A bit of bad news to get out of the way first . . .
Yes, chapter posting will now be switched to a biweekly schedule. This will continue at most until the end of the third year (though likely not that long). By then I should have enough chapters written out in advance to continue comfortably posting every Saturday.
I've started a Discord. I intend for it to be a small, relaxed server - nothing to fancy or grand. If you have any questions about my writing, want to discuss my work, or simply want to hang out, you're more than welcome to join. The link is in my profile.
Read, review, and feel free to point out any errors/inconsistencies.
The next chapter will be published the coming Saturday.
Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate
The Blackest of Nights
X. Those Long Lost
Emerald embers wafted up from the fireplace. Harry watched as the breeze pushed them past the dark bookshelves and towards the large, grand windows that overlooked the Great Lake. The viridescent flames sputtered out just before they could reach the glass.
Muted voices reached his ears. From the corner of his eyes, Harry watched as dozens of students shuffled past him. His fingers, soft and thin, fiddled with the hem of his robes.
Halloween again . . .
Harry sighed, leaning his back against the shelf behind him. Something cool pressed upon his hand. Harry turned.
A girl with icy blue eyes was sitting to his right, staring at the emerald fireplace with unseeing eyes. Her long blonde hair was braided in intricate patterns, just as it always was, and her fair skin glowed sickly in the light of the flames.
"You don't have to stay, you know -"
"I know." Daphne murmured, looking up at him, "I want to, though."
Harry smiled weakly.
"And Astoria?"
Daphne nodded towards the portrait hole. A small blonde girl with unnaturally pale skin was giggling amongst her friends. Harry watched as they all clambered out the hole as one.
"She'll be fine." Daphne whispered, "She has her friends with her. She can go a few hours without me. Professor Snape's supposed to be keeping an eye on her, too."
Harry nodded slowly.
Hopefully he gives more of a shit about her safety than he does mine.
"I told McGonagall, too." added Daphne, "About Astoria, and that you and I wouldn't be there."
Harry froze. He watched sheepishly as Daphne rolled her eyes.
"I had a feeling you'd forget to ask her . . ."
"I was distracted." Harry murmured, "I forgot. I - I had a lot on my mind."
"I know."
A sickly green ember floated up to his eye level. Harry curled a single finger, and it soared across the room, landing back in the fireplace with a soft crunch. His gaze fell to the floor, and his fingers returned to fiddling with his robes once more.
"It's not that I'm not used to it." he muttered, poking at his silver-green tie, "I am. But sometimes you just can't help but wonder. Imagine what things might've been like, you know?"
Daphne frowned. Her fingers gently curled around his own.
"I don't think that's healthy, Harry." she said quietly, "What's done is done. We can't change that -"
"I know." Harry hissed, "I know."
The last of the Slytherin students made their way out the room, and the portrait hole slipped close. The sound of the crackling fireplace stretched through the room, accompanied by the muted sounds of the Great Lake.
"I think that's the worst part." Harry murmured, ducking his head, "I don't - I don't miss them. I never even knew them - how could I miss them? It's just - just -"
"The idea of them." Daphne finished softly, "What could have been."
Harry nodded.
"I'm getting better, though." his fingers rose from his robes, and he turned to face her, "I don't think about it as often. I don't have nearly as many nightmares about her, either."
"That's good." said Daphne kindly, "That's progress."
"Yeah. It is."
Harry frowned.
But it's not enough.
"I'm getting stronger, too." he muttered, "More powerful."
"Do you think you'll be strong enough to beat her?" Daphne's lips twitched, but her eyes never left his, "Not now, obviously - but some day? Eventually?"
Harry looked away.
"I don't know." he admitted quietly, "I'm not sure."
If what Bellatrix said was true, then maybe.
Her high, deranged giggles wafted through his ears, and Harry shivered as her voice replayed in his head.
" . . . like her . . . you're just like her . . ."
Harry grimaced. He felt Daphne's eyes on the side of his skull, and a forced smile overtook his features.
"I'll give it everything I've got." he promised, "I won't go out without a fight."
"You won't go out at all." Daphne corrected stubbornly, "You'll win. I know you will."
Harry nodded uncertainly.
Maybe . . .
Fair fingers wrapped around his, and icy orbs bore into his own.
"I believe in you, Harry." Daphne whispered seriously. Her eyes looked wet and glassy, "You should, too."
Harry nodded. A sickly green ember rose from the fireplace again, and it curved towards the window, flaring out against the pellucid glass.
I'm trying.
