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Harry Potter and the Perversion of Purity
By ACI100
Book 4: TBD
Chapter 2: The Weight of Destiny
July 10, 1994
Black Manor
4:43 AM
"It pleases me when you come of your own volition," Grindelwald said from his place standing near the window and staring out over Lake Königssee.
Harry mirrored him. Across the water, dark peaks stabbed up from a shroud of fog and mist that appeared one with the lake below. "I need some advice."
Grindelwald removed his withered hands from the window sill and turned to face him. "What ails you?"
"I sat in on a Death Eater meeting tonight." The words sounded absurd in his own ears.
"That is good," the warlord said. "It shows Voldemort's willingness to involve you."
Harry grimaced. "I'd feel a lot better if you used `trust` instead of `involve`."
"Men like Voldemort do not trust." There was a sharpness in the way Grindelwald bit off those words. "They ponder risks and rewards and act appropriately. It is in your best interests for him to believe you a valuable asset until you grow strong enough to oppose him."
Harry fumbled for a retort. "I never said I wanted to oppose him." It was weak, he knew. Grindelwald did not leave openings and seldom missed his mark.
"Yet you have made that choice." A thin smile sliced across the warlord's face. "Do not look so surprised."
"I don't hate him," Harry murmured, averting his eyes. "I get why he did what he did. It was him or me, and my parents were in the way." Sirius Black's gaunt face swam before his eyes. "I would have done the same thing," he finished in a jagged whisper.
"It is not about hating him," Grindelwald said in a gentler voice. "You need not fight out of any hatred. You will fight for freedom. So long as Voldemort lives, you will never have it." Grindelwald looked hard into his face, as though daring a denial. "We both know I am right."
"Part of me hopes we're wrong and that he'll let me be if I help him take over."
Grindelwald's lips writhed into a sneer. "You know he would not. Your existence would threaten his power."
A bitter taste assailed him as Harry fought against a sneer of his own. Why is my life so fucked up? "I know, but I wish I was wrong."
"Some wishes don't come true." A flat cord halfway between sombre and melancholy shuddered through his words as Grindelwald turned his head to stare back out the window. "Focus on the ones you can manifest." A long pause hung between them. When he next spoke, the warlord's voice had levelled out again. "Have you given it much thought and decided what you want?"
"Freedom. You guessed it in one."
"That is not enough."
A belt whistled out of sight, a cupboard door slammed shut, and a young girl screamed and flailed against the restraints pinning her to a church's outer wall. "The muggles are a problem." There. He had said it. "I don't think Voldemort's way will work."
Grindelwald's hand paused halfway through its return trek toward the window sill. "So you believe in my cause?"
Harry stared past Grindelwald and out between the bars, remembering those mountains on a winter's day many years ago. "I think so, but I'm not sure."
"Continue thinking." Grindelwald strode across the cell and lowered himself down onto his ragged cot. "What piece of advice did you come for?"
"Some of Voldemort's followers don't like me." Grindelwald wore one of his customary expressions; the one that told Harry its owner had known whatever it was he had been telling him already. It was infuriating, at times. "The ones he broke out of Azkaban are… extreme."
Grindelwald appeared unfazed. "I imagine a dozen years locked up with dementors would perpetuate one's insecurities, yes."
"They don't even like the followers who helped him get a body back,"' Harry went on. "When the war ended, plenty of that lot said Voldemort used the Imperius Curse on them. It got them out of trouble, but the ones who went to Azkaban think it was betrayal."
"And they view your destruction of their master as treachery on an entirely separate level?"
Harry could not quite suppress a shiver. "Yeah… the way Bellatrix Lestrange looked at me didn't promise good things."
"I would not worry. Voldemort values you too highly. None of them will touch you."
"But won't it be harder to act if his followers don't trust me?" Harry asked. "Won't they go looking for ways of exposing me?"
"What would be suspicious is you acting uncharacteristically in pursuit of their approval," Grindelwald said. "Treat Voldemort with reverence and do not balk at any task he presents to you. They are a means to an end. Be yourself around his followers. The firmest masks are those crafted from layers of truth."
"What should I focus on learning this summer?" he asked. "I have full access to the Black family library, plus I'll be getting lessons from the Death Eaters."
