31st October 1993
"Keep going you lazy shits!" Olaffson called.
Harry growled as he continued pulling the rope, bringing the large
boulder tied to the other end ever closer.
It was only him and Viktor treated to the pre-dawn attentions of the
Icelander who would drag them both unceremoniously from their
beds to put them through their paces; the Bulgarian by necessity,
and Harry by choice, though he often regretted making the request
of the man.
"Good," Olaffson praised. "That's enough for today."
Without another word, he walked back towards the school, leaving a
pair of exhausted teens in his wake.
"Sadist," Viktor grumbled as he joined Harry who snorted amusedly.
Dropping the thick length of rope he had been holding, Harry winced
as he looked upon his blistered and torn skin from his efforts.
"Why do you do it to yourself?" Viktor asked. "You can't enjoy it."
"I don't," Harry confirmed, "but suffering now will reduce the amount I
may suffer later," he added ominously.
Viktor offered him a sad smile.
"Come on," he urged. "Let me show you one of the small joys you
can have here."
Harry followed the other boy towards the mountains in the opposite
direction of the school, the icy wind making his sweat freeze,
eliminating any warmth he had accumulated during their exercises.
"Are you taking me somewhere to murder me?" he quipped.
Viktor chuckled.
"You're no use to me dead, Potter," he replied. "So long as you're
helping me with my Quidditch practices, I'd like to keep you around."
"Thanks, I think," Harry returned dryly.
Viktor merely grunted as he continued walking for another few
moments before he suddenly paused.
"Here we are," he declared, pointing to a pool of steaming water.
"A hot spring?"
Viktor nodded as he disrobed.
"I found it whilst I was flying last year," he explained. "You're the first
person I've told about it, and I'd appreciate it if you kept it to
yourself."
"I will," Harry assured him as he removed his own dirtied robes and
slid into the almost uncomfortably hot water, releasing a blissful sigh
as he did so. "Bloody hell that's good."
Viktor laughed as he watched him curiously.
"Why do you punish yourself so much?" he asked. "You take extra
sessions with Olaffson, and you're always practicing some form of
magic or other."
Harry deflated.
"I will be the head of two prominent houses one day," he reminded
the boy. "Both are traditionally very different from the other in almost
every way, and I will likely lose any long-standing alliances from both
sides. I already have enemies, and I will gain more. I need to be able
to handle them either politically, or by other means if it comes to me.
I will not chance failing by not being as prepared as I can be."
Viktor shook his head.
"You're Harry Potter," he snorted. "I bet lots of people will want to be
your ally."
"No," Harry disagreed. "People will only wish to be associated with
me if I am in a position of strength and can prove my worth to them.
As much as I couldn't give a toss about them, I will need some of
them to an extent if I wish to be successful in my roles. Many great
families have fallen from grace and faded into obscurity because
their heads have been incompetent failures. I will not be responsible
for the demise of two of them."
Viktor nodded his understanding.
"I get it," he murmured. "I just find it hard to see you pushing yourself
so hard at times. As much as I appreciate your help, I do care about
you, you little shit."
"Thanks," Harry said dryly, punching the Bulgarian on the arm as he
guffawed.
Viktor scowled and rubbed his shoulder.
"You should think about coming to the duelling hall some time," he
suggested. "It might help blow off some steam."
Harry shrugged.
It was something he had considered.
He would need to be prepared for the fighting to come, and the
duelling hall was as good a place as any to begin.
As a third year, he was allowed to attend now.
"Does Barkus do it?"
Viktor snorted.
"He thinks he would like another go with you, but he's just all talk,"
he sighed. "You'd do well with some of the older students. I bet you'd
give them a good fight."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
Maybe it was something he should look into, or watch at least once
to see if it was something worth investing his time in.
The impending meeting had been a long time coming. For the best
part of the last two years, Albus had been in communication with
Madame Maxime and Igor Karkaroff in a bid to rekindle the famed
Triwizard Tournament, a venture that both seemed as eager as him
to pursue.
