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Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate
The Desolations of Destiny
XI. The High Order
"Comb your hair!" the mirror barked groggily from the corner of his room, "You've got some nerve, waking me up at six in the morning . . ."
Harry ran his fingers through his hair for a third time.
"You're a mirror," he noted, frustrated, "You can't sleep."
"Can too!"
"Yeah?" Harry challenged. He groaned as his hair began to stick up once more, "Prove it."
He stood there, waiting for the mirror to respond. It didn't.
"Real clever," Harry barked, "Now quit pretending and help me fix my hair. I look stupid."
The silence stretched on. Harry pulled his wand from the insides of his robes, barrelling a stream of stinging curses at the irate mirror -
"Motherfucker!" the mirror roared, "Right in the family jewels!"
"You haven't got a family, or 'jewels'," Harry noted dryly, "Not that I'm doing much better, seeing as I've only got the latter -"
"Self-insults are unbecoming, you know," the mirror murmured, "I used to use them all the time . . ."
"How does a mirror insult itself?" asked Harry, bemused, "Are you worried you're not reflective enough?"
"I'm worried I'm not real," the mirror whispered, "I'm worried that no one cares for me. People only ever look at me when they want to see themselves."
The smile slowly slipped from Harry's face.
"I - I -" Harry started, uncertain, "Are most enchanted objects as . . . sentient as you?"
"Maybe. Maybe not," Harry could almost see the mirror's frown, "Not that you witches or wizards care. It's never about us, is it? Only about you."
Silence fell over the pair of them.
"Do you want me to take you somewhere?" Harry murmured, "Somewhere you'll be valued?"
The mirror snorted.
"I don't think it matters. I exist to serve. In your absence, I cease to be."
"In what sense?"
"I only remember people," the mirror said, "People and people and people. Never silence. Never peace and quiet. Just one person, then right to the next, and the one after that. I'm not real. Not like you are."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Not for me," the mirror sighed, "For you, though, I'd recommend some of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. It was one of Fleamant Potter's creations. I'm sure it will serve you well."
"Thanks," Harry said weakly. The mirror didn't respond.
"Why in the world are you up so early?"
Harry turned around. Hermione Granger strode into the common room, already dressed in her Gryffindor robes.
"I could ask the same, you know."
"I'm always up this early," said Hermione, "It gives me time to review my schoolwork."
I probably should've seen that coming.
An uncertain expression slipped across Hermione's features.
"That was nice of you, you know," she murmured, nodding at the mirror, "I can't imagine many people would care so much for an object."
Harry shifted uncomfortably.
"It's not a big deal," he shrugged, his eyes flicking to his watch, "Anyway, I'd better get going -"
"Where to?"
Harry frowned, nodding toward the Durmstrang schedule posted on the board. Hermione's eyes slid down the thin sheet of parchment. Her lips fell into a thin scowl.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked, her voice firm.
"I know it is," Harry said with certainty, "What better place to practice dueling?"
"They'll mix Dark Arts in too, you know."
"That class is at eight," Harry told her, "But yeah, they probably will."
I hope so, anyway.
"You really don't care?" Hermione studied his expression, her arms crossed, "After everything the Dark Arts have done to you?"
"The Dark Arts haven't done shit to me. The people who used them have," Harry whispered. Hermione's gaze slipped down to the floor, "Besides, I can't think of a better way to make sure it never happens again. Best to be prepared."
With that, Harry straightened up, heading for the door. He paused just as his hand wrapped around the doorknob.
"You're not busy, are you?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Then come with me."
"What?"
"You heard me," Harry said, "Come with me. Let's see what this Dueling Class is like."
"Harry, they've been fighting for years," Hermione moaned, "They'll tear us apart!"
"No they won't," Harry laughed, "Not me, anyway -"
Hermione glared at him.
" - but it'll be a learning experience for you, too."
Hermione's eyes narrowed. Harry watched as the gears turned in her head.
"I suppose it could be interesting." she admitted eventually, "But I'm not using any Dark Magic."
"You don't even know what dark magic is, Hermione."
"Dark magic refers to any type of magic whose main purpose is to cause harm," the bushy-haired girl recited. Harry frowned.
