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
XVIII. Lucky Doves
"You look restless."
Harry glanced up from his spot by the mantle. Fred and George stood by the exit of the Hogwarts Express, watching him. Each of them had large baskets clutched within their palms.
"The first task starts soon," Harry muttered, raising his watch to his eyes, "In about twenty minutes, in fact. Of course I'm restless."
Fred frowned.
"You should probably get a move on, then," he said, eying the dark green robes that sat atop the center table. The boy picked them up, tossing them across the room and into Harry's lap, "No use loitering about."
Harry sighed, holding the forest green robes before him. They were gorgeous. His surname was stitched beautifully into the back, a silver serpent coiled beneath it. Harry draped the robes over his shoulders, watching as the snake slithered across the back and along the left sleeve.
"Any reason you've been given special robes?" George asked curiously as they stepped through the door of the Hogwarts Express. Harry shrugged.
"Branding, I guess."
George nodded.
"Makes sense. Seems like an easy way to make money, selling robes with your name slapped across 'em."
"This way," Fred muttered to the two of them, pointing at the mountains in the distance, "Look, you can see the stands."
Harry's stomach swirled in his chest. Vast wooden stands dominated the horizon. He winced as a cacophony of shouts rang from the raised seats.
They're not important. Just background noise.
Harry took a slow, steady breath, allowing his expression to fade blank.
"There must be thousands there," George told Fred, "That's good for us."
"It is?" asked Harry faintly.
"Oh yeah," George held out his basket. A number of colorful sweets filled its depths, "More attendees means more buyers. It's absolutely brilliant."
"You're selling sweets?"
"Yup. It was between this or arranging bets, and Dumbledore already put a stop to that."
"Did he?" Harry frowned, "I'd have thought he'd look the other way."
"He did for a while," Fred sighed, "But last Tuesday he caught us making a one hundred galleon bet with an eleven-year-old that Krum wouldn't win the first task."
"Ah. That checks out."
"Well, we thought we might as well make money off sweets than do nothing at all," Fred told him, "Besides, what better way to build an international audience . . ."
His voice faded into nothingness as they approached the stands. Wooden pillars loomed before them on either side, standing at least a hundred feet tall. Beyond them, hundreds of witches and wizards were excitedly hurrying to their seats. A small huddle of Ministry officials stood beyond them, standing just below a floating mirror and a number of odd spheres.
"Might want to throw the hood on," George whispered in Harry's ear, "I imagine you're not in the mood to be signing autographs right now."
He straightened up, winking mischievously before vanishing into the crowd with his brother. Harry tossed his smooth green hood over his head.
Showtime.
"And the Hogwarts Champion arrives!" Bagman announced loudly, having spotted his approach. A number of heads turned his way, "Quickly, Harry - just beside Miss Delacour!"
Harry nodded, doing as told. The silver-haired girl in question looked particularly composed today. She was dressed in robes of baby blue, her hair tied up in a sleek and elegant ponytail.
"You're nervous," she noted plainly. Harry stared at her, confused.
"What makes you think that?"
The French girl motioned to her lips.
"Blank face," she whispered, "Unnatural. I'm more than adept with the mind arts, as I'm sure you remember."
"I remember reading your mind like a book -"
"With my permission," Gabrielle frowned, "Odd. I wasn't sure whether you'd be nervous."
"I'm not."
Gabrielle raised a single eyebrow.
"Not even you're this slow," she sighed, "I told you, scarhead, I recognize the blankness of your features -"
"Of course you do. They're like yours, aren't they?"
The girl stared at him inquisitively.
"I think you're nervous," Harry explained quietly, "I know you're hiding it with Occlumency."
"And you aren't?" the girl asked stiffly.
Harry shook his head, letting his mask fall. His limbs jittered restlessly at his sides.
"Impatient, if we're being honest."
I've waited far too long for this.
"Everything ready?" Bagman said to a French witch beside him, "Yes? Brilliant!"
The blue-eyed ex-beater turned wildly to face the three champions.
"Now then," he said loudly, clapping his hands, "The first task of the Triwizard Tournament is to begin momentarily. Your Headmasters or Headmistress, I'm sure you've noticed, are all seated along the center podium behind us . . ."
