THE HIGH PRICE

by peverell.magic

The ash began to bury his legs, enveloping him in its soft, warm embrace. Harry wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face in them, allowing the world to drift into the distance.

15. CHAPTER 15: FROM MISTAKES TO TINDER-WOOD

CHAPTER 15: FROM MISTAKES TO TINDER-WOOD MYSTERIES

Beneath a cloudless, twilight sky, the Great Hall was a bustling sea of students, their movements like waves beneath floating candles. Harry observed their comings and goings, lost in thought. In the midst of this crowd, he couldn't help but wonder which of them he would be willing to sacrifice to ensure his own survival. Whose absence would go unnoticed? His gaze settled momentarily on Draco Malfoy, a likely candidate, but even he had parents and friends who would mourn his absence. Harry had neither.

"Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall's voice cut through the bustling hall. "If you would be so kind as to accompany me to the headmaster's office."

Harry's mind buzzed with questions about Dumbledore's intentions as he reluctantly pushed himself up from his seat, the stiffness in his limbs a testament to the night's events.

Professor McGonagall's eyes scrutinized him, concern evident in her gaze. "If you wish, Mr. Potter, we can make a quick detour to the tower so you can change into fresh clothing."

"It's alright," Harry replied. With a flick of his wand, his crumpled, stained robes transformed into crisp, clean ones. "There, good as new."

"Well done. You've acquired more skills than I had realized," Professor McGonagall acknowledged with a nod. "To the headmaster's office, then."

As he walked, Harry caught a glimpse of Katie, seated between Angelina and Alicia, her gaze fixed on her food. Despite the tumultuous events, her friends giggled, creating a facade of normalcy. Harry swallowed the complex emotions that welled up within him. It was as if he were a mere caricature of a hero, present when required, and forgotten when not.

Professor McGonagall stood before the gargoyle guarding the entrance and exchanged a meaningful look before releasing a long, weary sigh. "Sweet crystals," she murmured. Leading Harry, she ascended the spiral staircase to Dumbledore's office.

'Harry,' Dumbledore said gently, gesturing toward the chair in front of his desk. He extended a bowl filled with brightly colored, striped sweets. 'Would you care for a humbug?'

'No thanks, Professor,' Harry replied, declining the offer.

Dumbledore withdrew the bowl, his eyes steady on Harry. 'Professor McGonagall has been quite worried about you, Harry. She overheard some unsettling rumors and decided to investigate. It appears that you've been quite elusive of late, and this has raised concerns among a few of your fellow students.'

Harry couldn't help but speculate that these concerns might revolve around the fear that he was up to something sinister.

'Who was concerned?' Harry inquired.

'Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, Miss Weasley, Miss Bell, and Mr. Longbottom,' Dumbledore replied, his tone expressing genuine concern.

But Harry's inner thoughts weren't as innocent as they seemed. A chilling voice within him whispered, 'They're all worried about their own safety, no doubt. They expect that I might seek revenge, and the longer they wait, the more likely their fear will drive them to strike first.'

Dumbledore fixed Harry with a piercing look, his electric blue eyes shining as bright as gimlets. 'I am pleased to see that you've learned more about the cloak, Harry. It is indeed a potent heirloom, but I would advise caution in using it. Artifacts like your cloak come with risks, and becoming dependent on their abilities can be perilous.'

Harry, ever the pragmatist, raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. 'I don't understand, Professor. It's still just an invisibility cloak with a few added enchantments.'

Dumbledore's brow furrowed, and he absently adjusted his half-moon spectacles. 'What do you know about age lines, Harry?'

Harry considered for a moment. 'I assume they serve to prevent individuals below a certain age from crossing them.'

'But do you know how they function?' Dumbledore asked.

'No,' Harry admitted.

Dumbledore's shoulders sagged, and his glasses slipped down his nose. 'It appears that I have made an error, one of many lately.'

Harry, who had briefly clung to the hope of discussing Horcruxes with the headmaster, quickly suppressed that feeling, replacing it with curiosity. 'What do you mean?'