"You said that in our first year, too," he noted, "Em - Professor Baker said that was wrong."
He shook his head in annoyance. Hermione watched him carefully, her eyes tracking his movement as though he were a muggle science experiment.
"How much longer do we have until Dueling class starts?" she asked eventually.
Harry shrugged. He waved his wand lazily, muttering, "Tempus."
Ghostly magic curved through the air.
Six twenty-six. We're definitely going to be late.
"Oh, no!" Hermione moaned. She grabbed Harry roughly by the arm, "Come on, we've really got to go!"
"I thought you weren't in a rush to start dueling?" Harry called happily as they jumped out of the Hogwarts Express and ran down the grounds toward the Durmstrang Castle.
"Shut - shut up!" Hermione panted heavily.
The grand entrance doors grew larger with every step they took. Harry could just barely make out the white-robed witches that lined either side.
"Fuck," he cursed irritably, "We can't look them in the eye, can we?"
"Who?" Hermione asked, squinting into the distance.
"You know, it's pretty embarrassing to have someone in glasses see something you can't -"
"Shit," Hermione whispered suddenly, ducking her head, "The High Order."
The pair of them slowed to a stop just before the Durmstrang entrance. Harry's gaze remained on the earthen floor. He could just barely make out the hems of the witches' white robes as they blew in the morning wind.
"Harry Potter . . ." one of the women whispered, slowly stepping closer. Harry repressed as shiver, "You are awake."
"Er - yes," Harry stumbled, "I - we were just heading toward the dueling class."
The woman's shadow nodded slowly, a single hand waving gently to the women behind her. The entrance hall opened with a loud creak.
"Make haste," the woman murmured, "Madam Ardelean will not be pleased . . ."
Harry nodded, quickly stepping past them and into the entrance hall. Hermione followed.
"This way," Hermione whispered, heading hurriedly down a pathway on the left, "I spent two hours studying the map of the castle Professor Dumbledore hung up in the common room."
"Nevermind that," Harry said, glancing back at the doors, "What did you call them, the High Order?"
"That's what they're called," Hermione whispered, "I -"
"- read about it, yeah, I know," Harry finished, "Do you know anything else?"
"Not much," Hermione admitted. They jumped up the stairs and onto the second-floor landing, "Durmstrang is pretty tight-lipped when it comes to their secrets. The book mentioned that the High Order is regarded as one of the most effective defensive forces in all of magical history. It said that they govern the school."
"Defensive force?" Harry frowned curiously, "But why are they all women?"
Hermione stamped furiously on his foot.
"Women can duel just as well as men, believe it or not!"
"I know that, genius," Harry scowled. The vague outlines of Bellatrix Lestrange and Lady Voldemort hovered deep within the depths of his mind, "But most defensive forces don't give a damn if you're a woman or not. Why do they?"
Hermione shrugged uncertainly.
"Tradition, maybe," she frowned, "Wizards have a bad habit of immortalizing foolish ideas in the name of tradition . . ."
She trailed off as they reached what could only be the Dueling classroom. A scarlet banner hung just above the door - two wands, crossed in the form of an 'X'. Harry spied Hermione's lips curling with distaste.
"Come on," he said, dragging her forward.
A large, circular room sat just beyond the entrance. Several dozen eyes flicked to them as the door creaked open.
"You're late."
Harry stared. A tall, thin woman stood atop a podium in the center. She eyes them carefully, her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned.
"Sorry," Harry offered, "We were speaking with our headmaster."
Harry fought the urge to pinch Hermione as she caught her breath. Madam Ardelean's gaze narrowed further.
"Find your seats. Quickly."
"That was a lie, Harry," Hermione whispered as they filed into seats at the back of the classroom, "We haven't spoken to Professor Dumbledore since last evening -"
"Announce it to the whole world, why don't you?" Harry hissed back. He let go of her hand, "Just sit down and pay attention."
Hermione took the seat next to him with a soft huff.
"Now that we are all present," Madam Ardelean said cooly, her eyes flicking back to them, "We may begin. You have all practiced the Bone Splintering Curse assigned during your last Dark Arts class, yes?"
