~An Emerald amongst a Sea of Stone~
Chapter Nineteen
It was a sombre and sleep-deprived Harry that found himself at breakfast the next morning.
The only thing on his plate was a half-eaten croissant, smeared with a pitiful amount of butter and jam, flanked by a cup of hot chocolate which had already gone cold minutes ago. He picked at the pastry absentmindedly, a headache nagging at his skull.
The murmur of conversation around him was distant, nothing more than background noise to his tired brain. That was, at least, until a particular mutter caught his attention.
"Muggle baiting incident in Pigalle…" Blaise murmured.
Harry opened his eyes. Some kind of magazine - La Gazette Enchantée - he read, lay sprawled out before his friend, the Italian frowning at its front page.
"Is that common around here?" the chocolate-skinned boy asked, turning towards Gabrielle.
She shook her head, matching Blaise's expression. "Non… Not zat I could remember at least. France is razzer – 'ow do you say…" She struggled for a moment. "Ah, oui – progressive when it comes to zings like blood purity. We 'ave a lot of muggle borns and 'alf-bloods here," she explained. "Ze war wiz Grindelwald ended most of ze ancient pure-blooded lines we 'ad – and elitism wiz it."
Had Harry not been so awfully focussed on the article, he might have found the small lesson in history informative.
"Did zey add anyzing else?" Gabrielle asked, peering at the paper.
Blaise shook his head, shoving it over to their side of the table. "Not much from what I'm able to tell. The auror they interviewed said they're not even sure what really happened. The only thing found at the scene was apparently some blood and a lot of dark-magical residue." He paused. "They also assured that the perpetrator would be caught soon and that the auror department was working overtime to find them." He shrugged. "The language charm isn't perfect though."
Harry's muscles lost some of their stiffness as his eyes scanned over the report. No, he forgot nothing… It wasn't the first time he'd read an article of this kind. It's all talk to keep the masses calm. There's no way they can trace anything back to me…
"How exactly are they supposed to find whoever did it if there's no trails to follow?" Daphne brought up.
Blaise offered another shrug. "No idea." He paused, turning towards Harry. "What do you think?" Everyone's gaze followed.
He did his best to appear calm, avoiding eye-contact in favour of glancing at the paper. "They're probably just saying it to keep panic from spreading."
A few thoughtful nods were the response. Daphne broke the silence, her eyes flickering towards his half-empty plate.
"You've barely eaten anything," she commented.
Great.
His lips flattened. "It's nothing," he assured. "I'm just not particularly hungry."
She continued to stare at him, seemingly rather unconvinced of his answer. A moment passed before she spoke again.
"Really?" she asked sceptically. "Because you look like you haven't slept either."
Harry closed his eyes, taking a breather. Glamour charms only hide so much…
He shook his head. "I had a couple of hours," he said.
It was a lie.
By the time he'd returned to his room last night, the clock had read four in the morning. And after jumping under the coldest shower of his life, he had immediately headed to bed in hopes that Morpheus would claim him soon.
In vain, however.
His thoughts had circled relentlessly. Even now he continuously needed to reassure himself that he'd done nothing wrong. That the world was better off without that worthless man. And he wanted to believe it. So much. But whenever he closed his eyes, the darkness vanished, replaced by pictures of a bloody corpse and pupils burning a horrible crimson.
I completely lost control…
To say that he had underestimated the side-effects of the Cruciatus would be the understatement of a century. The feeling of having someone so utterly at your mercy wasn't something he could put into words. And even though he already felt sick at just the thought of casting the curse again, there was this one part inside him that just yearned to experience the same feeling he had last night.
Today was the first time he'd ever seriously considered stopping.
Why not leave things where they were and abandon this foolish quest he was pursuing? There was a voice in his ear telling him that giving up was alright – that, if the most accomplished healers of the globe hadn't been able to come up with a cure, what made him think that he - a mere second year student - had any semblance of a chance anyway?
He forced his eyes to close for a moment, taking a shaky breath. Briefly, the image of his mother's reflection from the mirror hovered before him. He crushed the treacherous whispers within his mind.
I promised.