Dumbledore's gaze turned introspective. 'Your cloak is not merely a convenient accessory, Harry. It is a rare artifact designed to conceal not only its owner but also their magical presence. One of the few methods to bypass an age line is through the use of such an object. When your name emerged from the Goblet of Fire, a magical barrier that is incredibly challenging to deceive, I assumed that you had harnessed the abilities of your family heirloom. I believed it was the most logical explanation, as I couldn't fathom any other way your name could have been entered without breaking my protective ward. Regrettably, I chose to follow Occam's Razor on this occasion, a principle that suggests selecting the simplest explanation, and it was the wrong choice.'

Harry frowned, a question forming on his lips. 'Whose razor?'

'I didn't use it,' Harry replied, his memory flashing to the moment when Dumbledore had inquired about the Mirror of Erised. He smiled a faint smile, a touch of pride in his words. 'I don't need a cloak to become invisible, Headmaster.'

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with understanding. 'That is a remarkable skill, Harry.' A brief moment of levity washed over the aging wizard, smoothing some of the lines on his face. 'We are among the very few wizards and witches who have mastered the Disillusionment Charm. I'm relieved that I don't have to ask whether you entered the tournament.'

Harry nodded but quickly redirected the conversation. 'That's all well and good, Albus, but it's not why I've come to see you.'

Professor McGonagall, always a stickler for propriety, interjected with a stiffer tone in her voice. 'I understand, Harry, but this matter is also of great importance.'

Harry focused on McGonagall, her stern expression, and her disapproval. 'I'm concerned about the rumors that you haven't been seen inside Gryffindor Tower for a month, that when I inquired about your whereabouts, my Gryffindors, my lions, didn't show enough concern for one of their own. What's happening in my house?' Her lips pursed into the same thin, disapproving line typically reserved for Neville's struggles with transfiguration.

Harry's response was tinged with a touch of resignation. 'They don't understand, Professor. It doesn't really matter.'

But then, McGonagall's stern façade melted, replaced by genuine concern. 'Is there anything that we can do, Harry?'

Harry's emotions swirled, a hint of warmth briefly breaking through, only to be replaced by emptiness. He couldn't help but think that if they truly cared, they would have had this conversation a month ago. 'No.'

'Very well, Harry,' Dumbledore said, adjusting his glasses on his nose. 'I will do my utmost to unravel how you became an unexpected participant in the Triwizard Tournament. Professor Moody has voiced his suspicions for weeks now, claiming that the faces in his Foe Glass are growing clearer and closer. Is there anything else you'd like to discuss, Harry? You performed admirably in the first task, surpassing everyone's expectations.'

With a newfound determination, Harry asserted, 'I'm going to win.'

He couldn't help but feel a surge of defiance. Winning would be a statement, a way of showing them that he couldn't be made to disappear so easily.

Professor McGonagall, ever the voice of reason, disapproved. 'Mr. Potter, the Triwizard Tournament is designed as a demanding challenge for wizards several years older than you.'

An icy shard formed beneath Harry's ribs and seeped into his veins. 'Then, when I win, it'll be a significant embarrassment for the other three.'

Dumbledore responded with a small smile, picking a pink-striped humbug from the bowl on his desk. He savored the sweet for a moment before reaching out to grasp Harry's hand, tapping his missing thumbnail with a wizened finger. 'I do have one more question for you, though, Harry. When did you learn to Apparate?'

'This year,' Harry replied. 'I would've been without a wand for the first task if I hadn't.'

Dumbledore leaned in, his expression understanding. 'I have no intention of reporting you for illegal Apparition, Harry. My concern was mainly for your safety. Apparating such long distances carries a risk of splinching. I'm relieved to hear that Mr. Ollivander was impressed with you and your new wand. He's an authority on both alchemy and wandlore, and his judgment is highly regarded. He assured me that your wand is nothing to worry about and that you are a remarkably gifted student, of whom I have every reason to be proud.'

Harry nodded. 'I don't plan on repeating the feat. It was a desperate measure. As for my wand, it's a matter of personal concern.' He put on a cheerful smile, masking his true feelings.

Dumbledore's mood suddenly shifted, and he seemed troubled. 'Albus?' Professor McGonagall inquired.

