A bit early. I'm definitely far too proud of this chapter name (for those who haven't worked it out, copy it into a certain language in Google Translate and you may understand). It makes sense, though, seeing as we're about to meet them both. The delegations have officially arrived and the Triwizard Tournament is soon to begin . . .
I've started a Discord. I intend for it to be a small, relaxed server - nothing too 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 Saturday after next.
Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate
The Desolations of Destiny
VII. The Cherry of the Court
"First years to the front, please!" Professor McGonagall called from before a sea of students, "Weasleys, hand those ridiculous things to me this instant!"
Harry snickered as the Weasley twins cursed, stepping out from the oncoming Gryffindors. A number of oddly bright sweets slipped from their grasp into Professor McGonagall's outstretched palm.
"Hurry along now," she said sternly, pocketing the sweets, "You're to stand with the other delegates by the front."
The twins slowly stalked off. Professor McGonagall's head turned with catlike speed, her eyes narrowing upon the ledge that Harry sat on.
"Enjoying yourself back here, Mr. Potter?"
"A little."
Professor McGonagall frowned.
"I've no time for such impetuous games," she said softly, "Get down and join your Slytherin peers -"
"I got permission from Snape," Harry lied quickly, "Because - er - I didn't want to take any attention away from the moment. The Slytherins stood near the delegates, you see. Snape thought I'd cast a shadow over their hard work."
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips.
"I'll be checking with Professor Snape before the night's end," she told him pointedly.
"You do that."
It's been a while since I've got detention. I'm starting to miss it.
With one last frown, the Scottish professor disappeared behind the backmost row of students. Harry watched as the crowd closed around her, pulling a white mouse from his pocket. He canceled the Freezing Charm coating it with a wave of his wand.
Harry glanced around as the mouse took a few nervous steps. No one was watching.
"Imperio."
The mouse froze. Harry's eyes rolled back as control slipped across his senses.
Mine. You're mine.
Harry shook his head, frowning at the thoughts in his head.
You're thirsty, aren't you? Drink.
The mouse crawled towards a small puddle near the wall, gratefully dipping its head. Harry studied it carefully.
Not always evil. Just often.
A wave of sound erupted through the crowd. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry glimpsed a bright blue carriage soaring through the sky. He gave it little more than a glimpse before turning back to the mouse.
You can go now. Be safe.
"You'll probably want to stay away from Mrs. Norris, too," Harry added aloud, "She'd probably think you're one of the meals from the Welcoming Feast."
The mouse squeaked incoherently before dashing off.
That wasn't nearly as difficult as I expected, even if it was a mouse -
Harry froze. A familiar something drew closer, feeling just as Astoria had by the Great Lake. Harry closed his eyes, his heartbeat quickening as the faint sensation grew, its source edging closer and closer -
Suddenly, it stopped. Harry was sure it was little more than a foot away from him now.
"Astoria."
Harry could almost feel the girl's frown.
"How'd you know it was me?" she pouted.
Harry opened his eyes. Vibrant colors assaulted his vision. At the center stood Astoria, rays of sunlight casting her hair in a golden glow. With her pale skin and newly braided hair, she looked alarmingly similar to her older sister.
"Magic," Harry murmured, bemused, "I thought you were standing with Daphne?"
"I was," Astoria agreed.
"Got bored?"
Astoria shook her head.
"I've been meaning to talk to you," she admitted softly, "Alone. Now seemed like the perfect time."
"And Daphne just let you go?"
Astoria shrugged.
"I told her I needed to use the loo. And Luna's doing a good enough job at distracting her, anyway -"
The girl glanced over her shoulder. Harry tracked her gaze. Sure enough, a dreamy-eyed Luna Lovegood was babbling loudly from the middle of the Slytherin section, a thoroughly irritated Daphne standing to her right. Harry snorted.
"I wanted to give you this," Astoria continued, pulling the Marauder's Map from the pocket of her robes, "It's yours."