The Headmistress of the prestigious French school arrived first via
the floo, ducking low to avoid hitting her head on the stonework
surrounding the fireplace.
"Madame Maxime," Albus greeted her warmly. "It is wonderful to
meet you at last."
The large woman offered Albus a smile and her hand which he
brushed his lips across the back of.
"And you, Professor Dumbledore," she replied, her eyes shifting
around his office interestedly.
"Please, take a seat," Albus urged. "Igor should be along shortly."
Maxime hummed as she did so.
She did not appear to be so keen on their colleague, but if the
tournament was to go ahead, the three of them would need to find
some common ground.
As expected, Karkaroff did arrive only a moment after Madame
Maxime was seated, and Albus welcomed him with a firm, yet
hesitant, handshake.
The last time he had laid eyes on the man had been at his trial for
his activities as a Death Eater during Tom's rise, so many years prior.
He was not a pleasant man to look upon, his thick greying hair and
beard neatly kept, but his eyes were what were difficult to trust.
Although he seemed amiable enough on first impression, he did not
cut a warm or friendly figure.
"Dumbledore," he acknowledged Albus with all the caution one
would expect from someone like Igor Karkaroff. "Madame Maxime,"
he added much more warmly.
The woman gave Karkaroff a guarded smile, her own thoughts
evidently similar to Albus's.
"Shall we?" the hosting headmaster suggested.
Both Karkaroff and Maxime nodded, and Albus took his seat behind
his desk to get the highly anticipated meeting underway.
"I believe we should begin by discussing the suggestions that both
Barty and Ludo have put forward," Albus suggested, removing a roll
of parchment he had received from the Ministry representatives and
creating a copy for his guests before handing each of them one.
They read through them thoroughly for several minutes before
Maxime nodded, followed by Karkaroff shortly after.
"It makes sense," the latter mused aloud. "Is the age limit really
necessary?"
"For the first tournament at least," Maxime answered. "It would not
do for someone not recognised as an adult to be severely injured or
even killed."
Karkaroff nodded somewhat reluctantly.
"Then I have no disagreements with their suggestions."
"Nor me," Maxime added.
"Excellent," Albus declared. "Now, all that needs to be decided is
when the tournament will be held, and who will be hosting. I believe
Beauxbatons had the honour last time."
"We did," Maxime conceded, "and it was Durmstrang before that, so
it is only fair that Hogwarts hosts the next."
Karkaroff scowled but offered no argument.
"It is fair," he agreed unhappily. "Would it be too soon to hold it
during the next school year?"
Albus frowned thoughtfully whilst he scratched his beard, pondering
the logistics of doing so.
"I think we could manage it," he mused aloud. "It would take some
effort from all of us, but I do not see why it needs to wait any longer."
"Then let us do it," Karkaroff urged enthusiastically. "I see no reason
to stand on ceremony."
"Madame Maxime?" Albus questioned.
"I do not foresee any problems," she replied, "and I do have some
promising students that will be eligible."
Albus nodded.
"I shall write to Barty with our proposal," he informed them as he
removed an exceptionally good bottle of wine from within his desk
and conjured three goblets.
Having poured each of them a generous measure, he handed one to
each of his guests before leaning back in his chair, surprised but
pleased that the discussion had gone so smoothly.
"To the tournament," he toasted.
Maxime and Karkaroff echoed the sentiment, sealing it by drinking
deeply from their cups.
"I must say, I am looking forward to the proceedings," the latter
mused aloud. "If I were you, I would, however, prepare to be
disappointed. My students will not be beaten."
"Nor mine," Maxime returned challengingly.
Albus chuckled.
"Is this not what the competition is about?" he asked. "A healthy
rivalry between our respective schools in honour of reforging the
friendship that once existed between us."
Maxime and Karkaroff nodded their agreement.
"Why now?" the French woman asked curiously. "You have been the
headmaster for decades and haven't broached the subject until
recently."
"It seems to be as good a time as any," Albus answered innocently. "I
would like our schools to share in a common interest, nothing more."