"Absorb everything they offer. Men like Voldemort judge harshly. If there are some he believes capable of sharpening his newest tool, he values their skills highly."
"What about on my own?" Harry pressed.
Grindelwald drummed his fingers on his knee. "You have begun contemplating your next ritual?"
"I'll do it on the autumn solstice."
"Excellent." Grindelwald's bone-thin fingers continued tapping out their rhythmic pattern as he pondered. "Hone the Mind Arts while you have access to Lord Black. Work on applying what Albus taught you in Transfiguration to combat scenarios. Think of how the pair of us used conjurations against one another if you need inspiration." Harry nodded along. "And yes, use the Black's library. I think you are ready for harsher magic whilst I help teach you grander things."
Later that morning…
Sunlight filtered through stained glass, glittering off a pair of inlaid goblets as utensils clinked. Regulus swallowed his mouthful of toast and washed it down with a sip of tea. "Any plans for the week?" he asked.
Harry chewed his eggs. "I'm meeting my friends next Sunday. They should all be back in the country by then."
"Who's travelling? I know Corban and his children, but who else?"
"Pansy's in Spain with her family," Harry said.
"It will be good for you. I can't imagine summer's been easy so far."
A deeper darkness settled in the dining room as scuddling clouds obscured the sun outside. "It hasn't been too hard yet," Harry said with tepid care, "but your cousin looked like she wants to change that."
"Bella was always a bit mad," Regulus admitted. "Azkaban did her no favours."
Harry sipped at his apple juice before responding. "Here's hoping she doesn't take it out on me."
"She doesn't have a wand, at the moment — and even if she did, the Dark Lord would never allow it."
Harry studied Regulus, whose information regarding his treacherous brother had saved Harry's life on more than one occasion. I doubt Voldemort wanted him telling me secrets about Sirius. Harry could trust Regulus. He was almost sure of it. "The Dark Lord said you lot will be teaching me."
"He did, did he?" Harry waited while Regulus sipped his tea again. "We were told nearly a fortnight back."
Harry kept his face schooled. "May I ask who 'we' are? I wasn't given names."
"Let's see," said Regulus, twirling a fork between his fingers. "I'll keep teaching you the Mind Arts while Lucius will be going over some politics and necessary history."
"History?" Harry asked. "I get politics, but why history?"
Regulus shrugged. "That's a question for the Dark Lord, but I think it has something to do with the tournament. He's been fixated on it for some time now."
That was odd. What use is a tournament for children to a man like Voldemort? "Fair enough, I guess. Anyone else?"
"Dolohov will work on your duelling, Barty on some abstract magic."
Stiffness settled in Harry's shoulders. "I thought none of the escapees had wands."
"Crouch and Dolohov are the exceptions. Crouch's was found at his father's, and Dolohov insisted he could make any wand work. I think the one he's using now was just lifted from some random bloke. Most couldn't make that work, but he insists he can."
Ollivander had once told him the wand chose the wizard, but Harry knew little of such things and thus allowed his mind to move on. "The Dark Lord promised some personal lessons."
"Did he?" Regulus pursed his lips. "I didn't know about that."
Harry looked the Black lord up and down. "Were we supposed to talk about this?"
"I was never told not to," Regulus said after a brief pause.
Regulus must be on my side, he thought again. That was definitely him telling me not to say anything about it.
Regulus finished the last of his eggs and slid his plate aside. "So," he said with a grin, "what did you think of Bulgaria's game yesterday?"
July 11, 1994
Malfoy Manor
5:55 PM
Harry traipsed down another hallway, passed a row of tapestries depicting blond men in fine robes and then a large window. Outside, three green leaves fluttered against the glass.
This place is a bloody maze. Harry glanced farther down the hall and saw it ended in a stairwell leading down. I never thought finding the lesson would be the hard part. Why did the Malfoys need so large a house? What was the point?
"You look lost?" Goosebumps sprouted along his arms as Harry turned. An older man stared at him from behind blank eyes, his brown hair long but neat and streaked with lines of grey.
Rookwood. Harry knew nothing about him. It made him wary. All of the inner circle seem to have specialties. What was Rookwood's? There's no telling. Harry did not even know which charges had sent him off to Azkaban. "A bit," he admitted, straightening his robes. "This place is a maze."
