P*T*E*N Page is up and running, slightly ahead of FFN and AO3. This pace will change to significantly ahead of FFN/AO3 once we reach the next hiatus point (at the end of the Durmstrang Arc). Visit P*T*E*N / 521dream if interested. Posted stories include A Flaw in Fate and Sacred Sight (A King's Path Rewrite/Remaster).
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The next chapter will be published the Saturday after next.
Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate
The Desolations of Destiny
XII. Your Precious Puppet
The stone backdrop of Durmstrang's Hospital Wing glimmered as bright sunlight streamed through the window. Harry squinted as he lowered his quill to a sheet of tattered parchment.
'Astoria went into stasis, whatever that means. She's fine now.'
"Snitching to Daph, are you?"
He sighed, tucking Daphne's parchment into the insides of his robes.
"I promised to look after you, remember?"
"Yeah, I know," Astoria frowned, staring at Harry's chest, "Daphne never told me she gave you one of my pages."
"She probably expected you to find out about it eventually," Harry said, standing up. His palm stretched toward an uncorked phial resting on Astoria's bedside table, "No need to waste a conversation. Now drink."
"It's not been an hour yet," Astoria frowned, "I've got time -"
"They said at most an hour between doses," Luna reminded sagely from Harry's right, "No sense in risking it, is there?"
Astoria took the phial, reluctantly raising it to her lips. Her lips scrunched up with distaste.
"That's revolting," she coughed miserably, "It makes Madam Pomfrey's potions taste like Treacle Tarts."
"You can wash the taste out with a chocolate frog or two," Harry said, "But never mind that. I've got a few questions for you."
"Like?"
"Stasis," Harry muttered curiously, "What is it?"
"What it sounds like, really," Astoria frowned, "My body shuts down for a few hours. Happens once or twice a year."
"Because of your - your Blood Curse, right?"
Astoria shifted uncomfortably.
"Yeah, pretty much," she whispered, "It's not usually a problem. Professor Trelawney used to know a bit before it would happen. I'd just head off to the Hospital wing the day before and everything would be fine."
"So that's why you like Divination so much," Harry nodded, intrigued, "I always wondered."
"It's not just that," Astoria corrected, "It's fun, too. Interesting. I'd like to do as many interesting things as I can before it's time to kick the bucket."
She smiled faintly at the discomfort that leaked from Harry's expression.
"What? It's not exactly a secret I'll probably die young," Astoria giggled, "The Mediwitches at St. Mungo's reckon I've got a dozen years left at best -"
"And you're okay with that?" Harry frowned, "Don't you want to - I don't know - fight it?"
"With what, the power of love and friendship?" she laughed, "It's fine, Harry. Twelve years is a long time for someone my age. Honestly, it's Daphne and our parents who are getting punished more from this curse than I am."
"And you're sure there's no way to change it?" Harry asked, "Nothing at all?"
"Of course I'm not sure," Astoria sighed, "I'm just not worried if there isn't."
She paused, thinking.
"They say life's short, right?" she asked. Harry nodded, "Life doesn't feel short. Not to me. But if it is, I'd rather not waste what little time I've got worrying. So why should you?"
"Well said," Luna clapped happily, "I'm glad you're not dead."
"Me too, Luna," Astoria snickered, "Me too."
Harry zoned out as the girls bantered back and forth, unable to rid his chest of the sharp ache that inhabited it.
You don't have to die. You can't.
The icy blue of Astoria's eyes watered, and Harry knew at once that the girl knew exactly what thoughts were racing through his mind.
You won't. Not if I can help it.
-(xXx)-
Shadows stretched across the never-ending halls, reaching for Harry like clawed fists.
There's no one there. I would've felt it.
The faint prickle of magic flickered from somewhere before him. Harry shivered as it washed over him, dulling his senses. His eyes narrowed, peering out into the oncoming darkness. A tower of silver and ivory shimmered faintly.
"The Scarlet Tower," Harry breathed, "Not quite as scarlet as I would've thought . . ."
Karkaroff said it was out of bounds.
Harry edged closer. He grit his teeth as the magic shifted, taking the form of something raw and vicious. The feeling grew stronger and stronger; Harry felt his heart drumming in his chest as sweat slipped past his brow -
Gone.
Harry sighed, almost running along the hall and out the grand entrance. His heartbeat slowly returned to normal.
"You look stressed."