Neither Maxime or Karkaroff seemed to be convinced by his
explanation, but they didn't press the matter any further, and Albus
decided to take advantage of the silence that fell between them.
"Ah, Igor, I wanted to enquire about Mr Potter. I was close to both of
his parents and have been wondering how he is doing?"
Karkaroff frowned suspiciously before taking another sip of his wine
and placing it on the desk.
Madame Maxime seemed to be curious too and leaned forward
slightly in her own chair.
After a moment, Karkaroff nodded.
"When I first met the boy to show him around the school, I was
concerned about his motivations for wanting to attend and had my
reservations about allowing him to do so," he began thoughtfully.
"Well, he was registered at Hogwarts by his parents," Albus pointed
out. "I was very surprised when I received his letter declining his
place here."
"I had thought he would come to Beauxbatons," Maxime broke in
with a sigh. "He seemed rather taken with the palace when he came
for a tour with his aunt."
Albus was not entirely surprised that Harry had visited the French
school along the way.
Karkaroff snorted.
"If you were disappointed that he did not choose Beauxbatons from
the short meeting you had with him, I expect you will be even more
so now."
"Is that so?" Maxime replied with a quirked brow.
Karkaroff nodded smugly.
"Like I said, I had both my concerns and reservations, but the boy
has proven himself worthy," he said proudly. "He is quite brilliant, and
I do not believe he knows just how talented he is. I would go as far to
say that if we were not implementing an age restriction for the
tournament, the Goblet would likely have chosen him above the
others."
"Truly?" Albus asked.
"Truly," Igor confirmed. "He is leagues above his peers in most
subjects, and even many of the older students. His work ethic is
second to none and he has a natural grasp of magic. By the end of
this year or his fourth at the latest, he will be beyond our standard
education."
"That is remarkable," Maxime commented, a hint of envy evident in
her tone.
"It is, considering that the last student to grace our halls who proved
to be so gifted was the one who found himself expelled."
"Grindelwald?" Maxime questioned with a frown.
Karkaroff chuckled.
"Indeed. I trawled through the records myself and Mr Potter is on par
with him, even beyond in some of his subjects."
The revelation surprised Albus.
Gellert was perhaps the most talented wizard he had ever met.
"Well, despite what feelings the wizarding world has towards the
man, there is no denying that he was an exceptional individual,"
Maxime offered reservedly.
Albus and Igor nodded.
"Even though he can be a handful at times, Potter is doing well,"
Karkaroff declared.
"A handful?" Albus pressed.
A smirk tugged at Igor's lips.
"He does not take kindly to any attempting to assert themselves over
him or his friends," he explained. "There was an incident during his
first year when an older pureblood student tried. It did not end well
for him. As polite as Potter can be, there is a ruthlessness to him,
and the other students respect him for it. Don't look like that, Albus,"
Igor sighed irritably as his expression fell. "He's proven himself to be
a strong leader. He even personally funds our crop of werewolf
students so they have a monthly supply of wolfsbane."
"He does? That must be quite expensive," Maxime pointed out.
"It is," Igor confirmed, "but he has done it since his first year. Do not
let his ruthlessness distract you from the fact that he is a decent
human being. His closest friends come from all walks of life from
werewolves, vampires, and even a half-elf. I believe one of the boys
he spends much of his time with was born to a hag."
Albus hummed thoughtfully, experiencing a mixture of emotions,
though he should have expected such a report.
Harry was being raised by Cassiopeia and unknowingly guided by
Gellert.
The headmaster knew that he should be relieved that Harry was
demonstrating such compassion towards the werewolves.
Both Lily and James would be exceptionally proud of him.
"Thank you," he offered sincerely to Karkaroff who merely nodded in
response having not allowed the opportunity to boast about one of
his students to pass.
"Maybe we should lower the age limit," Maxime chuckled. "I would
be interested to see how truly you have spoken."
Karkaroff shook his head.
