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.

20. CHAPTER 20: AN IN-DEPTH DISCUSSION WITH

CHAPTER 20: AN IN-DEPTH DISCUSSION WITH SIRIUS

Amid a swirling whirl of yellowed parchment sheets, Harry found himself shielded from the unwavering gaze of Salazar. He was surrounded by these sheets adorned with meticulously inked illustrations showcasing the intricate details of muscles, bones, tendons, and tissues. As they gracefully merged into a single, hovering stack, the defining silhouette of the human ribcage, etched in bold black ink, dominated the forefront, extending from Harry's waist to just above his head.

Harry took a moment to absorb the intricacies of the anatomical drawings that had become his companions. With a gentle tap of his wand, the parchment depicting the ribcage gracefully faded away, unveiling a diagram adorned with crimson ink, illustrating the connections between muscles and bones. He mused aloud, "I believe I've managed to grasp the essentials of this complex anatomy. While I may not remember all the technical names, I can now visualize it clearly in my mind's eye."

The human body, he thought, was a marvel of complexity, and he couldn't help but appreciate that he had no intentions of tampering with his own brain. With a flick of his wand, he set the floating pages in motion, guiding them to fold neatly back into the cover of the anatomy book resting on the desk before him. "So, Salazar," Harry inquired, turning his attention to the portrait of the founder, "do you believe it's finally time to put theory into practice and embark on some real magic?"

Salazar's penetrating gaze remained fixed on Harry from the wall, and his serpent companion, ever watchful, slithered up from his shoulders onto his neck. "Transfigure your thumbnail into something else as practice," Salazar suggested.

Harry shot a dubious glance at the painting. "It's barely started to grow back," he protested, pointing to the small sliver of nail emerging from the top of his thumb. "See?"

Salazar sighed and nudged his serpent's head down to clear his line of sight. "So, no one will notice if it's still missing," the founder remarked. "You should learn how to reverse transfigurations on yourself before experimenting further."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Can't I just transfigure something else for practice? It doesn't seem wise to test things on myself."

Salazar, however, provided a solution. "There's a general counter-spell to revert botched transfigurations on a person." He plucked his snake companion from his shoulders and deposited it into the bottom of the painting, muttering, "Wretched reptile, can't you stay still for even a few minutes!"

With Salazar's guidance in mind, Harry envisioned his thumbnail transforming into smooth, gleaming metal. Gently tapping the half-regrown thumbnail with the tip of his wand, he felt it turn as cold as ice and take on a brilliant steel-like appearance.

Salazar couldn't help but mutter in response to Harry's shiny, newly transformed thumbnail, even as he gently pushed his snake's curious head back down from its perch. "Shiny, indeed," Salazar remarked, adding, "Because that doesn't entirely defeat the purpose of choosing the part of yourself that was already missing, to avoid drawing attention to your magical experiments."

Eager to get started, Harry inquired about the incantation for the reversal spell. "What's the incantation?" he asked, his sense of urgency palpable. "February's already begun, and time is running out for the task. If I don't want to see Fleur Delacour win again, I need to start practicing."

Salazar leaned forward and intricately tied his serpent companion into a knot. "The incantation is 'Redeo.' Don't focus on changing anything specific. Rely on your intent to restore yourself to your normal state, aligning with your subconscious self-image. This spell won't solve all your problems, but it could save your life if you make a severe transfiguration error."

"Redeo," Harry repeated, testing the incantation as he watched the painted serpent struggle and eventually curl up into a ball between Salazar's feet. "I think your snake is sulking," he remarked.

Salazar poked it with his toe, a touch of amusement in his voice. "Good," he replied. "This wretched creature hasn't stayed still for about a century."

Harry couldn't help but tease, "If I were a suspicious person, I'd say Godric sabotaged the enchantments on your portrait."

Salazar's eyes gleamed with understanding as he muttered, "Of course! Oh, it all makes sense now. Curse that over-sized, red-bearded baby! He's probably been chuckling in the afterlife for the last thousand years. Forget the nonsense about the Finger of Keres or the Deathstick wand. I bet he truly met his end, laughing at my expense!"