No. Making a mistake didn't give him the right to call it quits. There was already so much that had gone into this – stopping now would be nothing short of an utter waste.
He exhaled.
I'll take a few days off and figure things out. It's probably best that I focus on control while casting the curse first. Perhaps–
A hand appeared right before his face. Daphne was waving it frantically. "Harry? Are you still with us?"
In his monologue, he had almost forgotten that he was still in the dining hall, sitting amongst his friends. The headache pounding throughout his skull intensified. I really need some sleep…
He frowned. "Yeah, sorry. Got lost there for a moment."
The girl's eyebrows knitted together, her fingers drumming on the table. "We noticed." She traded looks with Blaise. "You know… if there's something bothering you, you can talk to us, right?"
Usually it's Tracey saying these things…
He sighed, pinching his eyes closed. "I do." But you wouldn't understand anyway. "I really am fine though. I just haven't slept well." He paused, feigning hesitancy for a moment. "One of my projects kept me up late."
A hint of understanding flashed on his friends' faces. Harry felt some of the pressure on his chest fade away. That's bound to ease their conscience. A little truth goes a long way.
He could appreciate the fact that his friends cared about him. He had also tried to be more open with them these past few months. But the responsibility of curing his mother was something he would always have to bear alone.
His lip curled. Which reminds me…
He turned towards Gabrielle. "Does your library have a restricted section by any chance?"
The girl frowned at the sudden question. "Euh– Oui, why?"
So I can check out if yours has more books on soul magic than Hogwarts's had… Scorched pupils flashed before him for a moment. They say the eyes are the window to the soul. Perhaps going a little deeper into research there might be useful…
"No particular reason," he replied.
Her frown deepened. "You do realise zat zere is no way to access it wizout a slip from ze Directrice, oui?"
He nodded. "I expected nothing less."
Shouldn't be an issue…
Confusion was now adorning everyone's features. Daphne though, seemed more wary than puzzled.
"You're… You can't seriously consider breaking in," she said, staring at him.
Harry blinked. What? Where did that come from?
Quickly, he feigned a frown, doing his best to dismiss the question as ridicule. He shook his head.
"How'd you come to that conclusion?" he asked, brows furrowing.
Daphne's expression remained the same. "You don't just ask things like that without any ulterior motive." She paused, looking down at the floor for a moment. "And since you're already on thin ice with Madame Maxime you know that your chances to get a slip are nonexistent."
His lips evened out into a line. Sound reasoning, unfortunately… Good thing he had something up his sleeve.
"Why would I need to get into the restricted section in the first place though?" he asked, frown deepening.
No reply. There seemed to be an answer on her lips, but for some reason, she decided to back off. He frowned. Convenient… But I'll take it.
"I'm just tired, Daphne," he added. "It was just a question."
He rose from his chair, shooting his friends an apologetic look as he swallowed the last piece of his croissant. "In fact… I think I should catch some more sleep. I'll… I'll see you guys later"
With that, he vanished.
A few days later, one Daphne Greengrass found herself sitting in the comparatively small library of the Académie, scribbling away on a particularly boring transfiguration essay they'd been assigned two days back.
We already did Avifors last year…
The only challenge the paper brought with it was that it had to be written in French. Thus, she had enlisted Gabrielle's help to smooth out some of the errors that had inevitably occurred using a translation charm. In return, she had promised to help the other girl with the essay's contents.
Because, while Daphne wasn't quite as good as Harry with transfiguration she was no slouch either – at least in the theoretical department.
Practical is a different story though.
Daphne bit her lip, remembering the magnificent parrot Harry had transfigured during one of their lessons last year. She had tried to replicate the feat for a grand total of two weeks before she'd managed one passable attempt. And admittedly, in a way it managed to infuriate her.
Why was he so much more talented at everything he seemed to touch? Except for potions and astronomy, where her grades reigned supreme, there was no class she was even close to him in terms of applied skill. And seeing him wipe the floor so effortlessly with everyone in their duelling class had only reinforced that vision.
She knew Harry worked hard. She also knew that he was brilliant. But the gap between him and the rest of them? It couldn't be explained by just talent or effort.
