Chapter 7 - Duels and Friendships - Part Two
Waiting for Bella near the floo, Harry took a moment to steel himself before going to meet his family for the Championships. It was today that he'll get a chance to cement his name and place in an irrevocable manner in this new world and he just couldn't wait.
Bella had told him that duelling was as much a mental battle as it was a physical. Winners and losers weren't just decided on skill and athleticism, but also mental toughness. Reading upon the historical commentaries of some of older matches, he'd come to realize just how many times did the underdog triumph over a champion just because the champion had everything to lose and the underdog had nothing. Granted, he was going to be the underdog, but it was the principle of the thing.
And that had been one of the most benign bit of advice he'd received from the older witch.
Some of the others had been just as ruthless and...borderline immoral as he'd always expected from her, and she hadn't disappointed. There was a reason Bellatrix Black had the reputation she had. There was no doubt as to the fear and the respect she commanded. She truly was an untouchable witch.
Speaking of the witch, Harry took a glance at the time and decided to go find her, having run out of patience.
He found her on the sofa in her study, the floo glowing green because she was still speaking to someone from work. He waited a minute and then barged in.
She saw him out of the corner of her eye, nodded, and then hurried to end the call.
"I'm sorry, they needed to ask me about something..." she explained, turning to him.
It was then that he noticed what she'd been wearing and he stilled, thoughts of the tournament leaving his mind like the Dementors left in the presence of a beautiful Patronus.
And Bella was absolutely beautiful.
Dressed in an elegant off-shoulder green dress, held on by thin spaghetti straps with a neat cutout near the neckline that showed off her lavish assets to the extreme, Bella looked very much the powerful and untouchable witch he'd been thinking about just moments ago.
He clamped down on his Occlumency hard when his mind refused to obey his instructions and had given up completely and irresistibly to supremely inappropriate thoughts when he knew that he had to concentrate on something very different and very...life changing.
Unfortunately, one of the side effects of a powerful, occluded mind, as he was still finding out, was its complete lack of filter when he was irritated or annoyed by something.
"Bella, you're coming to the tournament dressed like that?" he found himself asking bluntly.
Harry had no idea how she'd react to that but was a tiny bit relieved when she simply stood up and smirked up at him, the two inches he now had on her doing its job in a very inappropriate manner, as he analyzed under a rational, emotionless mind.
"Why, Harry? Am I making you uncomfortable?" she asked in a quiet, breathy voice and he resisted the urge to swallow, discomfited under her introspection.
But he didn't want to show her just how much she affected him then. "Why would I be?" When she raised a wry eyebrow at it, he shook his head, going further. "I know you after all. I'm thinking about the others," he paused and then let out a crooked smile, "If you go like that, they will all watch you instead of the participants."
Bella laughed a charming, tinkling laugh. "Well, I don't mind it, as long as they keep their eyes on me and their hands to themselves. Looking is all they can do, after all," she said, brushing a piece of lint from the front of his robe.
He laughed, shaking his head at her. "You are incorrigible." And then he calmed, "Besides, I wouldn't let anyone else touch you anyway," he said seriously.
Bella looked a little taken aback at the admission but then her face morphed into a grin, and she beckoned to the door, "Come on then, we don't wanna be late."
Harry followed her without another word, the simple, teasing glances they exchanged as they walked over to the floo doing more than their share of the conversation.
Harry knew he'd said more than he wanted to, but he didn't regret it. He really would not let anyone go near Bella without the threat of bodily harm, and she needed to understand that.
And then he took a deep breath and let his mind take him back to the current reality.
--_- .
It was a challenge to let his mind wander as he began to take stock of his current opponent. Although a familiar face to him who'd lived a little more life than his younger counterpart, Harry didn't relent his emotionless mask and instead had decided to have some fun. On the other side of the duelling platform, Harry watched the haughty and beautiful Fleur Delacour take her favoured stance as she began her first spell chain to demolish him in the semi-finals.
Getting to this point had been a mix of surprise and annoyance. The first three rounds had been a massive disappointment, his opponents having much more to say with their mouths than with their wands. He'd taken no mercy on them though, a few broken limbs and a few concussion curses had been all it took for them to plead mercy while laying unmoving on the floor. The next two had taken some full three and four minutes each for him to get rid of, because this time, their will had taken more time to be beaten into submission than their bodies and he respected them a little more for it. Backstage, they'd been the ones who'd simply observed him silently as they went about their mental and physical routines in preparation for the duels.
But again, all of them, right until this moment that he'd been eagerly awaiting, had still been too immature, too unskilled, too...weak, yes there was no other word for it, for him to take any kind of enjoyment out of the duels or satisfaction in their defeats. They'd been more of an irritant than an opponent and he had felt deflated at the quality of the participating wizards and witches in a tournament that was touted as the Europe's best.
Every once in a while, he took glances at his family and he knew that they saw how easy it had all been for him so far. His mannerisms were lazy, his expressions annoyed and his wandwork quick and efficient and without preamble.
And now, he finally met a familiar face and felt himself grow a tiny bit more excited to see what she'd bring to the match.
As he began to bat away her maiming curses to the side where they got readily absorbed by the invisible runic walls, he let himself relax and examine her style. Compared to his previous opponents, she relied heavily on charms and less on curses and he waited to see the full breath of her power as he defended himself.