"Even if we did, I have my doubts that Potter would be interested,"
he explained. "The tournament is not his style. The only person he
competes with is himself. From what I have seen of the boy, he
would not relish the opportunity, and a thousand galleons does not
seem to be much gold for him."
"No, I don't suppose it would be," Maxime replied. "Would he not
wish to participate for the chance of glory?"
Igor snorted as he shook his head.
"I had my preconceived notions about him, but I feel no shame in
admitting I was wrong. A boy of such fame, I expected him to be
arrogant, egotistical, and with an overinflated sense of selfimportance.
All of my thoughts were proven false. Potter is not a
glory-hunter. He much prefers his own company for the most part,
and he does not show off unnecessarily. No, I doubt there would be
anything that would tempt him to submit his name, even if the age
limit was lowered."
Albus was pleased to hear it, and as he drained his cup of wine, he
felt that his mind had been put at ease of most of the concerns he'd
been harbouring about Harry.
One day, he would need all the talent he possesses, and Albus could
relax more knowing that he finally had a measure of the boy from
someone who had, albeit feeble, a reason to see the worst in Harry.
He had waited until the early hours before venturing from the cave
he currently called home. The presence of the Dementors in the
village below keeping him there for days at a time until he was
desperate enough to scavenge for food once more.
Tonight, however, was not about feeding, it was about righting the
wrongs from over a decade ago.
Even in his Animagus form, the chill of the Dementors seeped into
every fibre of his being, but Sirius's determination would not allow
him to falter under the effects of his former guards.
He needed to get to Wormtail to ensure that he brought no more
harm to Harry than he already had.
Having been unable to obtain the password to the tower, the Fat
Lady in the portrait had been easily spooked with the knife he had
managed to steal from the kitchen of the pub.
It wasn't Sirius's preferred approach, but he had little other choice.
Still, with her gone, he'd been able to open the portrait hole and
make his way to the third-year boys' dormitory, the common room
having been mercifully empty at this hour.
With his previous antics, he knew that his time was limited but at first
glance, none of the slumbering boys within could be Harry.
It was confusing to say the least.
With James and Lily having been Gryffindors, Sirius had not even
considered the possibility that Harry would be placed elsewhere.
He himself had bucked family tradition by not being sorted into
Slytherin, so it was not beyond belief that Harry had done the same.
But what house was he in?
Sirius shook his head of those thoughts as he turned his attention to
the bed containing the snoring redhead.
Wormtail had somehow ingratiated himself with the Weasleys, and
the boy he found himself looking upon had become an unwitting
caregiver to the rat.
"I know you're here, Peter," Sirius whispered, his grip tightening on
the knife he held. "You know you cannot escape me."
He took a step forward only to be met by the sound of silence, and a
pair of terrified eyes bulging at him in the moonlight.
Before Sirius could gesture for him to remain silent, a bloodcurdling
scream rent the air, and the other boys began to stir immediately.
Cursing under his breath, Sirius fled the way he had come, swiftly
turning into the dog that had become his familiar form and bounding
through the corridors of the castle before the rest of Gryffindor
House became aware that he was present amongst them.
Much to his relief, he met no other, and disappeared into the
passage below the one-eyed witch, sealing it behind him as he did
so.
He had failed in his efforts tonight, but at the very least, he would be
able to help himself to some of the goods in the Honeydukes
basement.
Not that any confection would ever taste as sweet as making Peter
suffer for what he had done, but for now, that would merely remain a
fantasy until Sirius could come up with another plan.
For the second time in the same night, Albus found himself playing
host to a meeting in his office, though this one was not being held in
the spirit of re-establishing forgotten friendships.
No, this gathering was to discuss the concerning security breach that
had taken place at the hands of Sirius Black.
"I do not understand it," Minerva murmured confusedly. "Even in the
dark, no one could mistake Ronald Weasley for a Potter."
Albus nodded his agreement.
"Black is out of his mind," Severus declared. "He has no clue what
Potter looks like."
"Weasley said that Black was walking towards him, and that it wasn't
so dark in the room," Filius pointed out.
Albus hummed.