-(xXx)-
Rough, yellowing pages pressed against the underside of his thumb. Harry gently flicked from one page to the next, grimacing slightly as his eyes combed over the familiar neat handwriting.
It's necessary. You can't just discard it because it belonged to her.
Harry grimaced. He silently fiddled with the page between his fingers.
"Voldemort." he said firmly, "Not her. Voldemort. Lady Voldemort."
Emily Marvolo Riddle.
Harry pulled himself from his silver-green sheets. It was dark out - the large window wall that overlooked the Great Lake was still murky, and Harry couldn't see further than a few feet. His eyes swam to the long, tall mirror in the corner of his room. A young bespectacled boy with raven-black hair and striped pajamas stared back at him.
Just me. No one else.
Harry waited in silence, but the girl with the ever-changing eyes did not appear. He sighed in relief, sitting with his back pressed against the side of his bed. His fingers reached towards a wax candle on the floor beside him.
Incendio.
Faint, weak sparks sputtered from his fingertips, but little else happened.
"Not good enough." Harry murmured. He gently closed his eyes.
Light. Give me fire, give me light. I want to see -
Something bright flared against his closed eyelids. Harry slowly opened them. A small flame burnt upon the old wax candle, bathing the room in a faint orange glow.
That's better.
Harry pulled Emily's old notebook back towards him, holding the candle aloft. His other hand flicked through the back of the book, looking for something interesting, anything at all -
Harry paused. His eyes fell upon a page near the end of the book. It was almost completely blank; only a single word was scrawled at the top in uncharacteristically untidy writing.
"'Horcrux.'" Harry read aloud, "What's a horcrux?"
But the page was blank. Harry frowned, folding the topmost corner of the page.
I'll look into it later.
Many other pages stuck out as well. Harry paused upon finding a list of strange incantations. A small, scribbled passage was written beneath them.
'Combative spells. After heavy experimentation, I've concluded that spells above, whilst tremendously useful in a fight, are rather subpar in real life. They have little to no use, aside from causing harm. They should not, however, be discounted.'
Harry folded the top corner of this page, too.
There weren't nearly as many curses after that. Only a few obvious incantations jumped out at Harry. He shuffled uncomfortably upon reaching a page near the end of the book. Three incantations covered it, written in thin, neat writing.
"The Unforgivables." he murmured quietly.
Not that I'm surprised. It's Voldemort's old notebook, after all.
Harry frowned, flicking through the pages that came before.
But you know them, too.
Harry grimaced.
"Knowing doesn't exactly make you evil." he muttered to himself.
You used them, too.
His lips fell into a thin line. The fire of the candle beside him flickered uncomfortably as he slowly flicked through the notebook once more. Untidy handwriting jumped out at him, and Harry flattened the page, holding the candle to the page's surface.
'The Room of Requirement. A room somewhere within Hogwarts that is said to become what the user most requires. Supposedly reveals itself to those who walk past it thrice, thinking determinedly about whatever it is they need. It could prove very useful in the future. Be sure to find it.'
Beneath the passage sat a thick, inky-black checkmark. Harry searched for instructions to the room, or perhaps a location for him to find it, but nothing else was there. He silently slid the book shut.
"The Room of Requirement."
Becomes whatever you need it too. That could be useful.
Harry pulled the notebook towards him, opening back to the very same page. He pressed his finger to the book's surface, tracing the inky-black outline of the checkmark. Harry watched as it slowly faded away, leaving the parchment beneath it blank.
Time to find the Room of Requirement all over again.
-(xXx)-
"Diffindo!"
A faint ripple of air traversed the narrow classroom. Neville watched with disappointment as it sputtered out long before reaching the poorly-painted target across the room.
Not good enough. Still not good enough.
He swore under his breath, and his foot slammed into a chair by his feet. The chair lazily tipped over. Neville grit his teeth as his foot exploded in pain.
"You're being too hard on yourself, Neville." Hermione murmured from somewhere behind him, "The Cutting Curse is a fourth year spell. I only just managed it last week, and I still can't cut through anything thicker than a sheet of parchment -"
Neville turned away, facing the target again. Hermione huffed.
"Honestly, Neville, there are other things you could practice."
"Like?"
"Like," Hermione paused, "well, like - like potions, or - or -"
"Dueling." Ron finished lamely, his fingers prying open a chocolate frog pack.
"Something other than dueling, please, Ronald." Hermione said irritably, "How about Care of Magical Creatures?"
"How's he supposed to practice that?" Ron walked along the abandoned classroom, taking a seat upon one of the desks by the window, "Hagrid barely teaches anything, anyway. The last three lessons have been about Flobberworms."
