P*T*E*N Page is up and running, slightly ahead of FFN and AO3. This pace will change to significantly ahead of FFN/AO3 once we reach the next hiatus point (at the end of the Durmstrang Arc). Visit P*T*E*N / 521dream if interested. Posted stories include A Flaw in Fate and Sacred Sight (A King's Path Rewrite/Remaster).
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The next chapter will be published the Saturday after next.
Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate
The Desolations of Destiny
XVII. Home is Where the Heart Is
Harry turned Nagel's photograph. His eyes traced the two gravestones drawn on the back.
You've got to want it . . .
Thin fingers subconsciously snaked up to his neck, pressing gently against his left shoulder. He winced. A heavy breath escaped him as he rubbed against the new scars that marred his skin.
"You look scared," a voice murmured.
Harry looked up. The common room of the Hogwarts Express was empty. On the opposite wall sat the long, thin mirror Harry had spoken to once before.
"I'm not," Harry hissed irritably. His fingers fell back into his lap.
"It's okay, you know," the mirror assured him, "We all feel fear. Even me."
"I'm not afraid."
"Sure you aren't. But I recognize that look, dear. The blonde girl wore it too."
Harry's head shot up like a rocket.
"Astoria?"
He could almost imagine the mirror shaking its head.
"No, no," it murmured, "The vacant-eyed one. They call her Loony sometimes."
"Luna," Harry said, frowning, "What's wrong with Luna?"
"Don't know. She wouldn't tell me."
"They're not bullying her, are they?"
"Don't think so. Unless you're one of them?"
"What?" Harry stared at the mirror, bewildered, "Why the fuck would I do that?"
"Not sure," said the mirror, "But she said your name. I heard it."
"What else? Who else did she mention?"
"I . . . I can't really remember," the mirror whispered, "I . . . I'm not meant to remember . . . just to sing praises and show your face."
Harry's feet tapped quickly against the wooden floors.
"Just think, please. Don't you remember anything?"
The mirror went silent. Harry stood in the darkness, waiting, and then -
"Something strange . . . Le - Le -"
"Lestrange."
The mirror practically glowed.
"That's the one," it agreed softly, "Something Lestrange. And a . . . a man, and a stone, and . . . I don't know."
Harry closed his eyes, preserving the mirror's words in his mind.
"Say I am scared," he finally admitted, opening his eyes, "What would you do about it?"
"Depends," the mirror admitted, "What are you scared of?"
"Pain, I think," Harry muttered, "I splinched recently. I've never felt pain like that in my life."
"You don't want to apparate again?"
"I do. I just don't want to get hurt again."
"And you think you will since you have before."
"Yeah," Harry admitted, nodding his head, "I - I didn't think it'd hurt that much."
"So you're giving up. You won't apparate ever again."
"No, of course not -"
"Then what's the problem?" the mirror asked, "Either you get over it or you don't. No need to waste time being scared."
Harry stared at the mirror, frowning.
"I could start off slow again. Ease myself back into it."
"What's the point?" the mirror argued, "You know you can do the easy bits. I heard them talking about you. Watching you jump across the Durmstrang grounds with ease."
But Harry shook his head again.
"I was splinching even then. It was just on a smaller scale. Hairs or fingernails. Stuff like that."
The mirror said nothing for a long time. After what felt like minutes, its low voice permeated the room.
"You'll always find an excuse if you're looking for one."
Harry's stomach churned. Nerves twisted through his chest as he turned to the door.
Excuses . . .
"What's your name?" he asked the mirror, pulling his wand from his robes. He could almost hear the mirror's dry laughs.
"Do you really think anyone bothered to give me one?"
Harry shrugged.
"There's a word written on your frame. Doesn't that mean anything?"
"Magus. Latin for magician."
"I've never seen a magical mirror with Magus written on it."
"I think I was a gift," the mirror muttered, "A gift for Roman muggles, thousands of years ago. Magus . . . a magician's mirror."
"You were made during Roman times?" Harry asked curiously, "Do you remember your first owners?"
"I - I - no . . ." the mirror frowned, "I liked them, I think . . . they valued me. They saw me when they glanced my way, not their faces . . ."
"Magus," Harry smiled faintly, "I'm Harry Potter."
"Harry Potter," the mirror repeated uncertainly, "I am Magus."
Harry nodded approvingly.
"You're right, by the way," he added as he turned around, heading to the door, "Excuses . . . that's all they are, excuses."
Magus shimmered somewhere behind him.
