New chappy. Also, as I'm sure some of you may noticed, the avg. chapter length in year IV so far seems to be much longer than year III, so yay and allat.
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Read, review, and feel free to point out any errors/inconsistencies.
The next chapter will be published the next Saturday.
Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate
The Desolations of Destiny
II. The Future Awaits
Bits of snow twinkled like the stars in the night sky. Harry watched as the blurry hem of Dumbledore's robes slipped across it, occasionally billowing in the breeze. The world spun; Harry felt as though he was going to be sick.
"Not feeling well, Harry?" Dumbledore called from somewhere before him. Harry slowed to a stop.
"I've been better," he admitted.
"You should be pleased." the headmaster noted, "Very few perform so admirably when apparating for the first time."
"Even you?"
"I was the worst of all." Dumbledore smiled, "I started around the age you are now. I spent much of that summer apparating around my room. I fell out the window twice."
Harry laughed. The world slowly came to a stop. Harry frowned, his eyes slipping past the sea of shops and cottages. He hastened up to Dumbledore's side.
"Sir," he murmured quickly, "I was planning to stay in Diagon Alley, not Hogsmeade -"
"And you'll be there shortly." Dumbledore assured him, "Though I must say, you've uncovered where we are rather quickly for someone who's never visited."
Harry blushed, his eyes slipping to the snow at his feet.
"I got my permission slip signed this time," he murmured.
"I'm glad to hear it. It's a rather charming village, if a bit difficult to explore whilst hidden beneath an Invisibility Cloak."
Dumbledore came to a stop. Harry paused behind him, tracing his gaze to a bustling pub near the end of the street.
"We're not here to explore, are we, Professor?"
"No, Harry, we are not." Dumbledore straightened up, "Get beneath your cloak, and follow me."
Harry froze. His fingers twitched uncomfortably at his sides.
It doesn't matter. He can't know, not if you avoid the eyes.
"Er - I haven't got it." his voice squeaked, "My cloak, I mean."
He stared determinedly at a spot in the ground. After a moment, he heard Professor Dumbledore let out a low sigh.
"No matter." he whispered slowly, "A simple Disillusionment Charm will do."
Harry watched as Dumbledore pulled his wand from the insides of his cloak.
"I've been researching that one." he muttered offhandedly, "I reckon I could do a half-decent one by now."
Dumbledore studied him carefully, the wand in his hand forgotten.
"By all means, give it a try."
Harry nodded, dropping his trunk onto the snow and clicking it open. A tight but gentle palm clasped around his shoulder.
"Most wizards don't Disillusion themselves by opening their trunks, Harry."
"I was grabbing my wand -" Harry started before trailing off. Dumbledore watched him with a piercing glare.
"Underage witches and wizards are not allowed to use wands outside of Hogwarts." Dumbledore reminded him sternly, "My presence does not change that."
Harry sputtered.
"But then -"
Oh.
Harry held out his hands before him, staring at them determinedly.
Let me see through you. Invisible and unseen, like the wind in the night sky -
His skin shimmered. Harry frowned in disappointment as his entire body turned a shade of white as bright as the snow beneath his feet.
"Intent." Dumbledore murmured, amused, "Pure magic."
"Sorry?"
"Pure magic." the headmaster repeated, "Magic shaped by nothing more than your most simple desires. In this case, wandless, too."
Dumbledore paused, carefully studying Harry's skin. His wand slipped over Harry's arm. Harry watched as it slowly regained color. Dumbledore nodded, seemingly satisfied.
"A shame that even for those as talented as you and I, wandless magic remains rather limited."
"Why's that?" Harry asked curiously.
Dumbledore smiled.
"Our intent aids only in shaping our magic, not in powering it. And powerful though you may be, you are only one person, Harry."
Harry frowned, disappointed. His hands hung limp against smooth robes.
"I wondered why I could only manage the basics. I was beginning to wonder if I was just slow."
