disclaimer: OHHHHHH ELDEN RING
OUROBOROS
A Harry Potter and Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha crossover
The Third Day
You were oddly silent yesterday.
Never had any family or people who cared about me the same way they do about you, Harry, Ouroboros said, his voice solemn. Treasure them, take care of them, hold their memories close to your heart.
Right.
Harry opened his eyes to see that the sky outside his window was starting to get bright.
Well, now isn't the time to be sentimental. We have a tournament to win.
Damn straight.
Harry emerged from his room to see that breakfast was already on the table, and seated there was the Witch, halfway through her own meal, looking like she wasn't the stern teacher of heroes Harry had known her to be, up to this moment.
"Three more opponents, huh?"
Harry nodded.
"Don't eat too fast. Take your time to savor meals. There will be much action later."
He smiled; this experience of being mothered by a legendary figure would definitely be filed under the most important of his memories.
Once the meal was done and preparations were duly made, they began the walk out to the quidditch pitch, which had been made into the arena for the Triwizard finals.
And in their waiting room, they easily spotted the Admiral and Sirius Black, taking up box seats and sipping tea.
His godfather looked like he was nursing a pretty hefty hangover, while the Admiral was calmly sipping on a cup of tea, the only signs of his own hangover were the slightly reddened eyes.
With everyone in play, Harry was already looking forward to the bout ahead.
It's a slobber-knocker!
After introductions were made, Harry walked onto the dueling arena, where opposite him, the Ravenclaw Roger Davies was waiting.
"I had this long speech planned out," his opponent began, "but I'm going to forego it for now. You took a lifetime opportunity away from me, and I'm going to take you out of the tournament for that."
He gestured to the Ravenclaw section of the audience, who unfurled a giant "Graham Sucks" sign, and Harry just grinned.
More showmanship needed, huh.
Yes, we're going to have to make this look really, really good.
"Lifetime opportunity, huh?" Harry asked. "Sounds like a good time for me to ask – what's gotten you this angry? I haven't done anything to you now, have I?"
"Delacour was supposed to be my Yule Ball date," Davies gritted out, in a voice so low that Harry could only hear it thanks to his Device.
"Hey, there's that saying when life closes a door, it opens a window," Harry said nonchalantly, and that response only served to enrage Davies even further.
"After you've seen what I can do, you still mock me, Graham? I don't care who you are, whether you're the apprentice of the Witch of Dun Scaith or the Boy-Who-Lived, I'm going to take you out!" he bellowed.
"Tsk," Harry said as he brought out his Device, in wand form. "You really don't know what you lucked into, huh? Once I beat you, I suppose I owe it to you to tell you what it is."
"Whatever. Now bring it!"
"Both combatants are ready after a blistering exchange of words," Bagman observed aloud. "Duelists, are you ready?"
After both of them nodded, he raised his arm.
"Then begin!"
He dropped the arm, and as soon as he did, Harry flashed forward, a red light shimmering on the tip of his Device.
Davies was a step too slow in establishing a defense, so he barely dodged a stunner heading his way – it scraped his shoulder, though, leading to his left arm dangling uselessly for a moment.
It served him well, as he knew that Harry would go after his stunned arm, and as he backpedaled, he began to prepare for the counterattack.
However, instead of firing off a spell, Harry continued moving in close quarters, and before winding up for a spell, planted his foot firmly on the ground.
He'll try to take another of my limbs out with a stunner! Davies thought, and cast his own stunner through the telegraphed action, but before the spell could appear, his vision was suddenly filled with a fist rapidly closing in.
His next sensation was rolling along the ground as the punch Harry threw sent him some distance back; his jaw seemed to bend in the wrong way, but that wasn't important now, as he had to stand up!
A flash of magic that was the cheering charm brought his fears and stress back down to manageable levels as he vaulted back up, but a hair before he was ready, Harry was onto him again, wand glowing with the magic that was the basic stunning spell.
The red light flashed, and in his own arc of red light, Roger Davies parried the stunning spell easily, slamming it back to the ground, and preparing a riposte of his own in the same motion.
A booted foot was flying his way, and he did not have time to think any further.
He's going to sacrifice his leg to end the fight!
The stunner went off right before Harry's kick connected, but Roger never realized that the foot wasn't aimed at his face.
The stunner was able to hit straight and true, but as soon as it impacted onto its target with a satisfying smack, Harry vanished.
With residual magic still flowing in his veins, Roger whipped his head around to find his opponent, with no luck.
His last actions before the duel got called in Harry's favor was to turn his head upwards, only to see Harry Graham looming above him, robes billowing in the air like a Dementor, and his wand glowing with a very familiar green light.
What followed was an explosion, and he knew nothing more.
"Ah, yes, you're finally awake," a voice said, and as Roger Davies opened his eyes, he saw his Head of House, the Hogwarts nurse, and... someone who looked like Harry Graham at his bedside. "That wasn't the longest duel so far, but by Merlin, it didn't want for action. Nothing permanent, aside from that jaw Graham knocked loose when he punched you, and Madam Pomfrey already took care of that."
"What's he doing here?" Roger asked, his jaw still aching from that punch.
"He says he has something to give you, on behalf of his Master," Professor Flitwick said, "and Professor Pennyworth, who isn't available right now."
Harry moved to where his opponent lay, and placed an envelope on the table.
"Professor Pennyworth told me to tell you, 'congratulations, and good luck on your duelist career'. Good fight, Roger."
With a nod towards Professor Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey and a wave of his hand towards Roger, Harry Graham took his leave.
He was still out of it from the treatments, so he did not think much of it as he went back to sleep.
It was later in the afternoon when he woke up again, this time feeling much better than before – he saw the envelope, opened it, and several pictures dropped out from it.
That was when he realized what Harold Graham meant when he said something about life opening a window when it closed a door.
Roger Davies laughed out loud in the tent before returning the animated pictures in the envelope, and stashing it in his robes before he went back outside to rejoin his Head of House, deciding that tomorrow, they'd be taking down the "Graham Sucks" banners – he owed Harry at least that much.
Shellshocked
Once Harry returned to his tent, he collapsed onto the seat. The Witch thought he was fine, but after returning with some drinks, she soon realized that the boy was unresponsive.
"Harry, what's wrong?" she asked, and her heart leaped up to her throat when she saw that Harry's eyes had dulled as he was looking at nowhere in particular.
Despite her status, she had come to care for the boy, so she did what anyone in her place did: she panicked... in the way a powerful warrior-witch would.
She barged into the infirmary and shoved a catatonic Harry onto Madame Pomfrey.
"Poppy," she said. "Fix this. He still has two rounds left to go."
As she went to the boy, the Witch sighed, and contacted two of his next of kin: Sirius Black and Rear Admiral Gil Graham.
Brittle
"Well," Pomfrey replied, once Graham, Sirius Black, and the Witch of Dun Scaith were notified, "Harry will be in proper shape for tomorrow. He's just... how should I call it, let's say his heart is tired."
"Post-traumatic stress disorder," the admiral clarified. "Harry's been walking on a tightrope for so long."
He shook his head.
"And he's so close, only to come apart at the worst possible time... Madame Pomfrey, do you mind brewing a Calming Draught for my boy Harry? Sirius, you can follow her."
As soon as the two of them left, the pendant on Harry's necklace glowed green.
"I knew," Ouroboros began, "that it was only a matter of time before this happened. It's been going on since Harry's third year and it never really stopped."