Of course she had never pried into his personal affairs or asked him outright. Harry would've just found a way to evade the question, as he always did. After all, the emerald-eyed boy had a talent for answering things without actually saying anything at all.
Talking to Harry often felt like trying to grasp at smoke – especially when the conversation revolved even remotely around him. Which was exactly why she hadn't been able to let go of the thought that had struck her this past Saturday at breakfast.
The restricted section…
Harry didn't just ask questions like that without reason. He had brushed it off, blaming it on lack of sleep, but Daphne had this insistent feeling that she was right. He was up to something.
The fact that he'd made himself so scarce these past few days only made her more suspicious. It was like all the progress he'd made with opening up had vanished into thin air and he was back to being the same distant person she'd met last year.
She knew Harry could hide his thoughts and emotions well. He didn't not care – he just rarely let it show. But there was something off. He hadn't seemed indifferent lately. More so, he seemed tense – like he was forcing himself to stay composed.
And no matter how often she tried to banish the thought, it always returned.
Daphne sighed, putting down her pen. Her eyes flickered towards Gabrielle, who stopped writing as well. The French girl's head tilted in question.
"What eez it, Daphne?" she asked. "You 'aven't said anything in a while."
Daphne hesitated. Could she talk to Gabrielle about this? While they hadn't known each other for very long, it was clear that they got along quite well. Even Harry seemed to trust her – which wasn't something he did lightly.
Perhaps I can… It's not like Blaise is here anyway. The Italian was running off to play Quidditch and make eyes at foreign girls far too often these days.
"I'm thinking about Harry," she admitted, the edges of her lips curling into a slight grimace. "He's been keeping to himself."
Gabrielle waited a second before replying. "And you are worried?" she asked.
Daphne found herself caught off guard at the question. Was she? A frown spread on her forehead as she tried to find an answer"Not exactly, I think," she answered, faint annoyance mixing into her voice. "It's just… he's been avoiding everyone. More than usual."
It was quiet for a moment. "'E eez quite a private person," the other girl pointed out. "Per'aps eet eez just down to chance, non?"
Daphne bit her lip. Sure, it was possible… But the thought didn't sit right with her. She was almost certain that he was hiding something.
"Maybe," she muttered, leaning back. "But I still feel like he's been different . You remember last Saturday, when he asked about the restricted section?"
Gabrielle nodded.
"I think I was right with what I said."
The French girl frowned. Her fingers traced circles on the rolls of parchment which littered their desk. Clearly, she was at least considering the option.
"I 'ave to admit…" she began slowly. "Eet would not sound out of character for 'im. But I 'ighly doubt 'e would get far anyway. Even 'e could not break into ze restricted section wizout being caught – no matter 'ow talented 'e eez."
Daphne was forced to admit that the girl had a point.
Gabrielle had mentioned the wards protecting Beauxbatons' restricted section, and unless Harry had suddenly become a master at curse-breaking and ward-craft – something Daphne doubted – his chances of actually succeeding were slim.
She drummed her fingers against the table. "That's true, I suppose..."
Gabrielle eyed her for a moment, her frown deepening. Her delicate fingers massaged the even, platinum waves of her hair. Then, she launched into an explanation with a sigh.
"From what I 'ave seen, 'Arry does not share 'is problems easily. " She paused. "'And I also zink zat – for 'im, 'is struggles are no one but 'is to solve."
The French girl leant back, glancing at the ceiling. Her lips twisted.
"Eet's what makes 'im such a great duelist," she continued. "When 'e lost zat demonstration against Madame Tussaud, 'e deedn't dismiss ze loss because eet was against a Professor. Instead, 'e tried to find out what 'e could 'ave done to win."
Daphne couldn't say she had noticed the incident, but all things considered, the girl's words made sense. She could see how that attitude translated to Harry's academic success.
Blaming yourself for every mistake is the fastest way to improve…
"I zink we should just leave 'im be for ze time being," Gabrielle added, piercing her thoughts. "Eizer 'e will work out whatever eez bozering 'im on 'is own, or 'e won't – in which case 'e weel likely not accept any 'elp anyway."
Daphne sighed to herself. As much as she disliked admitting it, Gabrielle's assessment was, in all probability, correct.
