Another short chapter, although this one has a rather intriguing ending . . .

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The next chapter will be published the coming Saturday.


Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate

The Blackest of Nights

VII. The Pistol and the Apple Tree

'Bellatrix Lestrange Spotted in Hogsmeade!'

Harry flicked his fingers. The paper crumpled into a ball, soaring across the room before gently hitting his window. He watched as it fell to the floor, crumbling into ash.

She's here.

Harry made his way across the length of his dormitory, sliding his hand across his robes. They straightened out at once; the small specs of dust that covered them vanished into thin air, and the trunk that sat opposite him feebly clicked open.

Here for me.

Nearly a dozen textbooks lay scattered within, each stacked haphazardly upon another. Harry's eyes landed upon a thick purple book entitled, 'Numerology and Grammatica'. He slowly picked it up, his gaze shifting to the book beneath it. A cold, sinking feeling welled up in his stomach.

The hole was bigger before.

The diary sat upon the floor of his trunk, looking as old as ever. Thin, tattered shreds of leather surrounded the hole in its center. They were all connected now, pressed together like hair on a head.

It wasn't like that, either.

The faint, familiar feeling hung at the edge of his senses. Harry reached out a hand, gently closing his eyes. He nervously pressed his hand against the cover.

Heat flared in his veins, and something vile screamed in his ears. Harry doubled over, coughing hoarsely. Bits of blood flew from his lips, marring his silver and green bed sheets.

It feels like death. Destruction and death -

"The Killing Curse." Harry murmured, pulling his wand from his pocket.

Avada Kedavra.

Sickly green sparks leaked from the end of his wand. Harry winced, furiously rubbing it out against his school robes.

Never again. Never, ever again.

Something else hid behind the death, and the destruction, and the bright green light.

A boy - one only a few months younger than him. He too had green eyes hidden behind round black spectacles, and his robes also bore the Slytherin crest. The boy jabbed his wand at the diary, tears falling from his eyes.

"Do you really think you can?" a soft, feminine voice rang from somewhere off to the side, "You've got to want it. You've got to mean it . . . can you do that?"

The boy shook, and his wand hand wavered. Uncertainty flickered behind his spectacles, and a weak, sickly green glow bathed the room.

Harry slowly backed away from the diary. He kicked the trunk shut, shoving his textbook into his bag heading out the door.

It's destroyed. It has to be.

His neck crooked slightly to the side, and he shifted uncomfortably.

Daphne was waiting for him in the common room. Her braided blonde hair shined beneath the emerald glow of the fireplace, and her icy eyes looked almost the same as Harry's. She watched as he made his way towards her, frowning. Harry glimpsed the outline of a newspaper on the table to her right.

I almost forgot about that.

Daphne plucked the paper from the table, scanning it with her eyes. Her gaze slowly turned to him. Harry watched as the parchment slid from grasp, fluttering into the crackling fireplace. The girl frowned, her eyebrows scrunched together in a very un-Daphne-like way.

She's worried.

Harry held out his hand. She slowly slid hers into it, her fingers cupping his palm. The Portrait hole swung open, and they made their way off to Arithmancy.

Professor Vector was already waiting for them. They quietly found a pair of seats by the back of the classroom. Harry set his bag to the side, watching as the other students slowly filed in. Daphne's eyes bore into the side of his skull. Harry turned to face her.

Her palms were pressed against her desk, making her skin pale. Her lips quivered slightly, but when she spoke, her voice was steady.

"You promised." she reminded him, determinedly holding his gaze, "You promised you'd be careful."

"And I will be."

Daphne nodded, tapping her fingers against the edge of the desk.

"I know." her nails scratched a thin line into the wood. Daphne waved her wand across the table, muttering under her breath, "It doesn't really help much, though."

Harry frowned. He glanced up as Professor Vector slammed the door shut, making her way to the center of the room.

"I've got you and Nott." he murmured, turning to Daphne again, "That helps."

The glassy look in her eyes remained, but the ghost of a smile played upon her lips.