Harry couldn't help but chuckle at Salazar's colorful description of Godric. Reverting to his regular self-image, Harry intoned, "Redeo." His nail transformed back to a healthy pink. However, upon tapping it with the tip of his wand, he frowned at the lingering ring of steel. Not quite what he intended.

Salazar smirked and advised, "At least it's less conspicuous. Try again, but make sure you're thinking about reverting, not about what you want yourself to be reverted to. Allow your subconscious to fill in that part of your intent."

Harry diligently focused on the word "revert" and, with determination, cast "Redeo" once more. This time, the steel nail expanded to fill the entire void on the top of his thumb. He prodded it to confirm his success.

Salazar nodded approvingly. "That's more like it," he declared, waving his wand at the book on the desk. "Now, you can give transfiguring yourself a try."

"Good. You've got a week and a half to master it, iron out any kinks, and get used to breathing differently," Salazar advised.

Salazar's sly grin reappeared as he added, "You'll need water to breathe afterward. That means it's time for you to reacquaint yourself with the pool…"

But this time, Harry had other plans. He removed the painting from the wall and made his way out of the study and onto the bridge. Infusing his magic into a warming charm, he watched as the pool's water began to steam.

Salazar's expression fell, and he muttered, "Spoilsport."

"I've decided not to rush into things without a bit of forethought," Harry explained. He removed his shoes and socks and dipped a toe into the pool, finding the temperature just right. "Bath temperature. Excellent."

Salazar couldn't resist a teasing word of caution, "Try not to drown yourself; that French girl will win if you do."

Harry's determination was unwavering. "I don't need any extra motivation to beat her," he declared, shedding his robes and sitting on the tip of the forked-ended bridge. With a wave of his wand, he lowered the bridge until the water reached his jaw, and then he took a deep breath.

As he submerged himself, a surge of confidence filled his thoughts. "They're going to see me win. All of them. Fleur Delacour. Ron. Hermione. Katie. Dumbledore. Even Malfoy. I won't just disappear whenever they fancy. I'm here to stay."

"Are you ready?" Salazar's green eyes softened as he offered Harry a reassuring warning. "This will probably feel very strange and uncomfortable. Just make sure you don't panic. If you panic, you might not manage to cast the counter-spell well enough."

Harry nodded, preparing himself for the unfamiliar experience. He placed the tip of his wand over his chest, envisioning the small sacs of his alveoli lengthening into long, wavy filaments, transforming his lungs into something resembling the tendrils of an anemone. He took a deep breath, attempting to draw in air, but there was no sense of relief. Instead, the urge to breathe began to rise like the tide.

Feeling a sense of urgency, Harry ducked his head under the water and inhaled a lungful of lukewarm liquid. Surprisingly, the urge to breathe faded, and his thoughts cleared. "It works!" he thought, relieved.

However, when he tried to exhale, he realized that the water hung heavy in his lungs. Panic set in as he strained to expel the liquid, his chest burning, and a metallic taste creeping onto his tongue. "It doesn't work," he concluded as black spots swirled before his eyes.

Gasping for breath, Harry managed to croak, "Redeo," and sputtered out water everywhere. Coughing up several mouthfuls of liquid, he finally drew in huge gulps of cool air. His lungs and throat burned and stung like an open graze.

Salazar, his brow creasing with concern, asked, "I take it that it didn't work? Are you okay, Harry?"

"I can't get the water out of my lungs once I've breathed it in," Harry explained, frustration lacing his words. "I'm using up all the oxygen in the water I inhale, then running out because I can't get the old water out and new water in."

Salazar's frown deepened as he contemplated the issue. "You'd best return to the library, then. I can't help you here. You need to alter the muscles between and below your ribs to facilitate the movement of water in and out, but without a more detailed study, you could end up pinching an important blood vessel near your heart."

"Back to the library," Harry grumbled, anticipating Hermione's continued presence there. "She and Viktor Krum seem to have taken up permanent residence."

Salazar couldn't help but tease, "Don't forget the French girl. Didn't you say she visits a fair bit, too?"

Harry's thoughts returned to the mysterious French girl, and he sighed. "I've not forgotten her. She sticks to the enchanting section, which is on the far side of the room. Probably just to avoid me, since she hasn't even tried to say hello since I realized she was just trying to figure out how to beat me. Even Viktor Krum and Hermione at least say good morning." A touch of disappointment crept into his voice as he considered her actions.