Rookwood gave a laugh which might have been airy had his voice not been so hoarse. As it was, the sound was more like leaves slithering across rough concrete. "You should see real magical mazes. They would make Lucius blush."
"Any chance you know where Dolohov is waiting for me?" Harry asked, unsure what else to say.
"You're looking for him?" Harry nodded and Rookwood gestured for him to follow, walking back the way he had come.
Harry trailed behind in silence. How do you talk to a psychopath you know nothing about? "How are you recovering?" he asked, mimicking Voldemort's first question during the meeting.
Rookwood brushed a stray lock of hair back behind his ear. "About as well as can be hoped for, but then I had less to recover from than the others."
Harry felt sweat spread across his palms. There was something about Rookwood. No one in his position could be so affable and there was no discernible trace of madness in him. What sorts of things is he hiding under that mask? It was so well-crafted, its construction must have long predated Azkaban. "Do the dementors not bother you?"
"Oh, they do," Rookwood admitted, turning down a side hall Harry had missed. "I just learned how to cope."
How did one cope with that? "Are you an occlumens then?" It was the best guess he had.
"We all are, to varying degrees. Mine's better than most of the others', but Regulus has me beat handily." Did that mean occlumency was not the reason Rookwood had remained stabler than the rest? Or did it imply the opposite? "This should be it," the enigma said. "Good luck, Antonin is a strict taskmaster."
Harry muttered his thanks and pushed into the room, clearing thoughts of Augustus Rookwood and all the questions he had evoked.
Dolohov was waiting with his hands folded atop his chest and a sneer on his thin lips. "I am told you have experience in duelling."
"A bit." It appeared there would be no niceties. That suits me well enough. "Lord Yaxley—"
"Call him Corban," Dolohov interrupted in a whip-like tone. "I'm here to duel, not politic. That is Lucius's job and I have no time for it."
Harry fought the urge to fidget. Dolohov had wrongfooted him. No more of that. "Corban taught me the past two summers and I practice with his daughter at Hogwarts." Harry's toes curled, remembering the way muscles had once rippled underneath his skin. "Everyone says she's a prodigy."
Dolohov made a dismissive gesture. "Time will tell. She has the talent, but other aspects lag behind. I hope you lack none of them."
"What—" he saw Dolohov's wrist flick and dove sideways, dodging a wine-red jet of light by inches.
"Good," Dolohov said without pausing his onslaught. Curses pelted him like raindrops spraying in a persistent wind as Harry staggered upright and summoned his wand with great difficulty.
He batted a spell back at Dolohov but had to shield against two more. When Dolohov committed to breaking through, Harry dropped the shield and sidestepped. Finally an opening.
Dolohov leant away from three curses, neutralized a fourth in mid-flight, and deflected a fifth away. "We are not playing, Potter!" he spat. "Fight me."
A wave of nausea crashed over him as a spell clipped Harry's shoulder and tied his chest in knots. Inside his mind's eye Wylla Nurmen's blood painted the surrounding snow a deep red and Sirius Black fled down a corridor on four legs, leaving Harry to drown in pits of self-hatred.
Harry grit his teeth. Trauma Curse… fuck, that's not fun. Hot pain bubbled up alongside brimming blood from a shallow wound carved into his shoulder when he forced his focus outward. When had that hit him?
Harry feigned the sharp jab heralding a stunner, but released a Bone-Breaker via an exhaustive exertion of will. Dolohov's eyes widened as the curse punched through his shield and nearly grazed him. It ought to have. Dolohov's ability to avoid spells by a finger's breadth was unlike anything he had ever seen.
Harry batted aside a Gouging Curse and cracked his wand like a whip. Ropes spun out from its tip and unfurled themselves toward Dolohov.
"Crucio."
Harry shielded without thinking. A thousand burning knives ripped his nerves apart, eating through skin and prying muscles from bones. White light seared behind his eyes. His lungs were pockets of open flame, his blood a rushing sea of acid.
Faster than it had assailed him, the pain was gone. The room was quiet but for his own heaving breaths. That had been so much worse than when the memory of teenaged Tom Riddle had used the same curse against him.