"Turn to page one hundred and forty-two, please!" Professor Vector's voice permeated the room as she walked along the middle row of desks, "We'll be learning the very basics of spell creation today, and how it differs between different uses of magic."

Dozens of books slammed against just as many tables, and the sound of flickering pages filled the room. Professor Vector was now stood by the very front, pulling her wand from within her golden robes. She waved it at the blackboard, and a stub of chalk hovered in mid air.

"What's one way of using magic?" Professor Vector glanced around, tutting at them all when no one replied, "Come on now, keep it simple!"

A Ravenclaw near the front nervously raised their hand into the air.

"With a wand?"

"With a medium." corrected Vector, her chalk scratching against the blackboard. Harry winced, "In most places that's a wand, you're correct - but many of Greek and Roman descent prefer staffs, and certain parts of Romania use rings. They don't work very well, mind you, but they do, at the very least, work.

"The point is, almost anything can be used as a medium. All that's necessary is magic. The medium simply channels your magic, making it easier to control. Still, a wand is the preferred choice. Any guesses as to why?"

"According to Maple, wands make for better mediums." Hermione Granger piped up from the front of the classroom, her hands wrapped around her copy of 'Numerology and Grammatica', "He says it's like comparing finger painting to fine art."

"It is." agreed Vector, her chalk scratching against the board again, "Wands are designed for the specific purpose of channeling magic; it makes sense that they would make the best mediums.

"Now, there are two main methods of spellcasting when it comes to using wands: worded and nonverbal. Both involve wand-motion, intent, visualization, and an incantation. Wand-motion is the only one that is not strictly necessary, as it can be compensated for in power - but the rest are very, very necessary to ensure you have a proper, working spell.

"As many of you may have guessed, nonverbal spells are much more difficult to cast. There are many different things connected to a verbal incantation, after all. Things like your tone, how loud you were, and so on. Each of these things have minute but observable effects upon your casting, as you can see in the diagram on page one hundred and forty-four . . ."

Professor Vector's voice grew more and more dull with every word she spoke. Harry zoned out, leaning his head against his hands as he stared blankly at his table.

It's like what the Ravenclaw Head Girl said.

Harry ran his fingers around the length of his wand. His eyes narrowed, and he frowned uncertainly.

But they're wrong. When I do it, I don't think a thing. No incantation, no words -

His wand pressed against his palm. Harry tapped it against the table, watching as dull sparks fell from the tip.

Just what I want. What I need.

Harry glanced around the room. An assortment of odd trinkets sat upon Professor Vector's desk. Behind them sat a small water tank. A few fish swam within it, bubbles floating up to the surfaces as they chased after one another.

If this isn't nonverbal magic, then what is it?

Harry slashed his wand beneath his desk. A thin, golden necklace shimmered upon Vector's desk. The gold seemed to turn to molten metal, coalescing into something dark and green. What remained curled into two golden spheres. They jammed themselves into the head, and the snake reared up, spitting furiously.

The Basilisk. It looks like the Basilisk.

The molten creature turned. Golden eyes bore into Harry's for a split second, and the snake froze. The air around it churned, and the snake jumped, sinking into the water tank beside it. Harry watched in horror as it went rigid.

Drowning in the water. Like the real Basilisk probably is now.

Whispers flew through the classroom, and Professor Vector did her best to calm the class down. Each and everyone of them were glancing around, trying to figure out what had happened and who had done it. Harry turned, meeting Daphne's gaze.

He imagined the uncertainty in her eyes was identical to his own.

-(xXx)-

Fumes wafted through the room, making it difficult to see. Neville jabbed his wand at the window nearest him, muttering under his breath. The stained glass feebly edged ajar.

Just open, please.

Dark brown eyes glanced across the room, squinting so as to see. A woman stood at the room's center, sitting before a fireplace flooded with large oak logs. She was covered in all sorts of strange robes, and the glasses she wore magnified her eyes several times over. Her fingers wrapped around a small porcelain cup, and she raised it to her eyes.

Brilliant.