"Can't be helped," Salazar murmured with a note of resignation. "You're in a competition, Harry. Not everyone will fight fair. If you want to win, you'll have to fight fire with fire from time to time."

Harry couldn't help but ponder the implications of facing the mysterious French girl. "With water," he mused, pursing his lips. "If there's any truth in anything she told me, her magic might be hindered in this task."

Salazar's advice shifted to more immediate concerns. "You should probably get dressed before you leave," he suggested, with a hint of humor. "You're unpopular enough as it is without scarring an entire generation of children. Even my basilisk wouldn't be able to clear the castle faster than seeing you prancing mostly naked through the corridors."

Harry responded with a pointed glower at the portrait's smirk. "At least I have a body," he retorted. "And I'm much less skinny now after that ritual."

Salazar couldn't resist a final jab, "Are you sure you don't want to try it again?"

Harry's retort was swift, "Are you sure you don't want me to bring Sir Cadogan down here to keep you company?"

Salazar shuddered at the thought. "Gods, no. I've heard enough about him from you," he replied, plucking his knotted serpent up from the base of his painting. "Not unless he's coming to take away this useless creature."

Harry donned his robes, considering Salazar's words. "I think, if it came to a fight between the two of them, the snake would win fairly comfortably."

Salazar, however, had another valuable lesson to impart. He waved his armful of snake around until Harry turned to face him. "Before you leave," Salazar began, "I should teach you a very useful charm. There are plenty of things that you don't want or need others to discover, and this piece of magic can be enormously useful in managing that. Just make sure not to use it on anyone innocent or important until you've mastered it."

Intrigued, Harry inquired, "What's the spell?"

Salazar answered with a knowing grin, "The memory charm."

Harry recalled Gilderoy Lockhart, the former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts, who was renowned for his use of memory charms. "I know the incantation and wand action," he said, "and I've seen it used to great effect, too."

Salazar, however, emphasized the importance of precision. "You need to know exactly what you are removing; otherwise, you could end up doing significant damage," he cautioned. "It's almost impossible to remove events that have great meaning or importance on a permanent basis, Harry. The mind forms many connections and associations to them, so they eventually resurface. Once an idea is ingrained, it can be very hard to get rid of. So, the sooner the charm is performed, the better. Focus on wiping something clean, like a board or a window; any such visualization will work. Mastering it will take some time, but once you've mastered removal, we can move on to modifying memories, which allows you to work around some of the problems I just mentioned."

Harry considered the idea but had reservations. "How exactly am I supposed to practice this?" he inquired. "I'm not testing it on myself."

Salazar's eyes turned distant as he stroked his goatee, seemingly lost in thought. "I wonder what would happen," he mused.

Harry's response was swift and cautious, "Significant damage, I'd imagine..."

Salazar, however, seemed undeterred. He shrugged and spread his hands. "Progress comes hand in hand with risk."

Harry couldn't help but share a few humorous examples of memories he'd like to forget. "There are plenty of things I'd like to forget. Naked Dudley. Half-naked Aunt Petunia. Completely naked Uncle Vernon. That time you went off on a tangent last week and thought it'd be fine to tell a fourteen-year-old boy about Godric's experiment with self-transfiguration in a brothel in more detail than anyone should reasonably have spoken aloud."

The memories of Katie and Fleur sent a shiver down Harry's spine, reminding him of the challenges ahead.

Salazar cleared his throat and shifted the topic. "Well, once you've grasped the idea and method, you can ask someone to let you test it on a small memory, and then you can do it over and over again," he suggested with a mischievous chuckle. "They'll never notice."

Deciding to leave for the library, Harry hefted the painting back over the bridge and onto the wall above the door. "I'll head to the library, then," he stated. "I may have to raid the forbidden section, so I'll probably come down here to practice."

Top of Form

Harry moved through the quiet top floors of the castle, taking a deliberate route to avoid the lunch crowd before finally making his way to the library. As he entered, he found Viktor Krum engrossed in his books.

"Harry," Viktor greeted, glancing up. "Back again."