Dumbledore attempted to reassure her, 'It's nothing, Minerva. I was briefly reminded of another mistake, one I hope to correct before it's too late.'

The question loomed in Harry's mind, 'Is the mistake about me and my harbored Horcrux, or is it related to Tom Riddle?'

Harry pushed aside his curiosity and returned to the present. 'No need to look so anxious, Harry. You have enough to focus on with the Triwizard Tournament. And remember, you'll have your OWLs next year. I anticipate you'll excel in them as well.'

Harry's thoughts whirled as he processed what Dumbledore had revealed. He might have another year and a half at least, provided the headmaster wasn't lying. He scrutinized Dumbledore's face, finding no sign of deceit. 'He doesn't seem to be lying,' Harry thought. 'He has no reason to lie, anyway. He doesn't know that I know.'

Dumbledore spoke, breaking the silence. 'You can return to your studies or continue your search for clues regarding the second task, Harry.'

Harry nodded and pushed himself out of the chair. 'I have at least a year or so left. I'll have to make the most of it.'

The school corridors grew quiet and empty as Harry made his way toward the Room of Requirement, his mind still reeling from the revelation.

Suddenly, a hand seized his shoulder, slamming him against the wall. Pain shot down his side, and his glasses slipped off his nose, clattering to the floor.

Ron's furious voice spat, 'So, this is where you slither off to,' as he pressed Harry against the wall. 'I told you that you'd pay. Nobody hurts my little sister, not even you.'

Harry sneered at the red and black blur before him, straightening his sleeve and letting his wand slip into his palm. 'Would you have preferred if I lied to her? Don't make excuses. If I'd done something out of line with Ginny, Fred and George would be here, but you're all alone. You're doing this because you want to get at me, not for Ginny.'

'Ginny was crying because of you,' Ron snarled. 'And I'm not alone, Dean and Seamus are here too.'

Harry strained to see the figures without his glasses. 'Can't even see them without my glasses,' he muttered. 'I assume Dean's real issue is that your sister chose to spend Christmas with me instead of him.'

andishing his wand. 'We're going to hex you so badly that you'll end up in the hospital wing for a week. Let's see if you're such an arrogant prat after that!'

Harry, his wand ready, replied with a smirk, 'At least I won't have to worry about the Yule Ball.' He flicked his wand upwards, sending a feeble Blasting Curse to his left.

A red flash struck Dean on the shoulder, propelling him into the wall with a resounding crack. Ron swiftly dropped to the floor.

'Expelliarmus!' Ron shouted, brandishing his wand.

Harry sidestepped the red beam and swept his wand sideways, banishing Seamus into a nearby suit of armor. Seamus's wand clattered away across the floor.

Ron froze, his wand still poised. 'You used a Blasting Curse on Dean!'

Harry swiftly disarmed Ron and sent his wand skidding down the corridor. 'It wasn't even a powerful spell. You all deserved worse for attempting to ambush me. You wanted to step out of my shadow and be recognized for who you are rather than just being my friends. I gave you that opportunity when I left you alone.'

Ron's face turned crimson, and he yelled, 'We apologized! We said we were sorry! It was you who didn't want to be friends!'

Harry's inner turmoil welled up. 'You betrayed me. Of course I didn't want to trust you again.' He flicked his wand.

Ron was swiftly enveloped in black ropes, bound from head to toe. He wriggled and attempted to shout through his gag, his fingers clawing at his mouth underneath the bonds.

Harry, observing the outcome, swiftly cut an opening over Ron's mouth. 'What did you think would happen? You'd jinx me, and I'd suddenly be overwhelmed with remorse and forgive you for turning on me?'

Ron continued to squirm, writhing in frustration. 'I just wanted to take you down a peg or two! You act like you're so much better than the rest of us now just because you spent a whole summer reading a few books.'

Harry corrected him with a touch of bitterness. 'It was actually quite a few books, Ron. Did you ever stop to think about why I had the entire summer to do nothing but read? Or were you too busy celebrating the death of my family with pumpkins and sweets that you forgot?'

Ron grunted in response, his ears turning slightly pink. 'Bugger off. You can't even remember them, so how bad can it be?'