Harry spun around. Sure enough, Professor Dumbledore was sitting comfortably within a tall, thin chair at the center of the left pillar.
". . . set up the spheres in just a moment, at which point the task will begin!"
"What of the task?" Krum mumbled from Harry's right, "You never told us what to do."
"You'll be finding out soon enough, don't you worry!" Bagman told them, wagging a finger, "We'll want that moment captured through the spheres, though. That way people all across the world can see your reactions!"
The man turned around, motioning to the three spheres that hovered behind him. The oversized mirror hovered just beyond them, showing the excitable faces of the roaring crowd.
"Delacour's good to go?"
"Check!"
"And Potter's?"
"Check!"
"Krum's?"
"Check!"
"Lovely. Ready when you are."
Harry glanced speculatively at the sphere opposite him.
"Can this thing hear what we say?"
"It's got hearing capabilities just shy of your average witch or wizard," Bagman told them eagerly, "Which reminds me - any foul language picked up on the spheres will result in a two galleon fine. If you're unable to pay, the money will be taken from your school's charter . . . well, you get the idea."
The three spheres suddenly glimmered. Harry watched as they rose up in the air, the mirror above them suddenly splitting into three parts that showed his, Gabrielle, and Krum's faces.
"That's our cue!" Bagman whispered, "Sonorous!"
And he turned around, looking up at the three shimmering spheres.
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first task of the one hundred and seventy-ninth Triwizard Tournament!" Bagman roared. The crowd surged opposite him, "Now, the task will begin shortly, but before it can, our three champions - and you - need to know exactly what they're up against!"
Bagman turned around, facing them again. Harry's heart raced as the man pulled out a photograph of a rather familiar creature.
A Firebird.
"Do any of you know what this is?" Bagman asked curiously. Harry remained quiet, waiting for the silence to be broken -
"A Firebird," said Gabrielle. Krum nodded in agreement.
"A Firebird!" Bagman nodded, holding the photograph up for the spheres to see, "Also known as Lucky Doves. There's a reason they possess such a title - their feathers, you see, grant the holder immense luck. Just once - and only once - will the feather provide you with fortune beyond your wildest imagination."
The crowd stirred behind them. Harry ignored them, his gaze fixed on the photograph in Bagman's hands.
"Resting within the depths of the mountain behind us is a temple of fire and fortune, built millenia ago. The task at hand is simple. Find the needle in the haystack - or, in this case, the feather hidden within."
Harry froze. His eyes flicked to the mountain, landing near the cave entrance he and Gabrielle had discovered weeks ago.
"Now, there are three different paths leading toward the temple," Bagman continued, "One rather short, one abnormally long, and one in between. In the spirit of luck and fortune, your paths will be assigned to you through a game of chance. Miss Estelle, if you please?"
The French witch from earlier stepped forward, holding out a bag.
"The number you draw will determine the order in which you each will be selecting your path," Bagman told them, "Firstly, representing Durmstrang Institute, Victor Krum!"
The crowd roared as the Durmstrang boy strode forward. Harry watched as the boy dipped his hand into the bag.
Not one. Anything but one -
Victor removed his hand, a sheet of folded parchment clenched within his palms. Harry watched as the boy opened it carefully -
"Oh no, we've found our three!" Bagman announced to a series of booing, "It seems like Durmstrang's Champion will have no say in the path he takes today!"
Harry let out a sigh of relief. The excitable man turned to him.
"Representing Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I give you Harry Potter! Harry, if you please -"
Harry stepped forward, quickly dipping his hand into the bag. Nerves flickered in his chest as he removed his palm -
"That's our two!" Bagman shouted. Harry grit his teeth, "Which means our final champion, representing Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, will be selecting her path first. I present to you, ladies and gentlemen, Gabrielle Delacour!"
Gabrielle stepped forward cheerfully, pulling a thin sheet of parchment from the bag. Harry watched as she held up the sheet for the spheres to see.
"Miss Delacour, you have three paths to choose from," said Bagman, grinning, "Left, right, or middle. Which will it be?"
Harry glanced past them. Three winded paths wormed their way up the mountain. The one he and Gabrielle had once walked sat firmly in the middle.
"The middle one, please."