Harry nearly jumped. Gentle laughter, slow yet firm, rang out from above. Harry watched as Victor Krum flew down from his spot in the air, slowing to a stop just a few feet above him.
"Would you like to join me?" Krum asked, nodding at his broom, "Flying always helps to ease my mind."
"I - I haven't got a broom -"
"Bah," Krum waved his hand, "I have many. You can borrow one."
"It's alright, really -" Harry started, but Krum had already turned, streaking toward a pile of Quidditch equipment a few hundred meters away. Harry couldn't help but marvel at the skill on display, watching as the Bulgarian weaved effortlessly through the trees and bushes.
"Here you are," Krum said a few moments later, a pitch-black broom in hand, "You have flow before, yes?"
"Not often," Harry admitted, "I've been told I'm not bad, though."
"Only one way to find out."
Harry took the broom from him, his heart racing as he read the inscription carved into the handle.
'Firebolt'
"This is one of the best, isn't it?" Harry asked curiously. He placed it between his legs, rising gently into the air, "I've heard loads of people talking about it."
"The best in the world, for now," Krum agreed, "We can put it to the test if you'd like."
The Bulgarian flew off again. Harry stared at the firebolt, ignoring the sudden racing of his heart.
What my father wouldn't have given to ride this.
Harry leaned forward, tearing through the air with a burst of speed.
It was wonderful. The air slipping past his face felt like a gentle hug, the wind rustling his hair as Bella often did. Harry closed his eyes, curving through the air in an almost melodic rhythm.
"You do not fly often?" Krum asked from somewhere nearby. Harry opened his eyes.
"Not in ages, no. I only really used to fly during our Flying Lessons in our first year."
Krum's eyes narrowed.
"You should fly more," he said seriously, "With a bit of practice, you could be exceptional."
"Quidditch isn't really my bread and butter," Harry frowned.
"Then what is?"
Harry paused, thinking carefully. A thrum of energy slipped beneath his skin, flowing like blood through his veins.
Magic. I love magic.
Harry pursed his lips, shrugging uncertainly.
"Well, you would have a promising Quidditch Career if you worked for it," Krum told him, "You wouldn't have to worry about the downsides, either."
"Downsides?" Harry frowned.
A sour expression grew upon Krum's sallow face.
"Fame," he bit irritably, "People of all sorts professing their love, as though they know you. But they do not. They never will. They will forever see what they wish to see, and nothing more."
Krum paused, his eyes flicking up to Harry's scar.
"That sounds familiar, I imagine."
"It's not awful at Hogwarts," Harry argued, "Most of the older lot don't stare anymore."
"Nor do my peers," Krum muttered, "They have known us for years. They have seen that we are little more than human."
Harry grimaced.
"At Durmstrang, you are a sort of muggle lab experiment," Krum told him, "They think of you a puzzle to solve, I have heard."
"A fluke?"
"I did not say that," Krum frowned, "But naturally, they wonder. Things will be much worse in France for you, and worse at Hogwarts for me."
"The Hogwarts lot do tend to worship Quidditch players," Harry admitted with a frown.
"And France loves nothing more than a Dark Wizard killer," Krum said, "You will be watched from afar like some sort of God."
"And Dumbledore?" Harry asked, ignoring the uncertainty he felt at the idea, "What about him?"
"I don't know," Krum paused, "They are not impressed with him. Many, many French witches and wizards died as Albus Dumbledore plucked up the courage to fight."
"I'm sure he had his reasons," Harry defended half-heartedly.
"Maybe," Krum said thoughtfully, "But that will mean little to them."
He turned his broom through the air, facing Harry more directly.
"You stopped Voldemort just as she began her expansion into Greater Europe," the Bulgarian reminded him, "It took France decades to recover from Grindelwald. They have not forgotten what someone of his make is capable of."
Harry spun leisurely through the air, unsure of how to respond.
"It'll be interesting to see, at the very least," he decided eventually, "At least for a day or two -"
"Their reactions are always interesting at the start," Krum agreed, "It simply ages quickly."
The Bulgarian suddenly shot up, free-falling upon reaching a point several hundred metres above Harry. Harry chased after him, matching his pace.
"What about Durmstrang, then?" Krum asked curiously, "How are you liking the school?"
"It's different," Harry admitted, "We haven't got anything like the High Order at Hogwarts, either."