A chill settled beneath Harry's ribs. 'Bugger off?' He shook his head. 'You don't understand at all, do you? None of you do. Not even Hermione.'

"Yeah, mate, it's real hard for us to understand why you've suddenly turned into such an absolute jerk," Ron retorted with a scowl, still struggling against the ropes. "So what if we forgot about Halloween? You forget stuff too."

Harry's tone remained cold and unyielding. "I do forget things. But you just keep repeating your mistakes if you forget them. Like you, lashing out at Hermione in the first year because she was better than you at magic, and now lashing out at me because I ended up in the death trap of a tournament that you somehow think will be a great adventure."

Ron's lip curled in defiance. "I'm not jealous. We've all just realized you're a lying prat."

Harry had heard enough. He turned on his heel and slammed the door to the Room of Requirement behind him. 'If they attack me again, I'll have to be even harsher,' he thought. 'Otherwise, eventually, they'll manage to hurt me.'

He retrieved the Marauders' Map and traced the names of Ron, Seamus, and Dean, all heading back toward Gryffindor Tower. Peter Pettigrew's name hovered near the Quidditch pitch.

Harry watched Pettigrew's name until it disappeared. 'I should clear Sirius' name before my time runs out. It seems like nobody else is willing to bother.'

Within the dimly lit confines of Salazar's chamber, the sinister serpent effigies cast menacing shadows across the cold, stone floor. The basilisk, an enormous, coiled beast, dominated the space with its gaping maw, which led into a viscous, crimson pool.

Salazar regarded Harry with an intense, searching gaze, his question punctuated by the ominous presence of the basilisk. "Why do you persist in your quest for greater power?" he inquired. "What is the purpose behind it all?"

In response, Harry raised an inquisitive eyebrow and replied, "I seek to attain more strength. There are things I must achieve in the coming year. I don't want to fade into oblivion when I die. I want to leave a lasting mark."

Salazar, his features masked in contemplation, stroked his bearded chin and offered a philosophical perspective. "For someone seemingly determined to face death, you display an unexpected reluctance to embrace its inevitability. To die is to transition into nothingness. While you will forever remember your loved ones, they exist no more; they can't comprehend your love or any other sentiment. They are, in essence, nothing."

A surge of vehement denial coursed through Harry. His teeth clenched, and a frigid rage flowed through his veins, echoing the void that gnawed at his heart. "I do not wish to die!" he declared vehemently. "I yearn for life, for dreams, for hope. I want my wishes to manifest into reality. But it seems beyond my reach."

Salazar, his fingers gently caressing the serpent's chin, probed further, "Then why do you believe it to be unattainable? What makes your life less valuable than the one you might need to trade for it? You are my heir, an extraordinary wizard, capable of contributing immeasurably to the world should you choose to live."

Harry contemplated the question, his thoughts churning. "It's not a matter of potential good versus evil, like comparing myself to someone like Peter Pettigrew," he began. "It's more profound than that."

"Harry's wand trembled in his grasp as he raised it towards the looming castle above. A chill swept through his veins, akin to a snowstorm winding through a dense forest, only to dissipate into the empty void like whispers fading into the night. 'It's about all of them,' he exclaimed, his voice heavy with emotion. 'All the Ron's, Hermione's, Voldemort's, and Dumbledore's.'

Salazar, his piercing dark green eyes locked onto Harry, probed further, 'What about them? Is it because they judge you for not conforming to their unrealistic expectations?'

Harry let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging. 'Yes,' he admitted, 'they expect me to be flawless when they need me, and then they want me to vanish so they don't have to confront their inability to meet the same standards they impose on me.'

Salazar, his wand now pointed at Harry's chest, delved into the heart of the matter. 'You're allowing their delusions to distort your self-image. You know what anyone else in your situation would do, yet you strive to become what they believe you should be. That's what you're sacrificing yourself for, Harry. It's not about stopping Tom or saving lives. It's their misguided perception of you as a hero and your pride in outshining those who turned against you.'

Harry straightened his posture, determination etched on his face. 'I refuse to give them the satisfaction of dragging me down to their level. Let them remain in my shadow, whether it's real or not.'