Harry offered a half-smile. "Viktor. Still hoarding all the transfiguration books, I see."

Hermione, who had been observing the interaction, appeared concerned. She began, "Harry–"

"I'll see you around, Viktor," Harry cut her off with a curt nod and proceeded to navigate the shelves, searching for books that mentioned anatomy.

Neville Longbottom, who was nearby, mumbled hesitantly, "Y-you're looking at water creatures, too."

Startled, Harry swiftly spun around, drawing his wand from his sleeve, which unnerved Neville. The nervous boy stammered, "S-sorry, Harry."

Putting away his wand, Harry acknowledged, "I am looking at water creatures." He then turned to Neville, offering a more relaxed tone. "Sorry, Neville, I didn't mean to startle you."

Neville's face betrayed his vulnerability as he admitted, "I'm easily startled."

Concerned, Harry observed Neville's tired appearance, marked by the bags under his eyes and disheveled clothing. "What are you doing here?" Harry inquired. "You look like you need a nap."

"I was returning a book," Neville explained, "or I was, until I saw you over here."

Harry, engrossed in his research, responded, "And now?"

Neville hesitated, then fidgeted as he confessed, "I was going to make you an offer. I thought it might be the best way to speak with you."

Curious, Harry pressed, "What kind of offer?"

But an underlying question lingered in his mind: What can you offer me?

Neville hesitated before explaining his intention. "Hermione's been checking out and reading books related to water creatures and transfiguration in her attempt to help Viktor Krum." His tone carried a hint of frustration.

Harry nodded, acknowledging the challenge of the second task. "The second task's underwater," he stated. He then glanced toward the far side of the library and noticed a flash of silver a dozen rows away. "I'm fairly sure all four of us know that."

Neville continued, shifting the conversation. "What do you know about Gillyweed?"

"Gillyweed, huh," Harry mused, considering the information. "I assume I might find it useful."

Neville explained its purpose, "It would let you breathe underwater with ease. I don't know where you'd find any on such short notice, though. It grows in the Mediterranean and isn't normally harvested until summer."

Harry, however, assured him, "I have a way of breathing underwater. I just need to perfect it."

Neville's enthusiasm waned, and he glanced down at his shoes. "Oh," he muttered, disappointment evident. "Sorry, Harry. I thought I might've found something useful for you."

As Harry pocketed the book containing useful information, he reassured Neville, "That doesn't mean I can't help you, Nev."

Neville looked up, his face filled with hope. "You would?"

Harry affirmed, "Within reason. I do have the tournament to consider."

"Of course, I understand," Neville replied, his voice shaky. "I was hoping you'd help me with, well, everything. Everyone calls me a squib, and I can't ever seem to get anything right. You improved so much since last year, and I hoped you'd help me, too. I won't end up really good at anything, I never am, but I don't want to be the worst anymore."

Harry regarded Neville with empathy and nodded. "I'll do my best to help you, Nev. We'll work on it together."

"Everything," Harry repeated softly. "Have you asked Hermione? She likes helping people."

He couldn't help but think about Hermione's propensity for offering assistance when asked. "Well, she likes it when people ask her for help. She feels needed."

Neville, however, explained, "She's too busy helping Krum to speak to anyone in Gryffindor outside of classes, and the other guys are all into Quidditch and stuff."

Harry's heart went out to Neville. He recognized a familiar feeling of isolation and recalled how the others had left him to fend for himself at times. "They left you on your own," Harry observed. For a moment, he saw a shadow of his own experiences in Neville Longbottom's face. "I wonder if I leave you to drown alone, too, will you end up a bit like me?" His lips twisted into a grimace. "But that would be cruel beyond words, to knowingly feed another person to the emptiness. I'm not Fleur."

Determined to help Neville, he offered his support. "I'll help you. Weekends, between lunch and dinner on one day, for however long you like. Meet me on the seventh floor at the top of the stairs after the second task. I'll help you, Nev."

Neville's expression brightened, and he straightened up a little. "Thanks, Harry."

Observing Neville's newfound confidence, Harry noted, "He's as tall as I am when he's not all hunched over."

"I'm only helping you help yourself," Harry insisted. "I'll be there, but you've got to try. It won't work if you don't try."