In the next moment, his mind snapped to the present as a fire breathing bird tried to take a swipe at his head and an Acromantula tried to crawl towards him from behind and chew off his legs. And then he felt more than saw, as his attention was still on these two corporeal creatures trying to eat him alive, that she was in the middle of another spell chain that consisted of curses that'll batter his chest, crush his skull and make him slip hard on the suddenly warm floor that had been charmed to obstruct his movement to the extreme.
Keeping the creatures at bay was easy, his wand moved in a semi-circle and the giant spider began to bite himself instead of the human that had been its intended prey. And suddenly, an idea popped into his head because instead of trying to beat her into submission himself, he wanted to see if he could make her do the deed herself.
So he smirked at the Veela that looked like one of the deadliest and most beautiful women on Earth, with her silvery hair pulled back and glowing in the stage lights and her chest heaving with the effort it took to maintain her mildly impressive creations, and in the same breath that would've made lesser wizards succumb to both her magic and her beauty, decided to show off a little.
Muttering a freezing spell that emerged from the fingers of his left hand and began to cover his palm and wrist in wisps of translucent smoke, and then a simple propulsion charm at the soles of his feet, he jumped and grabbed the fire breathing bird with its neck.
Landing on his heels, he took a look at the Veela who had taken a hurried step back and was now looking at him in shock. That stunt, while it was reckless and a little...stupid, he decided, had been well worth the risk then.
--_- .
"What the fuck!" Rose exclaimed and not even her Mum tried to tell her off for her language, so engrossed and shocked were they all with Harry's performance.
She turned towards her godmother who was grinning at the wizard who had them all transfixed. "Did you know he was so good?"
That snapped James' attention to her and Bella too. Well, at least for a moment.
"Frankly, this is nothing compared to what he can do," Bella shrugged calmly.
"He's extraordinary," James said, chuckling, to which Lily hummed without taking her eyes off the stage. "I've never seen anything like it!"
"I can't believe that's Harry," John said quietly, "It could be an imposter with polyjuice. There is no way he is so advanced."
Rose lifted her hand to whack him on the head but her Mum was quicker.
"John! That is unkind. Harry has been training for months," Lily hissed, glaring at her other son and he swallowed under her unimpressed gaze.
The Boy-Who-Lived muttered an apology under his breath.
"Catching that...fire thing like that...with his hand, he must've charmed his hand to neglect the heat somehow," Sirius speculated loudly.
"It couldn't have been freezing or any impervious charms," Lily agreed, "And he never transfigured his fingers because it looks like he has full movement from them."
Rose looked at her baby sister and saw that she was watching her brother with mouth agape and something akin to wonder in her eyes. She herself had no idea what Harry was doing but she was definitely enjoying the show.
"Did you see his shield, Lily?" James said excitedly, "It changed shapes mid-cast and-"
"-it didn't even flicker," Lily completed, nodding, "It means he was pushing enough magic into two simultaneous shield charms, at the same point in space, at once."
Rose had to ask, "How is that possible though?"
"How is what possible?" Bella who was sitting next to her, asked, "The changing of the shape or that Harry was casting double?"
This caused the adults to stop and stare at each other, some strange realization dawning on their faces that Rose couldn't understand. She nudged Dorea who wasn't paying attention to their conversation and then glanced at John who was still scowling at Harry, knowing there was no answers forthcoming from there.
"I've never seen anyone other than Voldemort casting double," James said slowly, as if still trying to process the information.
Lily looked at Bella in question who shook her head. "Don't ask me, I know we Blacks do not have anything that teaches that," she said. "I certainly never taught him that."
James agreed, "We don't have anything too," Lily said nothing, only turned back to the stage in a mixture of disbelief and worry.
James seemed to sense it. "Don't worry," he rubbed at shoulders soothingly, "I'm sure he knows what he's doing."
"Harry's skill is off the charts, there is indeed no cause for worry," Bella pitched in.
It was a minute of silence after which Bella spoke again, and this time, both her parents looked at her in worry.
"He is toying with her," she shook her head, smiling ruefully.
Lily frowned. "But why? Shouldn't he just finish the duel be done?"
Bella shrugged. "Did you see how easy it's been for him so far?" she asked to which both James and Lily nodded, "Harry has lost patience and seems to want to have some fun."
Sirius burst out laughing. "He's a true Marauder!"
Lily looked at her in disbelief but said nothing as James reluctantly high-fived his oldest friend.
Rose looked at her parents who were alternating between pride and worry, Padfoot who was still laughing like a drunk madman and smiled. It was truly a wonder how Harry seemed to unite all of them so easily and so wonderfully.
She turned to Bella who winked and threw an arm around her, looking just as bemused by everyone's antics.
"Having fun?" she asked conspiratorially.
Rose grinned.
--_- .
Harry observed the out-of-breath Fleur Delacour and felt no pity.
He had successfully defended himself against all of her ridiculous charm work, something he had admitted to himself she was quite good at, and then neutralized her spell chains and corporeal beasts with ease, and finally, broken her shield apart with simple disarming hexes that made her scream in frustration and dodge and slip on the now uneven floor multiple times. She hadn't given up though and he gave her props for her will, for most in her place would've by now. But she continued attacking and he continued defending, just wanting to see how far she'd go and what she could do.
But then, as impressive her creations were, her duelling level was even better, especially for a seventeen year old witch whose school taught duelling for only three months a year as an elective. She'd been a consistent semi-finalist for the past couple of years and this time, he guessed, she could've hoped once again to beat the witch who had been the champion since she'd entered the Under-17. But instead, he had arrived on the scene and crushed all her plans, and that showed in the way her frustration seemed to grow at him and her glares developed a new intensity.