Countless heads nodded around the room. Harry spotted a throng of students bedecked in baby blue robes sitting opposite them.
"You heard that, right?" Hermione whispered from beside him, "The Bone Splintering Curse -"
"Shut up, Hermoine."
"We're going to look like idiots," she moaned quietly, "Even the Beauxbatons students know it."
I do, too. Bella must've used that curse on me at least a dozen times.
"Asenov, forward," Madam Ardelean said curtly. A surly boy stepped onto the podium, "Select your opponent."
Hazel eyes combed across the room. Harry felt his stomach twist with excitement as they landed upon him.
"Potter."
Haughty laughter rang around the room as Harry's fingers twitched.
Perfect.
He rose to his feet, his fingers curving comfortably around his wand. He ignored Hermione's worried whimpers as he hopped down the stands two at a time, climbing onto the opposite side of the podium.
"Are there any rules?" he asked the stern professor. A smug smile stared back at him. It was identical to the ones worn by the students surrounding him.
"Whatever it takes to win," Madam Ardelean said with disdain, "While using the Bone Splintering Curse, of course. It's covered in the Hogwarts curriculum, I'm sure . . ."
Harry nodded. Across from him, Asenov steadied himself.
At least he's not an idiot. I can't say the same about his friends.
Harry's eyes flicked to the boys gleefully laughing behind his opponent. Their grins widened as they noticed his gaze.
"Ready yourselves," Madam Ardelean called from beside the podium.
Harry's wand rose slowly through the air.
"Begin."
"Vocarglarea!" Asenov cried.
Harry watched curiously as a wave of sand arced around the podium. The wave turned sharply, careening right at his head.
Pyrmurus.
A wall of flames burst to life. Harry flicked his wand before his chest. The sand - now glass - tore through the air, cutting thin lines across Asenov's robes. Harry listened as the boy grunted with discomfort.
"It's not easy, defending yourself from silent spells," Harry murmured, "I really should use it more . . ."
The room was quiet now. Harry stared at Asenov, daring the boy to raise his wand.
Let's try for a bit of Pythia. The form of future sight . . .
Harry grinned. He stared at the boy opposite him, digging past his dark, gloomy eyes -
An array of uncertain thoughts sprung at him. Harry could vaguely make out what the boy was thinking.
Left. He'll go for the left -
"Osassula!"
A jet of violet light barrelled toward him. Harry stepped lazily to the right, watching as it flew past him with interest.
"Wicked," Harry muttered. Asenov stirred uncomfortably, his eyes wide. Harry caught a glimpse of hot, broiling flames sinking within their hazel depths.
"Aguamenti," Harry called. A blast of water quickly snuffed out the flames that spewed from Asenov's wand. The Durmstrang boy scowled.
Too boring. Faster.
Harry's wand tore through the air. Spell after spell caught Asenov, almost following the boy as he jumped across the podium. Fireproof ropes wrapped tight around the boy's wrists and ankles. Harry hoisted him up into the air, dangling him as though he were a puppet.
And you are. I know your every move.
"Incendio!" Asenov shouted, jabbing his wand at the ropes. Nothing happened.
"I thought you'd try that," Harry smirked, "You think too loudly -"
"Vitreus!" the boy roared. Harry stepped lazily to the right, ignoring the shards of glass that tore past him.
"You talk too much, too," Harry frowned. He pointed his wand at the boy's mouth, watching with satisfaction as it clamped shut.
I get why Bella's so into dueling. I love this feeling -
Blue eyes swam into focus. Harry almost grinned at the fascination hidden behind Cerise's gaze. He tuned her out, his attention returning to the boy across from him.
So easy. So utterly, unfathomably easy -
"You have yet to use the Bone Splintering curse, Mr. Potter," a cool voice called from the edge, "That is the whole point of this practice, after all."
Harry turned. His eyes drank in the uncertainty in Madam Ardelean's expression.
"Of course, Professor," he whispered smoothly.
Osassula.
A deep violet curse arced across the room, swiftly followed by a roar of ear-splitting agony.