"There's no shame in them. Just a waste of time. A seed that will one day blossom into a gargantuan bloom of regret."
Harry nodded, pulling the door open. Snow gently slipped from the skies, blanketing the Durmstrang Grounds before him.
Destination, determination, deliberation.
Harry closed the door behind him, fasting his robes tighter around his form.
You've got to want it. Want it more than anything in the world . . .
He pictured his first home. Two gravestones grew larger in his mind.
"Home. I'm going home . . ."
He closed his eyes, breathing heavily as a surge of magic slipped beneath his skin -
Crack!
Harry slammed into the ground. Snow covered him, his body shivering from the cold. Harry ignored the feeling, quickly pushing himself up to his feet. A sea of gravestones sat before him.
"I did it," Harry's breath fogged up the air before him, "I did it. I fucking did it."
He laughed happily, jumping with excitement. Behind him, a cluster of flowers blossomed before each of his parents' graves.
Harry froze. He turned around, carefully inspecting the newly grown roses. His fingers wrapped tight around his wand.
That wasn't me.
"Homenum Revelio," Harry muttered, holding his wand aloft. Nothing happened. No one was there.
Harry glanced back at the flowers again. Something stuck out from the roses clustered atop his mother's grave, something papery and thin -
Harry held out his hand. The piece of parchment soared into his grasp. Harry held it up to the light, reading:
'The bravest acts are not those performed in the absence of fear but rather those performed in spite of it.'
The words were long and thin, a stark difference from Bella's erratic handwriting. Beneath it, a single symbol was stamped at the bottom. Harry recognized it instantly: a circle within a triangle intersected by a single line.
The Deathly Hallows.
Harry pocketed the letter, disapparating with a loud crack.
-(xXx)-
"You look sad."
Harry frowned. Luna's half-braided hair slipped from his hands as he glanced across the room.
"Do I?"
Astoria nodded slowly.
"You've been moping about for a while now," Astoria said. She rose from her armchair, striding across the room and resting on the floor beside him, "Ever since the Hogsmeade visit."
Harry sighed gently. He returned his gaze to Luna's hair, his hands raised in a half-hearted attempt to properly braid it.
"You think I'm homesick?"
"I think you're Daphne sick," Astoria frowned, "I think you miss my sister."
Harry frowned.
"It's November twenty-third," Harry reminded her, "The day before the first task. I'm bound to feel a bit nervous, believe it or not."
"But you're not," Astoria studied him carefully, "You're Harry. You don't get nervous. Not from things like that."
She took Luna's hair from him, holding it gingerly. Harry watched as she delicately weaved the golden strands into an ornate pattern.
"You miss her, don't you? Don't lie."
"A bit," Harry admitted, "It's just - we're not meant to return to Hogwarts until Christmas break. That feels like an eternity from now."
"So?"
"What do you mean, so?"
"What's stopping you from visiting her now?" Astoria asked, "You know, apparating back to Hogwarts?"
Harry paused. His imagination strung together a picture of his severed arm, buried deep in the Hogsmeade snow.
"Apparating isn't that easy," he said carefully, "If it were, everyone would be jumping across the continent -"
"But you aren't everybody," said Astoria indignantly, "You're different. You're special."
"You can't just say that for everything," Harry argued irritably.
"Why not?" Luna asked sagely from before them, "She's right, isn't she?"
"Yes, I am," Astoria strode across the room, checking the time on a watch that lay atop a table, "You've got three hours before curfew -"
"I don't care about curfew," said Harry absentmindedly, "It's not like they could stop me from leaving if I wanted to."
"That's the spirit!" Astoria cheered, "In that case, all you've got to do is make sure Daphne knows you're coming. I can tell her if you want -"
"No, Harry shook his head, holding his palm out. A thin sheet of parchment soared beneath his door, through the hall, and into his outstretched hand, "It's better if I do it."
"Why?"
"Because," Harry began, summoning a quill and ink, "She'll know it's an emergency if I say it. She'll know it's important."
He lowered the quill to the sheet of parchment, writing:
'The Astronomy Tower, midnight. Don't be late.'
"She's going to think someone died," Astoria muttered, watching as Harry cast the quill aside, "You can't just leave it ambiguous like that -"
But Harry stood up, pocketing the sheet of parchment.
"I'm Harry Potter, aren't I?" he grinned at her, "I can do whatever the fuck I want."
He laughed as Astoria stuck her tongue out, retreating to his dormitory with a head full of uncertainties.
-(xXx)-
His feet sank further into the Scandinavian snow. Harry frowned, waving his wand lazily before him.