Another roar escaped the crowd as Harry fought back a groan. Bagman quickly turned to him.
"Mister Potter, the turn is now yours. Left or right?"
Harry looked over his shoulder, sizing up the two remaining paths. The both of them seemed equally long and winded.
Fuck this luck bullshit.
"Left, I suppose."
"Which leaves Mister Krum with the path on the right!" Bagman announced, "Champions, you have ten seconds to find your starting positions!"
The huddle of Ministry Officials hurried off to the sidelines. Harry slowly stalked toward the path on the very left, his sphere hovering leisurely behind him.
"You will be scored out of fifty based on how valiant your attempt at obtaining the firebird feather was. Whichever champion returns with the feather will, of course, be awarded additional points . . ."
Harry nodded absentmindedly, withdrawing his wand. He carefully studied the path that lay before him.
". . . oh, and one more thing. Should you return with the firebird feather, you are permitted to use it as you see fit during the second task."
Harry's eyes widened. He could just barely make out the sudden stiffening of Gabrielle and Fleur several dozens of meters to his right. An oppressive roar blanketed them as Harry straightened up. He forced his mind calm.
Focus. There's no one here but you.
"Ready yourselves, champions. The Tournament begins in three . . . in two . . . in one . . . now!"
Harry surged forward. The roaring stadium behind him vanished as his winded path journeyed around the mountain's base.
"Just me and you, huh?" Harry whispered, looking up at the floating sphere. It gleamed as the morning sun began to peek through the unending clouds.
They can hear you. Don't forget . . .
"I wonder how that works," Harry leaned forward as the pathway grew steeper, "My voice, Delacour's, and Krum's all at the same time . . . that's bound to be confusing. Wonder how they worked around that."
That Estelle witch must be a genius.
Harry suddenly slowed to a stop. A large, gloomy archway was carved into the mountain some thirty feet before him, short stone pillars standing on either side. Bowls of fire sat atop the both of them, glowing a sinister scarlet.
"Go on, ya fucker!"
Harry jumped, spinning around. What could only be an abnormally large ferret stood on its hindlegs, hissing irritably at him.
"What the - you can talk?"
"Well spotted. Watcha want, a fuckin trophy?"
"It'd be nice if you stopped swearing," Harry frowned, "I reckon they'll fine me for it."
"Why don't ya make me, ya little pussy -"
Wham.
A burst of crimson light streaked toward the creature, sending it hurtling through the air. Harry watched, unimpressed, as it shakily rose to its feet.
"Need more convincing?"
The creature glared darkly at him.
"Hate the British, I do. Nasty little buggers, taking what ain't theirs . . ."
"What are you?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowing, "If you're smart you won't try getting me fined again -"
"Jarvey. That's what them all callin me -"
"Is that your name, or what your - er - species is called?"
"Species, ya dickhead -"
Wham.
"Just tell me anything you know," Harry snapped irritably, "Anything of use."
"Like what?"
"Like how long you've been here."
"Day or two. Took me from me home, they did -"
"Did they bring anyone else?"
"Yup," the jarvey glared, "Hate them, I do. Brought the towels, and the duffers, and all sorts of yuckies."
"Towels?"
"Hate them fuckers. Freeze everything over. Makes me sad."
Harry grimaced.
Dementors, then.
"And the duffers? What are they like?"
The jarvey thought for a moment.
"Big and strong and stupid. Always breaking things -"
"Trolls?"
The jarvey shrugged.
"They're all waiting for ya, in there," the creature pointed toward the gloomy archway, "Best be on guard . . ."
And with that, the jarvey bounded off into the snow. Harry let out a heavy sigh.
That alone probably cost me a dozen galleons.
"Only one way forward," Harry muttered dryly, stepping toward the archway. The familiar insides of the hollowed mountain stared back at him, "And onwards we go."
The pathway spiraled upward, eventually forking into three different halls. Harry took the one on the very left.
The one leading closest to the temple.
Ice and frost coated the walls and stone floors. Harry watched, shivering, as his breath fogged up before him.
"Calorem Focis," he murmured. A surge of heat spread across him.
That's better.
"Cold?" a voice loomed in the darkness before him. Harry held his wand out, "Death is, too."