Salazar, a stern expression on his painted face, cautioned, 'Riddle represents one extreme of selfishness, and you, Harry, the other extreme of selflessness. Find the middle ground, walk it, and don't discard your life out of paranoia about resembling your predecessor.'

Harry, his voice firm, retorted, 'Voldemort is not my predecessor.'

Salazar's reply slipped into Parseltongue, a hissing undertone to his words. 'He was my heir once. He is, undeniably, a distant relative of yours. Do not deceive yourself into thinking he is the embodiment of evil you must avoid emulating. Let me tell you about the Tom I once knew.'

Harry's gaze remained fixed on the painting. 'Then, please, tell me.'"

"A young boy entered this chamber, a mere wisp of a child, clad in tattered rags, and utterly alone. He harbored dreams of achieving greatness, dreams that would etch his name into the annals of history, all in the service of protecting those who had shown him kindness. He was family, my heir, my legacy, and in his dire solitude, I extended my hand to offer guidance. With each passing year, he retreated deeper into himself, cutting ties with the few he had once confided in. Albus Dumbledore, without a second thought for the boy's well-being, returned him to the muggles who despised him. The other students steered clear, fearful of being drawn into his descent into self-destruction. It was within this very chamber that he discovered the potential for greatness and made an unyielding vow to never look back."

Harry interjected, his voice quaking, "You said you'd tell me about Tom, not about me."

Salazar's response was unwavering. "I am."

Harry paled, a shiver coursing down his spine. "Did you mean to imply that we are alike?"

Salazar's tone softened to a near-whisper as he replied, "Even accounting for the influence of the soul fragment, you and he would have shared similarities. I've been cautious in revealing this, knowing you'd be averse to hearing it, but I can't stand idly by as you squander your life."

The haunting question loomed in Harry's mind. "If we are so alike, is there a chance I'll end up like him?"

Salazar's rebuke was sharp. "Don't be naive. You're a hundred times more noble than Godric, at times. It took Rowena and me a month to persuade him, the first time he had to kill a child-murdering witch, that he remained a good person and a gifted wizard. You, on the other hand, stand here with nothing but virtuous intentions, contemplating a descent into darkness before it even begins. Have you learned nothing from my explanations of the principles of magic?"

" 'There is no light and dark, only power and the intent that directs it,' " Salazar reiterated, underscoring the profound truth.

Harry contemplated the implications, then responded, "Then there's nothing more to be said. I may share similarities with him, but I am not him. I'm sure I'm not the only one who sees the resemblance. Dumbledore must see it too; Tom often spoke of him as if he were an idol."

Dumbledore's image floated through Harry's thoughts. "He certainly does," Harry acknowledged, confirming the Headmaster's familiarity with the comparison.

Salazar continued, "And has he ever voiced concerns that you might follow the same path as Voldemort? He may be grooming you for a particular destiny, biding his time until your death serves his purposes, but he recognizes the distinctions between the two of you."

Harry reflected, "We're two apples from the same tree, but fallen far apart."

Salazar's words elicited a hint of wry amusement from Harry. "I suppose that's an improvement on some of his metaphors."

Harry's resolve, however, remained steadfast. "Regardless, it doesn't change the core issue. I have to die, or Voldemort will inevitably find a way to return, and countless more will suffer."

Salazar countered, "The horcrux anchoring him must be destroyed. You need not die for that to occur."

Harry, grappling with the gravity of the decision, argued, "But I would have to kill. To stop Voldemort, I'd need to take a perilous step toward becoming like him."

Salazar's voice held a reassurance. "Your soul will heal over time, as long as your intentions remain on the path of light. It will mend, preserving your goodness."

Harry's exhaustion weighed on him as he responded, "Without that darker intent, I won't be able to cast the Killing Curse to save myself in the first place. Enough of this, Salazar. You're just twisting the knife, squandering your time, and I have little time left. My mind won't be changed."

Salazar countered, his voice laced with a hint of regret, "So you say. Tom uttered similar words. He was concerned about disappointing his friends, about his deceased parents not understanding, and he believed his equals would stand by him. Yet one by one, those he trusted, those he held dear, proved to be loyal to their own interests first. They chose selfishness, refused to comprehend, and failed to stand with him. In the end, he withdrew, but it wasn't he who left them behind to become Voldemort. They severed their ties with him, and Voldemort emerged from what remained."