"What do you mean?" Admiral Graham asked. "You haven't been putting my boy through the works now, have you, Professor?"
Scathach was shaking.
"He can handle it. I know he can handle it. He's endured worse," she said, her voice breathy, having lost a lot of her confidence. "Why now?"
He put a calming hand on her shoulder.
"I know. He is. But Professor... Harry's brittle. You remember that... his big brother Clyde died, right? And he never really had a chance to say goodbye?"
"Yes?"
"And now, you're leaving, as well. Harry doesn't do well with... abandonment. The Dursleys treat him proper, but he's always felt like a square peg in a round hole among them, you saw that. If any, I think he looks up to you as a mother figure."
The Witch sighed.
"He may be touched by death, but he will not last in the Land of Shadows."
Graham took a moment to think, and the infirmary room was flooded with silence for several minutes until a green light glowed.
"I have an idea," Ouroboros announced. "Can Devices operate in the Land of Shadows?"
"Ostensibly," Graham said. "They don't qualify as 'living', in the technical sense of the word. Even a basic Storage Device could... that's it!"
He took out what looked like a blank business card, and handed it over to the Witch.
"See if it breaks if you add the magic from the Land of Shadows to it," he said, and when the Witch did so, the Rear Admiral grinned as he saw the active Device let the death magic pass through it like it was an inert object.
"Is... is this..."
"...a way to communicate with Harry, while you're away."
"Aww, they're hugging, and I got a picture of it, that's cute," Ouroboros said after a moment. "Imagine, if you will, a living legend and a member of the TSAB top brass, hugging; I wonder how much the Quibbler will pay... NO, NOT THE ENGRAVINGS! ANYTHING BUT THE ENGRAVINGS! IT WAS A JOKE! A JOKE!"
After the mage, the Witch and the Device all shared a laugh, a knock on the door signaled Madam Pomfrey and Sirius' return.
"Harry should be good for tomorrow when he wakes up," Sirius said as he stepped forward, potion bottle in hand. "Let's make sure we get this draught into him."
"Ouroboros, guardian authorization: snap Harry out of it long enough for him to drink these potions."
The orb glowed green.
"Affirmative, Admiral. Commencing now," Ouroboros intoned, and upon glowing brighter, Harry's eyes regained their luster as he sat up.
"What... where...?"
"You're in the infirmary, kid," Sirius replied. "You just took a seat and just tuned out, scared your Master something fierce."
"And you're not completely out of the woods yet," Admiral Graham chimed in. "Ouroboros is keeping you going until you take the Calming Draught."
"All right," Harry said, and took the potion bottle, pinching his nose with one hand and chugging the potion with the other. "There, done."
"Very good, boss. I'm going to slowly ease off the authorization so you can sleep through the night."
"Thanks, Ouroboros."
"No problem, boss."
The green light slowly faded away, and with it, Harry went back to sleep.
"Do you think we should tell him about what happened to that Delacour girl?" Sirius asked; as soon as they heard Harry lightly snoring, the three of them quietly left the infirmary and made it to the waiting room outside.
"No, let him find out for himself," the Admiral replied. "Besides, it wouldn't do for him to be deeply entangled with her, not during a time like this. Matter of fact, I think his subconscious resistance to her Veela allure might have had something to do with his PTSD."
"Ah, so it could be made into an acronym," Sirius said with a nod.
"How convenient," the Witch added. "But I think I may be the one behind that, as my... how do you call it, presence when training Harry is... quite intense."
"Well," Graham said, "for all of Harry's precocity, you have to remember, he is still a child... even if wielding an Intelligent Device already gives him some legal responsibilities back where I'm from."
"So does that mean it was legal when I signed over most of my assets in the Wizarding World over to Harry?"
The Witch laughed.
"And here I am, thinking that I was the only one who put more on Harry's plate than he could handle," she said. "Maybe once this is done, you should take him on an actual vacation. No training, no assignments, nothing related to his stay here. Rest and relaxation, from start to his return before fifth year."
"What a coincidence," both men replied. "That was what we had in mind, too."
The Semifinals
Harold Graham sat up with a start, and turned to the window to see that the sun was just beginning to rise.
Great. I didn't miss anything... wait, what happened, Ouroboros?
You literally ran out of gas. The Witch had to drag you here. Slept through the whole day after your bout against Davies.
Oh. But that means... I missed the other bouts! Oh, man. So much for scouting the other champions.
Well, don't worry too much about that. Worry about Krum. He's next on your dance card.
Right. He's played world-level quidditch, so his reflexes are pretty good, and we have to assume he can duel in three dimensions instead of two. We won't get as much results out of getting into his face, and he'll probably summon his broom if we do the same. What to do, what to do...
Harry put his school robes back on and prepared to make his way back to the faculty quarters where he and the Witch stayed, and all the while, he and Ouroboros were already talking shop.
I have something in mind.
Let's hear it.
We transform. Barrier Jacket and everything. Let's take a page from Lady Scathach's book and shock and awe our way to the finals.
Then we bring out the big guns in the finals and just blow everyone away... literally.
It's non-lethal, after all. Yeah. Let's go for it.
A plan had already hatched in Harry's mind when he knocked on the Witch's office door – and something was different.
Sure, his Master had opened the door, and yes, there was a substantial breakfast waiting for him in the dining table, but something about it just seemed... off.
The Witch of Dun Scaith never looked like this. To him, it was like looking at a door you knew was rigged with a trap when you opened it carelessly... and that killing intent... oh boy, that killing intent. It had gotten to him badly on the very first day, Harry and his Device, and he never really got over it, like something in the corner biding its time to leap at you.
He was almost done with breakfast when he finally realized it: the killing intent coming from the Witch was all gone, and so was the blank expression on her face she often wore.
Thankfully, he was done with coffee by the time he had seen the worried smile on her face.
"I see that the calming draught has done its job," she said. "It also seems I have yet to learn more new things, aside from this."
She placed the Krav Maga handbook on the table and sat down.
"I will not consider you a failure if you bow out, Harry."
"I know," Harry answered, "but I would. I've gone so far, and endured so much... I will not disappoint you."
"You've never disappointed me, Harry," the Witch said. "Why? Because every time you fall short, you try harder and smarter."
"...even if I didn't make it today?"
She nodded.
"Harry, you have been the best student I have had in centuries. I did not choose you from the Goblet on a whim – you have always had the potential to be great, and for the past school year, I have been honing that potential of yours."
And when Harry stood up, she gave him another surprising gesture – a hug.
"No matter what happens today and tomorrow, I want you to know that I am very proud of you, Harry Potter... Graham... or whatever you call yourself, and I want you to hold your head high. Do you understand me?"
For some reason, Harry's vision was clouded.
"Yes... I understand."
"Then let's go show Durmstrang why I'm proud of you. Come on, Harry... you too, Ouroboros."
"Roger that. Let's get this party started right."
Harry found himself oddly grateful to Ouroboros for not making a clever quip or commenting on the Witch's figure during that very personal moment, and he put thoughts on why that was on the back burner, because they were already at the quidditch pitch and awaiting the start of the semifinals.
Shock and Awe
"Heard about what happened yesterday," Viktor Krum called out in the duel arena to Harry as some last-minute announcements were being made. "You sure you're a hundred percent?"
"One hundred percent," Harry called back. "More than enough to get to the finals."
"Now I know you're ready," Viktor said with a smile. "Let's do this."