"Get up." Harry's knees trembled as he wobbled back onto his feet. "Do you understand now?" Dolohov demanded. "The Dark Lord wants a warrior, not a duellist. Harsher spells and less wasted motion. It is easy to counter when you flourish your wand. The faster caster will take advantage. Do you understand?" Harry nodded, wincing at the sharp pain lancing up his spine. Anger joined the pain, bubbling beneath his skin. "Begin."
The anger had reached a boil. He wants harsher spells? "Ignis Potentia!"
Dolohov's charms broke against a surging wall of pitch-black flame. The wind he conjured fared no better, only fanning Harry's fire as he himself prepared to end the spell and claim his victory.
The flames sputtered, burning against a silver shield whose surface cracked and rippled.
Dolohov's eyes, absent of brows which had been burnt away, blazed as the fire dissipated.
Harry winced, sagging under the first signs of fatigue. Oh, fuck. This was going to be a very long day.
July 17, 1994
Malfoy Manor
3:44 PM
The flapping of his robes slowed alongside his descent as hair fell flat against his forehead. Birds were chirping overhead as his feet touched down.
Cassius landed just beside him and feigned a hateful sneer. "What's the point of playing with you? Chasers mean nothing; you just catch the snitch."
Harry eased through the motions of smiling, but his pulse was level and his breaths remained measured. Where was the rush of excitement, the flush of victory? "It's not my fault you lot can't stop me," he said.
"It's not our fault you have that Firebolt," Draco jabbed back. "Swap me brooms and then see what happens."
Harry shrugged. "If you'd like."
"If you boys ever stop bantering," Pansy said, pouting up at them from her spot in the shadow of a tall willow tree near the edge of an artificial lake, "we have snacks."
Pansy hugged his arm the moment Harry was seated, resting her head on his shoulder. He stared into the water, watching small fish stream beneath the surface.
"Who here is travelling this year?" Diana asked, handing out glasses filled with summer wine. The drink's initial bite was sour, but then it faded into sweetness stronger than he had expected. He sipped again and felt his tongue tingle. It was a pleasant feeling.
Draco scowled down at the grass as if it had done him a great insult. "I was just outside the top seven," he grumbled.
"Tragic thing, that," said Cassius. "I was too, but I'm going anyway."
Pansy raised her head from Harry's shoulder long enough to look at him. "How?"
Cassius's dark eyes glittered. "I'm going to be the Hogwarts champion."
Pansy blinked three times. "Do you really believe you'll be chosen?"
Cassius snorted. "Not likely, unless the judges have a thing against women."
"A thing against women?" Pansy asked.
"Cassie's entering," Diana explained. "She's the best duellist at Hogwarts."
"It's not just about duelling," Cassandra tutted. "I'm sure it will help, but I'm less confident than some of you."
"Who else would get in?" Harry asked. "I don't know many people from your year."
"Diggory topped sixth year, but he's younger than we are. Just barely old enough to enter," Cassius said. "Cassie topped ours and is brilliant with Defence Against the Dark Arts. I reckon that class carries more weight for something like this."
"I just wish they would announce how it worked," Diana said, twirling blonde hair around her forefinger. "When will we be travelling? How will it work when we're at the other schools? All that sort of thing."
Harry's breath hitched. I know more than they do. It was a new feeling, strange and exhilarating in a way he could not describe. "We'll be leaving for Durmstrang on October 1st," he said. No one said I couldn't tell them, and it's not like they'll go running off their mouths. "We'll take the other schools' classes while we're there. Selection applications should be sent out soon."
Draco looked up from the grass and stared at him. "How the hell do you know all that?"
"Regulus mentioned some rumours last week. They could be wrong."
Cassius too eyed him. Diana and Cassie don't look surprised. Ice trickled into his stomach. Do they follow him? How much did they know, if so? "You don't sound like that's likely," Cassius said.
Harry shook the thoughts away. "I don't think it is."
Pansy beamed. "Of course it's not. You're almost never wrong."
Harry forced a smile and looked back out over the lake. His stomach twisted with a sharp jolt and sent hollow echoes ringing forlornly through him. I used to like when she said things like that.
No warmth spread now as a pair of fish broke the lake's clear surface with matching splashes that emitted thin ripples. It was hard to care with everything else afoot. A bank of clouds drifted overhead, blocking the sun from view. Merlin, my life's a mess.
A special thank you to my high-tier patron, Cup, for her generous and unwavering support.
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