Harry took it from her, holding it gingerly. He slowly lowered a single finger to its surface.
"Mischief Managed."
The glossy red ink of the map faded into nothingness. Astoria watched as Harry tucked the map into his pocket, her fingers tapping anxiously at her sides.
"You're nervous."
Astoria paused.
"What makes you say that?" she asked, frowning.
"I can feel it."
"You - you can?" she squeaked quietly. Harry watched as she took a slow, unsteady breath.
"We saw you with Lestrange," Astoria said quickly, "Luna and I, on the night Professor Lupin died."
Confusion stretched across Harry's features.
"Of course you did," he said slowly, "Where else could I have been -"
"I mean after Snape left," Astoria muttered, "Lestrange's name was on top of yours. Then Lupin's got to close, and then -"
He died.
"We weren't sure what had happened, so - so we went back -"
Harry stared pointedly at the girl, who suddenly seemed unable to meet his eyes.
"After I specifically told you to go back to the castle?"
"I wanted to listen!" she said earnestly, "I did, but Luna said we'd be alright. She's often right about things like that."
Harry frowned.
"What did you see?"
"You," Astoria whispered. Harry shivered at the faint awe that coated her voice, "Burning the dementors to ash."
Something uncertain churned in Harry's stomach. His jaw clenched firmly.
"I won't tell anyone," said Astoria quickly, "Not ever. You saved me."
"Not even Daphne?"
Astoria shook her head.
"Daph already worries enough about the two of us," she whispered, "I don't want to add to it. I think she suspects, though -"
"She definitely does," Harry grinned, "She's clever like that. But I imagine she'd rather not have to face facts. You're right, it probably would get her worked up . . ."
Harry trailed off as the sounds grew louder from the crowd beyond them.
"Have you decided if you're going to join the delegations?"
Astoria nodded.
"I have. Mother sent my signed slip just last night."
"And Daphne's okay with it?"
"You'll be Champion," said Astoria simply, "Knowing that you'll be there with me comforts her -"
"I might not," Harry frowned, "There are some others who've got a shot at it -"
Diggory, probably. Maybe that Johnson girl from Gryffindor, too.
"It'll be you," said Astoria with an air of certainty, "Luna thinks so, too. We both have ten galleons on it."
Harry laughed.
"Daphne doesn't know you've started gambling, does she?"
"No, and she isn't going to find out -"
"It's him!"
Harry and Astoria both turned around. Hushed whispers twisted through the crowd as many students cloaked in fur stalked toward the castle. At the front of their line, a goateed man walked side-by-side none other than -
"Victor Krum," Harry muttered, surprised, "I didn't know he was so young."
"He's grouchier than I expected," Astoria added. They watched as the Durmstrang students made their way down the grounds and up the stairs leading towards the entrance hall -
Harry froze.
Something familiar pressed against the side of his chest. It was a person, he was sure - he was beginning to recognize the sensation. But this time, he felt two -
Bright blue eyes slipped onto his, framed by long, dark hair.
The girl from the World Cup stadium. Cerise.
Her eyes had left him before he'd so much as finished his thought. Harry watched as she led the rest of the Beauxbatons students towards the castle, following in the shadow of the most enormous woman Harry had ever seen.
I should visit Hagrid. It's been a while.
Heads were swiveling again. Harry frowned, watching as several seventh-year boys stared at something past the towering Beauxbatons headmistresses.
"There isn't a third delegation, is -" Harry started. His breath quickly left him.
She was gorgeous. Long silver hair fell past her shoulders, a single thin braid in front of her left ear. Her skin was as pale as porcelain, her teeth white like stars in the night sky. Above them, sky blue eyes sat above cheekbones strong and high.
A sliver of magic slipped across Harry's skin, and for the briefest of moments, Harry wanted to do something spectacular. He frowned, squashing that feeling almost instantly.
Odd. Like the Veelas at the World Cup.
"She looks a bit like Daphne," Astoria whispered.
