes flickered towards the angelic woman. "But you managed to withstand the allure rather well."

Harry frowned. "Allure?" he asked.

Lord Fawley nodded, his bowler tipping ever so slightly. "She's a Veela," he said, as if that explained anything.

The lines marring Harry's forehead deepened. For a moment, he considered just letting the matter rest, unwilling to risk annoying the man, but in the end, his curiosity won out.

"I've never heard of them," he replied.

The Lord showed no visible reaction, continuing to look straight forward. "You wouldn't, being muggle-raised. Veela have a strange place in our society. Their unnatural beauty makes them desirable. At the same time, they're discriminated against because of their heredital abilities."

"The allure," Harry assumed.

"Amongst other things," Lord Fawley agreed calmly. "According to most sources, their folk's origin is tied closely to the extinction of the Aetherwings; large avian creatures of fire and passion. It is said the last Aetherwing bestowed a child to wizardkind so their legacy could live on. That child was the first Veela."

Interesting… His eyes shifted back towards the woman for a moment. Her beauty hadn't diminished in the slightest, but this time, the pull he felt was remarkably easier to ignore. Probably because I know it's a compulsion now… He turned back towards Lord Fawley. "Are there any male Veelas then?" he asked.

The man's neck shifted slightly, indicating a shake of his head. "Veela are incapable of bearing any male children. Each daughter a specimen has will become a Veela as well, regardless of the father."

Harry's eyes flickered back towards the family, settling on the girl his age. She's probably a Veela as well then… Harry noted. I don't feel the same pull from her though. He frowned.

"They undergo a magical maturity once they are old enough," Lord Fawley answered his unspoken question. "Usually between fifteen and seventeen."

Hm… Harry thought, processing the man's words. He sure seems to know a lot… Now that he thought of it, he'd never even asked Gemma what exactly it was her grandfather did for work. The man certainly didn't seem the type to sit around in his office all day just to occasionally politic in the Wizengamot.

"Thank you, sir."

Lord Fawley simply nodded in recognition, cancelling the privacy charm. Along with the muffled noises of the crowd, unfortunately also returned the announcer's annoying voice. It echoed through the stadium, clawing at Harry's ears like a rooster's cry.

"And next up! Gemma Fawley of England against Laurent Delacour of France! Applause for our last round of 64!"

The teen sighed. So Gemma really was dead last… His posture straightened once more, as his eyes locked on the hexagon in the middle of the arena. His lips thinned as Gemma and her opponent stepped onto the stage, exchanging the customary bow.

A loud gong echoed through the arena, signalling the start of the duel. The french boy opened with a wordless disarming charm, which Gemma easily blocked with a golden shield, before chaining it into a light-blue banisher which careened past her opponent.

Harry watched the duel between them unfold with relaxed focus. It didn't take long for Gemma to fall into her routine, dodging and shielding against the increasingly aggressive-growing spells of her opponent. An outsider would have assumed that she was forced to defend because she was inferior. Having duelled her for the better part of a year, however, Harry knew that Gemma always chose to opt for the defensive.

"It is looking good for him," he heard the father of the family to his right speculate "She doesn't have a chance to retaliate."

Harry almost snorted. When you speak of the devil… Then he paused. Should he pass up on the opportunity to brush up on his French when he had the chance? I don't think so.

"You're misreading their dynamic," he said, loud enough for the family to turn their heads. "She's just trying to exhaust him."

The man raised an eyebrow, whether at the fact that an Englishman was talking to him in French or the suddenness of the conversation, Harry knew not. Either way, it seemed like the man wasn't necessarily offended. Quite the opposite. "And why exactly do you think so?" he inquired curiously.

"It's her style," Harry replied. "I've been practising with her for nearly a year. She always starts off on the defensive. Once he gives her a sufficient opening, she's going to batter him. Look."

They all glanced back towards the arena below. And indeed – a messed up spell-chain from her opponent was all it took for Gemma to swap roles. Relentlessly, she started to chain spells, Delacour's shields growing weaker with every cast.

"The boy is right," the Veela murmured to her husband. "I'm afraid this might be it for our dear nephew."

The man seemed speechless, stroking his moustache. "So it seems," he agreed with a sigh.

Delacour's wand clattered to the floor, his arm caught by a stray bludgeoning hex from Gemma. Immediately, the affected tissue started to swell and purple. The family rose from their seats. The Veela turned towards Harry for a moment, giving him an enchanting smile. There was a hint of mirth twinkling in her ocean-blue eyes, though Harry wasn't able to discern its origins.

"I'm afraid this is our cue to leave… We were pleased to make your acquaintance, however, Mr…?"

He ignored the tug at his senses. "Potter, ma'am. Harry Potter."

"Au revoir then, Mr. Potter," the man smiled amusedly. "Sebastien and Appolline Delacour and our daughter Gabrielle. Perhaps we will see each other at another one of these occasions in the future, with you in the arena, yes?"

The ghost of a smile graced Harry's lips. Next year. "Perhaps," he agreed politely. "Au revoir then, Madame, Monsieur." He glanced at the girl standing between her parents. She shot him a dark look, clearly not happy he had correctly predicted her cousin's loss. "Gabrielle," he nodded.

"Au revoir, Mr. Potter."

With that, the family vanished through the door, leaving only Harry and Lord Fawley behind in the box. Silence reigned for a moment. That was, until the man to his left spoke.

"Your accent sounds like you were raised by a common country bumpkin," Harry was informed. "If you wish, I can ask my brother's wife if she would be willing to tutor you."

That's why they were looking at me funny… Harry groaned inwardly, unable to face the man. "I'd appreciate that, sir."

Hey folks!

I'm done with this chapter. It's a little longer than usual and took more time than I would've liked, but at last we're here. I tried a couple of new things with this one. Thus, the style is probably a bit different from what you're used to. So, I BEG YOU, please leave a review or join the discord to let me know what you think about it:

zwpshsfKJn

The reason why I decided to change things up a bit, was a comment I received on FFN, which rightly pointed out that most of my characters lack a certain depth and the story relies on my plot to carry it. This isn't something I was really aware of before, but upon further inspection, found to be somewhat true.

Thus I decided to follow the reviewer's suggestion to take a look at some stories which flesh out their characters quite well and take some inspiration. Obviously, the difference won't be huge or perfect, but I hope I made a move into the right direction with this chapter.

On a different note: I hope you enjoyed our excursion to Copenhagen, Denmark. I would've liked to include some more worldbuilding, but somehow the chapter turned out a little differently. I hope you can forgive me.

Anyway, the next chapter will probably mark the start of second year, so stay tuned for more updates. Once again, a big thank you to all reviewers, commenters, followers, and… kudos people. I hope to see you again soon (no promises though).

Cheers!