He thought she might've already screamed at him if it would've not disqualified her. Talking between the participants was forbidden and Harry knew it was the only reason she'd not asked him already as to why had he not mounted a single attack yet.
But she couldn't do that and he continued to have fun at her expense, making her feel like a little girl participating in the tournament for adults. Quite an irony, considering who was the actual adult here.
It was when the clock hit the eleventh minute that he saw an achingly familiar purple spell coming towards him and his Occlumency snapped.
Images of the past and the world gone by passed in quick succession before his eyes, of Hermione falling to the purple curse and not moving at all, of Fleur, the spoilt brat that she was, mocking him as Bagman announced that he was the fourth Champion, of Cedric Diggory falling to the deadly green curse, of Death Eaters cheering as Voldemort held him under the Cruciatus, of his mother falling to the deadly green curse and Sirius falling into the Veil until he had no one left.
And the emotions that bubbled up inside him made him suddenly calm, too calm, calmer than his strict Occlumency would ever allow him. He was still thinking straight, but with a new kind of fervour. Red hot boiling rage coursed through his veins and he realized that in that moment, nothing mattered other than teaching her a lesson she'll never forget.
So she wanted to liquify his organs and make him choke on them, was that it?
He'll show her what happened to little girls who played with curses they shouldn't.
--_- .
"Did he just-"
"What the fuck!?"
"No way!"
"What is happening?" Rose asked and nobody replied.
She took a split-second glance at everyone and saw that they were having similar reactions as she did: disbelief, fear and shock.
Her Dad had his arm around her Mum's waist in comfort, Sirius was looking at the stage with his mouth wide open and Bella was frowning.
What they'd seen could've been deemed impossible if they hadn't witnessed it with their own eyes. And nothing could've prepared them for what came after.
Harry had swallowed the mean looking purple spell, and then a second later, split it back at the witch who had barely jumped out of the way, the curse piercing her shield like it was just air.
"Aunt Bella, what happened?" she asked again, thinking that she was the one who was most likely to respond.
Bella let out a shuddering breath. "I don't know," she paused, and Rose saw her thoughtful frown again, "Something made him angry."
"He probably just thought it was time to duel properly," snarked John and Rose said nothing, choosing to take his words at face value. She didn't think it was that.
Harry had been calm and barely attacking and suddenly, he looked like he meant business.
"It's gonna end soon anyway," Bella shrugged and Rose struggled to understand how she could be so calm under so ridiculous circumstances, but then again, she'd never understood her godmother that closely. She was a bit different than most wizards and witches Rose knew.
--_- .
Harry knew that this match was truly going to be a talk for some time to come, thanks to his showmanship, but he didn't care. This had been necessary. He needed to show his power.
He wanted them, everyone, to know that they shouldn't cross him and that he didn't forgive.
He'd done a lot of stupid and reckless things in his life but this one truly took the cake. It was dangerous and if he wasn't so confident in his own skill, it would be suicide, but he was and it was glorious. When he'd spit it back at her at the speed of a bullet from a revolver, he'd watched her face transform into plain outright terror.
Good. That was what he wanted and his heart danced with satisfaction.
There were a lot of achievements that Voldemort could boast and some of them, if written down into a book, would sound completely fictional. But his cursed scar, one that had all kinds of bad omen and bad memories attached to it, one that had bothered him immensely for every waking moment of his life, had given him knowledge that no one else could ever hope to match.
And he liked it. If this helped him become Voldemort's equal, and then his better, then great. He'll take it.
Coming back to the present, he absorbed a plethora of cutting, tripping and concussion hexes with an invisible shield and waved his wand over his head and let out a small school of greyish butterflies, and then stood still and watched her grow increasingly frantic as none of her charms seemed to be able to vanish them.
The birds had begun to claw at her shield and when struck with a curse from his opponent, transformed into a dark pulsing, shapeless miasma that began to spread around with a mind of its own.
The more she tried to vanish it, the more it grew until it was reaching out in tentacles to grab at her robes.
Shrieking in panic, Fleur let out a barrage of desperate curses. Bone breakers, concussions, disarming, blasting, cutting, bone breakers again, and so forth. Desperate because Harry could see that she was no longer angry at him. She was terrified of him.
And unfortunately for her and her actions, Harry no longer wanted to play.
He conjured a simple python made of ice and it slithered towards his enemy with a one track mind. Fleur's attention now focused on getting rid of two of his creations to no avail, she tried to dodge and apparate away, only to take two of his well-placed bone breakers to each shoulder.
She dropped like a stringless puppet, screaming in agony and the miasma caught up to her ankles and then slowly her waist while his python tightened its grip around her neck, choking her.
Harry bent down to pick up her wand and waited.
He'd only counted to four and the duelling stage shifted, the invisible walls coming down and the judge's voices ringing in his ears.
"Stand down, Ms. Delacour is unable to compete," someone warned and Harry nodded, turning obediently towards the voice.
The judge, someone who he'd looked up, had been a champion himself some twenty years ago, analyzed the struggling Fleur and then came up to him.
"Mr. Potter, please apply the counter to this conjured substance," the judge pointed to the miasma that had climbed up to her chest, blackening all of her body in the process. Harry nodded in compliance.
He applied the counter and waited for the miasma to vanish and it did, after a long minute of making the witch scream herself hoarse with pain and fear. This curse truly was a wonderfully painful way of making someone suffer.