-(xXx)-
Lumps of meat swam within a sauce Harry didn't recognize. He poked at it with his fork, almost expecting the meatballs to grow legs and run away.
"Not hungry, are you?" Fred asked from his right.
Harry shook his head.
Several hundred voices rang throughout Durmstrang's banquet hall as the students finished their supper. Harry studied them all, dropping his fork. It sank leisurely beneath a sea of red sauce.
"Aren't you two supposed to be at the sixth-year table?" Harry asked, frowning.
"Probably," George agreed from across from him, "But it's the first day. Plausible deniability and all that."
"Nice work on that Asenov bloke, by the way," Fred added, "Only been twenty-four hours and you've already left a mark -"
"You heard about that?"
"Oh, yeah," the twins nodded sagely, "You've got half the Durmstrang students convinced you've been trained by Dumbledore."
Harry snorted.
"The dopes at Hogwarts used to think that, too," he noted dryly, "It's almost insulting they don't think I could manage it on my own."
"Mum used to think so, too," George recalled, "She used to go on and on about it every time the Daily Prophet mentioned you."
"You'd better hope they don't catch wind of this, mind you," warned Fred, "Or else you'll be faced with some article titled, 'Boy-Who-Lived Assaults Innocent Durmstrang Oaf'."
"It wouldn't be far off," said a cool voice from opposite them.
Harry turned. Hermione Granger sat just a short while away from them, her nose buried between a book and a bowl of stew.
"Finally decided to chime in, did you?" George yawned.
Hermione ignored him, instead slamming her book shut.
"You didn't have to use that curse on him, you know," she told Harry disapprovingly, "You could've refused."
Harry stared at her, dumbfounded.
"Hermione," Fred said, exasperated, "You haven't fought before, have you?"
"I've dueled plenty of times before -"
"I didn't say dueled. I said fought," Fred frowned, "There's a difference."
Hermione pushed her bowl away, her lips curling once more.
"Explain, then,"
"In a fight, no one gives a damn what spell you use," Fred told her seriously, "That's how they fought during the war against Voldemort, you know. If a Death Eater sent a Killing Curse your way, you sent one right back."
"Don't be silly," Hermione balked, "You can't possibly believe the Ministry approved that sort of action -"
"Of course I don't," Fred agreed, "Most Ministry officials never would've dared step a toe out of line. Most of them are also dead.
"You know who isn't?" he continued, leaning in, "Professor Moody. Do you really think it's a coincidence that one of the only people who survived the war was one of the few who was willing to do what it took -"
"Sirius Black supposedly used that sort of magic, too," Hermione whispered. Her eyes flicked worriedly toward Harry, "So did James Potter. Neither of them are . . . well -"
"Sirius Black died in Azkaban, not in some fight," Fred frowned, "And James Potter went out against Voldemort. Having to be taken out by You-Know-Who herself speaks for itself."
"Yes, but you're missing the point," Hermione protested, "There are other ways -"
"No, there aren't," Harry whispered. The others all turned to him, "If you slap them on the wrist they'll get up and punch you in the gut. If one of us has to go, I'd rather it not be me."
"I understand that," Hermione sighed, "But not everything has to be a 'you or me' situation."
"Tell you what," George said, leaning closer, "The next time you run into a Death Eater, you try and take them out with the power of love and friendship. Tell us how it goes."
"An admirable experiment," Fred nodded eagerly, "Certainly one worthy of your sacrifice -"
Something silver glistened behind George's bobbing head. Harry watched as Gabrielle Delacour stepped past, tossing her hood over her head. A packed book bang was slung over her shoulders.
What class is next?
Harry closed his eyes, struggling to remember the Durmstrang schedule pinned in the common room. The answer suddenly appeared in his mind.
"Dark Arts!"
"Sorry?" Fred frowned.
"Dark Arts Class," Harry repeated, scraping what little remained off his plate, "It's right after dinner."
"Unbelievable," Hermione moaned, "Completely, utterly, unbelievable -"
"You're welcome to join me," said Harry, rising to his feet, "Provided you don't talk as much as you did earlier, of course -"
"I'll pass," Hermione said stiffly, "I think I've forayed enough into contentious magics for one day."