"The Scarlet Prophets," Krum corrected slowly, "No on calls them the High Order, except for government officials and foreigners. It's their formal name."
"The Scarlet Prophets," Harry repeated, testing the words on his tongue, "They've not got anything to do with the Scarlet Tower, do they?"
"That is their tower. It has been theirs for centuries now. Sneaking into it will result in the harshest punishments Durmstrang has to offer."
"And the scarlet stuff?" Harry asked, "They seem mostly white and silver to me."
"Something to do with blood, I think."
"You think?"
Krum shrugged indifferently.
"No one really knows for certain."
The Bulgarian Quidditch Star dived through a gap in the trees, nodding as Harry followed. The snowy mountains grew larger in the distance.
"They used to be far stronger, you know," Krum told him, "The Scarlet Prophets. A force to really be reckoned with, part of why Durmstrang and Scandinavia was known across the globe. But that was many, many years ago."
"What happened?" Harry asked curiously.
Krum's broom faltered. Harry watched as the older boy's eyes darkened.
"Grindelwald."
Harry could hear the bitterness in Krum's voice.
"I ran into a few of them yesterday," he said, watching Krum carefully, "Accidentally looked them in the eye. They weren't happy about that."
"It is taboo," Krum's tone made it sound as though it were obvious, "They're Seers. By meeting their gaze, you force them to see the now instead of what is to come."
Harry frowned uncertainly.
"Er - they don't actually see into the future with their eyes, do they?"
Krum laughed.
"Of course not," he grinned, "Just tradition, that is all."
The two of them weaved through another set of trees, soaring out of the forest and above the snowy fields. Harry leaned forward, grinning as he matched Krum's pace.
"What about the Tournament?" Krum asked as they flew toward the castle, "Is that your true calling?"
"It's definitely closer," Harry laughed, "It'll be fun."
"It is an honor," Krum agreed, "But I imagine I am not half as invested in it as you or Delacour."
"Oh?" Harry glanced over, "Why is that?"
"Quidditch," Krum said simply, "The moment my sporting condition is at risk, I will fold. I have little interest in forfeiting my career for a school trophy."
"The trophy's a nice touch," said Harry, "But I reckon I'm in it for the challenge."
Life-or-death experiences aren't half bad when you're doing them of your own free will.
"And a challenge it will be," Krum promised, "I assure you, I will give you nothing but my very best -"
"Until your hands and legs get too damaged to play Quidditch."
Krum laughed.
"I assure you, it will take a great deal to push me to such a point -"
The world flickered. Harry's head rang loudly as the snowy scapes vanished, replaced by the familiar wooden insides of Voldemort's hideout.
"Journey to Durmstrang," her infant form whispered to a woman bowing at her feet, "Keep a close eye on Harry. Ensure that everything is going as planned."
Bellatrix nodded faintly, her eyes gleaming wildly in the moonlight -
"Harry?"
Suddenly, the world righted itself. Snow blanketed his vision, a concerned-looking Krum hovering opposite him.
"I - I spaced out for a second," Harry said, blinking furiously, "Sorry."
"Not a problem," Krum waved him off, "It is getting quite late, after all. Time to call it a night."
The Bulgarian soared back to the castle. Harry hovered, thinking carefully to himself.
Daytime visions. Lovely.
Shaking his head, he flew after Krum with a burst of cold air.
-(xXx)-
"Daydreams . . . daydreams, where are you?"
Harry strode silently across the length of Durmstrang's Library, hidden behind the shadows that accompanied the night. He stared expectantly at the row of books before him.
"I know you're here somewhere . . ."
Something prickled beneath Harry's skin. He turned, pointing his wand into the darkness.
"Who's there?"
No one stirred. Harry closed his eyes, allowing the sensation to envelop him. It was far more familiar than he expected.
Hermione? No . . .
"Come out, Pansy," he said at last. He slowly lowered his wand, "I know you're there."
The air rippled. Harry watched as the vague outline of Pansy Parkinson shimmered through the darkness.
"How the fuck did you do that?" she hissed furiously, her eyes narrowed, "I - was my Disillusionment Charm that bad?"
"No idea," Harry shrugged, "Probably wouldn't have mattered if it was. Too dark to see anything in this place."
He turned away, gazing around the Durmstrang Library once more. Pansy stared at him.
"Why are you out past curfew, anyway?" she asked with a frown, "You're actually allowed in here, being champion."
"Something crossed my mind while flying with Krum. I'm feeling curious."