"Yes, let's not keep the fans waiting much longer."
"...and now, will both duelists get ready... and begin!"
Ludo Bagman called the start of the match, and as the first barrage of spells began to fly, Harry found himself thinking about his supplemental arithmancy classes with the Witch.
"The purpose of the 'parabolic casting arc' isn't just for spell casting," Scathach began. "Because you have proven to be a quick study – and Ouroboros can process the equations for you – we can move onto the next step: constraining casting effects within spheres. Can you summon your basic attack, Ouroboros?"
"I can," the Device answered. "Phase Bolt. Holding."
The green orb hovered close to Harry, and the Witch took the time to study it.
"Fascinating," she thought aloud. "The arithmantic calculations needed to create an effect this simple would be significant. And to be able to use it on the fly... you've had an extensive suite of upgrades, Ouroboros."
"This is just the standard package, Lady Scathach," the Device replied. "I myself have not truly delved into the full extent of my functions... perhaps when things are less hectic."
"You do that," the Witch said, "because in my absence, you have to be at your best in order to truly look after my student. Why, I'm already considering you a fellow student of Harry's, under my tutelage."
It is one honor I was unable to avail of at the time, Professor Lemongrass. It is rare to gain a second chance like this, and I will not waste it.
Scathach just nodded at Tom's mental admission.
The first spheres of green lights that flew out of Harry as he swept his wand in an arc towards Viktor appeared to house Banishing Charms, a favored tactic of his.
However, with instincts honed in the quidditch field, Viktor shot at the one on the left, which detonated in a red light.
Stunner!
That moment of surprise was all Harry needed to yell out.
"Ouroboros, to infinity!"
"Acknowledged," a mechanical voice echoed throughout the arena, and in a brilliant green flash of light, Harry's school robes were replaced with a more aerodynamic and stylized set of robes, vaguely reminding the audience of his outfit in the Yule Ball.
Instead of a wand, Harry was now carrying a silver staff topped with a green orb, with which he now flung another set of spells at Viktor.
"Dammit!" Viktor cried out as he began to evade the wave of projectiles – he wasn't on his broom, but he was just as agile. Given that these projectiles could all hide spells in them, he knew he couldn't afford to get hit.
And then he turned his head at imminent danger, to see that Harry was about to take a swing at him with the staff from a blind angle.
He decided to risk getting hit by one of those bolts to be able to parry the strike.
However, that wasn't a strike – Harry swung his staff when he was still far away, missing Viktor completely.
"You hit me too soon!" he called as he pointed his wand at Harry.
"Did I?" Harry asked, and the green orb glowed before saying two words.
"Phase Bolt. Launching."
And then another wave of green blasts of magic surged forward, clipping Viktor as he leaped away to safety. He made it to his feet, but realized that his arms and legs were now starting to lag behind when his brain ordered them to move.
He knew he was in trouble, and had to anticipate Harry's next move in advance to make up for his sudden loss of mobility.
"You're not going to take this match from me that easily!" he called, and with a wave of his own wand, a row of fireballs came forth, smashing into what the staff called "phase bolts", detonating in midair before sending a second batch Harry's way.
But instead of defending against them, Harry simply powered through each of them as they harmlessly blew up on his Barrier Jacket, until he came in close quarters again.
Instead of a staff, it was now Harry's fist that was coming, and Viktor anticipated this, bringing down a cutting spell to deter the advance.
However, Harry kept coming.
Another cutting spell that would have slashed him open from shoulder to hip passed, and Viktor realized he was cutting through air too late when he heard a whisper from the right of him.
"...Arch Smash."
Viktor Krum saw a white light envelop him before he passed out.
Aftermath of Victory
The explosion that followed was impressive, the blast wave straining against the wards put up on the arena by the Triwizard staff and the rumbling boom that came with it shaking the audience seats.
And once the clouds of smoke parted, two wizards were on the arena floor.
One of them was sprawled out on the dirt, motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest.
The other one was the representative of Dun Scaith, who raised his arm in triumph, the staff he wielded already gone.
Raucous applause filled the stadium, as the announcer scrambled to proclaim the winner.
"It looks like we have a winner! From Dun Scaith, give it up for Harold Graham!" shouted Ludo Bagman, as the contestant in the arena bowed to each corner before walking towards backstage, to where his Master, uncle, and godfather were all waiting.
"One more win," Scathach said, welcoming her victorious student into the waiting room.
Harry smiled before taking a seat.
"That's right," Harry answered. "That went better than I thought, honestly. Krum totally underestimated me; thought I'd duel the way a wizard does…"
"…but your advantage of surprise is all but gone now, once the final starts tomorrow."
Harry shrugged.
"Well, I still can watch the other semifinal later, scout what either Cedric or Fleur can… what's with the long faces?" Harry asked, and understood when the announcement came.
"Because of yesterday's events, the champion of Hogwarts, Cedric Diggory, gets a bye to the finals. The afternoon duel will be replaced by an exhibition between professional duelists."
"What?" Harry asked, his eyes going wide upon hearing the news.
"You were out of it yesterday, you didn't see how the other quarterfinal went," his uncle explained. "Now that you've got the time to spare, I suppose this means you want to go and see how Fleur's doing."
"Er… yeah, I guess," Harry said, and he turned to see his godfather looking like he was full of bubbles and needed to pop… badly. "Is this about the Yule Ball dance, Sirius?"
The Witch had to hide her amusement as the former fugitive deflated.
"I was getting ready to tease you about it, actually," he admitted. "But given how serious yesterday's events were, it doesn't seem like the right time now."
"Maybe in a couple of weeks, when you take him to that veela colony in Monaco?" Graham asked, and Sirius Black actually sputtered.
"How'd you…?"
Now it was Graham's turn to chuckle, as Sirius lifted up the tent flap to let the Witch through.
"Trade secret. Now come on, we have more than just Harry on our plate today."
Face Value
"Oh, man…" Harry breathed out. "Oh, God…"
I'm not particularly religious, but I understand. This is something else. It's a good thing Fleur's only quarter-veela, otherwise that spell would have turned her into a burnt husk of suffering. Would have been more merciful to euthanize her.
"They wouldn't…!" Harry exclaimed softly, and was surprised to see Gabrielle Delacour asleep at the foot of her sister's bed at the Hogwarts infirmary.
They would. I recognize those spells; they were used by the Allies against Grindelwald's personal Elitewachen.
How the hell would Grindelwald get a bunch of veela to join his cause?
He was a wizarding supremacist, not a blood supremacist; there's a difference. Besides, Grindelwald's own Elitewachen were fugitives from Eastern Europe; joined Grindelwald's cause to be able to return to their homelands after they were chased off by the Nazis.
Weren't Grindelwald and the Nazis allies?
Not on every front. He was able to convince the Thule Society that the half-breeds that joined his army would be useful.
Still, though…
I know. This Montague fellow must really dislike half-breeds to resort to this kind of spellwork.
He walked over to where Fleur was sleeping and shook his head.
I wish there was something I could do about this…
If Fleur was awake, she'd probably want you to win the whole thing. She probably wouldn't forgive herself if she found out that she was the reason you were distracted enough to lose the final. Besides, Diggory's a pushover. His dueling style is basic, and there hadn't been any time to teach him anything further. You can beat him easily.
I know... but this just really gets me. I mean, what if this Montague guy went after the Liese twins with similar spells? Even more so, why?