Harry shrugged, unconcerned.
"Your loss."
He strode down the hall, a book bag of his own slung over his shoulder. Harry frowned as several eyes poked out from the sea of students, tracking his progress. An uncomfortable feeling slipped down his spine.
At least none of them are like Colin Creevey. I'd strangle someone if they tried asking for a photo.
The Dark Arts corridor loomed into view. Harry stared at the door at the end of the hall. It was black as the night sky, littered with scratches and scars. Harry made his way down the hall, clasped his hands tight around the door handle, and stepped inside.
The room was surprisingly small. Two dozen students sat at desks littered around the class, each draped in the fur coats that defined Durmstrang's uniform. In the furthest corner sat a girl in blue. A familiar silver braid dangled from the hem of her hood.
Delacour.
"Shut the door, shut it!" a sharp voice called from the front of the class. Harry turned, his eyes landing on a short, impish man with wild - but balding - black hair. He stood atop his chair, half his body hidden by the desk before him.
He looks like if Professor Flitwick was a mad scientist.
Harry balked at the thought.
"You!" the man called again. Harry shook his head, "I told you something, did I not?"
"Sorry, sir," Harry murmured sheepishly. Quiet laughter rang around the room as Harry slid the door shut. Harry felt his skin prickle with irritation.
"Quiet!" the short man barked at the class, "The fuck are you laughing about? Acting like you all aren't a bunch of dopes as well . . ."
The chatter quieted into nothingness. Harry slipped into the only seat that remained, right at the front of the class.
"I was going over the basics of Dark Magic, just so you know," he told Harry seriously, "Of course, my students should know that by now . . ."
He trailed off, his gaze drifting between Harry and Gabrielle.
"Other schools, however, are not quite as adventurous," the man murmured, "Fools, really . . . the Dark Arts could save your life, you know -"
The man snickered.
"Who am I kidding? Of course you know!" he jumped down from his chair, skipping up to where Harry sat, "So, how'd it feel?"
Harry stared at him.
"I don't understand, Professor -"
"Balke," the man said with a nod of his head, "And you do understand. Everyone here does. We've all delved into the more reviled aspects of magic, us here . . . though perhaps not as much as you."
Harry grit his teeth.
"Fine, I'll badger someone else," Professor Balke shrugged, "You there. Little miss perfect. How'd it feel?"
The class turned. Gabrielle Delacour stared at the impish professor, looking thoroughly disinterested.
"I beg your pardon?"
"How'd it feel, when you used dark magic for the first time?" Balke repeated.
"There are many restrictions on the use of Dark Magic within France," said Gabrielle plainly.
Balke snickered.
"Papa had you PR trained, did he?" he sighed, "I suppose it doesn't really matter. It's not like you've pushed it obscenely far just yet. Not like scarhead here."
He nodded obviously at Harry, who stared at him in disbelief.
I'm going to strangle him.
"You," Balke called, turning back to Harry again, "Yes, you, scarhead. Front and center."
Harry got up from his seat, shoving his chair furiously into his desk.
"Moody, are you?"
"Wrong dark wizard killer," Harry snapped irritably.
Balke snickered.
"Humour's a virtue, you know," he said, smiling, "I suppose if you lose the Triwizard Tournament you could always find work as a comedian -"
I'm really, really going to strangle him.
He watched as Professor Balke fiddled with something trapped within the drawers of his desk. The man eventually pulled out a large glass jar. A frog was trapped within it.
"Heart Crushing Curse," he said loudly, "When was the last time you used it?"
"They don't teach those sorts of magic at Hogwarts -"
"Definitely within the last few months," Balke nodded, "August, probably."
Harry fought the urge to curse him, watching as the man nodded to himself.
"Get to it, scarhead. Show us how it's done."
The students watched him as though he were a particularly unusual circus exhibit. Gabrielle, Harry noticed, seemed genuinely interested for the first time in this class.
Free info on another Triwizard Champion. Of course she's interested.
"You really like to take your time, don't you -"
"What's the incantation?" Harry asked stubbornly.
Balke laughed.