"A bit," Harry admitted.
She looks like Emily.
He shifted uncomfortably at the realization.
"You should probably get back to your sister," he told Astoria, still watching the silver-haired girl, "We'll be heading in soon."
Astoria nodded slowly, glancing between the girl and Harry with a slight frown.
"Oh, and you should probably stop staring at me so obviously, too," Harry added, turning to the girl, "Nott thinks you've got a crush on me."
Harry had to stifle a laugh as Astoria slipped back into the crowd, blushing furiously.
"I was joking, you know," a voice called lazily from his right, "Though I might've been more right than I realised."
Harry glanced at Nott. The boy leaned leisurely against the wall, watching as the other students hurried back into the hall.
"Library?"
"Nah," Theo murmured, "I went exploring. It's not often you get the castle to yourself. I saw the delegations arriving, though."
"Do you know anything about them?" Harry asked curiously, "I reckon that Beauxbatons Headmistress is taller than Hagrid."
"Half-giant," Nott whispered, "She hides it well enough, considering how obvious it should be. Hagrid's probably like that, too."
Harry frowned.
"He never mentioned it."
"Why the fuck would he?" Nott asked loudly, "What, you think he'd go around telling people his dad got a giantess pregnant?"
"What makes you think his mum was the giant?"
Nott stared blankly at him.
"If it were his dad, his mum would've died from internally bleeding long before she could pop out a kid."
What is he - oh. Gross.
Harry grimaced at the horrifying images that whirled around his head.
The line leading into the Great Hall was slowly thinning. Harry and Nott joined the other Slytherins along the leftmost wall, eventually reaching the middle of the Slytherin table.
"Someone's having fun," Nott muttered.
Harry glanced over. Sitting across the table, Malfoy was talking loudly to the Durmstrang Delegations. Harry noticed that the platinum blonde seemed particularly interested in one delegate in particular.
"Astoria's right," Harry whispered privately, "Krum does look awfully grouchy."
"That's the Malfoy effect," Nott yawned.
"Welcome all!" Dumbledore called from behind his lectern. Harry and Nott quickly slipped into seats, "It is my greatest pleasure to invite you all to Hogwarts. The Triwizard tournament shall commence shortly, but until then, I ask that you enjoy what all we have to offer. Tuck in!"
Plates all across the Great Hall suddenly filled with food. Harry piled a number of odd dishes onto his plate, looking up only upon feeling someone slip into the seat to his left. Daphne reached for his plate, taking several black puddings for herself.
"What took so long?" Harry frowned.
"Astoria disappeared for a bit," she said, "I needed to be sure she was alright."
Nott glanced at Harry, winking.
"What's wrong with him?" Daphne frowned.
"Bug flew into his eye," Harry said quickly, stamping on Nott's foot. The boy choked on his steak.
Harry tore his way through what remained of his meal. Eager for seconds, he reached towards the center of the table. Several empty bowls awaited him. All that remained were a few foreign dishes Harry didn't recognize.
He pointed at a bowl of what looked like shellfish stew.
"What's that?"
Daphne shrugged.
"French food."
"Or Scandinavian," said Nott offhandedly.
"Probably French," Harry glanced along the table, his eyes slipping across the fur coats of the Durmstrang students, "I reckon Krum and the others ate the food they recognized."
A quick look at the Ravenclaw table proved him right. The few meals that remained there were certainly not British, nor were they anything like the shellfish stew to Harry's right. Harry watched as a girl tentatively pulled a bowl closer, lowering a single spoonful to her plate -
It's her.
Silver hair glimmered beneath the stars beyond the enchanted ceiling. Harry grimaced as the uncomfortable desire to impress picked at his mind once more.
I've felt that before.
Harry closed his eyes. A short girl stood before him, her wand pointed at his throat. Beside them, the unmoving bodies of two Death Eaters littered the forest floor.
Like the girl from the Quidditch World Cup.