Eleven forty. Twenty more minutes.
He set off, lengthening the distance between him and the Hogwarts Express. The gentle breeze pressed against his face as he walked on, the gleaming scarlet engine becoming little more than a speck in the background.
Bam.
Harry turned. Faint lights glimmered from just outside the Beauxbatons carriage. His eyes narrowed.
Someone's going a bit overkill on their midnight dueling session.
He changed course, setting off for the Beauxbatons carriage. The carriage, though shorter than the Hogwarts Express, was very big. A dozen Abraxans stood at its front, connected to the cart by unusually thick leads. To the carriage's left, a dueling dummy wheeled about, ducking and dodging between a stream of spellwork. Harry watched as it careened through the snow, doing its very best to escape a silver-haired girl in blue Beauxbatons robes.
Gabrielle.
Her eyes shone with confidence. Harry watched as she twisted on the spot, cleanly avoiding a stream of magic the dummy sent her way. Gabrielle spun between two beads of light, lowering herself to the floor and sending a spell at the dummy's right arm -
Wham.
A streak of silver light slammed into her shoulder. Harry watched as the girl flew through the air, landing in the snow with a gentle crash.
And the confidence fades away . . .
The girl rose. Harry watched, fascinated, as she clambered back to the dummy, her wand arm raised. Spell after spell escaped her, and then -
Crash.
The dummy toppled over, unmoving. Gabrielle let out a heavy, shaky breath.
She's getting better.
Harry strode through the darkness, the gentle clapping of his hands cracking the sudden silence.
"That was brilliant," he applauded, "You're an incredible dueler when you believe in yourself."
Gabrielle spun around. Her wand, long and thin, was pointed just between Harry's eyes.
"Oh," she said irritably, lowering her wand as her eyes slipped across his features, "It's you."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Gabrielle ignored him, helping the dummy up with a wave of her wand.
"It's past curfew," she muttered, "You shouldn't be here. You'll get us in trouble."
Harry frowned.
"You don't have to worry. It's not like I plan on staying here long, anyway."
Gabrielle's eyes narrowed into thin slits.
"Where are you going?"
"Home."
Gabrielle's eyes widened for a fraction of a second.
"Home," she repeated quickly, "What do you mean, home?"
Harry smiled weakly.
"Home, obviously. You know, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry . . ."
He trailed off, watching as Gabrielle turned back to the dummy. It rose into the air with a rough wave of her wand, soaring into a box sitting to the side of the Beauxbatons Carriage.
"You're not going to tell, are you?" Harry asked her, tightening his robes.
"No," said Gabrielle pointedly, "Just go already."
Harry stared at her. Her fingers reached for her hair, tucking loose strands just behind her ear. A frustrated sigh escaped her lips.
I'm not the only one who's homesick.
"Delacour," he began uncertainly, tucking his hands into his pocket, "Do you miss your home?"
Gabrielle glared at him.
"That isn't any of your business."
"I don't disagree," Harry frowned, "But I can apparate. Something tells me you can't."
The girl stared at him. Harry could almost see the gears turning behind her skull.
"France is a long way away," she said softly.
Harry shrugged.
"Scotland is, too," he muttered, "And, for what it's worth, I don't think distance matters as much as most people think."
Just makes us more nervous. A self-imposed limitation.
Uncertainty pooled in his chest. Harry shoved the feeling aside, taking a deep, steady breath.
"You've apparated before."
It wasn't a question. Harry nodded along, trying not to let the discomfort show in his face. He checked the time again, waving his wand through the air.
Eleven forty-five.
"If you want to come, we need to leave now," said Harry seriously, "Time's quickly ticking away."
Gabrielle nodded. Harry watched as she threw her hood over her head, returning her wand to the insides of her robes.
"Come," she whispered softly, "We must not be near the Beauxbatons carriage. Madame Maxime can not see us."
"She won't let you go home?" Harry frowned.
"Partially," Gabrielle muttered, "She also wouldn't be pleased to see who I was leaving with."
Harry paused, surprised.
"What's wrong with me?" he asked indignantly.
"You're you," Gabrielle said simply, "Rumors would spread. I'm in the papers more than enough as it is. I don't need your help."
"You are?" Harry asked curiously, "Why?"
Gabrielle ignored him again. He followed her through the snow-strewn grounds and toward the forest.
"I need to know where to take you, by the way," Harry reminded her.
"Delacour Château."
Harry blinked in surprise.
"I - that's not very helpful."
The silver-haired girl sighed, turning around. Her pale blue eyes latched onto his.
