A shorter chapter. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it, as this chapter is actually two individual chapters whose scenes were either cut or shortened down (I didn't want to have a bunch of "filler" content between where we are now and the delegations arriving). On the bright side, the next chapter marks the arrival of the other schools. The Triwizard Tournament is soon to begin . . .
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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
VI. The Path Forward
Harry stared at the fire. It burned bright behind the swaying sea of students before it, casting an emerald glow upon the otherwise gloomy common room.
"She never stops talking," one of the first years was saying from below him, "Goes on, and on, and on -"
"Makes sense she was sorted into Hufflepuff then, doesn't it?" said another, "Good ol' house of duffers -"
Harry rolled his eyes, allowing their voices to drown into nothingness.
"They're all the same, witches and wizards like that. They always want something. And whatever that something is, they'll shatter the world in their pursuit of it . . ."
Moody's words spun webs through Harry's skull. Harry frowned at the thought of it.
I'm not like that. I don't want to change anything. I just want to live -
"Yeah, she's a duffer alright. Miserable little mudblood -"
Harry's jaw clenched.
Maybe change a thing or two.
Harry closed his eyes, easing his breathing into a slow, steady pace as his mind calmed itself.
"You don't know what Snape wants, do you?" Theo murmured from his right.
Harry shook his head. Their feet swung lazily through the air as they waited. Up here, sitting on a bookshelf high above the floor, they could see everyone. The other Slytherin looked about as impatient as Harry felt.
"How did the two of you manage to get up there?"
Harry looked down. Astoria was looking up from her sister's lap, staring determinedly at a point just above Harry's shoulder.
"They levitated each other," said Daphne, unimpressed, "That was the loud crash you heard earlier -"
"I only dropped him once," Nott snapped irritably, "and besides, he caught himself, didn't he?"
"I don't understand," Astoria turned to her sister, "Couldn't they just levitate themselves?"
"No, they couldn't," said Daphne simply, "Magic doesn't work like that."
Astoria frowned, confused.
"It's sort of like biting something," Harry called from above, "It's easy enough to bite through food. If you tried biting your tongue, though, you wouldn't be able to put in enough force to actually do much. Goes against your instinct."
Astoria nodded quickly. From beside him, Nott raised an eyebrow.
"When did you start reading up on magical theory?"
"I didn't," Harry whispered, "I mean I do, but that's not why I know that. I figured that out from using magic, not from reading about it."
Nott nodded slowly.
"'Suppose that checks out -"
Slam.
Countless heads spun as the door to the Slytherin common room swung open. Professor Snape strode silently into the room, his robes billowing behind you. The students quieted instantly.
"As all of you are aware, Hogwarts will be playing host to both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang this coming school year," Snape drawled lazily, "Our selected champion will be traveling alongside members of an academic delegation that has already been chosen. If you are unsure whether this delegation includes you, it likely does not."
More than a few irritated expressions could be spotted around the common room. Harry couldn't find itself in him to blame them.
There's no way I'm not good enough to be on the delegation.
"There are, however, a variety of essential details that have seemingly escaped our headmaster's notice," Snape frowned, "You are not to repeat any of them outside this common room.
"The delegates from the other schools are to arrive on the evening of September twentieth. During their welcoming feast, the headmaster will reveal the impartial judge responsible for selecting the three champions."
Professor Snape paused, his already thin lips thinning further.
"You will not, in any way, attempt to hoodwink this judge," he said slowly, "Older students will not use magic in an attempt to change the results. Younger students will not attempt to enter themselves. Is this clear?"
Slytherin house nodded solemnly.
"I assure you, no such attempt will prove successful," Snape noted, "If you are lucky, they will do little more than embarrass our house. At worst, they will strip you of your magic entirely."
Harry felt his breath leave him. Down below, the other Slytherins were giving Snape their utmost attention, their skins pale and their eyes wide.
They'd be little more than the muggles they hate.
"The three champions will be announced on October first," said Snape, "Some of you may be aware that this date is nearly a month earlier than the originally planned date. Note that due to . . . recent events, the tournament's dates are being shifted so it may be held across all three schools rather than Hogwarts alone."