"It isn't his fault." whispered Hermione, "You remember what happened with Buckbeak -"
"- of course I do -"
"Well, he probably doesn't want to get into any more trouble." Hermione's bottom lip quivered, and she leaned closer, "I'm a bit worried for him, really. Malfoy's father is on the school board, remember?"
Ron swore.
"The git's probably going to try and get Hagrid sacked." he muttered darkly, "Slimy, twisted little fuck -"
Neville turned towards the window sill, and the voices of his friends grew further from his ears. A copy of the Daily Prophet sat upon a desk pressed up against the wall. A title written in thick black ink covered the front page.
'Bellatrix Lestrange: The Terrible Tale of You-Know-Who's Most Wicked Witch'
A picture lay beneath it. A woman with long, curly black hair and wild eyes smiled up at him, giggling madly. Neville grit his teeth.
"Diffindo!"
A harsh ripple of air streaked across the room. Neville watched with satisfaction as the target split clean in two.
That's better.
"See, he managed it in the end." Ron said to Hermione, taking a large bite out of his chocolate from, "Not bad, Nev!"
"I didn't say he wouldn't." denied Hermione hotly, "Just that he shouldn't get his hopes up -"
"I know, I know, I was pulling your leg, believe it or not . . ."
Neville turned around. Ron had trailed off. He was staring at Hermione, then the stack of books beside her, then back again.
"What's all that for?" he asked, bewildered.
Hermione pulled a sheet of parchment towards her, dipping a quill in ink.
"Just a bit of light reading. I've got to take notes on parchment, though - Madam Pince would kill me if I wrote on her books."
Ron stared at her.
"Notes? Hermione, you're the best in our year -"
The bushy-haired girl looked up, her dark brown eyes boring into Ronald's.
"Alright, so you've got a bit of competition - so what?"
"So I've got to work harder." she dipped her quill in ink again, scribbling something down, "I missed out on most of the last school year, too. I've got a lot of catching up to do."
"You said you caught up over the summer." noted Neville, frowning.
"I caught up with our school material over the summer." Hermione corrected, "But before I got petrified, I was way further ahead. I've got to get back to that."
Right.
"Personally, I think you're stressing too much." said Ron, pulling a card from the chocolate frog pack, "You're still - damn it, Circe again - you're still going to be top of the year, we all know that -"
"No, Ronald, we don't." Hermione huffed, "I'll have to work very hard to be the top of our year, and that isn't even accounting for all the catching up I already had to do."
"Why?" asked Neville, "No one else can knows the theory nearly as well as you do -"
"Greengrass does." said Hermione, "Maybe not in some classes, like Charms or Transfiguration - but she does. She's probably better than me at potions, too. Most of the Ravenclaws aren't too far behind."
"What about the others?" asked Neville curiously, "You know, like Potter, and Nott, and Malfoy and Parkinson. The Hufflepuffs, too."
"And Lavender and Pavarti." Ron added, "I reckon they'll top Divination. Weirdos, those two. Told Seamus to 'slit his wrists vertically' when he called them duffers -"
"No one seems particularly well rounded." Hermione decided, cutting off Ron, "I know the theory well, but I'm not as good at using magic. Greengrass is more or less the same."
"What about Potter?" asked Ron.
"A bit of the opposite. He can write well enough to get by, but it's his casting that'll get him all his points."
"But he won't beat you, then?"
Hermione shook her head.
"No, I don't think he will." she agreed, frowning, "But that's probably because he doesn't care . . ."
"What about Nott?" said Neville, "He reads a lot, doesn't he? He'd probably know the theory well enough."
"Probably. He can use magic pretty well, too." Hermione frowned, "But he can't use it nearly as well as Harry can, and I think his theoretical knowledge isn't on par with mine and Daphne's -"
"How do you know all of this, anyway?" asked Ron, his eyes narrowed.
"Staff Lounge." said Hermione simply, "I help our Professors from time to time - you know, stuff like grading the first years' exams. They talk about all sorts of things in there."
Ron grimaced.
"Fred and George are right." he said seriously, "You're hang around teachers too much for your own good -"
"Or maybe, Ronald, I just put a bit of effort into my studies -"
"Didn't you say your boggart was Professor McGonagall?" murmured Neville. He at least had the decency to look abashed when Hermione glared at him. Behind her, Ron sniggered.
"It was failure." Hermione corrected, her nose held high, "Which is a lot more reasonable than spiders, by the way -"
Vague images flashed through Neville's mind. His thoughts jumped back to his own boggart. The same horrible image he had seen back by the cupboard, back when he had faced the boggart himself.