"Then see for yourself," she told him tiredly, "It's probably best that you know what our destination looks like, anyway."
"I - you want me to break into your mind?"
Gabrielle rolled her eyes.
"You're not breaking in, I'm opening the door for you," she said, exasperated, "'Break in' - you couldn't break into my mind if you tried."
Harry's lips thinned.
"You really believe that?"
"Yes, I do. Now stop wasting my time."
Harry frowned, peering into Gabrielle's mind. An obnoxiously large building swam into view, surrounded by tall fences and meticulously cut bushes.
"Fucking hell," Harry breathed, "What do your parents do to make that kind of money?"
Gabrielle's lips opened, an irate warning threatening to spill. Harry beat her to it.
"'None of my business', I know," he repeated irritably, "I was just wondering aloud, that's all . . ."
The ends of Gabrielle's lips quirked upward. Harry watched as she turned away, his eyebrows furrowed together in concentration.
"For the record, I'm pretty sure we've got to be touching in order for side-along apparition to work."
"Pretty sure?" repeated Gabrielle, unimpressed.
"There's a first time for everything, you know," Harry snapped irritably, "Did you really think a fourteen-year-old would have much experience side-along apparating?"
Gabrielle paled.
"This is an awful idea."
"Caught on, have you?" Harry scoffed. Gabrielle glared at him.
"Don't act like I came up with the plan," she snapped indignantly, "I'm just stuck in your mess -"
"Now you know what it feels like, then."
The girl grimaced. Harry felt her palm wrap tightly around his wrist.
"Er - you probably don't have to hold on that hard."
Her grip tightened. Harry sighed.
Delacour Château . . . Delacour Château . . .
He closed his eyes, forcing his mind to still. The world around him drowned into nothingness as he focused, picturing the ornate palace Gabrielle had shown him.
I want to go to Delacour Château. I want to go there now.
The world spun, and Harry twisted on the spot -
Crack!
Harry slammed into an open field of grass. A sharp pang of pain flared up in his shoulder.
It smells like flowers.
Harry opened his eyes. Hundreds of roses surrounded him, carefully planted in the dirt surrounding him. He slowly pushed himself to his feet.
Delacour Château was massive. It seemed even bigger in real life than it had earlier - Harry could've sworn he hadn't seen the left or right wings in Gabrielle's mind. He hadn't seen the courtyard, either, and certainly not the rose garden they now found themselves in.
"Home," Gabrielle said lightly, "You brought us home."
"Don't sound so surprised," Harry said irritably. He ignored the relief that thrummed beneath his skin.
I did it.
He held his hands out, inspecting them carefully. Not so much as hair was missing.
"You didn't splinch us, either," Gabrielle noted from his right. She too held her arms out, her eyes roaming them meticulously, "I'll remember that."
"I'm not interested in being a chauffeur -"
"I meant for the Triwizard Tournament," Gabrielle rolled her eyes, "It'll be interesting, competing against someone as . . . competent as myself."
Oh.
"And I don't need a chauffeur, either," the girl informed him, spinning around, "I'll have apparition down to a fine art by the end of the month."
"Sure you will," said Harry sarcastically. He followed the girl down a set of stone steps that led through the rose garden and toward the main gates.
"I am grateful, you know," said Gabrielle earnestly, "I won't forget this."
"Because of the Tournament, right?"
Gabrielle graced him with a rare, genuine smile.
It's a pretty smile, too.
"Right," she nodded, grinning softly, "Because of the Tournament."
Harry smiled back.
"I'll be back in two hours," he told her eventually, his eyes roaming the grand château, "About two in the morning, Durmstrang time."
"Works for me. I'm not exactly in a rush."
Harry laughed, pulling the Language Amulet from his wrist.
"Au revoir, Delacour."
"Au revoir, Harry Potter."
And she strode through the ornate gates that framed the front entrance. Harry spun around, closing his eyes again.
"That's step one done," he whispered to himself, "Just a half dozen steps to go -"
Daphne's pale face swam through his mind. His palms clenched with determination.
Hogsmeade Village. Now.
He twisted on the spot, his mind focused desperately on the snow-covered outskirts where he and Bella had once trained.
Crack.
His feet planted firmly onto solid ground. Harry opened his eyes. The familiar buildings of Hogsmeade village stared back at him. His eyes fell upon his own reflection.
No eyebrows.
"I look like a fucking egg," Harry groaned, raising his wand to his temple, "What's the spell again . . ."
He glanced at his reflection again. A stupid smile covered his face.