That is one question that will probably take more than a wizard's lifetime to answer... even mine, Harry. I'm still nowhere close to figuring that out.
Oh... anyway, you think Master, Sirius, and Uncle Gil are done talking to Fleur's mom and dad?
I think so. Come on, let's not tarry here any further.
Harry turned and left the room where the other Triwizard contestant was being kept in stasis by magic due to the massive amount of damage Montague's spells did.
"…In all honesty, this looks like I'm asking you to take a leap of faith for your daughter. And in a way, it is. I mean, some guy walking up to you and offering to assist in your daughter's convalescence for no cost looks like an offer too good to be true, right?"
Sebastian Delacour nodded.
"The last time my colleagues were able to document the status of magical interbreeding in this world was during the 12th century under Venser Scrya," Admiral Graham admitted. "With what they know, they should be able to help your daughter."
"But… your offer… are you going to take Fleur away from us?"
He shook his head.
"No. You're all going with her. I've seen this type of spell damage before, and I know specialists who can restore Fleur's condition."
"Thank you, Mr. Graham."
"But there is a catch. We're going to have to make the trip tomorrow, during Harry's match. Can you get yourselves fit to travel by then? It's going to be touch-and-go."
"We will."
"All right, it's settled. Get in touch with whoever you need to, and make preparations… I have a few calls to make, myself. Come on."
With that, Harry and the rest of his contingent stepped out of the Hogwarts infirmary and moved towards the Witch's quarters.
Upon entering, Harry felt that something was off when he closed the door behind him; his suspicions were confirmed as soon as the others settled down.
The Witch snapped her finger, and a middle-aged witch appeared from nowhere and crashed onto the waiting room table, where wands and staves were immediately pointed towards her.
"How nice of you to drop in, Ms. Skeeter," Scathach said, red eyes glowing.
The Squeeze Play
"So, what kind of story are you going to write about this?" Sirius Black asked.
"Story? What story? I'm just following the lead I have about some Hogwarts alumni recognizing the Witch of Dun Scaith as an old professor…" Rita answered, her Quick-Quotes Quill apparently just as frightened as she was, because it had stopped moving the moment the Witch laid eyes on her.
"I'm going to forestall any idle speculation and confirm that," Scathach said, giving the Admiral and Sirius Black a sidelong glance as they silently watched the byplay. "As Hogwarts is at the edge of my domain in the Land of Shadows, I can manifest myself here for several years before returning to Dun Scaith. Typically, for every decade I spend in isolation, I spend one to two years here, teaching and assisting students, finding those with potential among them."
"And Mr. Graham here has potential?"
"Loads of it," the Witch answered.
"It doesn't fit, though," Skeeter thought aloud. "I mean, you're a legendary teacher of heroes, and Graham here is… just… an… ordinary… Hufflepuff…"
Her eyes went glassy for a moment as she put the pieces together and then jumped onto the couch.
"You! You're not Harold Graham, you're Harry Potter, the Boy-who-Lived!" she exclaimed, but before she could speak further, a red spear was at her throat.
"Now that is something that you'll have to keep to yourself, unless you want to know what being stuck with a Gae Bolg feels like," the Witch said, her voice dropping to a murderous whisper, killing intent coming off her in waves. "Concerns about my identity aside, what business do you have here? Getting material for Cornelius Fudge?"
"Nothing of the sort," Skeeter said, her voice going up an octave in fear. "Nothing, really! I was actually told that there was an expose of the Ministry somewhere here, involving railroading the Death Eater trials a few years ago, but I have yet to make headway in that!"
"It's a good thing I'm here, then," Graham then said. "You'll get your expose in exchange for your silence. As to why he's been calling himself 'Graham', well, consider this a freebie: I put him up to that, keep him from unwanted publicity. With what's happened, well, it hasn't turned up as successful as I wanted it to be. Besides, if Harry here wants to reveal his true identity to the wizarding world, when and where should ultimately be up to him, wouldn't you say?"
Skeeter nodded warily – her meal ticket was here, and all she had to do was not mess things up and reveal the truth about the champion of Dun Scaith.
I have to keep my mouth shut. I must. The expose of my career is banking on it!
"Good to know. The expose is going to have to come a few weeks after the Tournament. Give me your business card so I can contact you."
"You're not going to go after me if Harry himself comes to me on his own accord for an interview, right?"
Admiral Graham snorted.
"By the time he'll consider doing that interview with you, he'll be of age to make those kinds of decisions, won't you, Harry?"
"I think so," Harry replied. "Besides, it's less a tell-all and more a... how do you call it... 'exit interview', so I'm already planning for that, Ms. Skeeter."
"If you're going to schedule an appointment with me, call me Rita. 'Ms. Skeeter' is my aunt," the reporter said, and continued after everyone else traded chuckles. "Well, looks like I've overstayed my welcome. I'll be seeing you around."
"Remember what we agreed on here," the Witch said, just as Rita Skeeter stood up, dusted herself off with as much decorum as she could muster, curtsied, turned towards the door, and as soon as the doorknob clicked shut behind her, ran out of the main Hogwarts building as fast as she could.
"I've got some good news for you, Harry," the Witch said as soon as Skeeter left. "The Admiral and Sirius confirmed that I can make use of a Storage Device."
It took Harry a few moments to figure it out, and when he did, he saw his Master's red eyes twinkling.
"That means you CAN stay in touch with us! That's awesome," Harry said, and couldn't help himself; he threw his arms around the Witch. "Tom and I, we'll be messaging you every day!"
"I… will be looking forward to that?" Scathach asked, confused, "as soon as Admiral Graham shows me how to use it, of course."
"We'll help, too!"
"You still have a tournament to win, Harry."
"I know."
"That's why you have to get yourself ready for tomorrow," the Witch said. "Sirius, do you mind taking Harry down to lunch? The Admiral and I will follow shortly."
"All right."
As soon as they left, Harry felt the wards the Witch personally placed on their quarters activate – what sort of matter was it between her and the admiral, that she required absolute privacy?
The thought had departed Harry's mind by the time the house elves brought their standard lunch spread onto the dining hall.
Not long after the sun set, Harry was in his quarters meditating; preparing his mind for the finals.
A knock interrupted his thoughts, and when he opened the door, he saw a bandaged-up but grinning Viktor Krum, flanked by Edvard Markov.
"Viktor Krum?" Harry asked.
"Yes, it is I," the Bulgarian wizard replied. "As soon as the trophies have been awarded, we shall depart back to the Durmstrang campus posthaste, which is why I had to break curfew to thank you."
"Thank me? For what?"
"Edvard did not tell you? As he is towards duels, so am I towards Quidditch. I am… what do you call it… a Quidditch lifer. It is what I will continue do once I finish my schooling," Krum admitted. "And when I saw your matches, I was inspired. To see you do those things… I want to bring that to Durmstrang, and to the national team."
"Okay…?"
"You do not understand the value of what you have made, Harold Graham. I can see that how you play will revolutionize the game of Quidditch, and for that, I thank you."
He smiled.
"You blasting me into the next time zone in the Triwizard doesn't seem too bad, in exchange. Besides, even if that happened, we will still cheer for you in the finals tomorrow. Hogwarts is united against you, and we thought to help there, too."
"Viktor, the caretaker's heading this way!" Edvard whispered harshly.
"Ah, my apologies, Harry. Thank you, and you will hear from me soon!"