Harry studied the silver-haired someone, frowning. She seemed short, too -
I could speak to her. I'd probably recognize the accent.
The girl brought a spoonful to her mouth. Harry watched as a slight frown marred her features.
Granted, it could have been just about any other Veela . . .
Harry paused.
"Theo?"
"Hmm?"
"You reckon she's a Veela?"
Harry nodded toward the girl at the Ravenclaw table. Nott glanced over, and for the faintest moment, his eyes seemed to dull.
"What the -" he started, blinking furiously, "That's not normal -"
"I know. It feels like a foreign compulsion to impress -"
"I was talking about her face, actually."
Beside them, Daphne frowned.
"She's sitting alone," she noted curiously, "You'd think she'd at least sit closer to the other Beauxbatons students -"
Harry frowned, looking back. Sure enough, there was a slight - but definitely noticeable - gap between the silver-haired girl and the other Beauxbatons students.
"She doesn't seem particularly bothered about it," Nott noticed.
"She doesn't seem particularly bothered about the staring, either," Daphne pointed out, unimpressed, "Looks can be deceiving."
Harry glanced around the hall. More than a few heads were turned her way. A pang of sympathy flickered in his chest.
I know what it's like to be wanted for the wrong reasons.
Harry fingered his scar absentmindedly. Beside him, Daphne watched him carefully. Harry didn't need to ask to know what she was thinking.
I can almost feel the approval radiating from her.
He spent what remained of the feast watching the delegates. A single question burned bright in his mind as he studied them, replaying itself over and over again -
Which two will I compete against?
Krum seemed a sure candidate for the Durmstrang students, though Harry knew admittedly very little about the Scandinavian students. Beauxbatons, however, felt much more difficult to choose from -
Harry's eyes returned to the Ravenclaw table for what must've been the hundredth time.
Cerise. Cerise . . .
The black-haired girl sat almost perfectly in the middle of the Beauxbatons students, an easy smile etched upon her face. Harry felt something stirring in his chest as her eyes glimmered beneath the torches that lined the Great Hall.
Maybe -
The large, oak doors of the Great Hall swung open. Everyone turned, watching curiously as a hoard of witches and wizards stormed in, followed by what looked like an oversized goblet.
"What in Merlin's name is that for?" Nott asked, trailing the goblet with his eyes.
Harry shrugged.
"I've heard the French are big fans of wine," Harry started. He was only half-joking.
Voices rose throughout the hall. It was only when Harry spotted a familiar, lime-green bowler hat that he understood why.
"Fudge is here," he whispered to Nott and Daphne. Both of them straightened up. They all watched as the portly minister stopped just beyond the staff table, engrossed in conversation with the two men on either side of him.
"Are those -"
"Not a chance," Nott whispered, "There's no way the other Ministers of Magic would bother to show."
"Maybe they would," Harry argued, "Dumbledore, Snape, and Fudge all made it sound like a big deal -"
"'Course they did. They wouldn't want it to sound boring, would they?"
"No, I mean globally. Economically, politically - all that."
Nott shrugged before pausing.
"When did you talk to Fudge?" he asked curiously.
"World Cup. He insisted we sit together."
"What's he like?"
"Alright, I guess," Harry thought for a moment, "A bit lax, really -"
"If I could have your attention, please!" Dumbledore called from behind his lectern. The rows of food vanished at once, "The start of the Triwizard Tournament is just moments away, but first, there are a few people I would like to introduce to you."
The headmaster waved to the side, indicating the two who sat on either side.
"First, if we could please give a warm welcome to Headmaster Igor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime -"
Thunderous applause broke out from the foreign students. Harry watched, half bemused, as the Beauxbatons students all rose from their seats. They only sat down upon seeing the curt nod of their headmistress.
"Secondly, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports -"
"I recognize those two," Harry whispered to Nott and Daphne as the students clapped politely, "Saw them at the World Cup -"
"Thirdly, to three men who have so graciously chosen to spend their time with us tonight," Dumbledore called, "Ministers Fudge, Laurent, and Bjerke."