Neville ducked his head, almost crawling along the length of the circular room. He quickly got to his feet, brushing off bits of dirt from his robes before shoving the window open. Smoke rushed through the window, and he coughed irritably.

That's better.

"You're a bloody hero, mate."

Ron sat at their table, sending Neville a grateful wave as he returned. The red-headed boy picked up a porcelain cup of his own, holding it up for Neville to see. Coffee dregs stained the cup's bottom.

"See anything?" asked Ron, flipping the cup back around, "I can't. I reckon we start making something up. You know Trelawney - the more absurd it is, the more easily she'll eat it up."

Hmph.

They turned, their eyes falling on a pretty Indian witch two tables down from them. Parvati Patil fiddled with her own cup, her fingers reaching for her quill. She jotted down a few sparse notes before returning the cup to Lavender Brown, a girl with mousy-brown hair and fair skin.

Ron frowned, glancing back at Neville.

"What's with her?"

"You know her and Lavender," a voice called from the table beside them, a hint of an Irish accent swimming within it, "Absolute lunatics. They reckon Trelawney's the most brilliant thing since Astrology."

Lavender and Pavarti glared daggers at Seamus, who tossed a tea cup to Dean, the tall black boy sitting opposite him. Lavender placed her cup on the table, standing up.

"She was right about Binky!" she hissed furiously, "She warned me, she did -"

"So your stupid rabbit got sick, so what?" Seamus yawned, flipping through his copy of 'Unfogging the Future', "That's not exactly 'mortal peril', is it?"

"He didn't get sick, he was attacked by a fox -"

"That's not 'mortal peril' either," murmured Dean, "that's not knowing how to shut a damn fence."

Seamus sniggered, swearing as a cup flew past his head. It shattered against the wall behind him, bits of porcelain littering the heavily carpeted floors. Neville glanced across the room. Professor Trelawney sat by the fire, as engrossed as ever in the tea leaves before her.

"What the fuck was that for?"

"Stop making fun of Binky!"

Soft fingers wrapped around another tea cup. Dean and Seamus both jumped to their feet, holding out their hands in protest.

"We're the ones who told you how to heal him, too!" Seamus argued, "You should be thanking us! All Trelawney did was tell you Blinky -"

"Binky!"

"- whatever, Binky - was in 'mortal peril'." Seamus tapped his fingers impatiently against the table, glaring at Lavender, "For all we know, Trelawney might have figured out what happened after the bleeding bunny got attacked!"

Lavender snorted, crossing her arms across her chest.

"And how, exactly, would she have known?"

"She could've intercepted that letter from your parents!"

Neville watched as Parvati and Lavender's lips tore open, shutting his eyes and ears before the onslaught began.

This is stupid.

He opened his eyes, his hands still pressed against the sides of his skull. The cup Ron had been looking through - his cup - sat before him. Bits of tea still covered the bottom, and his copy of 'Unfogging the Future' sat wide open, the title of the book's sixth chapter staring up at him.

'Tea Leaves: Recognizing Symbols for your Beginner Witch or Wizard'

His eyes traced the countless rows of inky black symbols, searching for any that matched his cup. None appeared.

"Need some help, dear?"

Neville jumped. Large brown eyes stared back at him, magnified by the lenses that covered them. Professor Trelawney was leaning beside him, her hands on her knees as she nimbly plucked his tea cup from the table.

"What a lovely cup." said Professor Trelawney with a beaming smile. Her fingers, long and thin, pointed at shapes Neville didn't recognize, "You've got quite the journey ahead of you, darling."

I have?

"There's the Comet." Trelawney pointed at a circular shape at the cup's edge, "Misfortune and trouble - not a very good start."

Her gaze flickered, and she pointed at other shapes.

"The Hawk . . . an enemy approaches . . . the Pistol . . . that's disaster . . . dear me, this is one unhappy cup -"

Of course it is.

"Ah!" Trelawney's finger fell upon a final symbol, which she tapped excitedly.

"Go on boy, try reading this one on your own." she handed the cup to Neville, turning the pages of his book, "Go on now, what do you see?"