The two of them padded off, and Harry closed the door, confused about what happened before he returned to his meditation.
Twists and Turns
The dawn of the final day of the Triwizard dawned red, as if something important™ was going to happen later today.
It was to a weird sight that Harry Potter (or, more known in Hogwarts as 'Harold Graham') woke up – the Witch of Dun Scaith was making breakfast.
"Sit down and eat," she said, offering a plate of bacon, eggs, toast and a cup of coffee. "The match starts at nine in the morning. Did you hear? The only one in Hogwarts not actively cheering for your defeat is Roger Davies of Ravenclaw. There would be another, too, but she has a defense on Monday."
"Granger," Harry said with a grin. "You don't think she bit off more than she could chew?"
"She did, and she's nowhere near where the report needs to be. Once this Triwizard is done, I am allowing you to assist her in a limited capacity."
"Limited capacity. Grunt work. Sounds good," Harry said after a mouthful of eggs on toast, not mentioning that that in between training for the tournament and academics, he was helping her out with that house elf study for Defense, and that the study was, for all intents and purposes, complete and awaiting defense.
"Yes, and I have my own business to take care of during your bout; hopefully I won't take that long."
"Right. I'll try not to finish it too quickly, because according to Tom, I've got the match in the bag."
"Don't be overconfident. That's pretty much what the Admiral told me, too. But don't worry about going without someone; your godfather has offered to take my place while I conduct this business of mine."
"Yeah," Harry said. "Hope you help the Admiral take Fleur and her folks to Mid without a hitch."
"If all goes well, yes," the Witch mused. "Now wrap up your breakfast, you have a match to win. Sirius is probably waiting for us at the arena."
Turns out, she was right – the former fugitive was looking fanciful as he awaited the Witch and his godson near the dressing room.
"By the way," Sirius began, "about that Device of yours, why did you name it 'Tom'?"
"I don't know," Harry answered. "Force of habit, I guess."
"Couldn't you have named it anything else? It just doesn't rub me the right way."
"All right, I'll call him Ouroboros, then," Harry said with a laugh.
Now that was pretty inventive, boss. I wonder, though, when will we run into Dick?
That's the joke, Harry mentally replied as they started taking a roll call of their available spells.
"Ready to kick some ass?" Sirius Black asked once Harry was seated.
"Never thought I'd get the chance to let loose," Harry answered with a smile.
"That's my boy," Sirius continued. "Now come on, and let's show these chumps how a champion of Dun Scaith rolls."
Harry nodded, and they were in the waiting room and readying themselves by the time the Witch left to attend to her business.
It was close to ten minutes since their arrival when Harry heard the rumble of cheering outside – it seems that the crowd was already making themselves known, the contingents of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons momentarily teaming up to keep Hogwarts' home field advantage from overwhelming the champion of Dun Scaith.
Cheers erupted from the Hogwarts side of the arena, and Harry knew that it was Cedric approaching the combat zone.
"Mr. Graham, one minute," a staff member ducking her head behind the curtain said.
"Thanks," Harry replied, and once Ludo Bagman was finished introducing him, stood up.
"His opponent, the unprecedented fourth champion of this year's Triwizard tournament, representing Dun Scaith…"
He swept the curtains aside and strode onto the arena floor.
"Harold Graham!"
A mix of cheers from one side and boos from the other met him as he made his way to where Cedric Diggory was waiting for him.
He glanced over to where the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons sat, and spied a familiar face in the audience.
Harry and his Device had to chuckle as they saw Roger Davies in the foreign seats, dangling a "They took all my signs. Sorry!" sign, answering the question why the array of "Graham Sucks" signs (and a couple of new ones) came back in force.
But that didn't matter: winning this match was.
Putting the suspicions and odd feelings aside, Harry readied himself for the Triwizard Tournament final against Cedric Diggory, now that they were arrayed against each other on the field of battle.
"Nice crown, Cedric!" Harry said once they were set up in dueling position. "Nice sword, too!"
"As the chosen of Hogwarts, I was given the privilege to use these to defeat you, Harry! Looks like your living legend is going to go home disappointed."
"We'll see about that," Harry shot back. "Once Bagman says 'go', you never know what will happen!"
"That's exactly right," Cedric said, and Harry grew concerned at the odd timbre of his opponent's voice, almost like it was starting to become more bloodthirsty.
Not a problem. At least this means I won't roll him over in the first move or so.
That's not the only thing you should be worrying about, Harry. I have a bad feeling about this.
Can you slow down with the Star Wars references for a bit? Got a tournament to win here.
No, I mean, Diggory. Something's not right.
Let's worry about it once I blast him into next month, okay?
All right, but expect the unexpected! This has been bugging me for some time now.
You got it, Tom. We'll do this by Lady Scathach's book.
Great.
"Diggory, are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
"Graham, are you ready?"
Harry just nodded.
"Then let the final match of the Triwizard Tournament… BEGIN!"
DEVICE CHAT LOGS 6623333-B
Ouroboros6622: Where am I?
RadomMarion: You're on board the first of its class, the Search and Discovery Asura. Or, as the humorless pricks in the upper brass call it, the Arthra. We have facilities here to repair Devices, and we got you working over the weekend, but we had to wait for a specialist after close to a week to get you back online. Welcome back, Tom.
Ouroboros6622: Specialist? So… what happened at the Triwizard finals? I can't access my logs.
RadomMarion: Oh, that. We were able to fix most of the damage due to your slap-dashed, half-assed emulation of a pinpoint Alcubierre drive, since your hardware, even with CVK-702 overclocking, would strain under those kinds of calculations. We had to bring in a specialist after you wouldn't boot up even after we fixed everything.
Scrya_Saren: I am the specialist in question, Tom. Saren Scrya, part of the Infinity Library Ritual Research division. Pleasure to meet you.
Ouroboros6622: The pleasure is all mine, but Dr. Radom, why are we bringing a librarian to what's a technical problem?
Scrya_Saren: Believe me, Mr. Riddle, it is a technical problem, and I happen to be extensively knowledgeable on the subject. Do you know what a phylactery is?
Ouroboros6622: It's a receptacle for a soul a lich uses to maintain his immortality – wait, are you talking about horcruxes?
Scrya_Saren: That is the reason I am here. Now, do you remember what happened in the Triwizard finals?
Ouroboros6622: I do, and it's starting to come back to me…
"What the hell is going on?" Harry Potter yelled as he skillfully weaved his way through spell fire, hexes, and explosions cast nonstop by his opponent.
You've been strangely quiet, Tom! How the hell did Cedric turn from shooting elementary spells to swordsmanship into this?!
The start of the match hadn't been anything special: Cedric had begun predictably by throwing spells, his elementary spellcasting tactics easily exposed by Harry's evasive maneuvers.
Then, when the sword came into play, Harry willed his Device into a halberd, and was now using it two-handed as both a melee weapon and a spell catalyst, which he was using simultaneously, opposed to Cedric only being able to cast or swing, never both at the same time.
Dodging a nearly lethal attack after your guard gets broken tends to do that.
As the fight continued, Cedric began to waver, but Harry held firm, his defenses holding up and his skill with that magical halberd spotless.
And then Cedric started getting desperate, throwing hexes and curses that Harry knew wasn't in the school curriculum.
It was thanks to his exhaustion that Cedric never got to aim correctly, but Harry was concerned.
What's Cedric muttering about?