A figure stepped forward from the end of the hall. She grew and shrank rapidly, her hair switching between bright red and braided blonde. Harry watched as the woman's features jumped from mother's to Astoria's and back again.
"Death doesn't have to be the end, Harry Potter," the woman whispered, "The shadow of life . . . but Gods care not for the arbitrary laws of nature. Why should you?"
Harry frowned, watching as the woman drew closer. He turned to the sphere that hovered at his left.
"Boggarts are a bit personal, you know," he murmured, "I think I'll handle this one on my own."
Depulso.
Harry watched as the sphere zoomed through the air and back down the hall.
"They do not deserve to watch," the woman crooned. Harry turned, watching as she studied him carefully, "They are not worthy of glimpsing the ambitions of a God."
The woman swirled. In her place, a shimmering sapphire hovered. Harry watched as it broke in two, falling to the floor below.
"Riddikulus," Harry muttered. The stone repaired itself. Harry watched as it rose into the air, zooming off into the darkness again.
Weird.
The sphere slowly floated back to its spot at his left.
"Sorry about that," Harry smiled faintly, "I'm sure you understand."
Probably not.
Harry made his way down to the end of the hallway, stepping out through the opening. A bridge connected where he stood to a familiar gleaming temple.
Perfect.
"Diffindo!"
Harry ducked out of the way, his eyes wide as a silver spell veered past his ear. Standing on a rope bridge on the other side of the temple was Victor Krum. The Durmstrang boy pointed his wand into the air, the tip growing a dark red -
"Protego," Harry spat. Krum's spell spattered harmlessly against his shield, "You motherfucker -"
He pointed his wand at several of the rope bridges to his left, jabbing furiously. Hundreds of wooden planks rose into the air, spinning themselves into splintering daggers.
Get him.
Harry sprinted down the length of his bridge, Krum's shouts echoing through the hollow mountain -
"Incendio!"
Flames flew past his head, crashing into the ropes just behind him. Harry paled as the ropes holding him up were reduced to ash. The floor fell from beneath him, and Harry dropped dozens of feet -
"Accio Mountain Peak!" Harry roared desperately, pouring heaps of magic into his spell. He felt his body slice through the air, and he shot like a rocket high into the sky. He was just a few meters from the crater at the mountain's peak when his body began to fall -
"Arresto Momento," Harry whispered. His body slowed some twenty meters above the glistening temple. Harry's eyes jumped across it, searching desperately for a feather -
There.
A large golden statue sat atop the highest point of the temple. Several shimmering feathers covered its metal body, all inert and cold, but one glistened with what could only be the magic of life. Harry desperately tried to swim through the air, forcing his body closer and closer -
"Ventus." a smooth voice whispered.
A gust of wind caught Harry in the chest, sending him veering to the edge of the cliff. He just barely managed to land a few feet from the edge, glaring daggers at the silver-haired French girl. Gabrielle smiled back, jumping over a stone barrier and hurtling toward the statue that sat on the temple roof -
"Whom dares intrude?" a slow, lifeless voice asked from the temple depths, "Whom dares intrude upon the birthplace of our fortune . . ."
Frost slipped from the temple's edge, coating the floor. Harry paled as the statues that littered the temple grounds began to move, weapons clutched in each of their hands.
"Is it thou?" the voice - clearly feminine - asked again, "A man who seest his foolishness as bravery. Art thy eyes forsooth tainted?"
Harry pointed his wand at the golden temple, forcing his head high. He watched nervously as two women emerged from its depths. Both were crafted from stone and marble, the former black as night and the latter as white as a cloud-filled sky.
"Art thou not a dashing young hero?" the darker woman crooned. She was the one who had spoken before, "Thy naivety is adorable . . ."
The sounds of shattering stones echoed through the mountain. Harry watched as Gabrielle spun through the air on the opposite side of the temple, battling several stone effigies at once -
"Be not frightened, little one," the woman of white whispered kindly, "Be hardy. Firm-set."
"Who are you?" Harry asked uncertainly.
"Man's Dola," she whispered again. Her skin, white as ice, glowed a faint gold, "The stone goddess of fair fortune."
Harry nervously took a step back.