"Cors Comprimens," he said, a stupid grin on his face, "Move your wand in the shape of a figure eight, like this . . ."
Harry ignored him. He stared at the frog separated by the glass, watching as it slowly shrunk into itself. Harry could feel the faint magic that emanated from it.
Not a real frog. Just a conjured one.
"Evanesco," Harry whispered. The glass vanished, and the frog made a desperate leap for freedom. Harry watched as it skittered along the edge of the table -
"Cors Comprimens."
Dark red magic tore into the table. The frog shuddered before falling to the floor, unmistakably dead.
"Perfect," Professor Balke clapped politely, "An ineffably impressive attempt for someone who's never used the spell before."
Professor Balke turned to the rest of the class.
"That's an ambitious spell, that one," he told his students, "Uncommon, too. You'd be hard pressed to find someone your age who knows it . . ."
Balke's gaze slipped onto Harry.
"Especially when that someone's British. They don't allow that sort of magic to be spread. They reckon it's dirty."
Harry rolled his eyes, slipping back into his seat.
"Good on you, though. Good on you for seeing through their bullshit," Balke grinned, "Why not take it a step further? Sure you've got all three corners of the triangle, but why not practice a bit? If not the green one, the fun one works, too."
"I don't quite know what you mean, Professor," Harry said, truthful for the first time.
Professor Balke shrugged.
"Then figure it out. You've done a good enough job of that in the past -"
How the fuck does he know all this.
A faint thought rippled across Harry's mind. Harry froze.
Legilimency.
"No, scarhead, I can't do what you can," Balke frowned, "Or what I think you can, if anything I've heard about Ardelean's wretched class is true -"
He laughed loudly at the thought.
"No, I've merely got a talent for recognizing Dark Magic," he smiled wildly, "Takes one to know one, as they always say . . ."
The remainder of class time slowly slipped by. Harry left the room an hour and a half later, acutely aware of how Gabrielle Delacour had been watching him curiously the entire time.
-(xXx)-
"Almost - fuck!"
Harry swayed on the spot, the world blurring beyond his glasses. His head spun as he crashed into the dirt.
"This is pointless," Harry murmured, pushing himself back onto his feet. He stared off into the icy mountains in the distance, shaking his head, "Completely, utterly, pointless . . ."
Just remember the three D's. Destination, determination, and - and - nevermind.
Harry stared at a point near the end of the Durmstrang Grounds.
"You've got to want it, Harry. You've really got to want it -"
Now!
Harry turned. Light pressed against his cold eyelids, and the wind jumped out of his chest. Harry fell to the floor again, groaning.
"Come on -"
He opened his eyes. He lay at the foot of the icy mountains. The gloomy Durmstrang castle sat off in the distance.
"No way," Harry murmured with excitement. He held out his hands and legs, checking them carefully.
Still got all my important body parts. I didn't splinch.
Harry grinned. He focused on where he had been just moments ago, his teeth grit in determination -
Wham.
Harry groaned. His eyes roamed over the castle - which was much closer now - before slipping to a carriage coloured a pretty pastel blue -
The Beauxbatons Carriage. I messed up again.
Harry slowly rose to his feet. A hooded girl stood just outside the carriage, chaining spells at a dummy that wobbled opposite her. Harry watched, curious.
She's good.
The girl's hand arched up as she sidestepped and weaved, flashing in a blurry mess as spell after spell burst across the dummy's chest. She fought with her head held high, her body turned completely to the side.
Harry paused.
She fights like the girl from the Quidditch World Cup.
Harry beckoned closer. A familiar silver braid hung from beneath the girl's hood -
Gabrielle.
The girl flinched as the dummy reflected one of her spells back at her. Harry watched as she froze up. Her movements slowly became less fluid, the nervousness showing in her face. Her wand twisted wildly before her chest -
She's not half as good once she's messed up.
Harry nodded curiously to himself, turning away.
"A bit of useful info for the Triwizard Tournament, at the very least."
He returned his gaze to the spot he had first disapparated from, closing his eyes.
Crack.
Harry opened his eyes. The Durmstrang castle loomed before him.
Perfect.