A number of eyes turned to Harry. Beyond them, Snape watched him carefully, eyeing him as though the change were his fault.
Flames of bright gold streaked across the evening sky within Harry's mind. He felt his jaw clench.
He's not wrong. Not that anyone else knows that.
Snape's dark eyes narrowed into slits. Harry felt something pressing gently against his skull. He quickly looked away.
No one but him, Dumbledore, Bella, and Voldemort.
"The first task will take place at Durmstrang," Snape continued eventually, "The Yule Ball and second task will be held at the Beauxbatons, and the final task will occur here at Hogwarts -"
"Yule Ball?" Harry whispered, frowning, "What's the Yule Ball?"
Nott shrugged uncertainly.
"The Scandinavian, French, and British Ministries of Magic are working together to produce a wide range of magical artifacts to be used during this task. One, a new invention, will allow for the three tasks to be viewed across the globe."
Harry froze. Beside him, Nott's head spun.
"I didn't know about this," Harry murmured quickly, "Dumbledore never mentioned it -"
"This marks a first in magical history," Snape said to a stunned crowd, "I expect not just the best from our champion, but our delegation members as well as the members of Slytherin House. I shall be most displeased if any of you cast our house in an unfavorable light."
With that, the potions Professor spun around, vanishing through the common room door and out of sight.
-(xXx)-
What do I want?
The question was a pest to Harry's thoughts, flying far too close for comfort. He frowned as it badgered him, slowly rising up to his feet. The cool, mossy cobblestone slid beneath his fingertips as he rose.
"Power?" Harry mused, shaking his head, "No, that can't be it -"
The vast, unmoving bust of Salazar Slytherin watched him almost judgingly.
"What?" Harry snapped irritably, "If you think I'm interested in lording over the Wizengamot or something, you're sorely mistaken."
He stared at the bust, waiting for a response. Nothing happened.
Spending too much time with Bella is definitely driving me mad.
"I suppose I'm getting a bit ahead of myself," Harry admitted eventually, "I'm no Dumbledore, or Grindelwald, or Voldemort. Not yet, anyway."
And if I ever want to catch up, I've got to survive.
"I can use Fiendfyre, real Fiendfyre. It'd probably get me out of most bad situations."
A faint memory replayed itself in Harry's head. He winced as a wave of golden flames burnt the Forbidden Forest to ash.
"Or kill me," he whispered.
Harry strode across the Chamber of Secrets towards one of many stone columns. He plucked the folded list that sat atop it.
'Prophetic dreams, prophecies, healing magic'
Harry stared at it, frowning. He doubled over, removing a quill and ink from his book bag, and added another to the list.
'Prophetic dreams, prophecies, healing magic, dueling/combat'
"I can't keep pulling the Fiendfyre card," Harry muttered, sighing, "Even Crabbe and Goyle would know it was me if I pulled that stunt in France -"
Harry paused, reading the list again. Thoughts raced through his head at breakneck speed.
The prophecy. I almost forgot about that.
"Scared of a prophecy made by the most pathetic seer of the millennia . . ." Harry repeated Bellatrix's words aloud, hoping that something might click, "Why would Voldemort be scared of a prophecy?"
And what does it have to do with me?
"That's assuming, of course, that the dream was real," Harry told the statue of Salazar Slytherin knowingly, "It's only happened once. For all I know, I could be imagining things."
Harry sighed.
"I suppose I just have to wait to get another, don't I?"
Or I could figure out a way to use Occlumency to block it. It worked on the hallucinations, after all.
Harry frowned.
Not that I necessarily want to.
"Maybe I'm a Seer," Harry laughed, "I could ask Trelawney for some pointers -"
His laughter was cut short as thoughts consumed him once more. Sighing, Harry ducked over his list once again.
'Prophetic dreams, prophecies, healing magic, dueling/combat, divination'
"Just in case," Harry yawned, raising his quill with a flourish. His gaze slowly shifted to his watch: a battered, dull hand-me-down from Uncle Vernon.
Past curfew. Fuck.
Waving goodbye to the empty chamber, Harry hurried up the stairs and into the second floor girl's bathroom. He paused, waiting in silence for the familiar cries of one Moaning Myrtle. Nothing reached his ears.