"You're a Goddess?" he asked, wincing as shattering stone rang through the mountain again. Krum flew across the mountain, crashing into a stone barrier some thirty meters away.
"Man's Dola, thou brainsick sirrah," the woman of dark hissed, "A feeble imitation of true divinity, carved from stone millenia since -"
"And you're the same, aren't you?" Harry asked, "Carved from stone, I mean."
The darker one nodded.
"I am man's Nedola, the stone goddess of darker destinies."
Lucky and unlucky.
"Are you a part of the task?"
"We are a part of the temple," Nedola frowned, "That which thou trespass -"
Coldness ripped across Harry's skin, and his mind whirled as horrible memories replayed themselves again and again -
"Hurts, doth it not?" Nedola whispered from somewhere before him, "The future mirrors the past . . . doth thee forsooth believe thou canst outrun destiny?"
Harry grit his teeth, pointing his wand at the fluttering cloaks that hovered above him.
"Expecto Patronum."
A silvery thestral burst from the tip of his wand. Harry collapsed, sighing with relief as his patronus chased the dementors off into the distance.
I hate dementors.
"An admirable assay," Nedola murmured, watching as he pushed himself back to his feet, "Thou hast spirit, young one."
"I have no idea what you're saying," Harry panted, hands on his knees, "Could I just, you know, grab that feather up there? That's all I really need."
"Thou seekest mine sister's hand," Nedola corrected, frowning, "This thou mightst not but earn."
"What?" Harry groaned, irritated, "No, just let me get the feather -"
Wham.
Harry spun through the air, slamming into the stone beneath him. A number of stone statues stood behind him, watching him through the unseeing eyes.
"Thou seekest the fair fortune, dost thou not?" Nedola hissed, holding out her hand. A large spear flew into her outstretched palm, "A feather of divine luck. Is this not what thou seekest?"
Blood slowly slipped from his lip. Harry barely registered as it trickled to the floor below, pushing himself up to his feet.
"It is," Harry muttered. Nedola nodded, satisfied.
"Mine sister is uncommonly particular, young one," she crooned, "She shall grant herself only to the most deserving."
Nedola slammed her spear into the stone. Dark figures lumbered out from a trembling temple, all bedecked in glistening golden armor. Their icy blue skin shimmered as they stepped out into the open. Before them, Nedola smiled wickedly.
"Let us judge thy worth."
A legion of trolls roared, their skin blue like ice. Harry watched as they barrelled toward him, jumping out of the way in the nick of time -
"Bombarda!" he yelled, sending one of the trolls crashing into a wall of stone. It quickly returned it its feet, "Depulso -"
Wham.
Metal slammed into Harry's chest, sending him flying. Harry's head spun. Stars danced before his eyes as the troll edged closer, holding a silver ax high over its head -
No.
"Conteram Abintus," Harry whispered darkly.
A wisp of violet magic escaped his wand. It slammed into the armored troll. Harry scrambled out of the way as the troll swayed, falling lifelessly to the floor with a loud crash. A pool of blood and crushed organs trickled from its open lips.
Unlucky.
Nedola watched him, expressionless, from the temple's entrance. Harry pointed his wand at her.
"Is this what it takes?" he asked angrily, "A few unnecessary deaths for a fucking feather?"
"Wars hast been waged for little more than empty words," Dola said from her sister's right. Her marble lips glistened faintly, "Fate is not the fairest of judges."
"I noticed," Harry spat, ducking out of the way as a stone club flew overhead. He turned irritably toward the troll, who stood near the edge of the inner mountain, "Ventus."
A wave of air slammed into the icy troll. Harry watched as it toppled off the edge, falling to the mountain base far below.
This is bullshit.
Magic sparked throughout the mountain as Harry weaved through the legion of trolls, banishing them towards Krum and Delacour. Nedola watched as he approached.
"If I try to grab the feather, will you stop me?"
Nedola nodded slowly.
"An unsavory morrow stands in thy path. Thou mightst not but wounded it to glimpse the fairest of fates."
"So I have to beat you," Harry surmised, "That's your stupid rule?"
Nedola frowned.
"This is the rule of reality, Harry Potter."
Harry grit his teeth.
"So be it."