"Fucking hell," Nott muttered. Harry couldn't help but agree.
Whispers ripped through the hall, echoing far louder than the applause. Once again, the French students rose. Minister Laurent waved them off with an easy smile, his eyes sliding along the Slytherin table. Harry frowned.
Dumbledore mentioned that the French were wary.
"And finally, the many others who have made this very tournament possible!"
A smattering of polite applause rang once more.
"The Tournament, as you all know, will be split in three, with one task being held at each of the three schools. The champion's efforts in each task will be scored out of fifty by a panel of five judges consisting of myself, Headmaster Igor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, and Mr. Ludo Bagman."
The students seemed to perk up at this. Dumbledore chuckled lightly.
"Now, there is just one more thing I must add before the Tournament may begin," he said quietly. The students leaned closer, "Through the combined efforts of the British, French, and Scandinavian Ministries, this Triwizard Tournament will be the very first to be viewed all over the world."
Buzz erupted along three of the tables. Harry noticed that the foreign students, like the Slytherins, did not seem particularly surprised by this knowledge.
"That would be because of this," Dumbledore said, holding up a small glass sphere. Harry watched as the headmaster let go, the miniature orb still floating in the air, "An eye just as capable of sight as yours or mine. It, alongside two others, will be used to project the efforts of the three Champions across the magical world."
The Gryffindor students stared at the sphere with something akin to awe. Even Hermione seemed unusually entranced by it -
She's probably more interested in how it works.
"Enough has been said. Now is the time for things to be done," Dumbledore stepped from the lectern, vanishing it with a wave of his wand, "Mr. Filch, if you please."
The old caretaker hobbled forward, heaving under the apparent weight of a goblet the size of his head. He placed it squarely on the cobblestone floor. Harry watched with interest as the goblet collapsed, the molten metal pooling within the cracks in the stone.
What the -
Gasps echoed through the hall as the material shivered, coalescing and growing into something great. Within seconds, it was taller than Dumbledore himself.
"The Goblet of Fire," Dumbledore whispered, as the cooling metal took the shape of a grand chalice. A plume of sapphire flames sputtered to life just above it, "An impartial judge. It will select just one, worthy candidate from each of the three schools."
The torches around the hall went out. Only the glow of the goblet remained.
"Glory awaits, but think carefully for just a moment," Dumbledore stared into the flames, "These tasks will challenge you unlike anything else. Everything that makes you you - your brains, your brawn, the magic that trickles beneath your skin - all of it will be pushed to its very limits. Once entered, there is no backing out. You must play until the very end. Consider this well.
"Those of age and wishing to enter are to write their names and school clearly on a sheet of paper before tossing it into the goblet. In twenty-four hours, a champion from each school will be chosen. Until then, I implore you all to enjoy yourselves as we welcome our foreign guests. Good night to all. Another day of wonder awaits us!"
Noise burst through the Great Hall again as the students rose as one.
"Spheres, huh?" Nott said loudly, "Makes sense, I suppose. Wouldn't be much of a spectacle if you couldn't see what was going on."
Harry nodded, lost in thought.
No Fiendfyre tricks, then.
The two of them followed Daphne down the length of the Slytherin table. A large number of people crowded around the door, all waiting to depart from the hall. Harry watched as Karkaroff stepped before his students, urging them forward.
"Did you eat enough, Victor?" the Durmstrang Headmaster asked a surly boy near the front, "Shall I send to the kitchens for more mulled wine?"
Silver hair swirled in the corner of Harry's eye. He turned, watching as the Beauxbatons delegates crowded around the door, the silver-haired girl hovering just behind them. Nearest the center, Cerise was muttering to an older Slytherin girl who looked an awful lot like Daphne -
"Harry Potter," a low, drawling voice called.