"The basics?" Dumbledore enthused, "What is it you call the basics?"
"Simple stuff. Moving things without touching them, vanishing bits of dirt, or warming myself. I've managed to conjure a few smaller objects, too - though that tires me out pretty quickly."
Nothing particularly impressive.
"Time still remains on your side, Harry." the headmaster noted cheerfully, "It would not do well to give up now."
Harry nodded determinedly.
"I'll get the hang of it, one day."
Dumbledore nodded in agreement.
"One day, perhaps."
"Can you do it?"
The headmaster's fingers snaked towards him. Harry felt a cool feeling spreading across his palms, up his arms and through his chest. By the time it had faded, he had, too.
Of course he can.
"Stay close to me, Harry." Dumbledore muttered, turning around, "We'll be heading towards the Three Broomsticks. You're familiar with it, I'm sure."
Harry stared at the lively pub off in the distance. He paused, frowning.
"I've seen it before." he admitted, "I wouldn't have thought it was your type."
"No, I suppose it isn't." the headmaster agreed, "I prefer the Hog's Head, to be truthful - though I've been told I'm a biased party."
The lights grew brighter the closer they got. Harry watched as the double doors swung open with a wave of Dumbledore's hand. A warm blast of air overcame him, and Harry struggled to stifle a sigh of contentment.
"Evening, Dumbledore." a remarkably attractive witch called from the bar. Harry felt his invisible eyes slip across her dirty blonde hair and down to the brown bar robes that adorned her. She leaned over the bar's edge, smiling as Albus approached.
"The usual?"
"And a butterbeer." Dumbledore added, "I'm feeling a bit parched."
Madam Rosmerta smiled.
"I'll have them ready shortly." she assured him cheerfully.
Harry watched as she spun around, her hair spinning in the air like silk.
I've really got to visit the Three Broomsticks more often.
Something pulled at him. Harry turned, watching as Dumbledore slowly made his way towards a booth in the corner of the pub. The crowd parted as he passed, though no one seemed to notice him.
A strange sensation hovered around their booth in the corner. Harry coughed as he approached, twisting uncomfortably beneath magic somehow both oppressive yet thin enough to miss.
"What is that?" he whispered, sliding into the booth beside Dumbledore. The headmaster smiled curiously.
"Magic of a subtle variety." he revealed, "What does it feel like to you?"
Harry paused.
"Soft." he decided at last, "And comforting. Warm, too. Like it's trying to lull me to sleep."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"Definitely one of the kinder descriptions I've heard." the headmaster chuckled, "Professor McGonagall insists it feels unbearably cheerful."
"That'd sort of beat the point of a Notice-Me-Not Charm."
"Yes, I imagine it would."
Harry yawned softly. Nearly a hundred faces bobbed within the pub, laughter echoing from one wall to the opposite.
"So, they won't notice us then? Not at all?"
"So long as we don't do anything particularly unordinary, yes."
Harry smirked, studying his hands. He could barely tell where they were.
"What, and talking to yourself doesn't count?"
"No, actually, I don't think it does." Dumbledore noted thoughtfully, "Dear Miss Skeeter would agree - if I remember correctly, she referred to me as a 'senile old dingbat with the fashion sense of a poltergeist' -"
"Peeves would be offended -"
"- thought I suppose it has its benefits."
Harry stared at him.
"What has its benefits, getting insulted by that Skeeter woman?"
Dumbledore nodded cheerfully.
"It's given me quite some fun these past few weeks." he told him, "Together, Rita and I have successfully convinced Minister Fudge I've gone barmy - what with her writings and me walking into a wall seven times in a half a minute -"
Harry snorted.
"I could get used to that." he admitted, "I reckon I will when I'm older. I doubt she'd miss out on writing about me."
"No, I doubt she would." Albus agreed.
Slam.
"One pint of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey." Madam Rosmerta chimed, "And a pint of butterbeer, since you're thirsty."