His wand tore through the air, ripping the weapons from the nearest trolls' grasps. He banished them at Nedola, who slapped them away with the palm of her stone hand -
"Thou disappointest me, sirrah," Nedola murmured. Harry glared at her.
"Osassula!"
Violet magic cut through Nedola's spear as though it were made of bone. The woman of dark sighed, holding her palm out. Another spear flew into her palm.
"Thou wot, sirrah," Nedola muttered, "A true broil is fought up close. Why not honor thy forefathers? Those who fought with sticks and stones?"
Harry blinked furiously, his eyes falling to the silver amulet that adorned his wrist.
They really should have included old English when they made these language amulets.
"She wishes to sword fight, beloved," Dola explained from behind her, "A real man's broil."
Harry shook his head, glaring at Nedola.
"Like that's going to happen."
Nedola smiled, amused. Harry swore as the stone beneath him snaked up his body, pulling his wand from his grasp.
"Thou forsooth thought thou had a choice?" the woman of dark laughed, waving her hands. The stone before him molded, taking the shape of two stone swords, "Hie now. Claim thy swords."
Harry ignored her, closing his eyes. He condensed the magic that sat within his chest.
Help me.
Strength whispered beneath pale skin. Harry opened his eyes again, a rush of power flowing through his body. The two stone swords flew into his waiting palms.
Fuck the feather. I want to win.
He held the two swords at either side, just as he'd seen on Dudley's television. Nedula smiled.
"Fight, sirrah," she crooned, "Earn thy destiny."
Harry charged. The stone cracked underfoot as he jumped high into the air, slashing at Nedula's head. The stone goddess ducked out of the way, jabbing her spear at where his heart had been just a second prior. She kicked Harry in the chest, pushing the two of them apart.
"At last, the man awakens," the woman of dark laughed, "How I've missed thee."
The spear in her hand turned to gravel. Harry watched as the stone at her feet curved into an oversized greatsword, slowly floating up into the air and wedging itself within Nedula's grasp.
"Hie now. Dance with me."
Nedula lunged. Harry grit his teeth as the greatsword clattered into blades of his own, his feet digging into the floor from the impact. He slipped from beneath the weight, shoving magic into his arm as he slashed wildly at Nedula -
The stone woman faltered. A tar-like substance wept from a wound on her cheek.
"Thou art stronger than thou lookest, sirrah," Nedula awarded him. She brushed the black ichor from her face, "I commend thee."
The greatsword swung through the air. Harry jumped out of the way, his eyes widening as a stone fist slammed into his chest. He quickly got back to his feet, ducking out of the greatsword's path in the nick of time. Thin fingers ran along the sharp side of his swords.
Burn.
Harry nearly fell over as the magic escaped him, washing over his swords. Bright blue flames coated the blades.
"That's better," Harry panted, grinning.
He lunged. Nedula dodged again and again, but her greatsword melted further with every clash they shared. Harry jumped as she lunged at his feet, swiping at her head -
Crack.
His shattered swords fell to the floor. A seething Nedula stood before him, glowing a sinister scarlet. The tar-like substance ran from her marble skull in rivulets.
"Let me go," Harry panted, standing over the stone goddess, "Just let me get the feather -"
"No!" Nedula screeched. The stone floor shattered beneath them, "Thou shalt earn her, thou shalt fight to the death for her hand -"
Anger pooled in his chest. Harry shoved the magic into his fist, limping closer.
"Fine," he spat, holding his fists up, "Have it your way."
Crack.
Harry felt his fist connect as a cloud of dust permeated the hollowed mountain. The stone goddess shattered, collapsing into nothingness.
"Well done, sirrah."
Harry turned, exhausted. Dola approached him, glowing faintly. The cracks in the stone floor repaired themselves as she walked.
"You're - you're not mad?" Harry asked, confused, "Your sister - she's gone -"
"She shall return," Dola smiled, "We are magic incarnate, she and I. Remnants of the Truer world . . ."
Harry nodded slowly. He was vaguely aware of the armored trolls that continued to fight behind him.
"I can grab the feather, right?"
Dola shrugged.
"Perhaps," she frowned, "Fate is not easily unwound. Though it may seem queer in the moment, it doth always resolve in the end."
Harry paused, thinking carefully. He turned back to Dola.