The crowd froze. Harry looked around, his eyes landing on a hook-nosed man with long, greasy hair. Harry grit his teeth.
"Yes, Professor?"
A sea of eyes swirled toward him. A slight trill of satisfaction welled up in his chest upon realising that both Cerise and the silver-haired girl were watching him now.
Not that either of them seem particularly impressed.
The silver-haired girl had already turned away. Harry felt the sliver of satisfaction burn away, consumed by a vast ocean of discomfort.
"The Headmaster wishes me to speak with you," Snape drawled. Harry's jaw clenched at the faint smile that lined the man's face, "Come."
Snape stalked out of the Great Hall, the crowd parting in his wake. With an irritable sigh, Harry followed.
"Harry Potter," Harry repeated, his voice firm as he followed Snape down the dungeons that led to the Potions Classroom, "You've not called me Harry Potter once in my life -"
The Potions Master shrugged.
"There may have been a Durmstrang student named Harry, or perhaps a Beauxbatons student by the name of Potter," Snape said curtly, "It is my unenviable task to ensure that our guests are not left to confusion."
"How thoughtful of you," Harry remarked through gritted teeth.
The door to the Potions Classroom swung open as they approached. Harry followed Snape into his office, sliding the door shut behind him.
"Sit," Snape ordered, sinking into a rather uncomfortable-looking wooden chair, "We have much to discuss."
Harry sank slowly into the seat opposite him. He watched on as Snape leaned down, pulling a thin sheet of parchment from his desk drawer -
"Your Detention Form," Snape said, passing it to Harry, "You're to hand it over to Professor McGonagall by tomorrow evening or risk being ineligible for the Triwizard Tournament -"
"What for?"
Snape sneered at him.
"I don't recall giving you permission to sit apart from your peers, Mr. Potter," he snarled, leaning in, "Imagine Professor McGonagall's surprise when she heard . . ."
Harry grudgingly took the slip from Snape's long, thin fingers.
Ineligible for the tournament . . . there's no the Goblet of Fire would give a shit, would it?
Harry paused, thinking carefully. Snape's voice droned on in the background.
". . . though I wonder . . . are you incapable of paying attention or simply slow?" Snape drawled from somewhere before him.
"Er - what?"
"Both, perhaps," Snape straightened up, "I shall make it simply for you. Public perception is vastly different here than it is anywhere else."
Harry stared.
"What's that got to do with me?"
"I asked the same of the Headmaster, though he had no response worth repeating," Snape drawled, "Now, the British population is largely willing to overlook the Fiendfyre incident. Hogwarts, after all, is known for its . . . eccentricities. When coupled with the war taking place little over a decade ago, something as unusual and terrifying as Fiendfyre or a Basilisk becomes little more than a normal Tuesday."
Harry stilled. If Snape noticed, he didn't seem to care.
"Such stunts on Hogwarts grounds are one thing. The Headmaster is more than willing to clean up your mess -"
"'My mess?'" Harry asked, eyes narrowed. Snape stared at him, unimpressed.
"What I am trying to tell you," Snape whispered, "Is that once you are off the Hogwarts grounds, you will no longer be able to hide behind Albus Dumbledore. He can protect you from a great deal, it is true -"
Snape leaned closer.
"- but not everything."
Harry frowned. Below the desk, his fingers pressed tight against the chair's edges.
"I'm not part of the delegations," Harry said slowly, "What makes you so sure I'll be Champion?"
"Dumbledore seems to believe it. He's much more doubtful that you'll be willing to enter the Tournament. I, naturally and more rationally, believe the opposite -"
Harry rolled his eyes.
"- though the truth remains to be seen," Snape finished, "Any questions?"
"Nope."
"Then get to bed."
Harry stalked out of the room, ignoring the eyes that seemed to follow him through the door and out of sight.
-(xXx)-
"We don't need it, we just need to - ouch!"
Harry and Nott both groaned, rubbing their heads furiously. A sharp burst of pain flickered around Harry's scar.