The judge nodded at him and then set out to announce the winner of the semi-final and that the finals will be held after a half-hour break.
Harry bent down to eye level with Fleur who gave him a terrified grimace but didn't move, or more appropriately, couldn't move because both her shoulders were hanging off her body.
He placed her wand back in her right palm and brought his mouth to her ear with a comforting smile. But he knew that the soot and dust on his face and his prior actions will make it seem more sinister anyway.
Her face retained that helpless fear and her eyes shone a dull, lifeless grey as he spoke the words softly and nonchalantly in her ear.
"Little girls like you shouldn't participate in tournaments meant for adults."
He grinned and then walked away to meet his family.
--_- .
Claire Gauthier was a competent witch. Being the only daughter of an Auror and an enchantress, she had always been naturally curious about magic from a very young age which made her eager to cast spells like her parents. Before she turned eight, she was demanding to read ahead and perform the first year spells. When she turned eleven, The Beauxbatons Academy of Magic welcomed a natural overachiever that excelled in almost every subject, and if you asked her friends, they'd tell you that she was the most competent witch they'd ever seen.
When she was twelve, her father had gotten hurt on an assignment that made him bedridden for nine months, and Claire had had many mishaps with some of the insensitive and loose-lipped members of the school. Never one to back down from a fight, she'd become rowdier and loose with her wand. Near the end of the school year, the duelling instructor of the school had taken her under his wing, spotting a talent that nobody else had seen and as her father gradually got better, Claire prepared and participated in the first duelling tournament of her life at thirteen and was crowned the champion of the Under-14s.
Turning fifteen, she'd become one of the youngest witches ever to win an Under-17 Championship and now, as a two-time champion awaiting her third final, she was taking in her new opponent with a mixture of shock and disbelief.
Because Harry Potter was an enigma that had taken the tournament by storm, and everyone, including her, was still reeling from the aftereffects of his brilliance.
"How is it that he looks as if he could take on the entire Auror force by himself and win?"
She laughed to herself. It was stupid, is what it was.
She'd seen a number of underdog entries over the past couple of years. Thirteen and fourteen year olds are usually referred to as the 'newbloods' in the duelling scene, a monicker for their warm blood, hot heads and poor skills. They usually handled themselves well over a round or two before getting their arses handed to them or split from them by a more experienced duellist.
When she'd seen Harry Potter enter into the circuit, she'd thought the same and paid him no mind. From the back of the room where she'd observed him as she got dressed, he looked like any thirteen-fourteen year old, of average height and lean build. The only impressive feature that had struck out to her had seemed to be his brilliant emerald eyes, and she'd disregarded them in the same breath she'd noticed them because she knew that things like the physical features that you're born with have little or no bearing on who you are or what you become.
But she and she guessed through a single look around the stadium, that everyone, had been completely and irrevocably taken by surprise.
Because Harry Potter was no ordinary wizard and now, no one in the world was going to underestimate him.
As she regarded herself in the mirror for one final time, twirling her trusted wand in between her fingers, the gong sounded in the distance and a familiar noise followed it, the audience once more hurrying to take their seats for the final duel of the day. She had five more minutes before she had to enter the arena.
Claire took a deep breath and steadied herself. As long as she'd been on the duelling scene, she'd never felt stressed or anxious or apprehensive before taking on an opponent, be it newbie or experienced. Today, however, was the first time ever that she could see a tiny spark of fear in the irises reflected back at her.
For the first time ever, she didn't know what to expect as she step foot onto the stage. Sure, she'll be working as hard as she always did to win the trophy and become the three-time champion, make herself and her parents proud once more and defeat an opponent that had awed everyone during the day.
But the voice at the back of her mind, the one that she trusted implicitly told her that she better be extra cautious of this mighty wizard. She grinned wryly to herself at that admission, because calling an almost fourteen year old a mighty wizard goes against all rationality, and yet, here she was, preparing to take on a wizard who had beat everyone under five minutes and then had gone on to toy and humiliate and utterly crush a witch that nobody except her at Beauxbatons could hope to match. Hell, even the headmistress and her duelling instructor, two of the most brilliant witch and wizard in the entirety of France respected the daughter of the Head of the DMLE.
And yet, not only had she been toyed with like a baby, she'd suffered too. Physically, Fleur looked battered and close to comatose as the mediwitch had arrived with her company, escorting Fleur's prone form to the infirmary, and later to the hospital. No one knew what that black spell was, only that it had almost consumed her body whole, and had the judge not intervened to stop Harry Potter, Claire wondered if he would've even cast the counter.
She shuddered.
The duel had been going well, she knew, having a keen eye for everything that went on within the confines of the stage. She'd seen him infuriate the older witch, make her close to losing her temper and then, suddenly, something had happened that had made that stupid, playful grin on his face to dissolve into lethal rage.
She knew what had happened, or at least, she was confident that she had observed correctly, the organ liquification curse that had made him angry and crush Fleur like a wet cigarette. So that brought her to the conclusion that either Harry Potter hated dark spells as a whole or he hated that particular dark spell.
Another voice in her mind, this time the arrogant one chided her for giving so much credit to a mere boy but then she quickly shook her head in annoyance, wishing that she was slightly better at Occlumency to control these warring factions of voices and emotions within her mind to a better extent. Confidence was okay but overconfidence always led to ruin without fail, and she would be a fool to think that Harry Potter was a mere boy when he was better than every grown wizard and witch she knew.