Traversing the castle proved harder than Harry expected. Sporting neither his Invisibility Cloak nor the Marauder's Map, he felt more vulnerable than he had in a long time. Harry sighed with relief as the thin outline of the Slytherin common room portrait swam into view -
Harry paused. Something strange wafted beyond the corner at the end of the hall. It felt oddly familiar. Whatever it was, it was rapidly approaching. Harry steadied himself, his wand raised -
"Pansy?"
The Slytherin fourth year stared at him, her jaw slack. Clenched in her hand was a thin sheet of paper.
"Potter," she hissed irritably, "What are you doing out of bed?"
Harry stared at her, unimpressed.
"Exploring," he said uncaringly. His gaze turned to the parchment in her hands. His stomach flipped uncomfortably in his chest.
An Academic Delegation permission slip.
"You know who recommended you?" he asked curiously, pointing at the parchment. Pansy frowned.
"Professor Sinistra," she said slowly, her back straighter, "Astronomy's one of my favorite classes. She thought I'd like the stargazing facility at Beauxbatons."
Harry wrestled with the bitter feeling in his chest.
Branching out. That's what Dumbledore calls it: being nice and branching out -
"Congratulations," he smiled weakly, "I hope you enjoy - er - stargazing in France."
Pansy frowned. Harry could tell she was searching for a veiled insult hidden amongst his words.
"Thanks." she said eventually. Harry watched as she stepped past him, heading beyond the common room door and out of sight. The strange, familiar sensation vanished with her.
-(xXx)-
"Body, mind, and spirit," Moody whispered as he stalked across a silent room. An oversized and unmistakably dead spider lay atop his desk, "The three Unforgivables are perhaps the most notorious of all modern magics. Casting one, even if just for a second, will see you spending the rest of your days in Azkaban."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. The faint outline of a tattered diary slid along the insides of his skull.
I've used one. I used one before I'd even turned thirteen.
The hairs along his neck tingled. Harry looked up to find Moody watching him, a curious expression etched upon what remained of the man's face.
"The three are not regarded as 'Unforgivable' because of what they inflect," Moody said, still looking at him, "There are a great many curses capable of breaking even the most skilled witches and wizards. No, they're unforgivable because of what it means to cast them.
"Pure, unadulterated lust," Moody hissed, "You've got to want it. Want it more than anything in the world, want it as though you couldn't live without it. Nothing but sheer, raw desire could result in magic so potent. Unchecked, that sort of desire can leave the unprotected mind a mess."
The students all listened with rapt attention. Harry watched as even Malfoy listened carefully, giving Moody more attention than he'd ever awarded a teacher in his life.
"Some of you, I imagine, will use these curses one day," Professor Moody muttered thoughtfully, "For good, I can only hope . . ."
He nodded pointedly at Hermione, who had raised a nervous hand.
"For good, sir?" Hermione repeated, frowning, "Surely you don't -"
"I surely do, Miss Granger," said Moody sharply. Harry watched as he limped along the length of the classroom, "I've used them all, you know. They've got their uses, if you're careful enough."
Hermione frowned, confused.
"An immediate, painless death. Something capable of ending one's suffering," Professor Moody explained, "A means of controlling those rooted still in fear - saved many lives, the Imperius Curse. And the Cruciatus . . ."
A tight, mirthless smile covered Moody's features. Harry couldn't help but lean closer.
"It makes you feel better, I suppose," he admitted, "Makes you feel like you've finally gotten even, if only for a moment."
He shook his head, turning away. Hermione and the others stared at his retreating form in horror.
"But nevermind that," Moody whispered, twirling his wand. The desks all flew to the ends of the rooms, and their chairs slipped away from beneath them, "I'm not here to teach you to use them. I want to teach you how to survive them.
"Cruciatus is pointless," he said quickly, "Pushes your nerves to the breaking point, but that's it. As long as you aren't under it for too long, your mind remains intact. If you've got enough wits about, you'll find a way to escape when you've got the chance.
"The Killing Curse is absolute. Always lethal -"
Moody's real eye flicked to Harry's scar.
"- almost always." he corrected slowly, "Though I'd advise against attempting to recreate Mr. Potter's inexplicably lucky circumstance."