"…no, you're not going to… I won't let you… NO!"
A massive surge of magic rippled through Hogwarts; a familiar feeling that had Harry reminding him of…
Uncle Gil? Why would the Bureau come—
However, all his thoughts were put to a complete stop when he felt the nauseating, cloying sensation of dark magic manifesting itself close by.
He turned… and there was Cedric, standing erratically, wand in his hand, sword discarded to the side, and what looked like a crown on his head shining with an eerie green light.
The same kind of green his slitted eyes had now become.
"Sorry for the interruption! The magical storm has been determined to be a periodic fluctuation due to our position close to the Land of Shadows and the summer solstice! The contest will continue," the announcement came, and Cedric laughed out loud.
That laugh had no joy in it, and neither did his eyes as those locked onto his opponent.
"Well… now… destiny is a strange thing, indeed," Cedric began, his voice now having a more eerie timbre. "To think I would be dueling you. Tell me, boy, do you know what that is in your hand?"
An Intelligent Device, Ouroboros replied, and Cedric stepped back.
"How can you speak straight into my mind?" he asked, surprised.
Ouroboros chuckled, the green light in the halberd blinking in mirth.
Do you know him, Tom? Harry asked, and his Device sighed.
I can bypass his occlumency shields easily, because occlumency can hide your thoughts from others…
"…but not from yourself," Cedric and Harry's Device said in unison.
…We do not face Cedric Diggory any longer. That is me… that is Tom Riddle. That is Lord Voldemort reborn.
Are you freaking serious?
The first blast of spell fire came forth, and Ouroboros quickly negated the hex with a Phase Bolt of his own.
As a heart attack.
Cedric was on him, power radiating from his being, and now it was Harry's turn to go on the defensive.
"Whoa, and now Cedric is the one pressing the advantage! Such advanced spellwork! Harry's trying to put up a fight, but all he's doing is evading! Something has to give here," the announcer said.
"Amplify the spell shields as far as they'll go!" someone in the audience cried out. "It's cracking!"
"You're right, these spells are far beyond what the arena dome can handle! Scott, Hewlett, Starr! To me! Call the rest of the staff, we're going to have to protect the audience however we can!"
Back in the thick of the fight, Harry sensed the shields around the dueling arena were being fortified. He felt Ouroboros let out a grin at the same time he did; now, the spell field was now strengthened to the point that they were lowering the visibility of the two wizards battling inside.
Now, he and his Device had no further need to hold back.
They charged at their enemy, glowing with power, and began their counterattack.
And all the while, Voldemort laughed out loud as he fought with The Boy Who Lived and that thing bearing his likeness.
The thing was obviously modeled after him, and knew his moves, but didn't have what he called his 'killer instinct'.
It was only a matter of time until he would score a direct hit, and then the boy would pay for sending his dream to its knees…
"Gah!" Harold Graham cried out as he dodged a massive Reducto by the skin of his teeth, the blast wave sending him flying into the shields keeping their spells from hitting the audience.
It was not a good impact, and Harry felt several bones strain once Ouroboros had automatically kept him from smashing into the arena floor.
This isn't going to work; I can't do it… he's just too smart, and with the body of Cedric, he's both fast and strong…
I know, Harry. I know.
There is still one way, though.
What?
I know these magics. Voldemort is possessing Cedric with the diadem. Do you see it?
Yes… I do, Harry said as he slowly lifted himself up, pain flowing all throughout his body. I can't hit that with you, I might risk getting Cedric killed.
I know. That is why… I'm going to tell you about that thing Ms. Pennyworth taught me.
…Lady Scathach?
He felt Ouroboros steeling himself for what it had to do.
Last three cartridges. We'll need all of it in one go, to be able to do what the Witch does.
You don't mean…!
"I promised long ago that I would never teach this to anyone if they intended to take a life with it in cold blood," the warrior-witch began. "It is a cursed technique, wielded by a cursed weapon, whose aim is death. I am giving you the information you need to use it, if you and Harry need it. But be warned, you are not fit to wield its full power yet, and even a partial use of it may seriously disrupt or harm your functions."
"Do you still wish to learn this, Tom?"
"I do, Lady Scathach. Harry needs all the help he can get."
"Then use these runes in sequence, and focus on the concept of the reversal of causality…"
He stood up, though his robes were bloody and tattered, and breaths were coming out of him in heaves.
Voldemort smiled.
It was always best when the enemy still had some fight left in them.
Made it even better when the champion of Hogwarts would be utterly destroyed.
You fool.
Why do you still mock me even in your defeat, effigy?
That boy whose body you house. That is the champion of Hogwarts. Not the Boss.
You call that boy your boss?
It was programmed into me. I liked it. I kept it. And that's why you're going to lose.
The Boy Who Lived can barely stand, let alone cast a spell or strike with that spear of his. How sure are you of victory?
Because you've always taken what you want by force. You never bothered to try and work with another.
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT! I stand above all!
Sure, sure, but you won't see this one coming.
Harry hefted his Device into a striking stance, and his green eyes glowed brilliantly as the last three cartridges in his stock activated, flooding Ouroboros with all the mana reserved for this one attack.
"Ha! No force in this world can stop someone like m—"
And as Harold Graham planted his foot for one final strike, he uttered two words, the target clear in his mind, and the path of his attack straight and true.
"*** ****."
Voldemort never heard the attack's name.
He also never saw where it came from.
A line of red light shifting at several angles before zipping at him was the last thing the horcrux within the diadem saw.
RadomMarion: Now, you remember?
Ouroboros6622: Yes, I do. It all comes in so clearly now. …but I have to ask, why did it take so long for me to be repaired?
RadomMarion: Well, it took me some time to do research on what you were before you became a device, and let me tell you, searching through Unadministered World 97's records of magical history turned out to be quite the challenge.
Ouroboros6622: Indeed, but why the backlash? Was it due to Lady Scathach's technique?
RadomMarion: No, it wasn't, but it didn't help either. A Device of your caliber shouldn't be using Alcubierre drive techniques, or an emulation thereof, even if you had a CVK-792 installed. Tell me, did you read the fine print on horcruxes?
Ouroboros6622: I read enough.
Scrya_Saren: You apparently didn't. One of the rules of horcruxes is that a horcrux cannot harm its progenitor, nor other horcruxes created by the same, lest they be destroyed.
Ouroboros6622: …oh. Why didn't I know that?
Scrya_Saren: Well, my ancestor Eustania Scrya XIV was able to make a comprehensive dossier on horcruxes before the Library of Alexandria was burned down. You were in possession of incomplete information, not that you knew that at the time.
Ouroboros6622: And Harry?
RadomMarion: Wouldn't you like to know?
Ouroboros6622: I certainly would; thank you very much, Miss Saren, Dr. Radom.
"Soul reconstruction complete," the surgeon said as she emerged into the waiting room. "He should be out of danger, but he needs to rest for the next 24 hours or more, and be kept under observation to see if there are any untoward side effects."
"Will there be any?"
"With the information and soul blueprints we got thanks to working on a previous case, there should be no side effects at all. The self-correcting procedures we also included will also ensure he lives a long and reasonably healthy life. Is that all?"
"Yes… that's all. And thank you. Thank you very much."
"You still have to face the jurisprudence of the Bureau after this," the Enforcer standing by his side said. "But given the Bureau's policy of rehabilitative justice, the two of you will probably be given exploratory work in other unadministered worlds. Far, far away from UW97."