Harry's despair deepened, his inner turmoil intensifying. "How can it be worse than it is? Nothing feels worse than this endless emptiness. I wake up with it every morning, yearning for the moment when I can simply fall asleep again."

Harry added, his voice laden with resignation, "I've nothing left to lose."

But a chilling realization crept in – what if death was not the peaceful slumber he envisioned? What if it meant an eternal, haunting emptiness? Harry's heart clenched, and a wave of fear surged through him. "If you say so," he replied, his voice quivering.

Salazar, now looking for a more productive use of their time, switched the topic. "Let's focus on something more constructive, then. Have you made any progress with anything else?"

Harry's response was immediate, and he cast the Disillusionment Charm on himself. Salazar acknowledged his success with a nod.

Harry whispered the incantation for another spell, "Papilionis."

In response, a swarm of black butterflies emerged from the tip of his wand, enveloping Harry and Salazar in a whirlwind of whirring wings, a testament to his growing prowess.

Salazar couldn't resist a grumble. "Butterflies," he said with a hint of disapproval. "What's wrong with conjuring snakes? A true heir of Slytherin should summon serpents, not delicate insects. I can almost hear my wife and daughter laughing at me from the afterlife."

A fleeting moment of amusement tugged at the corner of Harry's lips, but it soon succumbed to the pervasive numbness within him. He decided to demonstrate his magical prowess and transfigured one of the butterflies into a razor-sharp shard of steel, sending it hurtling forward.

The steel shard screeched as it scraped off the nose of a serpent effigy and ricocheted past the edge of Salazar's painted frame. Encouraged by the success, Harry covered the chamber with a flurry of steel projectiles, which clattered across the floor and bounced off the walls, leaving a constellation of small scratches on the basilisk's stone skin.

Salazar, clearly irritated, frowned at the bits of steel littering the chamber. "Stop that! I don't need holes in my canvas. There's hardly enough room in here with this wretched snake wriggling around."

Harry complied and dispersed his butterflies and the scattered projectiles into wisps of black smoke. He then expressed his intention to perfect the basilisk spell, viewing it as a potentially powerful last resort.

Salazar offered guidance, cautioning Harry, "Not from the water."

Curious, Harry raised an eyebrow. "Then what should I use as a medium?"

"The air," Salazar advised. "If you can effectively conjure it from thin air, you'll possess a far more versatile and dangerous spell. Skilled duelists are cautious around water or fire, or any element their opponent might employ against them. However, people often overlook the air surrounding them."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Why not give it a try?"

Salazar, slightly exasperated, added, "Don't look so skeptical. I want you to breathe life into it, shape it from the air, harness your emotions as a focal point, and grant it form from the elemental source, just as you've always done."

Harry struggled to connect with any emotion, clawing at the emptiness within him to conjure something, anything. He envisioned the fangs and maw of the serpent striking out of nothing, much like they had erupted from the heart of the common room.

With a swift, determined motion, he slashed his wand forward.

A blur streaked across the chamber, and the tongue bridge shattered like fragile glass, scattering shards across the pool.

Salazar, slightly taken aback, murmured, "Never listen to my suggestions again," as his serpent cowered behind his neck, its forked tongue flicking at a piece of bridge lodged in the edge of the frame. "That's nothing like what I was expecting."

Harry, however, didn't hesitate. He waved his wand, and the scattered bridge pieces lifted from the water, and the tongue reformed over the pool.

Curious, Harry inquired, "What were you expecting?"

Salazar, stroking his chin, responded, "I expected a translucent serpent, similar to the water-based one, but that was quite different. Typically, it's the emotion behind the focus that distorts a spell. What feeling did you use the first time you cast it? When you killed that wizard?"

Harry recollected, "I was angry."

Salazar continued his inquiry, "And this time?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. I didn't feel anything. I don't feel much of anything anymore."

The emptiness had consumed him, and he couldn't escape it.