"It was a foolish risk to take," he mused aloud, "especially as he is
certainly lacking communication, if he believes that Harry is even
here."
"So, what was he doing?" Pomona questioned.
That was indeed the pertinent question.
Sirius could be rather rash and reckless in his ways, but he was no
fool.
He would not have taken such a risk if he wasn't certain he would
find what he was looking for.
"Perhaps there is more to this than we know," he sighed.
"What, he sees Weasley as an enemy?" Severus snarked. "Black's
mind has been warped beyond reason by his years with the
Dementors. He is undoubtedly convinced that Potter is here."
"Then maybe we should ensure he learns that he is not," Minerva
suggested. "We cannot risk him entering the castle again."
"We cannot," Albus agreed. "I shall discuss the matter with
Cassiopeia and see if she is amiable enough to allow the knowledge
that Harry is studying at Durmstrang be made public. We could use
the anniversary of James and Lily as a way to release the
information in The Daily Prophet. I have no doubt that Sirius will be
keeping abreast of the news."
"That could work," Remus agreed, "but shouldn't we be more
concerned that he is staying nearby and found a way to avoid being
detected by the Dementors?"
Albus nodded.
"I will advise Cornelius that a search of the village and surrounding
areas should be carried out," he assured the gathered professors.
"Have you found a replacement guardian for the tower?"
Minerva's nostrils flared.
"Only one was brave enough to take on the task," she replied
unhappily. "Sir Cadogan will fill in for the time being."
Albus's moustache twitched in amusement at the mention of the
rather rambunctious painting.
He would be problematic, but his bravery could not be questioned.
"A suitable replacement," the headmaster declared, "and I will look to
add further security to the tower. For now, it is safe to say that Sirius
has not hung around. When Hagrid has finished his search of the
forest, I will lift the lockdown measures, and we will cancel all
lessons for tomorrow. If there is nothing else?"
The staff took the hint of dismissal and began to file out, though
Albus gestured for Remus to remain behind.
The man was pale, and the full moon was still a fortnight away.
"Is there anything else you can tell me that I may be missing?" Albus
asked the werewolf.
Remus hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.
"No," he answered. "I will check what passages I know of one last
time."
Albus nodded gratefully, and Remus took his leave of the office.
He knew more than he was letting on.
Albus didn't believe he was assisting Sirius in any way, but he was
withholding vital information that would assist in his childhood friend
being captured.
What that was, Albus knew not, but he was disappointed to say the
least that Remus still showed some loyalty to Sirius who had shown
none to his friends.
Albus released a deep sigh as he shook his head.
Was it truly so simple?
Sirius had always been so fiercely loyal to James and Lily, and there
was nothing that Albus could think of that would have changed that.
So, what had happened?
The headmaster couldn't help but think that it wasn't only Remus's
unwillingness to share what he knew that was dirtying what he had
for so long believed to be a clear pool of knowledge and events.
No, there was much more to it than he had first thought, and Albus
was determined to get to the bottom of it, no matter the outcome.
"Do you think this is a good idea?" Lucinda asked as the group made
their way towards the duelling hall for the first time since they had
arrived at Durmstrang. "You know there will be people who want to
challenge you."
Harry frowned questioningly at the girl who tutted.
"You're Harry Potter," she gushed mockingly. "Most of them will want
to beat you just because of the Voldemort thing, and even more
because of your reputation here. Don't you realise how big of a thing
to brag about it would be?"
"My reputation?" Harry asked.
The vampire shook her head and looked towards the others for
support.
"You really don't know what people think about you?" Cain huffed.
"I don't pay attention to that stuff," Harry replied with a shrug.
"Well, you probably should," Summerbee chimed in, "especially
since you're walking into a place where you can be challenged. I
might be tempted to do it myself," she added with a grin.
Harry merely nodded and continued on his way, his fingers twitching
towards his wand in anticipation.
He wanted to believe that his friends were exaggerating, but he
could not dismiss their concerns so easily. Not when they paid much
more attention to the talk and gossip of the school than he did.
