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Harry Potter and the Perversion of Purity
By ACI100
Book 4: The Deadliest of Games
Chapter 17: A Kingdom Torn Asunder
October 1, 1994
The Great Hall
8:46 AM
There was a strange divide when he entered the Great Hall for breakfast. The symphonious sounds made by the gathered students had swelled into a rapturous tune comprised of four stark notes.
The first was played by the older students, who were in a fever pitch. Their note was loud, rowdy, and shivering with excitement.
The second came from the younger crowd, who struck a sweet, pure note out of tune with its three counterparts.
The third and fourth notes rang against each other like thin sheets of metal. They were the clearest to his ears and the ones that drowned the others. Their sounds wove together yet fought for sanctity and freedom. Their music was harmonious but so too was it discordant.
The third note sounded not unlike the first; loud and jittery with a sound that conveyed excitement and wonder in tones that grabbed at his attention and tugged up at his lips.
The fourth note was the starkest of the bunch — the shrill, slicing sound of silence contrasting against its three counterparts. Harry knew who played this one before he looked — the disappointed students of the middling years who had not scored high enough to depart for Durmstrang.
Draco's sullen silence when he sat across from him strummed that fourth and final note with unmatched vigour.
There's no point in sitting here and reassuring him. His old friend knew the opportunity he had missed out on. No false words would heal that wound and there was a part of him that welcomed it.
The look in Draco's eyes was one he recognized. Less fierce than his own had been, but hauntingly familiar.
The look I saw every time I stared into a mirror after Black got away that first time.
He had a feeling this would be a breakout year for Draco and had just grown more confident in the assignments he had passed along being completed the best they could be.
Not that he was going to let Draco's somber mood drag him down.
"Excited?" he asked Theodore, who looked half as eager and impatient as he felt.
The Nott heir grinned back at him. "More than I have been in ages."
"You and me both. I haven't been this excited since the Quidditch World Cup."
Astoria pouted from her place across the table. "It's so unfair," she whined. "Why don't second years get to go?"
Draco opened his mouth, but a sharp look from Harry silenced him.
"I want you to make friends with Astoria. Really make friends if you can, but fake it if you have to."
Draco had scowled when he'd told him that. "Why are you saddling me with her? I think Pansy would do a better job with children."
"Because you can do more good than Pansy by making friends. It's important that Astoria thinks she's well-liked. It's important that she's watched and that she's protected. Not just from her sister, but from everyone." He had stared down Draco and held his gaze until his friend shrank back in his seat. "Do you understand?"
There was a lot Astoria could learn from Draco and the confidence his friendship would bring her could be a great aid in her own investigations.
And if the two of them become friends while I'm gone, then all the better.
None of that could be accomplished with Draco's sharp remarks. It was important he realized that age was just a number.
At least as far as he's concerned. I could have never manipulated her the way I did had she been older.
But then neither could the Malfoys have manipulated him. It was a vicious cycle and he no longer felt guilty for his part in it.
I have Dumbledore on one side and Voldemort on the other. I have to be strong; it's the only way I'll ever be free. It would take every advantage he could get.
"They probably think it would disrupt your education," he told Astoria.
She continued pouting. "You being gone is gonna do that more than some stupid tournament. It's not fair. You guys get to fly in that dragon Dumbledore conjured up last night."
Theodore smirked beside him. "That was a good show. I might not be Dumbledore's biggest fan, but seeing Umbridge taken down a notch was nice, and that dragon was impressive." He turned to look at Harry. "How do you think he did it? I didn't think conjuring something like that was possible. There must be all sorts of rooms and stuff inside."
"Trickery." This was something he had pondered long and hard last night.
"Trickery?" Theodore looked intrigued. "What sort?"
"I don't think he conjured it at all. I think it's been in the lake for a while and he just summoned it up."
Theodore whistled. "And the rooms inside? Do you think he just did it slowly over time?"
"I doubt it. I reckon he added those last-minute. Like you said, there's no way he could conjure that much detail all at once." At least he didn't think so. There were limitations, even for a man like Dumbledore, but he was reminded starkly of the way his once headmaster had switched himself with air whilst he duelled Grindelwald. He went on regardless. "He probably added them either before coming inside when everyone was in the Great Hall, or he did it once we all went to bed."
Theodore hummed along. "Clever."
"Whatever you want to say about him, Dumbledore's a genius. There's a reason he's been so successful. Not all of it comes down to casting."