"Nothing," Salazar mused, a shadow passing over his green eyes. "I believe you turned it into a vacuum, a concentrated absence of air. It imploded instead of exploded. Marvelous. I've never seen anything quite like it. No simple shield charm could withstand a spell like that."

Harry offered, "I can test it further, if you'd like."

Salazar's hiss carried a sense of urgency. "Not in the chamber. Go and experiment in the Room of Requirement instead."

Harry carefully lifted the painting and returned it to its place in the study. "I should eat."

Salazar acknowledged his comment, noting, "I'm not surprised you're hungry after that."

Harry patted his stomach and added, "I'm not hungry, though. I haven't been hungry for a few days, but I know I need to eat."

Salazar, his expression darkening, mentioned a recent argument, saying, "You had a falling out with that girl a few days ago. Make sure you eat, Harry. You need the energy."

Harry acknowledged the advice, aware of the importance of maintaining his strength. He made his way to the Great Hall, only to find the tables piled high with pumpkin pasties. An exasperated thought crossed his mind, reflecting on the school's apparent obsession with pumpkins.

With reluctance, he took a seat at the end of the table and peeled the pastry off the soft, orange filling, forcing down a few bites. As he brooded, the bench beside him shifted, and he inwardly sighed, hoping it wouldn't be Katie.

"Harry," Hermione nudged his shoulder.

He kept his gaze on his plate and muttered, "Ah, the only person I might want to talk to less than Katie, of course."

Hermione seemed intent on conversation, asking, "Where have you been?"

Harry retorted, "That's a peculiar way to apologize for breaking my wand."

Hermione countered, "I already said I was sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to break it. I'd been practicing the charm, and it was the first thing that came to mind when I cast it. I understand that you loved your wand, but it was an accident."

Harry's patience had worn thin, and he couldn't hide the frustration in his response. "If you didn't come to apologize, then why did you come?"

He wished for nothing more than solitude, and Hermione's presence felt intrusive. A sigh was stifled, but the pain in his chest remained. "I just want to be alone."

Hermione, undeterred, whispered, "We're worried about you. You've been so different since the World Cup."

Harry retorted, "I've heard your theories. You might be interested to know that Dumbledore believes I didn't put my name in the tournament. Pass that along to Ron, he can tell Dean the next time he visits the hospital wing."

Hermione, her curiosity piqued, asked, "How did you know about Dean getting hurt? Ron said not to tell anyone."

Harry turned to study her brown eyes closely. "What else did he say?"

Hermione hesitated for a moment before answering, "That Dean's collarbone got broken in a fight on the seventh floor. He was really angry about it, but I had to drag the details out of him, so whatever happened must've been quite bad."

Harry pressed further, his voice edged with bitterness. "That was it? He didn't mention that they all tried to ambush me together up there?"

Hermione's surprise was evident as she shook her head. "No."

Harry was adamant, "He started it. Should I have just let them hurt me instead? Is that a better choice?"

Hermione, wrestling with the situation, chewed on her lip, absentmindedly spinning her empty goblet on the table. She hesitated before finally murmuring, "I heard about Katie."

Harry shot her a cold, flat stare, his frustration growing. "That's great. You're probably the only person who has, and I really wanted to discuss it with you."

Hermione flinched at his tone, a clear indication of how strained their interaction had become.

"We're not friends anymore," Harry declared, his tone resolute. "You broke my wand, which was pretty much the most precious thing I owned. And before you start insisting it was an accident again, remember that the whole reason you cast that spell in the first place was because you couldn't accept that I might be as good at something as you."

Hermione, clearly agitated, retorted, "I could accept it!"

Harry shot back, "I'm relieved that's the only part of my statement you want to dispute, because I'm not sure I could have kept my temper if you'd tried to convince me we could still be friends."

Hermione, with crossed arms and a short huff, accused him, "I don't know what's happened to you, Harry. You're being very unreasonable and irrational."

Harry's lip curled, and he responded sarcastically, "Really? You have no idea what happened? That's strange, considering you've been involved every time."

In response, Hermione abruptly stood up, flung her legs out from under the table, and stomped away, leaving Harry alone.

As he observed her receding figure, he thought, Just leave me alone. You disappeared when I needed you; don't come back now that I don't.