And as she also guessed as to what they'd all witnessed today wasn't at all the extent of his abilities, a simple plan began to form inside her head. A plan that she wouldn't ever dream of using on the international stage like this and yet, the occasion demanded that she do so and do so in way that enabled her to win this trophy.
Thus, the final bell signalled her entry and stilling her mind to the best of her abilities and putting on her best expressionless mask, Claire Gauthier, the sixteen year old witch and the two time champion entered the arena to a round of applause.
--_- .
Daphne Greengrass' day had started surprisingly morose and had continued to grow unexpectedly better to the point that she had to pinch herself multiple times over the past three hours to remind herself that she wasn't dreaming and it was all real.
It was real and everyone was just as stunned into speechlessness as her because of Harry Potter, the forgotten twin of the Boy-Who-Lived.
Because Harry Potter had suddenly come out as a fucking titan and crushed his opponents like they were nothing but unarmed children.
So much was she in disbelief at her introvert housemate's performance that she hadn't even registered an alternate performance going on in her own box, namely from her other housemate Draco Malfoy. The boy had stood up at the end of Potter's fourth round and uttered something about imposters and cheating and stormed off, vowing to teach him a lesson.
Daphne had no time to consider the rant because she was too busy admiring the boy, now looking like a full-grown wizard, perform feats of magic that not only belied his age, but also seemed impossible by all means.
His wand a blur and his hands waving spells around that looked suspiciously like wandless magic, swallowing a malicious looking curse, spitting it back towards the helpless witch, conjuring animals and...substances that obeyed him implicitly, everything was too surreal to even consider that she was watching someone in her own year perform them with a skill that spoke louder than anything else.
As she looked around to gauge the reactions of the people around her, she nodded in satisfaction. Potter had convinced almost everyone of his power and skill and now the stadium looked like it was rooting for him to win the final bout too. And why wouldn't they, when all they'd seen so far spoke evidently of what was coming next.
"I can't believe that is Potter," spoke some sixth or seventh year in her box.
"Well, Draco says it's not and I believe him," Parkinson said snippily and Daphne rolled her eyes.
There was no point in arguing with stupid people. You can't beat them at being stupid after all.
"They do a lot of checks for polyjuice and other stuff before the tournament," someone remarked. "I don't reckon Potter could cheat them."
Daphne let her mind wander away from her classmates' ongoing argument of whether that was indeed Potter or not because unlike them who had nothing better to do than spend their parents' gold, pass exams with Acceptables, and play a useless sport, she had more important things to consider, namely, the future of her family.
Harry Potter's performance had ignited a hope in her chest that refused to be snuffed and Daphne, ever so cautious, wanted to quell her desires to first fetch more information on the subject. If she was honest, she still struggled to believe her eyes that it was the same Potter than was the subject of countless cruel pranks from her housemates, who was painfully shy and incompetent with a wand and who barely uttered a dozen words in public in a full week. If it was all true and it seemed like it was, this was a remarkable transformation and by revealing his power in a public setting like this, he had clearly drawn a line in the sand.
What his motives were and on which side did he stand, or if he had a side of his own remained to be seen and Daphne knew that it was only a matter of time before the bigger picture behind his public display of power was revealed. Already, his extended family was packed with powerful witches and wizards, not just magically but also politically.
And now, Harry Potter had come into the spotlight and it was bound to cause some avalanches in the magical world.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nott taking a seat by her side again, this time, surprisingly maintaining some distance and looking a bit...dazed.
"Nott," she said neutrally.
He didn't look away from the stage and she followed his gaze to see him observing Potter who had just come out to participate in the Under-17 finals.
Nott opened and closed his mouth multiple times but no sound came out.
"What is it?" she asked, a little impatient now.
He swallowed. "Nothing, just wondering about the spells that he used, that's all," he said quickly.
He clearly knew something that had made him uncomfortable. Daphne frowned.
"I'll admit I don't even know half of them," she spoke.
Nott grimaced. "I know of one," he said quietly and she could see that he looked anxious. Intrigued, she simply raised an eyebrow at him in question to which he sighed. "It's a story about that black curse that Potter used earlier..." he trailed off.
Curious now, Daphne signalled for him to continue and he did, looking like he really was relieved to speak to someone about what he had on his mind.
"Have you ever heard of the Devin massacre?" he asked in a cold, quiet voice.
Daphne shook her head, and for the first time in her life, she wasn't uncomfortable as Nott leaned in as if speaking about a forbidden secret.
"It's a city in Bulgaria. In the 1950s, there was a village there that had the best wand for hires in the world," he took a breath and Daphne felt goosebumps on her arms, not understanding what was the cause behind such mystery but insanely intrigued about it nonetheless. He took a quick look around their box to see nobody else was listening. "In 1958, a wizard arrived at a local pub and cautioned the gathering to let go of their...professions in exchange for their life."
"I'm guessing that they didn't listen," Daphne laughed hollowly.
"No they made fun of him instead," Nott said gravely, "The next day, there was that curse, spreading and consuming every living being in the village. Nobody knows where it came from or who cast it. It was there and it consumed the entire village in less than twelve hours."
Daphne swallowed.
"How do you know all this?"
Nott was silent for a long moment, his eyes darting back and forth between her and others around in their box. Then he leaned even closer and she resisted the urge to shift.
"My Grandfather was in the pub that day," he revealed, "Meeting an old friend."