Neville squinted, holding the cup to his eyes.

"Er - the Apple-Tree?"

Trelawney clapped happily, nodding.

"Change for the better." she said, "Eventually, I suppose -"

Ron snorted, doing his best to disguise it as a cough. Professor Trelawney didn't seem all too convinced. She handed the cup back to Neville, glaring at Ron as she stalked past. Neville set the teacup down, his head held up by his hands.

The Comet, the Hawk, the Pistol and the Apple-Tree.

The ends of his lips curled faintly upwards, and he pushed the cup aside.

At least there's a silver lining.

-(xXx)-

Frost coated the surface of the Great Lake, and sheets of ice littered the Hogwarts Grounds. Harry waded through the snow, his hands shoved deep into his robe pockets.

It isn't even October yet.

Dark robes flew through the wind out in the distance. Harry looked away, Occluding his mind the best as he could.

Dementors.

Harry frowned. He removed a gloved hand from his pocket, reaching further into the insides of his robes. A thin, warped book followed his fingers. It was made of a black leather, and in the middle was a hole around the size of a doorknob. Small bits of leathery thread flared out from the edges of the hole. Harry pushed them back in with his thumb.

The hole looks smaller. Again.

"I'm not imagining it." Harry held the book up to his eyes, peering through the hole in the center, "I know I'm not."

The diary reeked of something vile. Harry felt his fingers ache slightly as he held onto it, and the unmistakable feeling of death wafted over him. He blinked, and for a moment a sickly green light flashed behind his eyelids.

Maybe that's really why. Maybe I cast it wrong.

He crouched over, neatly propping the book up on a line of rocks by the edge of the lake. Fingers reached into his robes, and he removed his wand, pointing it at the tattered diary.

You know the words. Go on.

His eyelids slowly fell shut. Harry felt his neck crook to the side. Something cold pressed against the side of his jaw, sliding across the side of his face like ice. His fists clenched - Harry grit his teeth, pushing all his anger to the front of his mind -

Do it. Prove her wrong.

A faint, green light glowed behind the cover of his eyelids, but it wasn't bright enough -

Just do it, fucking do it-

Harry felt his teeth bite into his tongue. Blood trickled from his lips, sliding down the side of his chin -

KILL IT -

"FUCK!"

Harry sank to his knees, his wand falling from his grasp. Rough, hoarse coughs fled his parted lips - Harry doubled over, groaning as drops of blood stained the snow-covered grounds.

"I can't do it." he crawled across the snow, gritting his teeth as bits of sticks and stone jabbed into the underside of his chest, "I can't do it, I can't -"

I don't want to. Not really.

He grabbed the diary, slowly pushing himself back up to his feet. Harry wiped the blood from his lips, brushing the snow from the sides of his robes. His gaze fell back to the book in his hands.

This is pathetic.

Harry shook his head, shoving the diary into the front pocket of his robes. The end jutted out just a bit, but Harry ignored it, edging closer to the shore of the Great Lake.

There were more Dementors here. Harry watched as they circled around one another, their rag-like robes billowing in the wind like a puppet on strings. Frost grew upon the water's surface. Harry shivered uncomfortably, doing his best to ignore the coldness that echoed inside his skull.

A woman with long red hair stood before him. He watched as she sank to her knees, pleading with someone out of sight -

"Leave me alone." Harry pleaded. He bent over, plucking a stone from the end of the lakebed. Harry skipped it across the ice, watching as cracks marred the lake's surface.

"Now why would I do that?"

Harry turned.

A woman with long, curly black hair stood behind him. She had high cheekbones, too, and a rather frail appearance. Her eyes were heavily-lidded, and the irises within them were as dark as her hair. Pitch black robes covered her from head to toe, and a thin, curved wand was held within the palm of her right hand.

A sharp, cruel giggle escaped Bellatrix Lestrange's lips, scratching at Harry's ears like nails on a chalkboard.

"That'd just be horrible." Bellatrix leaned closer, pressing the end of her wand against her temple, "That'd be no fun at all."