"You're right."
Gabrielle nodded softly. "I tend to be. But I would appreciate it if you could keep zis conversation between us," she said. "If 'Arry finds out what I actually zink of 'im, 'e would likely 'old it over my 'ead for ze rest of ze century."
Daphne laughed. "Oh trust me," she said dryly, recalling the conversation she'd had with the boy a few weeks back. Fucking transfigured lamps. "I know."
A frown nestled itself into Harry's forehead as he passed by the countless bookstores, apothecaries, and miscellaneous other shops which flanked the streets of the Galerie.
Occasionally, he allowed his eyes to brush past the many items on display through the store windows. But just as expected, none of them caught his interest.
Some other time perhaps…
La Galerie des Merveilles was Paris's largest magical shopping district by a long shot. Wizards and witches from all around France came here, restocking supplies, shopping for clothes, and having ridiculously expensive meals.
Usually, only students from fifth year and upward were allowed to visit during the weekends, but naturally Harry hadn't allowed such a trivial thing to stop him.
I've never really cared about rules, after all. He smiled a pained smile. The ends justify the means.
He hadn't made another attempt at casting the Cruciatus since that night over a week ago. But he had managed to accept that he would again not too soon from now. His nightmares of the man's mangled form were also gone.
Which brings us to the reason for today's trip…
After some thorough consideration, he had come to the decision that discarding his original plans to sneak into the restricted part of Beauxbatons' library was for the best.
Why, you may ask? Said plainly – the risk outweighed the reward.
Unlike at Hogwarts, there was no curfew in place in Beauxbatons, which meant there was always the off-chance that some students were wandering the halls of the school. And what had sealed the deal was that – this time – he lacked a partner to conduct the heist with. Which would make things exponentially more difficult.
Thus, he had instead opted to search for alternative approaches instead; and within a week's notice, found such one. He had overheard some of his classmates muttering something over a supposed Underground and – upon further investigation – learned that there was a gigantic assimilation of shadowy businesses and clandestine vendors spread out through Paris's catacombs in a mile-wide net.
Like a spider…
It was quite obviously the place where illegal deals went over the table. Where laws were secondary, and all that mattered was how deep your pockets went. The perfect place to acquire restricted knowledge. Harry felt the smooth silk of his bottomless Galleon pouch in his pocket and smiled.
And deep they go…
It was quite strange that he'd never considered visiting Knockturn Alley before; a place that was essentially Britain's equivalent to this underground network. After all, the few books on soul magic he'd found in Hogwarts's library hadn't been very helpful at all.
He had given some of them more cursory glances throughout the last week, but only been reminded of why he'd discarded them in the first place. Nothing on the Cruciatus or ways to actually manipulate the soul beyond just damaging it…
There was the Killing Curse, of course, which severed the connection of a being's soul from their body. The Imperius, which warped and moulded the victim's essence until nothing but emptiness remained. And, of course, the Cruciatus, which scorched the soul beyond repair.
The latter of which Harry refused to believe.
There had to be some kind of literature out there which more intricately discussed the soul's properties and how exactly it interacted with magic. He didn't even really know what a soul was supposed to be. The only explanation that had ever been given, was that it apparently resembled a being's metaphysical sense of self. Someone's essence. Their magic, feelings, thoughts, relations, past, and future. Whatever that meant.
He came to a stop in front of a shadowy alley which branched off from the main street. His eyes settled on a large, roughly hewn wall of obsidian at the end.
And I'm certain that I'll find what I'm looking for in these catacombs. I'll just need to–
His thoughts died as a familiar sensation crawled up his spine, prickly and hot like a vine of flaming roses. As he drowned out the foreign influence on his mind, he noticed its accompanying voice. It wasn't one he'd heard very often so far and sounded quite puzzled.
"'Arry?"
He turned around. Fleur Delacour in all her beauty, with silky-smooth hair and fair ivory skin stood a few feet away from her, her usually flawless expression twisted into a frown.
"Fleur," he blinked.
He was quite certain it was the first word he'd ever spoken to her directly. Everyone usually kept to themselves in Madame Moreau's class, and – as such – he'd never seen any reason to converse with the Veela before. I doubt she'd enjoy small-talk anyway. Everyone's trying to chat with her day and night… His memory flickered back to the swarm of boys which gathered around her table every meal.