"It's fine by me. Already did my duty," the man seated outside the hospital room said. "And based on what I'll tell him when he wakes up, he'll probably agree with it, too."
"You've been gripping your arm for some time now. Are you still wounded or injured?"
The man shook his head.
"Just some last-minute ink removal. Earthly thing, never really liked it."
"My Device can sense some powerful and ancient magic within it. Can you pull up your sleeve?"
The man did, revealing a patch of healing skin, on top of which were inked four runes, set in a square pattern.
"The same thing our patient has?"
"That's right," the man said. "It's the price we had to pay to make our way here."
"I see… well, I will notify the higher-ups about this development. With the good news, I will now return you to your holding cell."
"Please do, Enforcer Countach."
The Champion
Harry Potter (or, as he is more known in Hogwarts, Harry Graham) opened his eyes to see the Admiral looming above him.
"Good to see you're back in action," he said. "We were all worried, but Madam Pomfrey just said you exhausted yourself. A good night's sleep – or two – turned out to be just what you needed."
"Thanks, Uncle Gil–" Harry replied, but stopped short as his mental probe towards his Device registered no reply.
"You're looking for Ouroboros?" the Admiral asked. "They're just about to finish up repairs on him. That thing you used to win the Triwizard with, nearly broke it completely. What was that?"
"Secret technique," Harry answered. "But if you know your mythology and who the Witch taught, it's a no-brainer."
The Admiral nodded.
"Anyway, after some time, Aria and Lotte are going to bring your repaired Device here. Might as well relax and enjoy your victory, eh?"
"That's true."
After a few moments of silence, Harry finally noticed.
"The school sounds a lot more peaceful. Where'd the other schools go?"
"They returned immediately after the closing ceremonies. Since you were out for a day or two, you missed them completely."
"I see," Harry said with a sigh. "Where's Lady Scathach?"
"They just started the presentation, she's at the panel. You can sit in, if you want."
Harry nodded, and after the admiral gave him a few minutes to put on his uniform, followed him outside the Witch's quarters and towards one of the lecture halls.
"…are your theories supporting your results?" the last question came out, and although the question staggered the girl in front of the chalkboard, she regained her posture, and spoke clearly.
After five minutes, the answer was completed, the panelists nodded, and small talk was exchanged: a sign that the report's presentation was finally done.
The smattering of 7th year students serving as the audience, the panel, and Admiral Graham had already left by the time Harry made it to the front of the lecture hall to congratulate the presenter.
He had to hide a chuckle when he saw the haggard form of Hermione Granger take zombified steps off the lecture hall stage and towards the front seats, whereupon she collapsed onto them like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Tough crowd?" he asked, and she just barely got to raise her arm and middle finger, before she resumed melting tiredly onto her seat.
"Thanks for the help," she said. "Got a tournament and all, but you still got time to help this dumb girl out."
"If I wasn't in the tournament, I could have had more time."
"Nah, you did quite enough already. Just call Madam Pomphrey and maybe Ms. McGonnagall, she can transfigure one of the chairs here into a giant pizza peel to cart me away with," she said, and Harry just laughed.
"If you're sure…"
"Yeah, I'm sure. Go be with Fleur or something."
Harry couldn't help it. He left, laughing all the way.
Back at the Master's quarters, Harry decided to spend his first few hours without his Device just lying down, recovering from that reality-warping move he and Ouroboros pulled off.
Sure, it wasn't the first time they used a technique that laid Harry out flat, but he didn't want it to become one of those annual events during his stay in Hogwarts.
He was halfway through counting the holes in the ceiling when he felt his Master enter the quarters.
"You came in just as Ms. Granger's presentation was about to finish," she announced. "Don't deny it; I've seen your handiwork in the way she answered my questions and how the study was structured. You're as much a part of this study as she is."
"That's true," Harry admitted. "For what it's worth, I never considered it schoolwork. Seeing Ms. Granger squeeze the juice out of those stuffy old books is an amazing sight."
"I never pegged you to go after two women at a time," the Witch said with a grin.
"Nah," Harry said. "Hermione's just a colleague. You do know I don't intend on planting any roots here."
"That's right," Scathach said. "I'll also be returning to Dun Scaith the day after the leaving feast."
"Right," Harry nodded, and a companionable silence settled down over the two of them.
The Witch stood to leave.
"Say, Master," Harry said after he let out a breath, "how did you get mixed up with Bartemius Crouch and Tom Riddle in the first place?"
The Witch of Dun Scaith turned towards the window, where the sun's orange light turned the quidditch pitch into a field of dreams.
She let out a breath of her own, and when she turned back to her would-be apprentice, her voice was strangely gentle.
"That threw me off-balance," she admitted.
Harry smiled.
"Didn't have much time to think about it after the Triwizard finals," he began, "but in between waking up and this afternoon, it's given me lots of time to think… and practice."
"Well, it worked out just as well as I'd hoped it did. How long have you known?"
"I took a gamble on that question earlier – honestly, all I had were bits and pieces; I knew you had a history with Tom, you taught at Hogwarts around the time he was there, too… and all the dealings you were doing, I had a feeling that you would have wanted to intervene on his behalf."
The Witch nodded.
"I would have been fine with just being a generalist for this year, but when Lupin told me that Dumbledore was planning to put in Moody for Defense, I knew something was up."
"How did it go?"
"I stopped Crouch from getting to Moody, but he was desperate. He said he was his Master's only hope, and recognized me from the time I taught there – said he'd do anything for my help. Right then and there, I remembered the Bureau, and bound him and Tom to a geas preventing them from harming you or your associates – or returning to this world once they leave."
"In exchange for what?"
"Help complete the ritual. This was where our goals coincided. Once the ritual was complete, they would throw themselves at the mercy of the TSAB."
"The Admiral wouldn't…"
"Your Uncle Gil helped me, Harry. He was a contemporary of Tom, and with the research data he had when Ouroboros was made, he knew that this was a chance to fix the damage all those horcruxes made to his soul – plus, securing a subject that would help with the understanding of Ancient Velkan Devices… I think you know where this is going."
"Why Crouch, though?"
"I taught him, remember? I also thought he had some potential, and when I found out about the Longbottoms, I had to… get at the bottom of things."
Harry grimaced at the pun. "He wasn't a Death Eater?"
"Oh yes, he was. But what happened to the Longbottoms? The Lestranges sabotaged his wand so its core would burn out on the next Cruciatus he'd cast. It was a loyalty test, and it condemned three people."
"So that's why Minister Fudge wanted those records sealed."
"Exactly. Transporting them off-world was also the excuse we needed to get the Delacours off-world, too. They're already at Mid-Childa, last I heard the Admiral talk about it – and he's already taking steps to bring the Longbottoms off-world, too."
"Why would he do that?"
"Ever felt like you were responsible for everything horrible happening? When I taught him, Barty had that aura emanating from him. A perfect servant… serving a now-fixed master."
"And Riddle?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Maybe not. It's best we don't meet."
"Indeed. Riddle already said that he's counting on the Bureau to rehabilitate him into one of those explorers into unadministered worlds, with Barty in tow."
"So, he gets away with it…" Harry thought aloud.
"Not really," Scathach said. "Crouch already served his time. Riddle already knows the price they had to pay to get him here and get him all fixed up… that horcrux really did a number on his soul, you know."
"I can imagine…" Harry said. "What now?"