Daphne turned to look at the stage that now housed the two participants for the finals. The judges were declaring the rules once again. On one side stood the two-time champion with her erect posture and neutral gaze. On the other, Harry Potter stood like he didn't have a care in the world and listened to the judge with a soft, confident expression.
Then she looked at Nott again. "What happened to the village?"
"It was sealed off by Muggles," he said darkly, "The Magicals are forbidden from ever entering Devin, lest they carry out the curse from within it."
"The curse is still there? Festering? What does it do?"
Nott shrugged. "Nobody knows as we're not allowed to enter the city. But I'm guessing Potter used the counter for it in time otherwise she wouldn't have survived."
Daphne didn't know what to think of this whole story. "Or it could be another curse."
Nott nodded. "It could be. But I don't think so. It looked exactly like my grandfather described it."
"But why will he use it here on an opponent? He could get disqualified, or worse, banned from the tournament for life!" she protested weakly.
Nott shook his head. "Who the fuck knows? Maybe he just wanted to teach Delacour a lesson? Did you see how angry he seemed by the end?" Daphne nodded. "I know now that Potter is extremely dangerous and it will be a good idea to not be on his bad side."
On that, Daphne agreed wholeheartedly. She had no reason to ever seek enmity from Potter. Not when she was hopeful for a friendship with the wizard.
Chapter 8 - Duels and Friendships - Part Three
He swerved under the sheer force of the banishing hex and settled on his feet on the uneven ground, blocking two more stunning and concussion spells with an invisible shield. He shifted to his left foot to let a smoky nausea hex pass him by the ear and looked at the heaving grey-eyed witch opposite him in mild curiosity.
This Claire Gauthier was turning out to be a special witch and a fierce opponent.
Harry hadn't thought he'll be paying too much stock to his opponent in the finals of the Under-17 and yet, here he was, blocking spell after spell that were cast with blistering speed and ruthless efficiency making her the first participant to have not behaved according to the persona that he'd constructed in his mind.
After the semi-final, Harry had experienced a rare yet familiar irritation in his bones. An irritation that stemmed from a variety of things that he could and couldn't pinpoint, and had found himself wishing for the tournament to end and to go home.
So far, he'd witnessed it all. He'd fought the braggarts, the children, the amateurs, the ex-champions, and even an aspiring champion who was also a Veela. Now, when he'd just wanted to be done with it all, he'd found an opponent that was worthy of a proper duelling dance, a witch that defied his predictions and expectations and was proving herself unexpectedly skillful and cutthroat.
In hindsight, he thought as he let a few of her spells absorb into his barrier and released them overhead in a blinding shower of sparks, he should've probably expected this from the reigning champion.
Besides, he could admit that he was having fun too.
--_- .
Right from the start, Claire could tell that this duel was going somewhat different to his bout with the former finalist Delacour. When in his previous round, Harry Potter had viciously neutralized her attacks and toyed with her, he was now much more controlled, much more like his previous duels and was even probing her own defences from time to time with a few well placed sneaky spells.
He didn't use anything dangerous, not at all. It was almost as if he didn't think that he even needed to resort to more complex and injurious spells. It was as if he thought he was so above his opponent that he was content to let them attack and defend and run around the arena like mad, humiliating themselves slowly, gradually and irrevocably.
A series of basic yet powerful fifth year spells left her wand and while she was busy transfiguring her surroundings to aid her, and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him avoid the first completely with his insane reflexes, and then bring his hands from the side to his front in a wave to construct a shield. Amidst making her brand new crocodile herd, she saw him astonishingly absorb her second, third and fourth spells with his shield and then reflect them back at her, the spells hurtling right at her with speeds that she honestly thought were impossible to achieve.
So surprised was she that she had do a handspring to avoid them, silently thanking her Mum's childhood lessons. As she regained her footing, she saw that her transfigured creations were slowly crawling and vanishing into a small puddle by the side, and there her opponent stood calmly with his wand facing the ground and hands placed neutrally at his sides, as if assuring her with his eyes that he wouldn't attack and beckoning her and somehow encouraging her to come and do her best.
Her mind was suddenly divided into two warring factions. One was annoyed at the presumption and incredulous at the audacity that a wizard her junior would patronize her like this and yet, it fought with the part of her that was determined to do her best and show him exactly what she was capable of.
As she took a deep breath in their brief standstill, a third, more dominant part of her realized that this right here was an experience so surreal that she'd remember it forever.
She raised her wand over her head and spun around, gathering her magic to create a depression, to pressurize the air into a tornado which in the next moment began to pick up all the nearby debris from the ground and was becoming taller and taller. Crouching low, with a flick of her wand, she sent it hurtling towards her opponent and then set about creating two of her special whips of fire to surround him from the sides and back him to the part of the arena that had exactly what she wanted, a spot to make an invisible trap.
She saw him smile as if impressed and felt some pride in her work but didn't wait for his reaction as she had no time to waste.
The whips flashed a deadly bright orange, the flying debris making from her tornado turning into metal spikes on contact with the fire, that were promptly hurled towards him in a shrapnel shower uncannily reminiscent of those muggle bombs. The air crackling with the discharge of magic and the wind and the smoke making her hair and her dress blow uncontrollably, she realized with a wry smirk that this was the most fun she'd ever had in the duelling arena, and she'd been duelling for years.
Never had she had the opportunity to just let go in this very uncontrolled manner, and like a witch possessed she took full advantage of it. This was her true power, as witnessed and faced by a boy two or three years her junior who was so ridiculously good with a wand that he'd had no issue in bringing out of the best from within her.