Not that I envy her…
"What are you doing 'ere?" she asked, her gaze giving him a once up-and-down. Her brows remained knitted. "Only ze older students are supposed to visit ze Galerie, non."
The fact that the statement sounded surprisingly devoid of any judgement didn't calm Harry in the slightest.
Damage control it is. He smoothed out his features into a perfectly practised, charming smile.
"I just needed to get a few supplies," he explained, shrugging slightly. "I'm not acquainted with any of the upper years."
Fleur's frown deepened. One brow raised slightly, ocean-blue orbs flickered towards the end of the alley. "In ze underground?" she asked, tilting her head.
She knows. He smothered the spark of irritation that crawled up his throat. His smile vanished slowly.
Lying outright is too risky. She had already seen through his first attempt. Guess I'll just have to worm my way out with half-truths instead.
"Yes," he admitted honestly. "I'm looking for a few texts – the kind you won't find in the library. I tried to apply for a pass to the restricted section, but…" he trailed off.
Fleur nodded, her rosy lips pursed. "Oui," she agreed. "I 'ad to wait a long time too. Madame Maxime tends to not 'and zese out very loosely." She paused for a moment. The edges of her mouth twisted in thought. Then she said something he couldn't have seen coming if he'd tried. "If you tell me what you're looking for I could get eet for you," she offered, shooting a wary look in the general direction of the catacomb entrance. "I'd feel quite bad if you got killed in zere." Faint amusement laced her voice.
Harry felt something tighten in his chest. What? For the first time in a long time he was at a complete lack of words. His thoughts darted from one place to another, desperately trying to come up with an excuse. He'd already asked another student. He'd asked the librarian. He'd asked the Professors.
None of them sounded plausible. Frustration mounted within him.
Why would she even offer something like that anyway?
People weren't supposed to be this kind to strangers. They'd never been.
He exhaled, struggling for words. " I– Thanks for the offer, that's… That's quite nice of you." He grimaced apologetically. "But I think I have to decline."
His eyes found hers. He almost lost himself in them for a moment. "If you knew what I was looking for you'd change your mind," he said.
Silence.
The bustle of the people around them vanished into the background. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Harry could feel his heart beat in his chest.
Then, Fleur smiled.
"I see…" she acknowledged softly. "Zen I 'ope you find what you seek. But be careful, oui? I'd razzer not be ze only person in Madame Moreau's class besides Arianne and Elena," she smiled.
"I…" Harry was speechless. Why was she so nice to him? He managed a nod. "I– I'll be careful, yes," he agreed.
"Zen I'll be on my way," Fleur said lightly, her features cheerful. "I don't want to keep you any longer zan necessary."
Harry exhaled. The pressure on his chest slowly subsided. "Of… Of course. I suppose I'll see you in class then."
She nodded happily. "Oui. Eet was nice talking to you, 'Arry. 'Opefully you are successful in finding what you need. À bientôt."
She turned around.
And Harry? He was left standing there, eyes trailing after her retreating form and pondering what had just happened.
Author's Note:
I tried a shorter style chapter here. I enjoyed writing it much more, because it allowed me to focus on a few things instead of many at once. I also feel like - because of that - it's turned out better than most others.
I hope you think so too.
Additionally, I have an announcement to make. Come the release of this chapter, I will take a break from releasing ESOS content for a while. The fact that this fic updates so irregularly has been a thorn in my eye for a while, and even though I had convinced myself that it was fine until recently, I now find myself deeply unsatisfied with the predicament.
Thus, I have decided to postpone the next releases, until I have a significant amount of the story written out. Probably until the end of year two. How long that will take? No one knows, I'm afraid. I have, however, recently come into a shift of mindset – one which may very well amount to more time spent writing.
I thank all of you for your continued support and will see you again in the not so distant future. I will also, of course, continue to read your reviews and take delight in the favourites and kudos this work receives.
If you wish to connect with me or other fans of the story; here is my discord link:
https : / discord . gg / zwpshsfKJn
Cheers.