"Doesn't matter," he decided, pocketing his wand, "My hair grows back abnormally fast anyway."
It'll probably be back by breakfast.
Harry's fingers fiddled with the watch around his wrist - one of Uncle Vernon's oldest. He hastily set a timer for two in the morning. The watch clicked loudly.
"Brilliant," Harry said, lowering his arm. He threw his hood over his head, and with one last glance at his reflection, set off toward the castle that loomed in the distance.
Time flew by. The snow thinned as Harry reached the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. He quickly hurried up the path leading toward the back entrance, slipping through a passageway he'd found just last year. He pulled the Marauder's Map from his pocket, his eyes jumping from one end to the other. After a few moments, he found Daphne's name.
At the Astronomy Tower. Perfect.
He clambered out of the passageway exit, hurrying down the dark Hogwarts hall. Several portraits hissed irritably at him as he passed. Harry ignored them all, hurrying up the steps and pulling the tower door wide open -
A light brown wand was forced between his eyes. Harry heard a familiar voice sigh with relief.
"Harry," Daphne breathed with relief, "I was worried you were Professor Sinistra -"
"So you decided to point a wand between my eyes, just in case?" Harry asked, bewildered. Daphne ignored him.
"What's happened? Did something go wrong?"
"Why does anything have to have gone wrong?" Harry asked, grinning, "I missed you."
He watched as Daphne deflated, the argument he had prepared himself for wilting into nothingness.
"I missed you too."
Her eyes performed the familiar flick up. The frown was new, though.
"Where'd your eyebrows go?"
Harry sighed irritably.
"On Holiday, I reckon."
Daphne stared pointedly at him.
"Fine, I splinched," he admitted, "They'll grow back soon enough -"
"Splinched?" Daphne paled, "You apparated all the way from - from -"
"From Norway, I think," Harry said helpfully, "But yeah, pretty much."
"Have you lost your mind?"
"Just the eyebrows, I think," said Harry worriedly, "I can't have lost something that big - though I did lose my arm the other day -"
"Stop talking," Daphne said seriously. Her eyes slid nervously between his arms, "I - you're in one piece, right?"
"Think so."
"And you're not at risk of splinching again?"
"Hope so."
"Then everything's alright," Daphne said decidedly, "Just - try not to be an idiot, won't you."
"I wasn't being an idiot," Harry argued, "It's not like there's a better way to come visit you, is there?"
"I suppose not," Daphne agreed hesitantly.
Harry smiled at her, taking a seat on the nearest ledge. He rolled his head back and glanced up at the stars.
"How's Hogwarts been without Astoria and I?"
"Boring," Daphne lay down beside him, looking up. Her head pressed gently against his shoulder, "I've started falling asleep in half of my classes -"
"Doesn't Nott help?"
"Of course not. Theo spends half his time with his head buried in his books. He rarely says a word."
"For what it's worth, most of Durmstrang's classes are boring, too," Harry told her, "But some are interesting. The ones I bother attending, anyway."
"Like?"
"There's a Dueling Class. I'm pretty good at it."
"Have you lost yet?"
"Not even close."
"Of course you haven't."
Harry smiled.
"There's a Dark Arts Class, too," he told her, "I haven't been to that one in a while. I don't think I could go an hour without strangling Balke -"
"Balke?"
"The Dark Arts teacher. Absolutely exhausting," Harry said, his thoughts drifting leisurely, "Oh, and I've started going to Magical History, too."
Daphne stared at him, bewildered.
"What? It's interesting, you know."
"I'm glad you're discovering new hobbies," she said, smiling faintly, "What about Astoria? How's she doing?"
Harry frowned.
"I thought you two were using your notebooks to communicate?"
"We are," Daphne agreed, "But it's easy to lie through quill and ink. I wanted to hear it from you."
"She's happy. She seems pretty excited about seeing and exploring new things."
"And health-wise?"
"Aside from the stasis thingy? Perfectly fine."
Daphne nodded, seemingly content.
"Are you nervous?" she asked eventually, her head pressing firmly against his right shoulder, "About the first task, I mean. It must be less than twelve hours from now . . ."
Harry thought for a moment. His gaze jumped from star to star across the evening sky.
"I don't think so. I have a pretty good idea of what we're meant to do."
"And that is?"
"Scale a mountain. Probably infiltrate a temple at the top, too."
Daphne turned slightly, confusion etched across her features.
"Are you supposed to know this?" she asked worriedly.
Harry slowly shook his head.