If there were people who truly wished to duel him, then the
consequences of that eagerness would be theirs to deal with.
They may believe that a victory over him would boost their status in
some way, but Harry was not here to swell his own ego.
One day, and it could be much sooner than he wished, he would find
himself faced with enemies that would wish him dead, and he had
been preparing accordingly for that eventuality.
As such, he was not particularly concerned with other school
children.
He had come a very long way in the couple of years he had been
here, and so much further throughout his entire life than they would
be ready for.
Duelling, as it turned out, was indeed a popular pastime at
Durmstrang with at least a few hundred students packing the hall
dedicated to the art, and almost every member of staff that worked
here in attendance too.
None paid the group any mind as they entered and mingled with the
crowd who were watching an ongoing contest between two of the
older students.
A girl with tanned skin and dark hair pulled into a high braid was
defending herself well from one of the boys of Barkus's group whose
approach seemed to consist of overwhelming his opponent with
volume.
To Harry, it became immediately clear who would win this bout. And
as expected, only a moment later, the girl retaliated, and the boy was
sent tumbling from the platform.
"Winner, Zabini!" one of the professors declared. "Who is next to
make a challenge?"
A seventh-year boy stepped onto the platform and took his position,
his eyes scanning the crowd until they fell on to one of his peers.
"Porta," he declared.
A tall, gangly boy emerged from the far end of the room, grinning
from ear to ear as he took his place opposite his opponent and the
duel began shortly after.
Porta was a crafty combatant, nimbly avoiding curses and not
wasting energy by shielding, laughing as he danced between the
curses sent his way.
"Your presence has been noted," Lucinda warned Harry quietly,
nodding towards the group where Barkus and his usual lackeys were
standing.
"They're not that stupid, are they?" Cain snorted.
Lucinda rolled her eyes.
"Of course they are," she snorted.
Harry continued to watch then as they seemingly decided who would
be the one to challenge him, and as Porta dispatched of his foe, one
of them stepped up before the professor had even bid any to do so.
"Potter," he said immediately.
Harry merely shrugged his robes off as he flicked his wand into his
hand and stepped onto the platform.
Aliev was large for his age, with eyebrows thicker than Krum's.
The Bulgarian was here too, and had not noticed Harry's arrival, but
offered him an encouraging nod as his Russian opponent sent forth
his opening salvo.
To Harry, the older boys' spell work was slow and sloppy, and he
simply step through a gap in them to avoid the attack.
Aliev growled and fired another plethora of spells, some of which
would leave Harry in a rather bad state if they were to land.
Flaring his nostrils angrily at the attempted slight, Harry offered his
rebuttal, his wand work faster, more precise, and more fluid than his
opponents' who screamed in agony as he thudded to the ground,
clutching a broken arm as the wound where his ear used to be bled
freely.
It wouldn't be a permanent injury but would leave the boy with a scar
as a reminder of what Harry had done to him.
"Winner, Potter," the professor announced, seemingly impressed by
his performance.
Before Harry could step off of the platform, however, another of
Barkus's friends replaced Aliev who was being helped out of the
room and likely to the medical bay.
"Not so fast, Potter!" Gruber called.
He was from Bremen, and from quite a prominent German family
himself. Not as respected as Barkus's, but still from a well-thought-of
line.
Harry released a sigh as the boy drew his wand.
He was a sixth year, and rather gifted in Transfiguration, from the
little Harry knew of him.
"Fine," Harry agreed.
It wasn't as though Aliev had been much of a challenge, after all.
As expected, Gruber did indeed employ Transfiguration as his
preferred approach, but his efforts were feeble compared to what
Harry had expected from a sixth year.
Eleanor was better than Gruber.
At least when she had conjured an animal to attack him after one of
his pranks, the chihuahua she'd sent could walk correctly and in a
straight line.
Gruber's wolves were out of proportion, clumsy, and burnt to ash
from the balls of fire Harry defended himself with.
Gruber looked to be surprised by the ease with which his creations
were dispatched, but that did not deter him.