"Krum? Victor Krum?"
Harry ignored her, moving toward the furthest shelves.
Daydreams . . . daydreams -
"Finally," Harry sighed with relief. He stepped on his tip toes, reaching for a large grey book placed within the highest row, "Down you get."
"'The Allseer's Guide to Glimpsing the Present'," she read aloud as Harry shrunk the book and stuffed it into his pocket, "Nightmares becoming a bit too real, then?"
Harry snorted.
"Not quite."
He strode toward the exit. The gentle sound of Pansy's clattering feet echoed through an otherwise empty library.
"You never said why you were here, you know," Harry noted.
"I know."
"Not in the mood to share, then," Harry surmised, "Shock of the century, that is . . ."
He trailed off, his eyes landing on a tattered brown book sitting off to the corner.
'Rituals: The Evile Art of Magickal Alterations'
"You wouldn't mind turning around while I grabbed another book, would you?" Harry yawned, "I'd rather you didn't see this one."
Pansy stared at him as though he'd grown a third eye.
"Yeah, I didn't think so."
He flicked his wrist. The inscriptions on the silver book faded away as it soared across the room and into his outstretched palms. Harry shrunk it with another gentle tap of his fingers.
Vanishing inscriptions. That's got to be more advanced.
An intense ache curled around the insides of Harry's chest as the magic left him.
Dumbledore would be proud.
"What the fuck."
"What?" Harry turned sharply, groaning as he faced a wide-eyed Pansy Parkinson, "Don't tell me you can still see the title -"
He held the book up to his eyes, glaring at it suspiciously.
"You didn't use a wand," she almost whispered.
Oh.
"So what?" Harry lowered the shrunken book to his pocket, "Dumbledore can do it."
"You're not Dumbledore."
"I'm Harry Potter," he yawned irritably, "That better count for something."
And not just because my mom saved me. I'm going to earn that shit.
"Right," Pansy stared at him with disbelief, "Well, I'll be sure to keep my mouth shut -"
She glared at Harry as laughter slipped from his lips, poorly disguised as a fit of hoarse coughs.
"I'm not lying, you know," Pansy snapped, "I haven't exactly got friends here. Who am I going to tell, Loony Lovegood?"
"Sending letters is a thing, you know," Harry reminded her, "Not that it matters. I probably wouldn't care if you squealed."
"Sure you wouldn't."
Harry turned to her, confused.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You don't like attention," she said in a matter-of-fact manner that reminded Harry of Hermione, "I've seen how you act. You look like you want to strangle Snape every time he mentions you're famous."
"No, I want to strangle him because he's Snape," Harry corrected, "But I'm not lying. Do you really think I'd join the Triwizard Tournament if I was that annoyed by people staring?"
"I think you're joining in spite of the stares."
Harry paused.
"Maybe," he admitted honestly, "Maybe not. It's hard to be sure when you're thinking about it at three in the morning."
"Fuck," Pansy winced, checking the time in a nearby grandfather clock, "I won't tell if you won't."
"I'm not exactly in a rush to snitch on myself."
With that, he headed down the path that led toward the Hogwarts Express, Pansy following in his wake.
-(xXx)-
"Winner," Madam Ardelean frowned, watching as a surly Durmstrang boy toppled from the dueling podium, "Again."
The room applauded politely. Cerise bowed low, her black hair falling past her shoulders. An elegant smile graced her features.
"Any other challengers? Step forward now, if you please."
Ardelean's beady eyes came to rest on Harry. They narrowed slightly.
I really can't. It's too risky.
Harry's gaze flicked to Cerise. He ignored the curling of his stomach, instead watching as Cerise returned to her end of the dueling platform. Her eyes met his.
She might know Occlumency. She seems the type . . .
But the desire in his chest only grew. Harry's fingers curled tight beneath his desk, his mouth forced shut -
Creak.
The class turned. White-robed women filed into the room one by one, led by a witch hidden beneath a face veil of metallic gold.
"Honorable Truest," Madam Ardelean bowed her head, "May I be of assistance?"
Though Harry stared determinedly at the floor, he could barely make out the Truest's frown.
"Your silence should suffice," she said softly, gazing around the room, "Dueling Ciruits, I presume?"
"Yes, my lady."
White cloth slipped across the room as the Truest stepped toward the dueling platform.