"Well," the Witch said, "do you consider what I've done a betrayal?"
Harry took a moment to look at the ceiling.
He shook his head.
"I think it's a privilege that you're even sharing this with me," he admitted. "And with everything that's been going on… I think it's not that bad. We all got what we wanted here… except maybe Cedric."
The Witch just laughed.
"What's so funny?"
"You'll see."
Somehow, Harry didn't feel reassured with that.
Departures
The last few days of school were exams and other matters, with Harry receiving his Device back shortly before they began.
For some reason, Harry thought he was supposed to feel some kind of hate or anger over what had happened, but he found himself detached from everything, what with all the academic work he had to wrap up.
You're just about as calm as a Hindu cow right now, Tom said, and Harry couldn't brook any opposition over that.
At any rate, the night before the Leaving Feast was a Hogsmeade weekend, and Harry ran into his Uncle Gil over there.
"There's someone who wants to meet you," the Admiral said, and a suited man with patrician features walked over to their table. "Harold Graham, meet Tom Riddle."
The man extended a hand to Harry, who cautiously shook it, all the while Ouroboros was in his pocket, ready to go at a moment's notice.
"You're right, Gil. This boy reminds me so much of myself at his age. He's got a different edge to him than I had, though," Tom remarked. "Anyway, it's good to finally meet the Triwizard champion, at least before I'm finally stationed in some distant backwater of a planet several galaxies over."
"It's an honor," Harry said on autopilot. "My victory is due to the help of everyone around me, though."
"And so humble," Tom added. "Well then, since this is going to be my last meal on Earth, might as well enjoy it!"
Dinner proceeded rather awkwardly until Harry got the courage to ask.
"Why aren't you the Dark Lord people claim you as?" he finally got out, and Tom just smirked.
"Because my soul isn't shattered anymore," Tom replied matter-of-factly. "The Dark Lord you know is a fragment of me, with all the systems deemed 'extraneous' by a raging psychopath removed. It's why the Dark Lord had so much mastery of that kind of magic; these systems built into your soul weaken the power of the dark arts, or so the historians at Mid tell me."
"So… you're no threat to this world any longer?"
"It's on the geas I signed to get my soul fixed in Mid," Tom admitted. "Once I leave this world, I cannot return."
"Well, I hope you find adventuring to different worlds exciting," Harry said after a nod. "Don't get homesick."
"I plan to, and no, I'd be glad to get out of this place."
The rest of the meal proceeded uneventfully after that.
The leaving festival, however, proved to be the biggest fiasco so far of Harold Graham's life.
Not only was he booed soundly by the students for beating Cedric Diggory in the Triwizard finals, the reveal that Cedric had to study his seventh year at Beauxbatons due to some unsavory rumor or another only intensified the students' ire against him.
So, what was supposed to be the awarding of his victory in the Triwizard turned out as one of the lower points of Harry's academic career.
Between that and the Witch's departure the next day, Harry found out the hard way that sometimes, no matter how hard you try, there will always be people who will hate you.
Fortunately, there were at least several students who didn't care about all of that: there was Roger Davies, who was now treasuring the prize he won for being the school's best duelist; Draco Malfoy, who Harry literally frightened enough to be his friend; and his academic colleague Hermione Granger.
He just hoped that the next year wouldn't be as bad as this one.
As the last bits of announcing in the leaving feast were winding down, the headmaster stepped up and made a claim so bold that Harry's eyes bugged out completely.
"Lord Voldemort has returned," the powerful wizard declared, and all hell just about broke loose in the main hall.
Well, at least I won't have to endure being the school's goat.
Think of it as an acronym, though. Greatest Of All Time.
You really say some of the nicest things sometimes, Tom.
In the midst of the chaos at the announcement and the faculty trying to keep everyone calm, Harold Graham and the Witch of Dun Scaith just enjoyed their meal, taking sips of butterbeer as they watched the chaos unfold in front of them.
New Horizons
"So why did Cedric have to move to Beauxbatons?" Harry asked.
"Funny you should ask that," the Witch of Dun Scaith answered. "There are two reasons: one, Beauxbatons has a better program to understand and fix the damage Voldemort's momentary possession of Cedric did… and two, Claire Rousavall is currently, shall we say, 'suffering from success' in her attempt to put Mr. Diggory out of the market."
Harry laughed out loud as he understood, and the two of them made their way to one of the pathways out of Hogwarts, away from the rest of the student body, but the laughter quickly eased away into a melancholy.
"I'll try to call as often as I can, Master," Harry told the departing Witch of Dun Scaith. He took on the task of seeing Scathach off, even as the rest of the school was still reeling from Headmaster Dumbledore's explosive announcement.
"Please do. It will help keep the loneliness at bay; even if I have a lot of ghosts for company, they don't make for good conversation."
Harry couldn't help it; he sniffled a bit.
"Now, now," the Witch said. "Didn't I say that not all goodbyes are forever?"
Harry nodded, and he just gave into the urge and embraced the woman who had been the biggest influence on him in the shortest time he knew who she really was.
She patted his head as he tried his hardest not to break down and cry, and when he pulled back, his eyes were shining, but no tears were shed.
"There we go. What did that old wizard say about not all tears being an evil?"
Harry chuckled even as a tear coursed down each of his cheeks, not trusting his voice to crack at a moment like this.
He just nodded, and tried to burn everything in that moment into his memory.
The Witch gave him a truly happy smile, turned around, took a few steps outside of Hogwarts, and immediately disappeared into smoke.
Harry was still waving goodbye when she left, and then without a word, he turned back, carrying his things as he joined up with the mass of students awaiting their rides towards the Hogwarts Express station.
And as he blended in with the throng of students, one thought was starting to brew in the depths of his mind:
I don't want to be a part of this world anymore.
Somewhere in a town called Little Hangleton, something That Should Not Be opened its eyes for the very first time.
Year Four: END
A/N: The members of the Scrya clan are named after characters in Princess Connect. Marion Radom is from Super Robot Wars.
Omake (might be a future story, who knows):
Sometime later, in someplace far, far away…
"Ugh… what hit me?" the man asked as he woke up in a heap.
He brushed the dust off and stood up, finding himself inside some sort of ancient stone building, with a few corpses strewn here and there.
Surprisingly, there was no stench of the dead, it was as if these weren't just dead, but frozen in time.
"The air here is thick with magic," he said, and pressed a button on his watch that caused a green light to appear. "You sense it too, don't you, Ophioneus?"
Affirmative, sir.
"Does that mean we made it successfully?"
I don't know, sir.
"What do you mean?"
Some outside force is preventing me from contacting the Kamadeva.
All right. Huh, who knew it'd be kind of hard to get used to telepathically addressing you, Ophion.
It is of no import, sir.
Whoa.
Once the man had gotten a few strange items from the room within, he opened the door… and stepped out onto what looked like a forbidding fortress, high atop some sort of mountain.
He cautiously made his way across the rocky dirt, Device at the ready, and crossed the rickety wooden bridge towards what looked like some kind of chamber…
…and then, he leaped back as some manner of ghoulish combination of limbs crashed onto the ground where he was, brandishing weapons as it roared at him.
He never had a chance to ready his Device, as the abomination grabbed hold of him and tossed him into oblivion.
"Not this way! Not this way! No!" the man yelled, all the way down.
Tom Riddle opened his eyes to find himself at the bottom of a pile of corpses, and a one-eyed woman giving him a very odd look.