"Thank you, Rosmerta," said Dumbledore cheerfully. The pretty bar witch nodded with a smile before strolling off.
"Your father and his friends used to like her very much." Dumbledore told him quietly, "He and Sirius Black were her favorites."
Harry paused, his lips thinned.
"Black?" he asked, forcing his voice smooth, "What happened to him?"
"A fate worse than death."
One he didn't deserve, if Bella's right.
"For betraying my parents, right?"
Dumbledore paused, lowering his glass of Firewhisky.
"That is what he was charged for, yes."
"Do you think he did it?" Harry twitched, wincing as the words slipped from his lips before he could stop them, "Do you think he betrayed my parents, I mean."
Dumbledore frowned.
"No." he decided at last, "No, I don't think he did."
Harry nodded, satisfied. His lips wrapped tight around his glass, the cold liquid churning in his mouth before dissipating into nothingness. Harry sighed.
"I think I'll come back here during the school year." Harry noted aloud, "Do you reckon Rosmerta liked my dad enough to give me free drinks?"
Dumbledore chortled.
"Perhaps enough to look the other way if a case of Firewhisky went missing." the headmaster admitted, "Though in James' case, she'd have known your mother would confiscate it."
"Did she like my mum, too?"
"Just about everyone did."
Harry turned, watching as the blonde bar witch reached for a glass just out of reach. The glass soared into her hand with a flick of her wand. Madam Rosmerta dumped it into the sink, brushing locks of golden hair out of her face as she leaned forward.
I wonder if she'd like me.
Harry paused, frowning at himself. He slowly forced his eyes back to the table.
"I thought you said you didn't bring me here to explore?" he remembered quietly.
"I did not." Dumbledore agreed, "I wanted to speak with you."
"I didn't break some odd rule, did I?"
Dumbledore shook his head, lowering his glass again.
"Not every conversation we share must be between a student and headmaster, Harry." Albus muttered, his eyes twinkling, "Some are merely from one soul to another."
Harry nodded slowly.
"What is it, then?"
"About the Triwizard Tournament."
"The - sorry, what?"
"Triwizard Tournament." Dumbledore chuckled, "A tournament between the three most elite European wizarding schools. Each school selects a champion to compete in three dangerous tasks. The winning school is awarded the Triwizard Cup."
"I think Binns might've mentioned it once." Harry remembered, "But he said it was canceled. Something about the death toll getting too high."
"It was canceled for quite some time." Dumbledore admitted, "But the French, British, and Scandinavian Ministries all agree that new beginnings are long overdue."
"Is it being held at Hogwarts?"
"Under normal circumstances, it would be. The last Tournament was held at Durmstrang, and the one before at Beauxbatons."
"But?"
"But," Dumbledore continued, "Certain circumstances have called for a change in plans."
Harry watched as he pulled a roll of parchment from his robes, flattening it along the table. His eyes scanned the headline, which was printed in bold:
'The Impossible Occurs: Golden Flames Shatter Legendary Hogwarts Wards'
"Right." Harry frowned, his head bowed, "Are parents worried, then?"
"Some." Dumbledore admitted indifferently, "Others are more curious than anything."
Harry shifted uncomfortably.
"Do they think I did it?"
"They do not." the headmaster revealed, "The eldest amongst us are too blinded by hubris to entertain such an idea. No, their eyes are largely focused on both Mrs. Lestrange and Professor Snape. The ministry's leading theory on Bellatrix has the convenient bonus of being very believable, too. The chance of them deciding that a mere child is the most likely culprit is incredibly unlikely."
"You said unlikely." Harry noted, "Not that they didn't."
"Very little in this world is truly impossible." Dumbledore answered, "Improbable, perhaps, but not impossible."
Right.
"But what's the issue, then?" Harry frowned, "If they aren't after me, what is there to talk about?"
The headmaster sighed gently. Harry frowned, watching as the twinkle vanished from his gaze.