Breakfast limped along like a man whose dominant leg had been carved from rigid wood. Never had he imagined he would want to leave his home so badly, but every second that passed only raised his eagerness to see Durmstrang in all its hard, stone glory.
Dumbledore — seated in a special place to Umbridge's left up at the high table — signalled an end to breakfast ten minutes early.
The students who would remain at home lined the Entrance Hall and stamped their feet against the flagstone floor as the representatives of Hogwarts traipsed through their ranks.
Harry held his head high and let the grin show clearly across his face. It was really happening.
The departing students clustered at the Black Lake's edge. There were about fifty of them total — seven from both fourth and fifth year — with the bulk of them being sixth and seventh years. Only a minority of sixth years had eligible birth days, but the top seven scorers from that year had been allowed to come regardless.
Harry stood side by side with Theodore — the only other Slytherin from his year — as Umbridge gave a final speech about the pride of Britain and the hopes their doting minister had for them all.
The majority of travellers in his year were Ravenclaws. Padma Patil, Su Li, and Anthony Goldstein came from them, with Hermione Granger and Susan Bones representing Gryffindor and Hufflepuff respectively.
So no Greengrass. He had suspected not. Daphne had certainly finished in the top seven, but opportunities were ripe for her whilst he was abroad and away from Astoria.
"Greengrass is gonna be a problem when I'm gone — the older one, I mean. She doesn't like how close Astoria and I are. She'll try and turn her against me and I want you to combat her the best you can.
"Owl me if things get too bad; I have blackmail that can end things, but I'd rather not use it unless I really have to, plus I'll have to come back here to do that, and I don't think that will be easy."
He would have to trust in Draco whilst he was gone. He might not have Greengrass's wits, but he knows how to handle people.
She would be opposed if she tried tainting his reputation or turning Astoria against him and that was the best he could do from so far away.
Dumbledore pulled the stone dragon up from the Black Lake's depths with a flourish of his wand. Cheers and applause echoed across the dark water and off the sheer face of rock on its far bank as the gathered students shouted their support.
There were thirteen rooms onboard their mode of transport. One for boys and one for girls from each year, one for Gemma, another for the ex-auror, Mad-Eye-Moody, and a third for the eventual Triwizard Champion.
Mine, he told himself. It will have to be mine.
There was also both a dining room and a lounge-like congregation hall.
"Are we ready?" Dumbledore asked once all their trunks had been secured and they had gathered in the latter room.
Fifty eager heads bobbed their assent and he gave his wand another flourish. Arrays of complex runes glowed along all four walls and the dragon let out a roar that echoed across the Hogwarts grounds.
Harry felt light for several seconds and then nothing at all. It was enough; he knew that they were flying.
He retired behind his silken hangings and closed his eyes. He felt his mind grow still.
"Back so soon?" asked Grindelwald. Harry's eyes were closed, but he could hear the humour in his mentor's voice.
"I had a couple more questions."
"I had gathered that much. Have you arrived at Durmstrang?"
"No, we're on route now. Dumbledore made a dragon from stone large enough to house us all. We're flying it there now."
"Ah, Albus, he always did love showing off."
He gave Grindelwald a flat and hollow look. "You say that like you don't."
The former warlord shrugged. "There was a reason he and I were fast friends. We share much in common."
"He realizes something's off about my story."
Grindelwald narrowed his pale blue eyes. "Your story?"
"I told him I learned Fulgura not long before the World Cup and that I used it because one of the fake Death Eaters saw me and I panicked."
"I see. Does he suspect the truth?"
"I don't think so."
"So he senses insincerity but cannot spot the lie?"
"Maybe, but… I don't know. It was like he did suspect something, but not the truth. He wouldn't look at me, but he didn't seem mad or upset. Just… worried." That had been the truth of it now that he looked back.
"I will think on this," said Grindelwald. "Avoid him if you can do so without arising his suspicion. It would not do for Albus to puzzle out the truth."
"He'll be judging all three tasks. Should I hold back? Should I—"
"No. We proceed as planned. You must grab headlines the way we had intended. Nothing has changed. Power is power. Albus might not agree, but he understands."
"What about Fawley? She's gonna be around as a chaperone and she said something about seeing more of me this year. Have you put her up to something?"
"She should be steering things in your favour if she understood correctly. There is always the possibility she did not."
Something about that crude form of communication he mentioned. He did not press; Grindelwald did not keep secrets from him, but he did choose when best to share them.
He's been right so far. I can trust him.
"We've been taking lessons in French and German the past month at Hogwarts and we were encouraged to start over the summer." He studied Grindelwald with appraising eyes. "I picked up German too fast. Something was off there. Is that your doing?"
"I was speaking German in the majority of my memories. It appears that you have learned it through the powers of osmosis."
Merlin… "Did you plan it that way?"
"I was hopeful, but unsure. I would be interested in seeing how easily spells from those memories come to you. I suspect they will come easier than they would otherwise."
"Fulgura came right away. It worked for me on my first try." He winced at the memory of wine-red flames straining against his will. "Fiendfyre didn't though. Voldemort had me try it over the summer."
"I would not practice that one outside his supervision, but it will come. So will all the others."
"I hope so." This was a new layer of possibilities. If he could grasp all the spells Grindelwald had used…
I might actually be able to do it. He had sought strength for so long, but still it felt a distant dream. But maybe with this, I can really do it. He made himself believe for the first time and found a wide smile plastered on his face. Every inch of him tingled with excitement.
Grindelwald was smiling back at him in a way that showed he understood what he was thinking. "I am glad you're chipper."
"Is there anything I should know about Durmstrang that wasn't in your memories?"
"It is difficult to say. It has been so long." Grindelwald considered. "Durmstrang often houses students more important than those in Britain. Where brash, young lordlings toil away inside Hogwarts' walls, Durmstrang sometimes houses those with ties to royalty."
"People like Natalia Zhikarov?"
"Precisely. There will be more like her; children whose families remain close with the Romanovs. Russia controls much of Eastern Europe indirectly and her offspring comprise a large part of Durmstrang's population."
"I'll keep it in mind. Any chance I might know Russian from your memories? They said German was the school's official language, but that outside of classes, students talked in whichever one they pleased."
"I spoke Russian when treating with the Romanovs. It will take more time than German, but a certain intuition should be passed along."
"You gave a speech after you burnt down Beauxbatons. Was that in French?"
"It was."
Merlin… Only now was he beginning to understand how large an advantage those memories had been. They had aged him years and he thought that had been a boon, but their impacts ran much deeper. They taught me more than life lessons.
That night…
The bed shook beneath him and tilted to the side. Had it not been stuck magically to the floor, it would have toppled sideways and sent him tumbling across the dormitory.
We must have landed.
His heart began to pound as he scrambled out from behind his curtains and rushed out into the corridor. Everyone was gathering in the congregation room.
"Are we ready?" Dumbledore asked with a twinkle in his eye. "Are you all dressed for the cold? It will be a shock to you after your time in Scotland."
He had not been lying. The winds were strong and harsh, resembling a Scottish winter more closely than the start of autumn. The air was frigid and bore a sharp, jagged chill. Harry could see his breath mist in the air just inches from his face.
He never felt the chill.
They had landed atop the same hill that Grindelwald had portkeyed onto prior to his first year.
Everything was just how he remembered.
Snowcapped mountains formed a wide, imposing ring around the valley, its lakes, and the fortress at its centre.
That was the best way of describing Durmstrang. The mote, the walls, the hard grey stone; everything was as he remembered and all of it was imposing.
"Come!" called Dumbledore, gesturing for them all to follow.
A light coat of snow covered the straight path down the mountainside. The same statues made from ice lined the path and the same spheres of magical light lit the way.
It's just how I remember.
It took him several tries to swallow. His throat had become a tangled knot of feelings. His legs shook beneath him and he could feel the oncoming tears.
He crushed them with Occlumency but let himself enjoy the moment.
When was the last time I was this happy? He had no answers.
Two delegations waited outside the castle's outmost walls.
The walls Grindelwald breached with Fulgura. Everything seen here sparked a memory; everything connected back to a second life he'd lived in a way that warmed his heart against the northern chill.
He recognized the largest group of bodies. Heavy, fur cloaks pulled over bulky red robes. These would have identified them to him had their overwhelming numbers not.
Durmstrang.
The second delegation could not have been more different.
Blue, satin cloaks pulled over what he bet were silken robes.
The delegations had been facing one another before theirs had arrived.
It looks like a battlefield.
The three schools had formed a loose triangle around the opening in the castle's outermost wall. The heavy red cloaks of Durmstrang, the light, bright satin of Beauxbatons, and the plain black of Hogwarts.
It was like the backdrop of a muggle fantasy; a single snapshot displaying a once great kingdom torn asunder.
Surrounded by three calm lakes and a ring of high, dense mountains, standing in the shadow of a grey stone fortress, the three sides looked fit to battle.
And so it begins.
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