Instead of wolves, a flock of ravens, a simpler conjuration was
implemented, but with only a wave of his wand, Harry turned them
on their caster.
Gruber squealed as the birds began to peck at him, and whilst he
was distracted with trying to fend them off, Harry sent his own beast
at the boy.
A wolf, this one much bigger and more vicious than Gruber's had
been.
The large canine bounded across the duelling platform, its paws
pounding against the wood rhythmically before it lunged and pinned
the German to the ground.
Gruber could only whimper pathetically as the wolf bared its teeth,
snarling and drooling only an inch from his face.
"Winner, Potter," the professor declared once more.
If Harry thought his victory would be enough to prevent any other
from challenging him, he was sorely mistaken, and he found himself
facing another of Barkus's cohorts, and then another.
He defeated each of those that stepped onto the platform, racking up
win after win until Barkus had none left to fight for him.
"Are you next?" Harry asked him. "Or are you too cowardly?"
Barkus only glared in response, but did not rise to the bait, storming
from the room when the other students began to goad him.
"I'll have a go," a voice declared.
Harry frowned questioningly as the Zabini girl he had seen duel
earlier in the evening took her place on the opposite side of the
platform and offered him a respectful bow.
He returned the gesture, and without preamble, the contest got
underway.
It was odd that she too seemed to be moving slower than he had
expected, so much so that he could see her wand movements
clearly, and quickly deduce what she was casting at him.
For Harry, whenever Cassiopeia had been teaching him it had been
similar, but he thought she was simply holding back so that he could
learn how to avoid the spells sent his way.
Now, however, he was questioning why he felt so comfortable
partaking in something so dangerous, why he was enjoying it so
much, and why he was so seemingly good at it.
He had of course practiced diligently for years, but he had never
actually duelled anyone else other than Cassiopeia, so how was he
so good?
Or was it that those he faced were just terrible?
No, he had seen Zabini duel and her wand work was almost
flawless, her movement graceful, and her choice of spells coming in
many varieties.
It was something he would need to ponder, but for the time being, he
had another duel to complete.
He watched closely as the older girl twirled around the platform on
her toes as she unleashed flurry after flurry of spells his way,
offerings he avoided with apparent ease.
Steadily, Zabini began to grow frustrated, and her form began to slip
into something much less refined, and that was when Harry struck
back.
He baited her with a bludgeoning curse that she sidestepped, only
for her eyes to widen as she realised her error.
In her effort to avoid the first, she found herself in the path of a
throttling curse that Cassie had took no small amount of pleasure in
teaching Harry.
Zabini attempted to counter it several times before she fell to her
knees, her wand clattering to the floor as her face purpled.
With her disarmed, Harry undid the spell and helped the spluttering
girl to her feet.
Zabini took several breaths as she trembled from the shock but
offered Harry a weak smile.
"Not bad, Potter," she wheezed, patting him on the shoulder. "Now,
help me," she commanded, leaning her weight on his arm.
Harry did so, escorting her off the platform and to her waiting friends
who were eying him curiously, many evidently surprised by the
outcome of the duel.
"I'll get you next time," Zabini choked as Harry retreated.
He turned to face the girl who was now grinning challengingly at him,
her eyes full of determination.
"Maybe," he agreed with a shrug. "Maybe I'll get you again."
Zabini raised a delicate brow in his direction before she laughed.
"Well, then we both have something to look forward to."
Harry shook his head amusedly as he returned to his own group of
friends.
"What?" he asked as they stared at him wordlessly.
"Where did you learn to fight like that?" Cain asked. "I thought what
you did to Barkus before was something, but this…"
He broke off as he looked towards the others.
"You must have had specialist training," Bruno declared.
"And had his wand since before he could walk," Lucinda snorted.
The others nodded their agreement and Harry chuckled to himself.
"I got my wand when I was eleven, just like the rest of you," he
assured them.
"Is this what you do when you disappear for hours at a time?" Ana
asked.
"Sometimes," Harry replied with a shrug. "I practice magic, but this
was the first time I've duelled with anyone other than my aunt."
"Really?" Cain questioned disbelievingly. "It looked like you've been
doing it for years. Shit, I don' think I've ever seen anything like it. You
move so quickly. I couldn't even see what you were casting because
the spells came so fast."
"It even looked quick to me," Lucinda added. "I can move fast, but
that was something else."
She could too.
Despite the amount of physical training Harry did, Lucinda could
catch him in a matter of seconds without fail.
"Maybe I'm just a natural at it," Harry offered.
"You can say that again," Cain snorted.
"Come on, we can discuss the marvel that is Harry Potter later,"
Lucinda sighed as she led them from the duelling hall. "It's getting
late, and Summerbee here is unbearable if she hasn't slept enough."
"I am not," the blonde protested.
"You're worse than my mother, and she's a hag," Bruno quipped.
The others laughed, and Harry joined in, though his mind was
focused on what had transpired whilst he was duelling.
To him, it was something else that he would need to look into for an
explanation.
He may well merely be a natural duellist, but something told him
there was more to it than simple talent.
His thoughts shifted to his parseltongue gift, and he could not help
but wonder if his duelling ability was something else he had
somehow inherited from Voldemort.
Maybe he would need to discuss it with Cassie, if he could not
discover an answer for himself.
The Fall of the Dark Lord: 12 years on
By Rita Skeeter
In the midst of the fear and anxiety of the escape of the notorious
Sirius Black, we as a nation seem to have forgotten that another
year has passed since You-Know-Who was defeated, so what has
changed?
" Nothing has changed," a Ministry source who wishes to remain
anonymous believes. "There is still the same bigotry from the
purebloods, and less opportunities and rights for us who were not
born to one of those families. It's just not so openly spoken of now,
but it is still the same. The crimes of those that claimed to be under
the Imperius Curse have all been forgiven, and they still remain on
the Wizengamot. Where is the justice for the dead?"
Several others I spoke with who also wished for their identities to be
omitted echoed the same sentiment, and no member of our
governing body were willing to discuss the statement when I
approached them with it.
One man, however, none other than the Chief Warlock, Albus
Dumbledore, did consent to sharing a few words with me when I
asked him about the fall of the Dark Lord.
" They were difficult days, and ones that I'm sure all are relieved to
see the back of. Now is not the time to reopen old wounds, but to
allow them to heal."
When asked about the status of Sirius Black, Dumbledore had this to
say.
" The Ministry of Magic is doing all that it can to ensure Black is
recaptured as quickly as possible. It is only a matter of time before
that happens."
("Does the Ministry believe that he is targeting Harry Potter?")
" I would not hazard a guess at Black's motivation for escape but
finding Mr Potter would be quite the task in itself. The boy has not
been seen in public since before Halloween of 1981."
Potter's absence from the public eye caused quite the stir when he
did not arrive to attend Hogwarts when he was expected to a little
over two years ago, leading me to conclude with a final question for
our revered Headmaster.
" Is Harry Potter alive and well?"
" I can assure you that he is healthy and thriving, but that is all I will
say on the matter."
Sirius allowed the newspaper to fall from his grip as he read the final
words from Dumbledore, breathing a sigh of relief, but finding himself
equally confused.
If Harry was not at Hogwarts, where was he?
That was something he could not answer, but what he did know now
was that getting to Peter was no longer so urgent.
Wherever Harry was, he was not in danger from the rat, and that
gave Sirius time to prepare properly before he made another
attempt.
Still, knowing that Harry was safe made him feel considerably more
relaxed, and relieved him of the burden of his biggest concern.
For the first time since he had escaped Azkaban, Sirius had the time
to think with clarity, but as things were, he was too tired and his mind
still too muddled to do so.
Yawning, he added a few more logs to the fire to keep him warm
whilst he slept, something that came easier to him this night than any
other in the past twelve years.
Peter may still be at large, but Harry was safe, and that was all that
Sirius was focused on.