"When I was your age, I wanted nothing more than to prove myself." Albus recalled softly, "Not to the world, but to myself. To prove that I could do as I desired, to prove that my goals were not quite so far out of reach. Gellert was one in the same. In our desperation to do so, however, we hurt a great many."
"And Voldemort?" Harry asked stiffly.
"The Chamber of Secrets could not be opened by any ordinary student, Harry."
Right.
Harry paused, thinking to himself.
"You want me to compete." he realized, "You want me to use this tournament like a punching bag. So I don't end up using a living person instead."
"I do not want you to compete." the headmaster noted, "There is very little I will ever demand of you, Harry. Our choices are entirely our own. I have no desire to strip you of yours."
Harry nodded slowly.
"You would have done it when you were my age, then?"
Dumbledore nodded.
"Would you do it now?"
"Of course not, Harry." Albus chuckled, "But why should that be the same for you?"
Harry nodded again.
"It isn't at Hogwarts, is it?"
"The tournament is to be divided equally amongst the three schools. Only one task will take place at Hogwarts."
Harry reached for his glass of Butterbeer, taking a long sip.
It'd be nice to see the world.
"Would I be going alone?"
"You would." Dumbledore noted, "Though I imagine in the absence of friends, you'll be forced to seek new ones. Discomfort is not always a bad thing."
"Maybe," Harry murmured skeptically. He paused, reaching for his Butterbeer again, "What makes you think I want to prove myself, anyway? I'm not you, or Grindelwald, or her for that matter. Maybe I don't want to prove anything."
He turned to Dumbledore, frowning at the smile that covered his face.
"What?"
"I said those same words, once." the headmaster admitted softly, "Not verbatim, but similar. To my brother, Aberforth."
He leaned closer, the glass of Firewhisky sliding aside.
"It was a lie. I just hadn't realized it yet."
Harry shifted uncomfortably, watching as Dumbledore straightened himself up again.
"Just a bit of food for thought." Dumbledore said, pulling his Firewhisky closer, "Who knows? Perhaps the Tournament may grow on you."
Harry snorted.
Maybe.
-(xXx)-
"- and you aren't to leave Diagon Alley, not even for a moment -"
"I know, Tom." Harry moaned, shoving a plate beneath the bar. When he pulled it back out, the crumbs had vanished. Harry grimaced as a painful heat writhed within his chest.
No more vanishing, then.
Harry turned to the stack of plates to his left. Disappointment covered his features.
"Can't I finish them when I come back?" Harry asked irritably, "She'll be here soon."
But Tom shook his head.
"Dumbledore's orders." the barman cracked a toothy smile, "Builds character and allat, doesn't it?"
"I've been doing this for about a decade." Harry complained, "I've built enough character."
Tom laughed.
"Well, I guess you shouldn't have tried sneaking away from home, then."
Harry watched as he pulled his apron off, tossing it onto a hook embedded in the wall before ducking into the storeroom. He scoffed.
Leave it to Dumbledore to give me detention during the summer.
"Harry?"
Harry looked up. A girl stood opposite him, watching him from just past the bar. She had pale skin, icy blue eyes, and intricately braided hair. Robes of silver and white adorned her, and a thin black necklace hung around her neck.
Daphne smirked as he lifted another plate into the sink.
"Fourteen's a bit early to join the workforce, you know."
"Shut up." Harry snapped, "It was Dumbledore's idea, not mine -"
"Dumbledore's?" a smooth voice asked. Harry turned once more.
A woman in ornate robes stood off to the side. She looked very much like Daphne, with full lips and teeth as white as snow. She stepped forward, pulling along a tall wizard with deep brown hair.
"Harry Potter, I presume?" she asked gently. Her voice was soft and sweet.
"Er - yes." Harry answered uncertainly. He forced his mind calm, his voice suddenly much smoother, "You must be Daphne's parents."
Ophelia, if Bella's not full of shit.
The woman laughed.
"It'd be a bit odd if we weren't." she noted, "Though not quite as odd as the chores the headmaster seems to have left you with."