"I reckon I could have prepared better," he admitted off-handedly, "You know, looked into more niche skills that would help with climbing or breathing properly that high in the sky. But it feels like that defeats the point, you know? It feels like . . . like -"
"Like cheating?" Daphne finished, her eyebrows raised.
"No, no," Harry shook his head, "Well, maybe it does, but I don't really care about that."
He closed his eyes, thinking carefully.
"I joined the Tournament because I wanted to prove myself. Not to prove myself to others, but to prove myself to myself. I want to know that I'm capable, I want to be absolutely sure. That's why I don't want to overly prepare myself. Does that make sense?"
"Not to me," Daphne murmured, "But I understand why it'd make sense to you."
Harry opened his eyes, glancing over at her. Her fingers were clenched firmly together, her skin going pale from the tightness of her grip.
"You're worried."
Daphne frowned. He watched as she bit her lip uncertainly.
"No. I have enough faith in you to believe you'll be perfectly fine."
"Then?"
Daphne rolled over. Her icy blue eyes glimmered beneath the midnight sky.
"Do you ever stop to think about the dangerous situations you willingly get yourself involved in?"
"What do you mean?"
"In our first year, you chose to chase after Professor Baker," Daphne muttered, "In our second year, you chose to enter the chamber -"
"A girl was dying, Daph," Harry frowned, "I had to help."
"Maybe," Daphne nodded slowly, "But I remember what you were like back then. Moping about all the time, writing into that diary Theo used to see you with . . ."
Daphne blinked furiously, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Be honest with me," she said faintly, "Did you enter the Chamber of Secrets to save Ginny Weasley."
Harry slowly shook his head.
"No, I didn't."
Daphne blinked again, turning up to stare at the stars.
"Then there's last year. When you went and got yourself involved with her."
"Her," repeated Harry, his voice faint.
"Her," Daphne nodded, "Bellatrix Lestrange."
Silence stretched between them. Harry waited until Daphne finally broke it.
"You're still involved with her, too," said Daphne knowingly, "I saw you with her and Nott, last Hogsmeade visit."
"You recognized me?"
"Not at the time," Daphne admitted, "But it wasn't difficult to piece together. I figured it out when I saw Theo after the trip, acting all uptight and defensive."
"Do you want me to stop being around her?" Harry asked solemnly.
"No," Daphne admitted, "Not particularly. So long as you nor my sister are harmed, I don't care. But that's just it, isn't it? The crux of it all -"
"What?"
Daphne sighed.
"I know you're different," she said, "I know you're special. But you keep throwing yourself from one battle to the next. Eventually, you'll start a fight no one can win - not even you."
"You're not talking about the Tournament, are you?"
"No Harry, I'm not. I'm talking about Voldemort."
"You think I won't one day beat her."
"Not quite," Daphne murmured, "It's the fact that I can easily envision a world in which you lose."
She turned to him.
"I don't like that world, Harry. I really, really don't like that world."
"Neither do I," said Harry passionately, "That's what this is all about, that's the motivation behind all of this. We can't let that world become reality. We can let all those people suffer -"
"I don't care about those people," Daphne snapped, "I hate that world because you're not in it."
Harry paused. He watched as Daphne turned back to him, her eyes hot with determination.
"You think all those people care about you?" Daphne asked him, "You've seen how they act the moment your reputation takes a hit - they don't care. You're not their hero, Harry, you're their martyr -"
"I'm not fighting for them," Harry said vehemently, "I'm fighting for me. It just so happens that what I want is a world worth living in."
"And what's that world, Harry? What's it like?"
"No blood purity nonsense," Harry said immediately, "No division between magicals. A world where people are judged for what they're capable of, not whose blood runs within their veins."
"And what part of that requires fighting Voldemort?" asked Daphne, "Why would you possibly have to face her -"
"I don't," Harry grimaced, "I barely even want to anymore -"
"Then why -"
"Because I'm Harry Potter!" Harry hissed furiously, "Because I'm Harry Potter. When she's back, when Lady Voldemort returns to her power - and she will - who do you think is going to be the first person she goes after?"
"But you know her," Daphne frowned, "You've spoken to her since - since -"
"Since she murdered my parents," Harry finished bluntly, "Yeah, I have."
"And you're alive," Daphne noted, "And clearly don't seem completely averse to the possibility of facing her again."
"Correct."
"Which means you aren't enemies. Not completely."
Harry sighed deeply.
"I - I don't know, Daphne. It's confusing."
"If it's confusing for you, imagine what it's like for Nott and I," Daphne whispered.