Laughter echoed from the far end of the hall, and Harry's gaze shifted to Ron's unmistakable red hair.

But then, a cold, French-accented voice cut through the laughter, quashing Ron's hopes, "Not if you were the last male in this entire school."

Harry couldn't help but watch as Fleur Delacour, seemingly still struggling to find a date for the Yule Ball, walked through the tables, trailed by a curious crowd. He couldn't help but think, I bet she just wants to be left alone, too.

A humiliated, crimson-faced Ron emerged from the crowd, clearly dejected.

Harry couldn't help but laugh when he learned that Ron had asked Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball. The contrast between the two of them was stark: she was elegant and clever, while Ron was... well, not that at all.

In response to Harry's amusement, Ron turned on him, bristling with wounded pride. "I don't know what you find funny, Potter. I'm just as successful as you are, and you have to open the ceremony."

Harry's cheer waned at the reminder. "True. I do. Thanks for reminding me, Ron."

But Ron couldn't resist delivering a low blow. "No wonder Katie dumped you. You don't even have the courage to ask anyone. Explains why you can't bear to show your face around Gryffindor Tower. There's no room for cowards in the house of the brave."

A shard of ice seemed to form in Harry's chest at Ron's words. He retorted with a biting edge, "I don't care about the Yule Ball. Since you're so obsessed with the limelight, you can polyjuice as me and take Hermione."

Spotting Dean across the hall, Harry allowed a small smile to grace his face. "You'll only have to deal with your little sister making eyes at you the entire time."

Ron sputtered indignantly, denying the possibility. "As if—"

Harry suggested an alternative, "Alternatively, you could do something to make a name for yourself, Ron. Have you considered asking Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball?" His grin grew broader. "I'm sure she wouldn't be too harsh in her response, not when there are so many witnesses around to witness your humiliation."

Indignant and defensive, Ron declared, "As if I'd ever lower myself to act like you. You don't even have the courage to ask anyone to the ball, let alone Fleur Delacour." Her name slipped from his lips in a quiet, reverent whisper.

Harry's laughter erupted, and he declared, "I don't even want to go, let alone with her. Besides, she has so many fans that I wouldn't have time to finish my lunch if I wanted to join the queue and ask."

He did entertain a brief, petty thought: if by some miracle she said yes, it would certainly teach Roger Davies a lesson.

However, the jovial atmosphere quickly transformed into a tense, suffocating silence that gripped the hall. Ron's face turned crimson as all eyes in the room focused on the commotion. Swift, deliberate steps echoed from Harry's left, and he felt his heart plummet to his stomach.

A soft, unmistakable voice emerged from just behind him. "So, you find this funny, too."

Harry's instincts screamed at him to stay still, akin to when he faced a Hungarian Horntail. He couldn't help but let out a nervous chuckle. Well, at least that's one horcrux gone.

He felt gentle but firm fingers catch his chin, turning his head around. A faint, intriguing scent of burnt holly and marzipan wafted to his nose. Harry met a pair of narrowed, piercing blue eyes, as bright and clear as a summer sky.

"I think you will make a good date to the Yule Ball," Fleur Delacour declared.

Harry pondered the situation. On one hand, he recognized that Fleur was accustomed to getting what she wanted. On the other, he wanted to avoid becoming the subject of even more envy from the school.

He struggled for words but then glanced at Roger Davies, whose face betrayed a horrified expression in the crowd. Harry decided to yield, "I agree." He conjured a bright smile on his lips.

Fleur's lips curved, and she responded, "Of course you do."

Releasing Harry's chin, she gracefully flicked her long, silver hair back over her shoulder. In a softer tone, she added, "Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I'll meet you at the Owlery, as we met before, so we can take a day to get to know each other a little before the Yule Ball."

Harry nodded, offering a thumbs-up in agreement. He hoped for an explanation about the situation, perhaps even a chance to apologize for laughing at Ron's failed attempt to ask her to the ball.

"Perfect," Fleur Delacour said, her presence commanding as she turned on her heel in a swirl of silver hair. With a note of finality, she added, "If anyone else wants to ask me to the Yule Ball, the answer will obviously be no. Don't waste my time unless you want to be cursed."

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