Harry frowned, staring at the plates beside him. He was painfully aware of the disapproving look in the woman's eyes as he reached for another.
"He made a deal with Tom the Barman." Harry told her, "I don't have to pay, so long as I help keep the bar clean."
Mrs. Greengrass shifted slightly.
"Perhaps it's worth something." she conceded eventually, "Character building, perhaps."
Before her, Astoria nervously toyed with the hem of her robes. She seemed like she was doing her very best not to look him in the eye.
"Er - maybe." Harry agreed, tearing his eyes away from Astoria, "It helps me focus. Take my mind off things for a moment. There's a lot going on these days."
Mrs. Greengrass nodded.
"Especially for your dear headmaster." She noted curiously, "The Fiendfyre incident has spread across the world like wildfire - which, of course, it is."
Astoria suddenly went stiff. Harry felt his leg twitch behind the bar's counter.
Fuck. I almost forgot she was there.
"The booklines are getting longer." Astoria whispered quickly, tugging at the edge of her mother's robes, "Can we hurry up?"
"Of course, dear." Mrs. Greengrass turned to him, nodding curtly.
"I'll be seeing you soon, I hope?" she asked seriously, "I've heard quite a bit about you. I'd love to hear more, straight from the source."
"You will." Harry agreed.
"I look forward to it." she said, turning to Daphne, "We'll meet you here at six, dear."
Daphne nodded. She and Harry watched as the elder Greengrasses departed from the Leaky Cauldron, following Astoria into Diagon Alley.
"She's interesting," Harry noted curiously.
"Mum's always like that with people she's interested in." Daphne noted, "Tracy calls it charming."
"She is." Harry admitted, "I don't think she liked the cleaning bit, though."
"Dad cares more about that than she does." Daphne murmured, "She was probably more interested because Dumbledore made you do it."
Harry frowned.
"What's so interesting about that?"
Daphne rolled her eyes.
"Because he's Dumbledore, Harry." she said fondly, "Which reminds me - you never mentioned anything about Dumbledore."
"I didn't plan on seeing him." Harry admitted, "He caught me sneaking out of the Dursley's house."
Daphne's face fell.
"Sneaking out?" she asked uncertainly, "They didn't do anything bad, did they?"
"What? No, I was just getting bored." Harry reached for another plate, running it under the battered tap, "I probably shouldn't have. Now I'm stuck doing this."
"This isn't that bad," Daphne noted. Her lips quirked upwards, "Take your mind off things, doesn't it?"
"Shut up."
But Daphne just smiled. Harry watched as she drew up a chair, sitting across from him as he worked.
"You haven't done anything else particularly stupid, have you?" she asked curiously, "Aside from sneaking away from your relative's place."
"I tried a bit of Firewhisky." Harry admitted aloud, "It was awful. My throat burned for hours."
"Serves you right," Daphne murmured. Harry shrugged.
"It was worth it. I don't have to clean any alcohol glasses anymore."
"Don't have to, or not allowed to?"
"There's a difference?"
Daphne smiled weakly. Harry paused, watching as the ghost of a grin slowly faded from her face. The girl leaned closer, fastening her robes tighter around her chest.
"I meant to ask you in my letter, but it didn't feel right." she began softly, "But how are you? Is everything alright?"
Harry's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Daphne frowned.
"The Fiendfyre stuff." she elaborated.
"What about it?"
"It happened right after you bolted out of the common room."
Oh.
"I'm fine." Harry murmured quietly, "I've grown used to this sort of thing by now. It's not nearly as bad as the other years."
Daphne nodded.
"Astoria hasn't shut up about you for months." she added quietly, "It's been driving Mum and Dad insane."
Harry paled. Daphne sighed, reaching toward his arm.
"It's complicated, isn't it?"
Harry snorted.
"You could say that, yeah."
"Did you save her?" Daphne asked seriously.