With a whirl of his wand, a golden ring sparked to life at the room's center. Moody stalked into the middle, staring at them all.
"The Imperius, though," he said gruffly, "That's possible. So long as you want it enough. So long as you want it more than the caster, you can break free. Now then . . . who's first?"
He can't be serious.
The students all stared at each other. Harry nearly jumped as a cold hand firmly grasped his own, a disturbed frown coating Daphne's pale face. At his other side, Nott stared at the center with what he could only hope was determination.
"You can leave, if you want," Moody barked irritably, "You can thank Madam Bones for the escape. But if you're brave enough . . . hungry enough . . . why not get a taste of the real world, eh?"
Not one person headed towards the door. Each watched, waiting for whoever might make the first move.
I wonder what it's like. It'd be helpful to know what it's like, I reckon.
A sea of judging eyes surrounded him.
Though this certainly isn't where I'd like to learn it.
The class stirred as someone finally stepped forward. Moody stared at the boy appraisingly.
"Bold," the ex-auror muttered, nodding, "Not a trait often associated with the House of Serpents."
He leaned closer.
"Why step forward?"
"Better in here than out there," Nott whispered darkly. Moody grinned.
"That's more like it," he said, edging closer, "You know, your father used the Imperius excuse to evade Azkaban -"
Nott's palms balled into fists. Moody smirked.
"- let's see if you're any better than he was."
Moody's wand spun through the air, a burst of raw magic escaping it as he pointed it at Nott.
"IMPERIO!"
Something slammed into Nott's chest. Harry watched, transfixed, as the boy straightened up, an easy smile etched across his features.
Fight it. Go on -
Shivers tore through Nott's body. Breathing heavily, he slowly strode across the room, his face scrunching up with every step he took -
Suddenly, he slowly. His face went red as blood.
With another wave of Moody's wand, the spell ended. Nott collapsed, falling to the floor like a dead body.
"Bravo," Professor Moody said, clapping slowly, "See that? He wants it. Wants it badly."
Moody stared at Nott, who lay on the floor, exhausted.
"Not enough, though," Moody whispered, "Not enough to escape. Not enough to survive."
Moody limped towards Nott, drawing a phial from his robes. He lowered the glass to Nott's lips before helping him up.
"Who's next?" he said eventually.
Neville stepped forward.
"Why?"
"I won't let these curses break me like it broke them. I have to be prepared."
"Good lad," said Moody softly, "Prepare yourself -"
Neville grimaced as Moody's wand rose.
"Imperio!"
Neville relaxed. Harry watched as the same soapy smile overtook him. He began moving a moment later, spinning in circles across the room -
"No," Neville mumbled, nearly tripping. He slowed to a stop, "N-no, I - I won't -"
His face scrunched up with concentration, his eyes clenched. He slowly began to spin again -
Moody's wand flourished, and Neville doubled over.
"Easy does it," Moody muttered, pouring the same potion into Neville's open mouth, "Not bad, not bad at all -"
Neville rose back to his feet, looking thoroughly disappointed. Behind him, Professor Moody looked almost the opposite.
"Two for two," he said, a smile growing, "Already so much more than I expected -"
The electric blue eye jumped to the clock, and his grin disappeared.
"Just time for one more," he whispered, disappointed, "So . . . who will it be?"
Harry stirred.
I want to know. I need to.
Daphne's grip on his wrist tightened. From the corner of his eye, Harry watched as her jaw clenched, worry pooling in her eyes -
Harry wrestled free. With bated breath, he stepped away from her and into the ring.
"Harry Potter," Moody muttered curiously, "I thought you'd be the first . . ."
"Better late than never."
"Maybe," he whispered, frowning, "What's your reason? What makes you think you want it enough?"
Harry paused.
"Because I don't have a choice," he decided eventually, "Not one worth choosing, anyway."
I need to know what it's like.
"Most don't," Moody agreed, "And the ones who think otherwise realise their folly too late."
His arm straightened. Harry stared at his wand, his shoulder tense.
"Imperio!"
Harry's mind blanked. Every problem, every struggle he'd face slowly slipped away, leaving him submerged in a calm, soothing feeling.