"Let's make it simpler, then," Harry decided, "What do you want?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. What's your point? What are you trying to tell me?"
Daphne thought for a moment. When she turned back to him, her eyes were bright with a determined fervor once more.
"I want you and my sister to stay safe," she said, "My family too, and Tracey and Nott. If that means not fighting Voldemort, so be it."
"And if she comes after me?" Harry reminded her, "What then?"
Daphne frowned.
"You're not exactly enemies, are you?"
Harry stared at her. Her thoughts were like images that played in her eyes.
Side with Voldemort. Side with Voldemort and let the world burn. So long as we're all safe.
"Selfish," Harry noted quietly.
"Selfish people win," Daphne said indifferently, "And what you want is selfish, too. Just of a different variety."
"How so?"
Daphne turned to him, unimpressed.
"You're fighting to turn your dreams into reality. To realise your goals," she reminded him, "It's purely by chance that your goals happen to benefit others."
Harry's thoughts raced, searching for an argument. He found none.
"Selfish people win," he agreed at last, "And this is a fight I'm not willing to lose."
"Good," Daphne murmured, leaning over. Harry felt her lips press softly against his cheeks. They lingered for a moment, "But you'd better win, Harry. I'll kill you if you don't."
"You promise?"
"I do."
He felt her hands snake across his chest, her leg handing gently over his. His eyes turned upward to face the twinkling stars.
I could live like this forever.
A wave of lethargy fell over him, and Harry closed his eyes, falling fast asleep.
-(xXx)-
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Emerald eyes fluttered open. Harry swiped blindly through the dark, blinking at the source of the sound -
Uncle Vernon's watch.
His eyes flew wide open. Harry stared, panicked, at the clock. It now read two thirty-seven.
"Fuck," Harry whispered, silencing the watch with an idle flick of his wrist, "Fuck, fuck, fuck -"
Gabrielle's going to kill me.
Harry gently pried himself free of Daphne's grasp, standing up. The girl lay fast asleep on the floor of the Astronomy Tower. Harry groaned in disbelief.
"The watch's been going off for nearly forty minutes and I didn't hear a damn thing . . ."
Sighing, Harry toyed with the ring on his finger. He pressed his finger directly atop the gleaming emerald.
If you're awake, Theo, I need you.
The air churned beside him. Harry watched as a groggy Theodore Nott appeared, adorned in his Slytherin pajamas.
"I hate you, Harry -"
"You're awake?" Harry asked, surprised, "Where did you come from?"
"The Common Room," Theo muttered, "Daphne told me to cover for her. Said it was an emergency."
Nott rubbed at his eyes, glancing at Daphne's idle form.
"This is the emergency, huh?"
"Shut up," Harry moaned, "So you've stayed up since twelve, then?"
Theo sleepily shook his head.
"Dozed off a while ago. I was having a good dream, you know. I was in Egypt, ward breaking . . . and the mummy woke up . . . 'talk to the Hand', he says, but I don't wanna talk to the Hand -"
"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Harry interrupted loudly as Nott continued to ramble, "You can skip this part."
"Right," Theo nodded, "Well, I just beat the Hand in an arm wrestle - 'cause he didn't have an arm, you see -"
"Uh-huh. Keep going."
"And then I hear a voice, telling me it needs me if I'm awake. And I wasn't. But the voice woke me up. And now I'm here."
"Right," Harry blinked wildly, shaking his head, "Well, I need you to take her back to the common room and wake her up."
"Why can't you wake her up?"
"Because I'm behind schedule," Harry said, "I'll have to run all the way down to Hogsmeade to apparate back, and the Astronomy tower is much closer to the exit than the Slytherin common room."
"So you're pawning off your dirty work to me."
"That just about sums it up, yeah."
Nott sighed. Harry watched as the boy tiredly hopped across the room, lazily reaching for Daphne's wrist. He missed the first time.
"Only because I'm a good wingman," he said, yawning, "You owe me Butterbeer, by the way."
"Bye Theo."
"Bye egg-head," the boy waved, and with a whirl, he and Daphne disappeared. Harry took a deep breath.
Time to run.
He sprinted down the tower and into the corridor, practically jumping through the secret passageway that led down to the main exit. The oak doors were open ajar - Harry pushed them open, barrelling through the Hogwarts grounds and past the Forbidden Forest. He quickly checked the time -
Two forty-five. I'm very, very dead.
Harry finally felt the subtle presence of the Hogwarts wards fade away. Hogsmeade loomed ahead in the distance.