"That's one of the downsides, actually," Harry murmured. He held the Marauder's Map aloft, "The map doesn't show every object in Hogwarts. Just the big stuff or the ones that don't move. I can't tell you the number of times I've walked into something -"
"Funnily enough, I think I believe you," Nott glared at the bookshelf they had just walked into, "Stupid, worthless stack of wood -"
Harry dragged him along the hall that led toward the Library.
"I still can't believe you never told me about this," Nott moaned, "Does Daphne know?"
"Er - no," Harry admitted, "But that's because I remembered to tell her."
Harry paused.
"Astoria does, though," he added, thinking carefully, "It was an emergency, and she needed to borrow it for a bit. Don't tell Daphne."
"Wasn't planning on it," Nott yawned.
The two of them slipped through the library door, which was cracked ajar. Nott looked around wildly.
"Anyone here?"
Harry checked the map.
"Not in the library, no -"
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Harry's eyes widened.
"Hide!"
"What -"
Harry Disillusioned them with a hurried wave of his wand. The door slid open less than a second later.
"Who's there?" Filch called loudly, a flickering lantern floating to his right. Two Ravenclaw Prefects hovered at his side, "I know you're in here!"
Harry held his breath. Nott did, too.
One of the Prefects turned to Filch, looking confused.
"How do you know someone's in here?" he asked slowly, "Literally nothing happened. No one's made a sound."
Filch glared at the boy, swaying irritably.
"Idiot, you are," he snapped. Harry almost sighed as the caretaker closed the door and hobbled out of sight, "Got to get whipping unbanned . . . always said it's the only way to teach 'em . . ."
Their steps grew dimmer. After a few moments, Harry let out a steady sigh. The Disillusionment Charm slowly faded into nothingness.
"You didn't see them on the map, did you?" asked Nott curiously.
Harry shook his head.
"Felt them. I dunno how else to explain it -"
"You don't have to," Theo said simply, "I know what you mean. Grandfather's mentioned it."
Harry nodded in understanding.
"Weird, though," Harry whispered curiously, "I barely felt Filch . . ."
If the Prefects weren't there, I doubt I'd have noticed him at all.
"Huh," Nott frowned, "I guess he really is a squib, then."
"What?"
"You're feeling magic," explained Nott, "If you can't feel his, he must not have much of it. He's a squib . . . I always wondered -"
"I suppose that makes sense," Harry frowned, "Is it common, being able to feel magic?"
Nott shrugged.
"It's not an ability, exactly. Not in the way you're thinking. It's just something you can do once you've got enough control. Like spinning a quaffle on your finger, or something."
"You reckon someone like McGonagall could do it?"
"Maybe," Nott admitted, "I reckon Snape and Flitwick are more likely -"
"Snape?"
"Oh yeah," Nott nodded quickly, "There's a reason he got a job at Hogwarts the moment he left school. He knows his stuff."
"I'll take your word for it," Harry decided, leading Nott further into the library, "Has your grandfather told you much about feeling magic?"
"No, why?"
Harry pursed his lips.
"You know the Beauxbatons girl with the silver hair?"
Nott slid to a stop. Harry ignored the pointed stare the boy gave him.
"It's not that," Harry said, exasperated, "I'm not like in love with her or something -"
"I wouldn't have believed that, either," Nott said, "Veelas can't create love, just a desire to impress."
Harry paused.
"So she's definitely a Veela, then?"
"Definitely," Nott agreed, "You wouldn't get that feeling if she wasn't."
"Couldn't she be - I dunno - part Veela, or something? Like half Veela, or a quarter?"
Nott slowly shook his head.
"Doesn't work like that. The daughter of a Veela is a Veela, and the son of a Veela isn't. It's as simple as that."
Harry frowned.
"They aren't like centaurs or mermaids, are they?"