Neville responded with gratitude, "At least you're helping. Ron, Seamus, and Dean; they don't care. They just laugh at me when things go wrong. It's like we're not even friends."

Harry offered words of encouragement, "You can find new friends, Nev. You'll find equals, people who understand you." The memory of Salazar's advice about understanding but not necessarily having one's best interests at heart echoed in Harry's mind, and the image of Fleur's bright blue eyes appeared before him. "Just be careful. Them understanding doesn't mean they've got your best interests at heart."

Neville's eyes sparkled with envy. "That's what you're doing. You're being yourself."

Harry's response was sincere and heartfelt. "There's nobody else we can be. If you try and be someone else, because you think that's what you should be, or you want to be what they want you to be, you'll end up miserable."

Neville expressed his gratitude once more, straightening his robes and tie. "Thanks, Harry. Seriously, mate."

Just then, a small grey ball of feathers squeezed through the narrow crack of the window and plunged into Harry's chest. It was Sirius' owl, bearing a message.

"I'll catch you later, Nev," Harry said as he retrieved the letter from the owl and released the tiny ball of damp feathers.

Neville headed down the row of library shelves, leaving Harry to read the message. He unfolded it, revealing the message's brief yet cryptic instruction: The Shrieking Shack. Today. Black ink smeared the folds and stained Harry's fingers. He crumpled the letter and stuffed it into his pocket along with the book on grindylows. "One solution's enough," he thought to himself.

After putting the other books back, Harry checked the Marauders' Map. His godfather's name hovered beneath the picture of the Whomping Willow. Harry mused, "It must be important if he's already there waiting."

He hurried out of the library and down the corridor overlooking the greenhouses, scattering second years on their way to Herbology. Upon reaching the Whomping Willow, he paused, assessing the situation. Its branches remained still as stone.

"Either Sirius has already pressed the knot, or it's lying in wait," Harry surmised.

Uttering the incantation "Papilionis," he summoned a black-winged, delicate butterfly that fluttered toward the tree. A branch as wide as Harry's body suddenly hammered the butterfly into the ground.

"Lying in wait, then," Harry realized, preparing himself for what lay ahead.

Harry, levitating a small piece of wood from underneath the Whomping Willow's trunk, pressed the knot, allowing him to slip into the hidden passageway. There, he found Sirius, who stood just inside the passage wearing clean, plain black robes.

"Harry!" Sirius exclaimed, grinning widely as he wrapped his godson in a tight hug.

Harry noticed that Sirius had put on some weight since their last encounter. He thought, "I couldn't feel all of Sirius's bones this time."

Sirius eventually pulled back and explained, "I managed to return to my family's awful old home. I'd offer to show you, but it's under the Fidelius and really not very homely. Perhaps in a year, when that miserable house-elf has managed to restore the place to as close to a livable standard as it will ever get."

Concerned about the safety of the location, Harry inquired, "Is it safe? A bit of dirt's less trouble than Dementors."

Sirius reassured him, "Fidelius Charm. There are few things that are safer."

Seeking further reassurance, Harry probed, "Who's the Secret Keeper? Someone trustworthy?"

Sirius flinched, and his response was filled with conviction. "Dumbledore. I'd like to see anyone try and get the secret out of him."

Harry swallowed his reservations and managed to respond with a sense of relief. "That's good."

As he considered the situation, Harry couldn't help but think, "It probably is good. Dumbledore will save Sirius. It's me who's the sacrifice."

"I didn't come here to talk about how safe I was," Sirius said as he drew back. "I want to know what's going on. There's no way to send an owl to where I'm staying without knowing the location, and Dumbledore was adamant that he tell nobody yet."

Taking a deep breath, Harry offered a small smile to Sirius. "Everything's changed."

"It seemed that way. You were a boy last year when I came after Pettigrew, now you walk and speak like you aged a decade in eight months," Sirius remarked.

Harry acknowledged, "I suppose I've grown up. I wasn't strong enough, Sirius. Every year I've been thrown into some new situation, and each time I've escaped by the skin of my teeth and because of others. That won't last."