--_- .
"Bloody hell!" Nott exclaimed under his breath as they witnessed the final duel of the day.
Daphne broke out of her stupor and realized that she had forgotten to breathe. The feats of magic she was witnessing here belonged in the story books that she'd read as a child, and yet, these two duellists had surpassed every fiction and continuously came up with more and more surprises.
"It's ridiculous," she agreed quietly, unable to keep the awe out of her voice.
"I don't think I've seen a better duel in my life," Nott admitted. "And they've only been at it for ten minutes."
But those ten seemed like eternity, she thought.
Harry Potter had successfully avoided, parried or simply vanished every single spell from his opponent without batting an eye and at this point, she realized without a doubt that no wizard or witch in the Hogwarts castle could ever hope to match him. She had no idea how far his abilities went and having never seen Dumbledore duel, she had no point of reference, but still somehow felt that this Harry Potter, the boy or rather, man, that was not only holding his own but doing it with skill and elegance, would still be able to keep himself safe.
He would be able to keep her family safe too.
And just like that, her excitement for the duel vanished and was replaced by worry and gloom. Suddenly, the world had turned into a dangerous place and she, who had always admired her parents, especially her father for his unique brilliance in both business and character, suddenly felt lost.
She'd been blessed really, in having a family that had never made her pine for friends in Hogwarts, never had a wish that her parents couldn't fulfil or for which she'd had to make connections with the heirs of disreputable wizards and witches her age who were so determined to follow in the footsteps of their parents.
Because no matter how much they believed the opposite, those families were indeed disgraced from their roles in the Blood war, and now, even if their wealth had allowed them to retain their prestige in the world, nobody was fooled, especially the families who had not opted to join a side but decided that it was a fight between two mighty wizards who had both nothing to offer them.
Dumbledore was a pacifist who just happened to be so ridiculously good at magic that a large part of their world had mindlessly decided to follow him. The Dark Lord was a maniac who wanted to ruled the world with his Death Eaters, and while supposedly fighting for purebloods, he still managed to kill enough purebloods on the pretext that it was necessary to further their cause.
Her father had once explained that nothing in the world was free, and that both sides in the war were simply selling their souls to the one who they felt was going to be their saviour.
"But who is our saviour, Daddy?" she remembered asking a long time ago.
Her father had looked at her with a beatific smile which she felt was because she'd asked a good question. "Nobody. We don't follow anyone. We'll continue to live our lives separately, away from the conflict and simply leave if we are forced to choose a side."
She'd nodded in acceptance. Surely her Dad knew what he was talking about. "Leave where?"
Then her father had looked away and didn't reply for a long time. She remembered waiting patiently for this answer and then asking again.
He'd cleared his throat. "I heard you, Daphne, and don't worry, I'm sure that it won't be needed at all. If it will be, we'll decide together as a family."
To her nine-year old mind, that had seemed like a very reasonable explanation. To her fourteen year old self though, it seemed terribly naive. And they were now living through the times when leaving had become neigh impossible.
How was it even possible to just get up and leave to a distant country and hope nobody followed you there? To wrap up every detail of their family's life in a jiffy and escape their motherland in lieu of a country who'll treat them as second citizens with no guarantee of safety and security? A few years ago, she would've thought any ICW member nation would at least be a decent choice for escaping the Dark Lord's control but now, France had fallen, or almost fallen, rather disgracefully to a mutiny and nowhere felt safe.
"Are you going to follow Potter?"
If Nott was surprised by the question, he didn't show it. They watched the match in silence, the only noise coming from the brilliant defences that Potter brought to life in order to neutralize Gauthier's metallic shower.
Her reverie was broken when Nott sighed. "I don't know."
Daphne didn't relent. "He's the brother of the boy-who-lived, you know?"
"I know!" he scoffed. "As if we need a reminder."
Daphne understood what he was saying even as he didn't say it explicitly. For the past three years, Potter's life in Slytherin had been...difficult, to say the least. How was it going to appear when two of his housemates who hadn't spoken more than two dozen times to him over three years would suddenly try to be his friend? Or worse, his follower?
"That hurricane looks dangerous," he remarked.
"It's a tornado," she corrected automatically.
He snorted. "Of course," he paused and then turned towards her with a frown, "Are you going to follow him?"
Daphne shrugged. The only thing she knew with certainty was that her family needed to choose a side and she'll kill herself before she ever let her father or mother or Merlin forbid, little sister be branded as slaves by a maniac who championed the rights for purebloods while he'd himself decimated more pureblood families than five previous wars taken together.
"I'll have to," she said honestly.
Nott nodded and then stayed silent. Daphne frowned internally at the incredulous nature of this conversation with a boy who she'd wanted to strangle for almost a year now because of his unhealthy fixation with herself.
Regardless, she now had a mission for herself in mind. Determination filling her, she knew that she had to repair their relationship, or rather, begin their relationship anew, something that felt daunting but achievable. It would not be impossible if she could just think of a way that she could be useful to Harry Potter.
Because if she'd guessed correctly from the way he'd dismantled his opponents, Potter was going to be a force to be reckoned with and she needed to find a way to aid him in whatever way she could.
Surely, his side, if there was one, even if ended up being the same as Dumbledore's, could not be worse than the Dark Lord's?
--_- .
She'd struck with innumerable shrapnels and he'd waved his hands in a sweeping motion and produced a shield that reduced them all to fine dust.