Harry paused. Slowly, he nodded.
"I thought so." Daphne murmured, "She's been starstruck all summer."
The girl's fingers tapped uncertainly against the counter. Harry watched as her lips twisted, words struggling to be heard.
"It's not a good idea, doing what you're doing." Daphne warned him, her lip quivering, "It - they aren't safe."
"They?" Harry asked. Daphne stared at him, unimpressed.
"Lestrange. V-Voldemort. Them."
Harry paused.
"I know that." he conceded eventually, "But - "
"- but you'll do it anyway." Daphne finished for him, "Why?"
"It'll help me in the future. When it's time to stop them for good."
"Maybe." Daphne murmured, "Maybe not."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. Daphne watched as he tucked a plate into the sink, sighing again.
"I don't really know where I'm going with this." she admitted, "I just wanted to thank you for Astoria, and make sure you're being careful."
"I am," Harry promised. Daphne nodded slowly.
"Let's talk about something else." she said at last, "I'm not really in the mood to be depressed."
Harry laughed weakly.
"I doubt anyone ever is." he paused, glancing around the bar, "Want anything to drink?
Daphne stared at him.
"You know how to make drinks?"
"'Course not." Harry ducked under the bar, pulling out a number of oddly-shaped bottles, "But I don't need to. What do you fancy?"
"Butterbeer, I guess."
She reached for the bottle, but Harry gently batted her hand aside.
"That'll be a sickle and six knuts."
"You are so utterly irritating." Daphne glared at him. Harry grinned back, watching as she pulled a number of coins from her robes' pocket. Daphne tossed them across the counter.
"You can keep the change." she added, taking a sip from the glass, "I doubt you're getting paid very much -"
"Like I need it," Harry snorted, "I'm fairly certain the Potter Vault's got more money than I know what to do with."
"Fairly certain?"
"I'm not legally an adult, so I can't check myself." he explained, "But there was a fuck ton in my trust fund alone, so I'm not worried."
Daphne nodded.
"That makes sense." she acknowledged, "The Potter line's filled with inventors. They make a new fortune every other generation."
Harry sighed.
"Guess I've got a lot to live up to." he yawned, tossing another plate into the sink, "But I've got time. I'm sure I'll make something incredible, eventually."
"Let's try something a little bit closer to now." Daphne sniped, "I've little interest in the distant future."
"There's the Quidditch World Cup," Harry remembered offhandedly.
And the Triwizard Tournament, too.
Daphne frowned.
"I thought you didn't like Quidditch?" she asked curiously.
"I don't dislike it." Harry said, "It just seems more fun to play."
A mischievous smile etched itself upon his face.
"Besides, I wasn't going to skive on a VIP ticket, was I?"
Daphne's eyebrows shot up to her hairline.
"You've got a VIP ticket?" she asked incredulously, "Who got you that - was it Dumbledore?"
"What - no, of course not." Harry laughed.
"How, then?"
Harry beckoned her closer. Daphne leaned across the counter, her nose just inches away from his. The sounds of her breaths quieted as her chest stilled. Harry gently cupped a hand to her ear.
"Magic."
Daphne scoffed, shoving him back.
"Shut up and wash your dishes." she spat, grinning faintly, "We've still got loads of shopping to do - you especially, if you're running off to the World Cup in a day or two - and we can properly celebrate your birthday, too -"
"That reminds me," Harry pulled the final stack of dishes closer, "I met your parents, didn't I? I want my compensation."
Daphne rolled her eyes.
"That doesn't count." she said, "Astoria dragged them off before either of you could get to the hard-hitting questions - which Mum is definitely still going to ask you, by the way -"
She trailed off upon seeing the expression on Harry's face.
"Fine, I'll give it to you now." she said, "But don't touch it until you've washed your hands, promise?"
Harry nodded lazily.
"Cross my heart and hope to die."
"Don't say that." Daphne snapped, reaching into the inner pockets of her robes, "Give me a second - I got Mum to shrink it for me - there."