"Perfect," he breathed, closing his eyes, "Delacour Châteaux, Delacour Château -"
Crack.
Harry opened his eyes. The picturesque, sprawling landscape of the Dealcour grounds awaited him.
"You're late."
Harry turned around. Sat atop one of the nearby pillars was Gabrielle, a carefree smile etched upon her face.
"I'm sorry," Harry said sincerely, "I lost track of time."
"That's quite alright," Gabrielle assured him, "Not exactly in a rush, remember?"
Her gaze flicked upward.
"You look stupid without eyebrows, by the way."
"I know," Harry sighed.
"Why didn't you grow them back?"
Harry shrugged, staring up at her.
"Looks aren't everything, I suppose."
Gabrielle stared at him, surprised. She nodded appreciatively.
"No, they're not," she agreed, jumping down from the pillar. She landed with a loud thud, "The world could do with learning that, that's for sure."
Harry watched as she brushed the dirt from the back of her robes. In the distance behind her, a light appeared behind one of the Delacour windows. Harry squinted.
"Someone's waving at you," he told Gabrielle, "Two someones, actually."
Gabrielle turned. Behind the highest window of the nearest tower stood two women. One of them looked remarkably like Gabrielle, with long silver hair and high cheekbones. The other was a pretty witch with straight brown hair and almond-shaped eyes.
"Ignore them," Gabrielle muttered, dragging him away. Behind her, the two women waved enthusiastically.
"Your sister, I'm guessing?"
"And her girlfriend," Gabrielle said. Her expression softened, "I got lucky, really. They were visiting. It's not often they see maman or papa."
"Is it a struggle for them, being a woman dating a woman?" Harry asked curiously, "I know it would be frowned upon in parts of the muggle world."
Gabrielle shook her head.
"Not particularly. Fleur is a Delacour, after all. And Anaïs has more than proved herself."
"Anaïs?"
"Anaïs Auclair," Gabrielle said, "The Greatest Charms Mistress France has seen in decades."
And the women who taught you the mind arts, according to Cerise.
"There's also the fact that most people don't know. We keep it relatively quiet."
She turned, staring pointedly at him. Harry held up his hands.
"I'm not going to tell anyone," he said honestly, "They can be with whoever the hell they want to be with."
Gabrielle nodded, content. Harry glanced back at the Château. Fleur Delacour smiled at him, blowing a kiss. Gabrielle sent a jinx careening toward the window, muttering darkly under her breath.
"Is she normally like that?"
"No," Gabrielle glared, "Only when she's trying to annoy me."
"How does blowing a kiss to me annoy you?"
"Because you're a boy and I'm a girl. Think, scarhead."
Harry frowned, looking back at the Château. Fleur and Anaïs were giggling to themselves, practically leaning on the oversized window.
"They think we're - we're -" Harry realised aloud. He went bright red.
They think we're together.
"Clocked on, have you?" Gabrielle snapped.
"Eventually, yeah," Harry shook his head, "Isn't she older than you?"
Gabrielle nodded.
"The most immature woman in the world," she muttered, "A useless, miserable, ugly hag -"
"She's beautiful," Harry corrected absentmindedly, "She looks like an older version of you."
Gabrielle stared at him. Harry fought back a groan.
"Don't make it weird," he complained irritably, "And no, I'm not, stuck in your allure -"
"I wasn't going to say anything," Gabrielle said thoughtfully, "We're Veela. Beauty is an innate part of us."
Harry nodded, relieved.
"Will they come to see you during the task tomorrow?"
Gabrielle nodded.
"That's why they're all together. They wish to see my triumph live, not on some enchanted mirror."
"Uh huh," Harry yawned, "You know, in about ten hours you'll be eating your words."
"You think so?"
"I know so."
"But that's not true, is it?" Gabrielle smiled, "I know a lot about what you can do. You know very little about me."
"Do you think you're stronger than me?"
Gabrielle shook her head.
"But I don't need to be," she whispered, "You'll see, in the morning."
Harry rolled his eyes, waving goodbye to the two witches watching them from the window. Fleur and Anaïs waved happily back.
"There's no need for long goodbyes, you'll see them tomorrow," Gabrielle said, dragging his arm down, "Back to Durmstrang we go."
She slid her grasp down to his lower arm, and they twisted, reappearing atop the Durmstrang grounds with a loud crack. The girl straightened up.
"Good night, Harry Potter."
"Good night, Miss Delacour."
And he stood there, watching as the silver-haired girl threw her hood over her head and vanished into the darkness.