"Take a nap," a gentle voice whispered, "It'll be nice. Let's just curl up on the floor and take a nap -"
No.
Harry frowned.
"But why?" the gentle voice whispered, "It'll be great, you'll see -"
But I don't want to.
"I'm not asking, dear. Get on the ground, now."
"I said no," Harry snapped angrily. The gentle voice burnt into nothingness.
"No?" Moody repeated, laughing, "Got some fight in you, eh, Potter?"
Moody turned to the others.
"That's what it takes," he told them, "That's what real magic's about. Not strength, or smarts, or courage. It's about desire. If you want it enough . . . if you really mean it . . ."
The clock struck twelve, and before Moody could finish, the class straightened up and bolted out the door.
-(xXx)-
Voices flew around the rippling surface of the Great Lake. Harry tried to focus on the book set within his palms, his eyebrows scrunched together with concentration
"Skrewts," Nott was saying from somewhere before him, "Miserable, good-for-nothing, Blast-Ended Skrewts. Fuck getting fired, I'm going to help Malfoy get Hagrid arrested -"
Harry cleared his mind. Theo's droning voice slowly faded away. Nodding to himself, Harry returned his attention to the book.
'The Imperius Curse (Class: Unforgivable) is a spell notoriously designed to force the mind into submission. To cast it, one needs not great power, but an unnaturally strong intent. As such, the Imperius Curse (alongside the other Unforgivables) is almost impossible to cast non-verbally.
The history of the Imperius Curse is long and illustrious, with its first known casting occurring near the start of the Middle Ages. To this day, its inventor remains unknown. Though many have argued that the curse can be used for good, the Imperius Curse provided a unique defensive tool for those caught supporting Dark witches or wizards. The spell was finally classified as 'Unforgivable' by the Wizard's Council in 1717, alongside the Killing and Cruciatus Curses -'
"The Imperius Curse?" Daphne frowned, peering over his shoulder, "Did Moody's lesson spark your interest?"
"Something like that."
I reckon it's about as difficult as casting the Killing Curse. With different intent, of course.
"It doesn't seem terrible," Harry muttered curiously, "At least, it doesn't have to be."
Moody was right. You probably could use it for good.
"It's a reflection of human nature," Nott said. Harry looked up as the boy dropped to the earth beside him, "It's about as kind or cruel as we are ourselves."
Harry nodded slowly.
"You've been put under it before, haven't you?" he asked curiously, "You looked like you knew what was happening."
Daphne turned. They both watched as Nott sighed, quietly cracking his knuckles.
"It was grandfather's idea," he said eventually, "Wanted me to know what it's like."
"How long did it take you to get to where you are now?"
Nott frowned.
"It's always been like that," he said, shrugging, "Resisting the Imperius isn't like other magic. You don't get better. It doesn't matter how much power you've got, or how much you practice. It's how much you want it that counts."
Nott turned to Harry, appraising him.
"Grandfather says it takes a special kind of motivation to resist it. That's why you and Neville both did so much better than me."
Harry nodded, staring at the stones that littered the lake's edge.
Bella. He's after Bella.
"You think he wants revenge, don't you?" said Daphne, frowning.
The memory of Neville chasing Bellatrix through the Forbidden Forest replayed itself over and over again.
"Definitely," Harry said with an air of certainty, "He's not over it, not by a long shot -"
"And you?" Nott straightened up, "You did better than either of us. What is it you're after?"
Daphne stiffened. Harry sighed, turning to her.
"Not revenge," he told her reassuringly, "I wasn't lying about being over it."
"Then what?"
Harry paused.
Change, maybe -
Something prickled against the back of his neck. Harry felt the same, familiar sensation he'd felt when he'd caught Pansy sneaking about past curfew -
But different. Something more determined -
His head turned. Across the lake, two blonde heads bobbed behind an oak tree. Harry watched as Astoria, blushing, turned away, dragging Luna Lovegood out of sight.
Nott snickered as the pair walked away.
"Would you look at that, Greengrass?" he grinned, "Who would've guessed your biggest competition would be your sister?"
Harry groaned as Daphne yanked the book from his hands, slamming it firmly across Nott's temple. His eyes slowly slipped shut, and he hung desperately onto the strange feeling as it faded into nothingness.