Blood trickled along the corner of his eye. Harry held up his hands, wincing as he stretched out his fingers. His fingernails were missing.
"They'll grow back," Harry told himself, pointedly ignoring the sharp pain along the ends of his hands, "Just give it a month or two."
He shook his head, lowering his hands back to his side. His eyes fell back along the Beauxbatons Carriage a few hundred meters away.
It might not be her. Most of the other Beauxbatons students fight like that, too
"They did during Dueling Class, anyway . . ."
Still, Harry reckoned Gabrielle had something the others didn't. Whatever it was, the girl at the Quidditch World Cup had it, too.
Just more skilled. Different gravy.
He sighed, returning his attention to the pile of books he'd left lying on the floor. He pushed them back into his bag with a wave of his hand.
"It's an improvement, at least," Harry smiled faintly, "I can apparate short distances semi-reliably."
It'll be ages until I'm ready to jump across the continent, though.
Harry frowned, looking out into the Durmstrang Grounds. His eyes jumped from the castle to the carriage, the carriage to the Hogwarts Express, and the train to the icy mountains beyond.
"Got the perfect place to practice, at least."
Thank Merlin there aren't any anti-apparition wards on the Durmstrang Grounds.
Harry ducked down, picking up his bag and tossing it over his shoulder. A glimmer of silver hung out from one of the open pockets.
Nott's ring.
Harry plucked it gingerly, slipping it back along his finger.
I could call him. It hasn't harmed me yet.
"It's been less than a hundred hours," Harry chastised himself, "That doesn't mean shit -"
A book lay sprawled in the dirt. Harry summoned it, brushing off flecks of dust and grime.
'Potente Maxima'. I nicked this from the Restricted Section ages ago.
Harry flicked through the pages, finding where he had left off. A long, winded passage on the Unforgivable Curses stared back at him.
"Murder, control, and suffering," Harry murmured, "The three Unforgivables . . ."
He paused.
The green one and the fun one.
"Like what Professor Balke said. Three corners of a triangle . . ."
I've hardly practiced the Cruciartus Curse. It could save my life, one day.
"Avis."
A large black corvid slipped from the end of Harry's wand, flapping as it landed across the earthen surface. Harry felt a rivulet of guilt trickle through his chest.
I'm sorry.
"Crucio."
The bird cawed hoarsely, writhing in pain. Harry vanished it with a start.
That was terrible.
Harry's body shivered slightly. He turned, choosing to look at the distant horizon rather than the bird's footprints in the sand. The setting sun forced his eyes to crinkle.
I won't use that one again. Not unless there's no other way -
"Harry! HARRY!"
Harry spun around. A number of witches dressed in white were gliding toward Durmstrang Castle, dragging a small girl with them.
"HARRY!"
Astoria.
Harry turned. The world blurred past as he willed himself forward -
Crack.
Harry raised his wand, pointing it at the witches of the High Order.
"Let her go."
"At ease, little soldier," one of them whispered dismissively, "Lower your wand."
Harry turned to her. Earthy brown eyes sat above a silver chain veil. The woman's eyes widened with fury.
"You dare waste my sight?" she hissed, "You dare -"
"Silence."
The witches all lowered their heads. Harry glanced up, watching as another woman stepped forward.
The one from before. The one with the gold chain veil.
"Lower your gaze, boy," one of the women barked, "You will not disrespect the Truest as you have us."
Harry frowned, forcing his eyes down to the dirt.
"I didn't mean to offend any of you," he offered uncertainly, "I just want to make sure my friend is safe."
"I know, dear," the Truest murmured, "Yet good things are still done for wrong reasons. The converse is equally true."
Harry watched as the woman's shadow turned away from him.
"Your friend will undergo stasis soon," she said eventually, "We are merely here to collect her."
"I'm fine," Astoria said stubbornly.
"For now."
The Truest's shadow turned to him again.
"You will be permitted to visit her this time tomorrow," she told him knowingly, "The blonde girl is welcome to visit as well."
With that, the woman turned around and began heading back to the castle. The other witches dragged Astoria along in her wake. The group grew smaller and smaller until Astoria's irate frown was little more than a speck of dust in the distance.