Mum. Dad.
Hoarse screams rang in his skull, and Neville flinched. His eyes fell upon the copy of the Daily Prophet beside him. Slowly they shifted to the shattered target that lay across the room.
"Reparo."
Broken bits of wood slowly flew back together. Neville replaced it on the desk before marching back through the room.
You've got to get better. If not for them, for you. For yourself.
"Diffindo!"
For the second time in his life, Neville watched as he cut the target clean in two.
-(xXx)-
Creak.
An ebony chair slid across the marble floor. A man with short, dark hair and beady brown eyes lowered himself into it, tucking his robes beneath him as he did. His fingers stretched across the long, narrow table, reaching for a thick sheet of parchment.
"'Bellatrix Lestrange,'" he read aloud, brandishing the paper, "'The Terrible Tale of You-Know-Who's Most Wicked Witch.'"
He flicked through the pages, his eyes swimming across the surface. A thin, crooked smile overtook his features.
"They got everything wrong, too." he snickered, tossing the paper aside, "Filthy fucking mudbloods. Can't do anything right, not even a report."
Rays of light pierced the room as a short old man with white hair turned around. His gaze jumped to the latest copy of the Daily Prophet, and he frowned.
Not the mudbloods. This is Rita's work.
"Bellatrix Lestrange," the wizened old man murmured thoughtfully, "Bellatrix Lestrange. Of all the people I'd have guessed would break free from Azkaban, she'd have been the last."
The younger man shrugged.
"The other prisoners would've helped her, I reckon." he sniggered, "Otherwise she'd have driven them all mad, too."
Fingers combed through thinning white hair, and the old man turned away.
Perhaps you're more right than you realise.
Light shinned upon the stained glass, and the man squinted, ducking his head.
The woman's mad. She couldn't open a door without help, unless she was trying to slam it in someone's face.
Thomas Nott nodded to himself, his fingers pressing against the collar of his dark, ornate robes. Bits of silver metal poked uncomfortably at his throat. He loosened them irritably.
But who would help her? There's nothing to gain from her, not anymore -
His thoughts trailed off. Deep brown eyes fell to the sleeve that covered his left arm. A faint, dark image shone from beneath soft satin robes.
Maybe . . .
Thomas pulled at the end of his sleeve, hiding the image beneath it.
Most likely not. There are other, more important things to worry about.
"How's Theodore?" he asked, turning around slowly, "Is he doing well in his classes?"
The dark-haired man - Trevor - shrugged again.
"Ask his mother." he suggested, yawning, "She's the one who keeps track of the boy."
Thomas twitched impatiently.
"The boy is your son and heir." he snapped, "And, more importantly, my grandson. You would do well to keep a better watch of him."
"I know the important bits." Trevor snapped, "He's interested in magical theory and researching - both of which are less than adequate hobbies for a pureblood heir -"
"As if I care." Thomas pulled back the seat at the head of the table, falling into it, "And his friends? Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass, correct?"
Trevor nodded, a sinister grin back on his face.
"The one silver lining." he said happily, "The boy made a good friend, I won't deny that . . ."
But Thomas only frowned. His fingers tapped against the side of the table, and his eyes dulled as a whirlwind of thoughts assaulted his mind.
Maybe . . .
"Easy access to political power," Trevor was saying, flicking through his copy of the Daily Prophet again, "Social power, too - wouldn't be too hard to jump a few steps up the ladder, would it?"
He sniggered to himself, poking at the sheet of parchment. Thomas ignored him.
Maybe not . . .
The faint image of the dark mark poked out from beneath his sleeve. Thomas replaced the patterned silk along his arm.
If it was her . . . if she's back - a clear connection to Harry Potter could mean death.
His fingers reached into the pocket of his robes, and a thick, golden galleon fell from his grasp onto the table before him. He watched as it fell with a soft thud. The ugly, brutish face of a deformed goblin stared up at him.
But on the flip side, if it isn't her . . .
Thomas frowned, his fingers reaching for the coin again.
Just as the foolish boy said. Power, both social and political.
Deep lines appeared upon his skin as he laughed throatily.
"Choices, choices, choices." he murmured, smiling, "How to deal with the dilemma we face now -"
But that wasn't up to him. The choice wasn't his to make, nor was it that of the foolish young man sitting to his right.
Somewhere, on the other side of the country, a young boy with short black hair and deep brown eyes was seated, perhaps beside a boy with equally dark hair and brilliant emerald eyes.
The cards are in your hands, Theodore. Let's see what you make of them.