"Do I - er - have your hand, then?"
Dola smiled lovingly.
"For now, sirrah."
Harry nodded.
Good enough.
Harry made his way toward the temple, plucking his wand up from a heap of stones. He quickly pointed it at the rocks, muttering, "Wingardium Leviosa."
The stones jumped into the air, rearranging themselves into a makeshift staircase leading up to the temple roof. Harry hopped up the steps two at a time, eventually stopping just before the firebird statue. The stone stairs crumbled behind him.
Finally.
The real feather sat along the center of the statue's head. Harry reached for it tentatively -
"VENTUS!"
Harry swiped wildly at the feather, but it was too late. A powerful gust of wind slammed into his chest, sending him soaring high into the mountain and through the hole at the very peak -
Wham.
Harry spat out a mouthful of snow, straightening up. He was on the outside of the mountain now. Just a few feet away was the hole he'd flown through. Harry looked through it, watching angrily as Gabrielle streaked past one of the armored trolls and toward the golden temple.
"FUCK!" Harry hissed wildly in Parseltongue, slashing his wand through the air. All of the snow within several hundred feet melted into nothingness, "Filthy fucking hag -"
Chirp!
Harry turned. An ethereal golden bird fluttered before him, identical to the statue below. Harry watched as it came to rest upon the earth before him.
"I - I'm sorry," Harry murmured, his eyes sliding to the left. The ashy remains of a bird's nest swam into view, "I didn't mean to - here -"
He waved his wand tiredly. A beautiful nest wove itself into existence, plopping onto the earth just beside the original one.
"There you are," Harry sank to the ground, exhausted. Pain flared through his chest as the abnormal absence of magic consumed him, "That's better."
The firebird stared at him. Harry watched as it hobbled closer, shaking its head over his lap -
"What -"
The creature stepped back, picking up its new nest with its golden claws. Harry watched as it fluttered off into the distance.
The fuck just happened?
He looked down, his fingers wrapping around something soft and silky. Harry's heart nearly jumped from his chest.
Sat in his lap, clenched firmly within his palm, was a single glistening firebird feather.
-(xXx)-
"Going somewhere?"
Harry rolled his eyes, turning around. A faint smile adorned his features.
It was night now. The midnight sky lulled above them as they stood along the Durmstrang Grounds. Harry watched as the girl edged closer, sporting a grin of her own.
"To Kalddød," Harry admitted, "I'm in the mood to celebrate."
Gabrielle nodded slowly.
"You did well," she said earnestly, "I saw you fighting her, whatever she was. It was impressive."
"Didn't win, though," Harry sighed. Gabrielle grinned.
"You didn't have a chance," she said, laughing, "I told you, didn't I?"
"Uh huh," Harry drawled, unimpressed, "At least I can use what really matters -"
He withdrew the firebird feather from his robes, holding it aloft. Gabrielle pulled a similar one from pocket.
"Two of three champions have the same advantage in the second task," Gabrielle said thoughtfully, "Shame they're letting you use yours -"
"Mine was more impressive," Harry yawned, "Gifted to me by a real firebird. Can't exactly beat that."
"Maybe not," Gabrielle agreed, "But it wasn't exactly what they intended. That's why you didn't score as well as I did - I got the real feather. The one we were supposed to be looking for."
Harry nodded slowly.
"It's not all bad, I suppose," he muttered eventually, "Forty-three points for you, forty for me, and thirty-four for Krum. I can live with that."
"So willing to settle for second place?" Gabrielle teased.
"You got lucky," Harry assured her, "It won't happen again."
"If you say so. But, for what it's worth, you could've dodged the Wind Charm if you'd been paying attention."
"I was tired," Harry frowned, "I just finished fighting a goddess -"
"A man-made stone one."
"What's the difference?"
Gabrielle rolled her eyes.
"You should stop swearing, by the way," Gabrielle added, "I heard it cost you twelve galleons -"
"Fourteen," Harry corrected, "I'm going to strangle that miserable jarvey the moment I see him."
Gabrielle giggled. She glared when Harry stared at her, surprised.
"I don't want to hear it."
"Didn't say anything."
"What are you going to do in Kalddød, then?" Gabrielle asked, changing the subject, "Isn't the place out of bounds?"