"I am sorry, dear," she said to Cerise. The Beauxbatons girl looked politely confused, "You've done quite well. Yet the cherished future asks this of me . . ."
She turned, the hem of her robes facing something in Harry's direction -
"You," said the Truest sharply, "Harry Potter."
Harry looked up, avoiding the woman's eyes. The Truest's golden chains glimmered faintly.
"Er - yes?"
The Truest nodded at the dueling platform. Harry frowned.
"Get up, Mr. Potter," Madam Ardelean drawled, "Your chance has finally come."
Harry rose to his feet. His stomach continued to churn as he stepped toward the podium. Cerise stood at the other end, her expression blank.
Definitely knows Occlumency.
"You will not hide," the Truest murmured from somewhere behind him, "You will not fear the consequences. You will fight."
Harry grimaced.
"Ready?" Madam Ardelean asked. Harry and Cerise both nodded, "Begin!"
Neither cast a spell. Harry watched as Cerise stepped closer, her wand raised.
"Avis!"
The books scattered across the room sprouted feathers. Agile blue birds dived at Harry, who waved his wand furiously. The birds missed him by mere inches.
Harry's wand tore through the air. A mountain of spells hurled toward Cerise, who weaved through them with unnatural prowess. Her wand flicked up, streaks of magic slipping towards him. Thin gashes marred his skin.
"Still hiding . . ." called the voice from behind, "What did I say?"
Fine.
Harry stared at Cerise, his eyes pouring into hers. An empty sea awaited him.
No . . . you can't hide. Not from me.
Cerise's eyes widened, and a sudden pressure wrapped around him. Harry ignored it, delving further into her mind. A silver serpent slithered within her thoughts. Harry fought back a grin.
"Serpensortia!"
The snake appeared from thin air, just as he had seen. It slithered toward Harry with its head held high, an angry glint in its eyes -
"I wouldn't, if I were you," Harry whispered. The serpent froze, "You'd feel pain you couldn't possibly forget."
Pale slits glanced between Harry and Cerise. The snake suddenly turned, hurtling toward Cerise at breakneck speed -
"Evanesco!" she snapped, her wand held high above her head, "Osass -"
"Ossismurus," Harry interrupted. He watched as Cerise's bone breaker crashed into a wall of bones, "Diruo."
Cerise just barely moved out of the way. Frustration began to seep into her expression.
"Vineascissa!"
But flames had already sputtered from Harry's wand, burning her luscious vines into sticky sap. Harry frowned as he felt her mind struggling to push him out.
Either I'm really good at this, or she's not as skilled as I thought.
Sudden anger sparked within her bright blue eyes. Harry's jaw hung open.
You can hear me, can't you? In your head?
A wave of magic tore toward him, but Harry stepped lazily to the side. A vague answer hovered within Cerise's thoughts.
That's a yes, then.
"Impedimenta," Harry whispered, pointing it at the spot Cerise had jumped to. The spell caught her square in the chest.
For what it's worth, I'm sorry.
"Stupefy," Harry muttered. He watched as Cerise toppled to the floor, her body limp.
"Winner," Madam Ardelean frowned from her place at the podium's edge, "Well done."
Faint applause rang around the classroom. Harry stiffened as a Silencing Ward surrounded him, the sound of rippling cloth reached his ears.
"You were wise to show yourself," the Truest murmured, "You may not have won otherwise."
She wasn't that good.
"She is the better dueler," Harry heard the woman mutter, "Faster. More agile. Without your sight, you would not have won. Not without showing more than you are willing."
Harry's lips pursed into a polite frown.
"I'll bear that in mind."
"You disagree," the Truest said. It was not a question.
Harry thought for a moment.
"I'd be surprised if she could do magic I couldn't -"
"As would I," the Truest agreed, "But your strength lies not in the physicality of dueling."
"Then what?"
"Magic," she said sagely, "The arcane force that felled even the strongest of duelists. It will turn you into a combatant far greater than any dueler if only you let it."
"Honorable Truest?" Madam Ardelean's voice sounded faintly through the room, "Will you be needing my student for much longer?"
"Little more than a moment," she assured her, turning back to Harry.
"Your precious puppet awaits you," she told him seriously, "Along the icy outskirts. A nighttime venture into the grounds would not go amiss."
Harry's vision from the previous night replayed in his head.
Bella?
But he stayed silent, watching as the Scarlet Prophets departed, the door clattering shut in their wake.