She pulled out a rectangular package, wrapped neatly in paper covered in silver and gold quills. Harry wiped his hands on his apron, gently taking it from Daphne. Slowly, he pulled the wrapping paper apart. A single photo sat in his palm.
"I wasn't sure it was enough." Daphne whispered, blushing faintly, "But I thought you'd like it. It's a memory of mine, on our first day of school. I got mum to put it into a Pensieve, and she helped me turn it into a photograph -"
"It's amazing." Harry interrupted. Daphne fell quiet.
A small boy stood before him, adorned in Hogwarts robes that lacked house colors. He stood up in his boat, staring at the magnificent castle before them. His mouth hung wide open, and his eyes shone furiously.
"The first time I saw Hogwarts." he recounted aloud.
The first time I really felt like I belonged.
"Thanks." he whispered, gently tucking the photograph into his pocket, "Really. It means more than you think."
Daphne smiled gently.
"Somehow, I doubt that." she grinned, "I knew you'd like it."
"Uh-huh." Harry nodded disbelievingly, scrunching his lips together, "'I wasn't sure it was enough -'"
"I was nervous, so what." Daphne irritably flicked her butterbeer cap at Harry, though it missed, "I didn't know that was a crime now. And hurry up -"
"Done." Harry chirped, tossing the final plate into the sink. He pulled the apron over his head, "Ready to go?"
Daphne rolled her eyes, spinning around. Harry, grinning, tossed his apron onto a hook on the wall before chasing after her. The backdoor of the leaky cauldron swung open, and together, the two of them journeyed into Diagon Alley.
-(xXx)-
Hoot!
"Come off it, Hedwig." Harry moaned, rolling over in bed. He rubbed at his eyes, squinting through his spectacles at the grandfather clock in the corner of his room, "It's like four in the morning."
Realization wrapped tight around his chest. Harry groaned, sinking back into his mattress.
Hoot -
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm getting ready -"
Harry shoved himself to his feet. His small bedroom in the Leaky Cauldron was both cozy and messy. In the few weeks he'd been here, Harry had already managed to cover much of the velvet-colored floors with odd books, clothes, and quills. A gentle fire danced beneath the mantle opposite him, and rain pattered lighty against his window.
And to think, it's summer.
His hands slid lazily across the floor. Harry picked up what little he knew he'd need: his wand, his ticket, and clothes he'd deemed 'fresh enough'. Harry crammed them into his trunk, dumping the rest of it out. He left the important things untouched; Emily's notebook, the diary, and Daphne's photo all stayed within the confines of his luggage.
"That should be good enough," Harry murmured, carefully examining what he'd packed. It was quite noticeably empty.
Because I don't have the cloak. Or my map, either.
Harry turned, examining his reflection in the mirror. He frowned slightly.
Hide me.
Magic prickled across his fingertips, but his body did little more than shimmer. Harry shook his head, reaching for his wand.
How about now?
Bits and pieces of his body slipped from view, but his face remained as visible as ever. His hands did, too; they hovered in the air, twisting like puppets. Harry watched as his lips fell further.
"Absondere." he muttered irritably.
At last, Harry fully faded from view. He could vaguely make out his outline, and his skin was slow to mimic its surroundings, but it worked well enough.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"I know, I'm ready," Harry called.
He reached for his trunk, tossing an open bag of treats to Hedwig.
"That's for until I come back." He told her as seriously as he could, "You'd better not eat it all on the first night."
Hedwig barked in what Harry hoped was understanding. Casting one final look around his room, Harry slipped through the door, closing it shut.
Tom was waiting for him by the bar. He was standing just behind the sink, staring at a torn-up scarf on the bar counter.
"There you are!" he called loudly as Harry slowly climbed down the stairs, "Just in time, too - the portkey leaves in just a few minutes!"
Harry nodded tiredly, looking around the packed bar. The Leaky Cauldron was packed with people cut from every cloth imaginable. Not one of them, however, looked like they were headed off to the Quidditch World Cup.