Sirius, his eyes shadowed with concern, responded, "You aren't meant to be strong at fourteen, Harry. Someone your age… you've done well to survive. It's unfair to expect yourself to be stronger than most adult wizards and witches."

But Harry remained resolute. "I have to be. My enemies aren't fourteen, and they're not going to wait for me to grow up, either."

'I guess that's true.' Sirius sighed. 'Just try not to get too focused on it, ok. You need to be doing normal, fourteen year old boy stuff.' A brief grin flashed across his face. 'Chasing seventh year girls who're way out of your league, bantering about quidditch, trying to quietly masturbate in the dorm without any of the other guys noticing and–'

Sirius listened intently as Harry began to share. Harry spoke about the challenges he had faced in the Triwizard Tournament, particularly the intense nature of the tasks. He described his close encounter with the Hungarian Horntail during the first task, as well as the various skills he had been learning, like using the Imperius Curse and brewing complex potions such as Polyjuice.

"I've been doing things I never thought I'd be capable of," Harry admitted, his voice filled with a sense of conflict.

Sirius maintained a watchful and concerned gaze. "I always knew you were capable of great things, Harry. But I understand that it's hard. Just remember to be careful with those dark spells and potions. It's a slippery slope."

"I know," Harry acknowledged, fully aware of the dangers he was exposing himself to.

Sirius reassured him, "You're not alone, Harry. You have people who care about you."

Harry appreciated the sentiment but couldn't shake off the weight of his responsibilities and the loss of some of his friends.

Harry continued to share his experiences and feelings with Sirius. He spoke about the personal growth and the newfound clarity he had achieved in the past year, emphasizing the significance of his new wand, his dreams, and his goals. However, his tone darkened as he acknowledged the cost of his journey – the loss of friends who couldn't comprehend the weight of his responsibilities and the fact that he couldn't be a hero who would solve all their problems and then disappear.

Sirius listened attentively, his heart going out to Harry. He understood the isolation and pressure his godson had been facing.

"I was alone in Azkaban," Sirius revealed, his eyes clouded with painful memories. "There's nothing there to pull you out of the inside of your mind. The Dementors keep stirring your thoughts, pushing the most miserable, painful ones to the fore every time they draw near. It was enough to start eating away at my sanity, and I knew I was innocent, so I had something to cling to that they couldn't touch. The others... And Bella's bloody singing..." Sirius shuddered. "You find something, an ideal or a goal, then you devote yourself to it, and that's enough to stop the loneliness from consuming you. Afterward, when everything else falls into place, you'll find yourself surrounded by people and not as alone as you thought. I came out with only the goal of killing Pettigrew. Now I have you and Remus."

Harry couldn't help but feel a profound understanding and empathy for his godfather. "Things get better," he murmured, holding onto that glimmer of hope.

"That's the only good thing about hitting the bottom, you know that there's no further to sink," Sirius mused, a hint of a grin on his face. "My mother said that to me when I was sorted into Gryffindor. She hated having a respectable, unbigoted child."

Harry couldn't help but snort at the thought. "Your school record's everything but respectable. I pray I'm in a different bed than the one you had at my age."

Sirius laughed. "I was by the window."

Harry threw his hands up in mock frustration. "Shit. I should've known with my luck."

Sirius changed the topic, asking about the Triwizard Tournament. Harry shared, "I'm going to transfigure myself. The task is underwater."

Sirius gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. "Exceptional stuff, Harry. I had your dad to drag me through transfiguration, but you must have inherited his knack for it. I hope you're thinking about giving becoming an Animagus a shot. I wonder what you'd be, another stag like James, or maybe a bird, as you seem even better at flying than your father was."

Harry transfigured a couple of chairs from the dirt and slumped into one. He illuminated his wand with a whispered "lumos" and considered Sirius's suggestion. "Maybe one day. Not right now, though."

Sirius nodded, understanding. "It's useful. Dead useful. But, yeah, no, it's a lot of effort and practice, so you should wait until after the tournament. Maybe give it a go in the summer?"

Harry considered the idea but was cautious. "Maybe. If it's safe."

Sirius looked serious. "Well, it's not really safe. Actually, it's not at all safe. And you don't have any mandrakes. Damn. That's a bit of a snag. Molly will skin me if she finds out I snuck you some, too."

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