"That's more of a suggestion, I reckon," Harry said, "I'll probably go to the Silver Spire. It's an interesting place. Lots of drinking and dueling going on in there."
"Sounds illegal," Gabrielle noted.
Harry shrugged.
"Probably is."
"Can I come?"
Harry stared at her.
"You want to go to the Silver Spire?"
Gabrielle nodded slowly.
"Why wouldn't I?"
"I dunno," Harry admitted, "I guess you just seem a bit . . . posh?"
"Very funny," said Gabrielle blankly, grabbing him by the wrist, "Come on, we're going -"
"Going where, exactly?"
Gabrielle spun around, quickly letting go of Harry's hand. The hulking form of Madame Maxime stood outside the Beauxbatons carriage, watching their every move.
"It's well past curfew, Miss Delacour."
"I was practicing dueling with the training dummies."
"You clearly are not anymore," Madame Maxime frowned, "It is time to say goodbye to your . . . friend. Come along."
Gabrielle nodded quickly, turning to Harry. The girl leaned closer, whispering something in his ear -
"Forty-three points, scarhead."
Harry stared, exasperated, as she walked off. He waved the golden firebird feather high above his head -
"I have one too, genius," Gabrielle yelled back, "You'll need more than just that."
And with one final wave, she vanished into the Beauxbatons carriage. Madame Maxime lingered for a moment, staring at him.
"I know Albus Dumbledore awards his pupils more freedom than most," she began, her silver language amulet gleaming beneath the moonlight, "But it has grown late, Mister Potter. Time for bed."
Harry nodded, waving politely.
"Good night, Madame Maxime."
"Good night."
The door slid shut behind her. Harry threw his hood over his head.
Like I'm going to bed.
Harry laughed quietly, twisting on the spot -
Crack.
The world reappeared before him. Harry straightened up, wading through the snow and into the Silver Spire. A chorus of laughter and jubilation permeated the building.
"I was wondering when you'd return," a monotone voice said.
Harry turned. A cloaked man sat in the nearest booth. Familiarity slipped beneath Harry's skin.
Nagel.
He strode forward, silently changing his voice with a subtle wave of his wand.
"How did you recognize me?" he asked curiously.
Nagel laughed.
"The same way you did me, I imagine," he said, "Well done on the task, by the way. The wandless magic was a nice touch."
"I didn't win -"
"That doesn't matter," Nagel barked dismissively, "You proved yourself. The girl might be first, but you shine the brightest in the minds of the people."
"And how do you know that?" asked Harry skeptically.
"I've been here all day," Nagel said, "Watched the task with the others. You impressed the hell out of them."
Harry nodded thoughtfully, sinking into the seat opposite Nagel. The man offered him a beer.
"You're not going to get drunk again, are you?"
"I wasn't drunk," Nagel defended irritably, "Not that you'd know, being fourteen and all . . ."
The man downed his drink in one large gulp. His mug clattered loudly against the wooden table.
"Never mind that," he said, burping, "You seem less stressed than last time."
"I am," Harry admitted, "I've finished the first task. Did well enough -"
"I was talking about the room."
Harry paused. The faint memory of thousands of glowing scratches flickered through his mind.
"What about it?"
"Well, did it help?"
"I - oh, right. You've never been inside," Harry remembered, "I suppose it did. Gave me a new path to explore."
"And that is?"
Harry thought for a moment.
"The Resurrection Stone," he whispered, "A gateway beyond the dead."
Nagel frowned.
"I don't know, boy," he said, "The Deathly Hallows are little more than an old fairytale -"
"They're real," Harry defended, "I know they are."
Nagel rose to his feet, patting Harry on the shoulder.
"If you're willing to chance it, I suppose," he sighed, "But there are other, more tangible ways."
Irritation flickered in Harry's chest. He forced it to dissipate, smiling politely at Nagel.
"Take care, boy. And enjoy your evening - Merlin knows you've earned it."
"Thanks, Nagel. Take care."
He watched as the man hobbled through the double doors and out of sight, a sense of determination growing in his chest.
They're real. I know they are.
Harry pushed his drink aside, and with one final glance around the bar, disapparated with a loud crack.