"Half-humans, you mean?" Nott said, "No. Those were made through a combination of ritualistic magic and fucking animals -
"Yeah, I know, I know," said Harry, his cheeks tinted a faint red. Nott smirked, "So it's different, then? Hereditary, sort of like Parseltongue?"
Except in my case, of course.
Nott paused.
"Sure," he said eventually, "Probably an attempt at sacrificial magic thousands of years ago that became heredity. It's more an ability than anything."
"So they're witches with extra abilities," Harry surmised, "And the Ministry labels them as creatures because -"
"- corruption, politics, and all that other shite, yeah." Theo nodded. Harry stared at him.
"How do you know all this, anyway?" he asked curiously.
"We've got a house over in Bulgaria," Nott said simply, "Father brought us to a Veela Enclave once. They nearly killed him about five times. Nevermind that, though, we're getting off track -"
"Right," Harry straightened up, "She seems familiar, the girl. I think I saw her at the Quidditch World Cup."
"But?"
"But," Harry continued, "I don't know if the girl I saw was just another Veela."
"Can't you feel it?"
"I'm not that good," Harry snapped, "I almost mixed up Astoria and Pansy the other day -"
"Parkinson?" Nott snorted, "You've got to get more practice in, then -"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Harry said, "You don't know the answer though, do you?"
"Not really," Nott shrugged, "All I know about Veelas is how to resist their Allures. Doesn't help much, though, when they look like that."
Harry nodded slowly. They stalked towards a row near the end of the library.
"You could nick a book on Veelas if you wanted to, you know," Nott suggested helpfully.
Harry shook his head.
"They probably wouldn't have the answers, either," Harry frowned, "Most wizards only seem interested in their faces or bodies."
"The fire magic's cool, too," Nott added, "But the bird magic is a tad bit terrifying."
Harry nodded in agreement, forcing back a shiver at the memory of the Veelas' transformation during the Quidditch World Cup.
The two of them slowed to a stop. Before them, sitting on a shelf just out of reach, was a single, battered book.
"Told you we should come now," said Nott knowingly, pulling out his wand. He summoned the book with a flick of his wrist, "If we'd come in the morning, someone would've already checked it out."
Harry took the book from him, reading the thin, silver script:
'The Ancient Origins of the Goblet of Fire'
Harry handed it back to Nott, who eagerly flipped it open. Harry, looking over his shoulder, continued to read:
'Though officially cited to muggles as a means of consulting with Gods, the Goblet of Fire was commonly used by Roman Emperors as a means of ensuring success. The Goblet, well-known for procuring those most capable of performing a needed task, strengthened the power and control Rome possessed. It is this unique ability that is responsible for much of Ancient Rome's military achievement.
The Goblet's power, however, was not eternal. In the days of the Roman Empire, the Goblet of Fire (then referred to as 'Vesta's Hearth') was guarded by a college of six witches, referred to as the Vestal Virgins. When the flames went out, the six witches were often executed (most commonly through living burial).'
"Brilliant," Nott whispered, "Let's go."
The two of them snuck out of the library and down the long, windy passage that led to the Slytherin Common Room. Harry glanced at the Great Hall as they passed. He could just barely make out the sapphire flames of the goblet, the light slipping through the door's edges.
"You could enter right now, you know," Nott muttered, "There isn't any pressure if no one's watching."
"I don't have any parchment or -"
Harry froze. He had felt it. Something intimate, someone he hadn't seen in ages -
Bella.
Harry spun around. The ghost of curly black hair vanished down a corridor and out of sight. Harry rubbed his eyes furiously.
"You alright?" Nott asked worriedly.
"I'm not sure," Harry muttered, confused, "One sec -"
He pulled the Marauder's Map from the pocket of his robes, holding it carefully.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Red ink spread across the parchment. Harry held the paper up to his glasses, studying the outline of the Great Hall.
"You know," Harry said finally, lowering the map, "I reckon I don't need to enter my name at all."
Harry pocketed the map, the inky footsteps of Bellatrix Lestrange skipping towards the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest.