CHAPTER 58: A GLIMPSE OF TOMORROW
Walking through the corridors, observing groups of students heading to their classrooms or simply lingering in anticipation of a sudden activity idea, Harry absentmindedly scanned the surroundings. His mind wandered, a certain melancholy slowly filling his body as he realized that soon, he would no longer be here. Like a break, or at least an additional step he was about to take, the end of his schooling meant to him the end of his childhood and the beginning of his adult life, professional and familial responsibilities that would soon come with his multiple roles. Oh, he knew he was ready, that wasn't the issue, and he indeed desired not to be seen as a child anymore but rather as the young man who had been shaped within the walls of this academy. Yet... His schooling was soon to be part of his past, and curiously, this emotional trial was far more difficult to overcome than he had anticipated.
Lost in his thoughts, he realized only belatedly that he had arrived at the school's dining hall. Amidst the bustling noise of animated conversations and cutlery clinking against plates or bowls, he spotted Juliette's voice calling him to a table quite far from the serving ladies.
"Gabriel! Over here!" she called loudly enough for him to turn towards her.
Without hesitation, his friend quickly joined her in a few strides, sidestepping Boulanger's deliberately extended leg in the aisle to avoid tripping. Unwilling to create a new dispute between them, Harry merely looked at him, shaking his head in disappointment before joining his friends. Both had already started their meals, especially Nicolas, who, despite nearly seven years of education, had evidently not learned table manners. For the moment, he was busily ingesting everything within reach while staring incessantly at his Transfiguration manual.
"You took your time, my friend!" greeted Juliette cheerfully as he took his place in front of her. "We grabbed a tray for you so you wouldn't have to queue, but the cook initially thought it was an excuse from Nicolas to get a double ration."
"You did well, I'm famished!" admitted Harry as he placed his napkin on his lap.
"Meanwhile, this cook doesn't mind that I clear the plates," Nicolas argued darkly as he eagerly bit into a piece of fruit. "It's better than throwing this stuff away..."
"That's no reason to eat until you're sick," replied his friend firmly. "You might end up throwing up on your parchment in an hour, and considering the anxiety that grips you before an exam, I'd bet you'll return everything you've eaten before even stepping out the door!"
"I'll take that bet!" he said cheerfully, turning a page in his manual.
"Last-minute revision?" Harry asked him, although he already suspected the answer.
His friend shrugged, as if to say it wasn't important, but Juliette didn't see it that way and offered her own take on the matter:
"If mister here had used his free time for something other than gazing out the attic window at the lawyer's daughter across the street while she undresses, maybe he would've had enough time to do something intelligent, like revise for his exams!"
"I wasn't watching her," assured Nicolas, his face taking on a slight reddish tint. "I was making sure nothing happened to her!"
"In her room? In broad daylight? And at specific times when you know she was finishing her bath?" she said with clear skepticism.
"You should see her when I leave the academy to stroll in town... When I parade on my horse in my magnificent uniform... She purposefully stands by her house's door to watch me pass," he admitted before sighing. "I'm sure she likes me, and a soldier always has his charm with girls..."
"Talk all you want," sighed Juliette, rolling her eyes.
"You say that because nobody's interested in you," he confidently asserted.
"Even if a girl found me attractive, I remind you I am one myself!" she angrily retorted.
Sensing the tension escalating between them, Harry then had the brilliant idea to change the subject. Not that their arguments could end badly, as frequent as they were, but the risk lay in the possibility that amidst their taunting remarks, Juliette's secret would be revealed to everyone present in the cafeteria... and there were many.
"Have you thought about what you'd like to do once we've passed our exams?" he asked loudly enough to interrupt their verbal sparring. "We could already consider how to celebrate our exam success."
"Last year, a student told me that usually, they celebrate the end of exams by going to a brothel even before knowing the results, but I doubt the lady here would agree," Jules remarked, casting a quick glance at the said lady.
"Not for me either," affirmed Harry, absentmindedly stirring his coffee, making the spoon move from a distance with his finger. "How about spending some time in Lamballe with me? Mother would be delighted to have you both again."
"Not for too long then, certainly not during the harvest season," his friend replied. "Mom doesn't like it when I do magic in front of her, but she finds my cutting spells very useful for trimming wheat stalks... Well, when I aim correctly, because the other time, I targeted her clothesline, and all her undergarments fell into a mud puddle. You can't imagine the scolding I got right after..."
Unintentionally, his friends couldn't help but suppress a giggle, easily picturing the scene, and even Nicolas quickly joined them in laughter.
"That reminds me, you've got mail," Juliette said once her laughter subsided. "Archimede arrived five minutes before you."
Raising an eyebrow, Harry scanned the area to find his falcon a few meters away on a shelf, hidden enough in the shadows not to attract the attention of the cafeteria women, who wouldn't hesitate to shoo his bird away radically. With a gesture, Harry commanded him to come and perch beside him, and it was on his outstretched arm that the bird landed a few seconds later, several letters and a newspaper tied to one of his legs.
Intrigued by so much correspondence, Harry set about relieving his falcon of his burden. Then, discreetly, he offered him something to satisfy his work before he could resume the journey covering the hundreds of kilometers separating him from the family castle.
"Give my regards to Mother, my friend," he said, gently tickling the bird's beak for a few seconds.
Archimede seemed to understand his command as he immediately began gently nibbling his finger, then, taking a brief moment on him, he spread his wings and flew without further delay towards the open window of the cafeteria.
"Pets are prohibited here, Bourbon!" the chief cafeteria lady furiously yelled from the other side of the room, brandishing what seemed to be a ladle threateningly. "This is a cafeteria, not an aviary!"
"My apologies, Madam, it won't happen again!" he vowed, as a few heads turned towards them during their exchange.
"She's not wrong," Nicolas muttered on his side, removing a black feather belonging to Archimede from his plate. "I like poultry, but when it's cooked and plucked!"
Harry just smiled apologetically, then, unable to resist any longer, he quickly placed his mail on the table, pushing his own plate aside, and began reading the first letter that caught his eye. Unfolding the sealed sheet, he quickly realized it was from none other than his mother, easily recognizable by her beautiful handwriting in each of the letters she sent him.
"To Mr. Bourbon. In Lamballe, this 13th of June. My dear child, how dear you are to me, and how my heart is lively and tender merely thinking of writing to you! I wish you were already by my side to recount your merits and exploits! Everyone here longs for you, and with the imminent approach of the end of your academic year, our people devote themselves heart and soul to prepare for your return. Your mother and I were pleased to read your last letter; They have been so rare lately that we almost eagerly anticipate the postman's arrival for news from you."
Harry briefly pictured his mothers eagerly watching the unfortunate postman and his bag and rushing toward him, disregarding the decorum that typically governed one of them. A brief but distinct chuckle escaped his lips, and though his friends heard it clearly, none made any comment to inquire about its origin or reason.
"Yet, do not think that we reproach you for it; Your studies shall remain your primary concern until the end of this current month, and I dare hope that you will excel once again! I, however, have no doubt that your labor and toils will be rewarded justly.
I hope you had the good sense to read this letter before the copy of the newspaper I sent you; One of the articles you will find on page 11 might greatly interest you.
Curious, Harry was tempted to pause his reading to check this famous article, but considering that it couldn't be more important than a letter from his mother, he judged it best to postpone that for later.
On another note related to this article, know that your friend Miss de la Cour unfortunately did not win the Triwizard Tournament. It seems that one of the competitors enchanted her during the last task, and the poor girl found herself unable to continue. The Countess hurried to Hogwarts upon hearing her daughter's condition, but it seems she is quite well today. Rest assured of our eagerness to show them all the care and affection we are capable of, also on your behalf.
The date for your marriage with Miss Greengrass has been set for the 2nd of August this year in agreement with the young lady's parents. They are so eager to please that they wish to pay us for the use and occupancy of our home on that day, but I opposed it, arguing that you would refuse such an arrangement; Their daughter's dowry will suffice to cover the ceremony and festivities of this wedding.
Your fiancée will soon return from her stay at Hogwarts; What a relief to know that nothing untoward has befallen her in that place!
A relief shared by Harry, who had feared multiple times that Dumbledore or James might connect him with her, but evidently, both had completely forgotten about the marriage contract that had bound them since childhood. So many months without seeing her... only communicating through letters... He now had only one desire: to see her again.
The fittings have already been done there under the supervision and watchful eye of dear Madame Maxime, so we'll only need to perfect the details of her dress before attending to you, young man! Your mother was thinking of purple for your suit, but that was before she knew it was a mourning color! The poor friend felt quite distressed afterward. As for the guest list, it grows by the day, but do not hesitate to provide us with a few additional names of people you would like to invite to your wedding.
Nicolas and Juliette immediately came to mind, but knowing his mother, Harry rightly assumed she must have already included them in the celebration. Pajol could be another possible guest, but a doubt lingered in him as he thought his director might meet Louis XVIII; putting a man loyal to the emperor and an exiled French king in the same place could cause much more damage than a Niffler in a silverware shop.
We have also managed to convince the Bishop of the Saint-Brieuc diocese to officiate the religious ceremony, and he has kindly agreed to perform it right here in our chapel; Thus, we will not need to travel to the village to unite you with your betrothed.
Farewell, my dear and very kind son. My mind is still filled with tender thoughts for you, but if I were to tell you, this letter would be far too long, and you would scold me. Allow me to kiss you, my child.
Your mother. P.S.: You'll find another very interesting letter enclosed with this one. Read it away from indiscreet ears and overly curious individuals.
Curiosity gripped him again, but choosing to do things in order, Harry opted to start with the rolled-up newspaper that had accompanied the two envelopes. Undoing the cord securing it, he unfolded the copy without delay to read the headlines on the front page, but at first glance, nothing seemed disturbing. A simple headline, discreetly placed at the bottom of the page with smaller font size than the rest, intrigued him when he realized it concerned the Triwizard Tournament.
"That's odd," he muttered, frowning.
"What is?" Nicolas inquired absentmindedly as he greedily consumed another slice of jam-covered bread.
"For a newspaper that prided itself on being the first source of information about the Triwizard Tournament, I find it surprising to announce the winner of the tournament amidst a chestnut recipe and a piece about a wizard and his illegal Doxy breeding," recounted Harry.
His friend leaned over to also look at the newspaper, but after a few seconds of silence, Harry deduced that his furrowed brow was more due to his perfect ignorance of English.
"For me, it's gibberish," he said to confirm his statement before looking at the illustrations of certain articles. "Definitely amusing! They should have done the same with some of our school books to illustrate the spells to learn; it would have been less bothersome than reading the instructions!"
"And how could you have understood what was in front of you if you hadn't had those famous instructions?" Juliette sarcastically threw at him.
"I would've just copied the gestures," assured Nicolas.
Both engaged in a debate about the usefulness or lack thereof of illustrations and the danger of relying on them, but Harry didn't participate and left them to their thoughts. Quickly seizing the apple still untouched on his tray, he calmly peeled it with a wave of his hand directed towards his knife, which took care of it, while he now flipped through the newspaper to the page mentioned by his mother, which precisely covered the tournament. Strangely, the article in question consisted of only a few lines, barely longer than the title, taking up space on the page, and talked about his younger brother's surprising victory. But another article just below caught his attention, an article without images written in small print, but its title left little doubt about its content:
"IS MATTHEW POTTER MAD?" "And it's only now that you're realizing it?" he thought caustically as he summoned the perfectly cut apple pieces towards himself with a flick of his hand.
"I really hate it when you do that," Nicolas grumbled as he saw the pieces fly toward his friend.
Harry smiled at him, but he didn't get to see it as Juliette launched their debate again. Instead, he immersed himself in reading this new kind of article about his brother, but he didn't expect to find only a poor attempt to scratch Matthew's image without providing anything new or concrete to support the author's claims; like others before, he would likely end up drowned in a pile of fan mail, some praising him for daring to touch their hero, then dismissed by the wizarding gazette in an attempt to appease.
It would be hasty to affirm it now, and I, a journalist at the wizarding gazette, cannot make accusations without providing others with the necessary evidence for my purpose. But, dear reader, the situation today is far too serious to not mention a few words on this subject. How, when the Triwizard Tournament has barely ended, can I dare to name its winner "mad"? Audacity, dear reader, that is what is needed to convey my words today! Few have had the courage until now to put a name to the evil that gnaws at this boy, an evil that, as he ages, worsens over time! Yes, my readers, I dare, and I can affirm that many will praise me in the coming weeks!
But how can I come to this conclusion? The reason is simple, but it's being hushed up for fear of causing panic among you! Yes, our hero is mad, and he is even more so in affirming that "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named" has returned! No, you're not dreaming, you read that right!
If Harry's eyebrows had furrowed considerably as he read and as the author rambled on, the end of the article caused them to raise so high that they almost reached the middle of his forehead. Voldemort? Back? It was almost laughable, at least if he himself hadn't had the intimate conviction since his childhood that the Dark Lord had not been completely destroyed that night. But when this announcement came from his brother, he couldn't help but think it was a poor attempt by Matthew to attract as much attention from journalists as possible.
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