"Am I the only one?" Harry asked curiously.
Tom nodded.
"You wanted to go a day early, after all." he said, "So they had to make a special one just for you. They probably would have, anyway - you're Harry Potter, after all . . ."
Harry nodded slowly, his eyes falling upon a bald black man in plain black robes.
The Auror from last year. He drove me to Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
Harry frowned irritably.
Tom's probably more right than he realizes.
The man's gaze fell upon the newspaper in his hands, occasionally jumping to the window at his side. Harry stared at it. He could see the whites of the Auror's eyes in the reflection.
The bald man paused for a moment. By the next, he had gone back to reading his paper as though nothing had happened.
"- Harry?"
"Yeah, sorry." Harry reached towards the scarf, wrapping it gently around his hands, "I'll be back in a day or two -"
"Oh, I wouldn't count on that." said Tom knowingly, "The Quidditch World Cup can go on for days - it went on for a month, once."
"Hopefully it'll be shorter this time." Harry remarked before pausing, "Although I suppose a week or two would be fine."
Tom smiled.
"That's the spirit -"
Crack.
The world twisted. Harry felt a hook pulling somewhere behind the navel, tugging him roughly. Light flashed before him, curving and twisting in intricate patterns, and then -
Wham.
Harry slammed face-first into the dirt. Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet, spitting out blades of grass.
"Ah, Mr. Potter!" someone chanted, "Come on, up you get!"
Harry turned, brushing dirt from his robes. Two men stood before him, both dressed rather inexpertly as muggles. The one who'd spoken wore a kilt and a poncho, whilst the man to his left wore a tweed suit and galoshes.
"Sorry, who are you -"
"Basil, Mr. Potter, you can call me Basil!" he shook Harry's hand enthusiastically before returning to the stack of parchment in his hand, "Now, let's see . . . Potter . .. Potter . . . ah ha!"
He ripped a sheet from the stack, holding it up to his eyes.
"You've got friends in high places, my boy," Basil murmured. The wizard at his side whistled appreciatively, "You're tent number one, on the first field. Just keep walking down this path. Ask for Mr. Robberts."
"Thanks."
The man nodded, stepping aside as Harry walked past. Harry set off, barely able to see where he was going. The mist here was unnaturally thick. He could just barely make out the tops of thousands of bizarre tents off in the distance.
A small cottage slowly swam into view. A muggle man stood just outside it, dressed in an old button-up suit.
"You wouldn't happen to be Mr. Roberts, would you?" Harry asked uncertainly.
"I would indeed." the man replied, "And you are?"
"Harry Potter."
"Potter . . ." the man murmured, combing over his stack of sheets, "Potter . . ."
"I'm in tent number one if it helps."
"It does, actually." Mr. Roberts pulled a new stack of sheets out from behind him. He frowned uncertainly, "Although it says here you're meant to arrive tomorrow -"
"Change of plans?" said Harry weakly.
"That's quite alright. Everything's all ready for you as it is. Might as well put it to use, don't you think?"
Harry nodded quickly. He watched as Mr. Roberts ducked through the front window of his cottage, returning with a shining silver key.
"That's for you." he said sharply, "Your fees have already been paid, so you're all set to go."
"Brilliant." said Harry cheerfully, "Have a good day."
"You too, lad."
The campsite was only a short walk away. Harry stared in awe at some of the tents. Many of them almost looked passably muggle (though many of them had slipped up by adding chimneys or windows). Others, however, had completely given up trying. One was over twenty feet tall, whilst another was almost certainly made of brick. Harry even passed one made of marble, a number of peacocks attached to its entrance via leads.
He finally reached the end of the camp, just next to the forest that led towards the stadium. A single tent sat before him, looking perfectly ordinary to him. Harry bent over, unzipping it with a flick of his wrist before peeking inside. Harry felt his jaw drop.
I love magic.