She'd tried to maim or at least, scare him off into a corner with her special whips of fire and he'd blew that dust into the flames so harshly that she'd not been able to make up her mind as to whether to keep pushing more magic into them to keep them alive or abandon them and attempt something else.
She'd tried to literally blow him off his feet or at least, disorient him enough for her to sneak some spells in with rapid succession with her tornado and yet, he'd transfigured his fine metallic dust into a giant blade of wind that cut her gale in half. And then the pieces that remained into their own halves, and did so until nothing remained.
Claire panted, stumped with the display and not thinking that she had a choice, consciously tried to make her flame whips bigger and stronger before releasing them in the general direction of her opponent, choosing to take a second to form her favourite spell chain.
Shield charms are often deceptive and not at all advised to be used a first resort because of the exact kind of spell chains that she was hurtling at him. You throw four spells at your opponent and while the first two or three are easily absorbed by the shield, the last two can be sneaked from the side or through an area much bigger than what the shield could cover. And thus began the useless dissipation of magic by an inexperienced opponent who tried to make rapid shields to cover different parts of his body, all while neglecting his surroundings and the effects that could have on his energy levels. She tried to imagine that this might work, although, from what she'd seen and now experienced, she felt a small resignation deep within her, telling her with a loud and clear voice that she was hopelessly outmatched.
But that was her newest idea and she'll stick to it. Twenty minutes in, if this was going to be a war of attrition, she'd better make sure she could handle the extra toil, considering she was two years his senior and much more experienced in the art of duelling.
And so began her attempts to cast pointedly and efficiently and with greater accuracy at her target than ever before. It was supposed to be quite taxing to construct and maintain a big shield and similarly wasteful to cast too many small ones. Not only did she want to just finally hit him with a spell just once, she also wanted to see how he handled an attack such as this.
Her curiosity yielded yet another set of surprises for her because Potter not only did not move a single step backwards and stood rooted at his spot, he also did something with his shield that had someone told it to her as a story, she would've scoffed in disbelief and dismissed the narrator as drunk.
His wand pointing steadily in her direction without moving an inch, his shield intercepted each and every spell by literally flickering into existence one by one, second after second before every intended point of contact and then disappearing to intercept another at a different area on his body.
It all began to happen so fast that his shield almost looked like it knew where her spell was going to come before it was even cast.
It was such an impossible feat of magic that Claire could do nothing but increase her speed of casting, her arm becoming a machine and her brain hyper focused on bringing spell after spell after spell to the forefront of her mind to make her casting as quick and her aim as accurate as possible. A small part of her also realized that so far, Harry Potter had yet to mount a single decent attack and here she was, the two-time champion, about to both drain her magic to dangerously low levels and lose badly while she did.
But she needn't have bothered, because one moment Potter was okay to stand there and let her spells be invalidated by his abnormal shield and in the next moment, he'd sprung into action.
A few stunning spells came at her so fast that she barely dodged them, and he didn't stop there.
Simple and powerful spells to break her bones, make her trip and blast her off her feet, hammer her skull and make her temporarily blind, all began to barrel towards her faster than she could blink and although she would've liked to dodge them all, she couldn't so she reluctantly gave up her casting to defend herself with her shields.
Only this unending onslaught began to exert more pressure on her magic and she felt that she was close to faltering.
But it will not do, not so easily.
When her body told her that what she wanted to attempt was now or never, she made up her mind and rolled on the floor away from his incoming spells and conjured three fire breathing winged creatures in quick succession. When her creations began to hurl fireballs at her opponent, she quickly set about to attempting the most dangerous area spell she knew.
Claire hadn't ever attempted to cast it with as much power as she could, the danger of bringing down buildings and causing innumerable accidents being too high a price. But now, in this enclosed, runically protected space with no one but her opponent, an opponent who was yet to sweat from a single spell she'd thrown at him, she felt ready.
The truth was, she would've liked to do it sooner if she thought the outcome merited the effort. But never had she faced such an impossible opponent so this spell had remained in her arsenal, just waiting for the right time.
She began to chant and slowly, massive fissures began to erupt in the platform Potter was standing on, his wand having already cut down one out of her three birds. She saw him steady himself and position himself while watching out for more cracks but she snorted inwardly because this was not it. From inside the fissure, came red hot, burning magma ready to melt everything it touched in an instant. She was rewarded for her effort when a look of alarm crossed his features, the first for him so far.
But she didn't stay idle. The final part of this spell came about when the entire platform began to shake as if under the effects of an earthquake. With the magma beginning to erupt so that no standing surface was safe enough, the ground shaking like the oncoming of the apocalypse and her wand now starting to begin her usual spell chains again, she saw Potter look at her and their eyes met.
For a brief moment in the chaos, she saw his face transform from alarm to realization and finally, to a smirk that had her reeling in both annoyance and surprise.
Not even missing a beat, she saw him leave the ground as it shook and burned and shoot upwards into the air. She caught herself staring at him in shock as he flew towards her, completely unassisted, his wand coming up to point at her.
She barely had time to construct a shield as a dozen different spells began to rain down on her from above and she cried out when a cutting curse struck her thigh and her body betrayed her.
As she tripped and fell, landing unluckily on her injured leg that almost made her cry out in pain, her breath was torn from her lungs and she felt her wand disappear from her hand.
She saw Harry Potter coming to stand in front of her, looking no worse for wear, and nodding.
She coughed and blinked and suddenly, he was right there beside her, peering down at her with a soft smile.
"You were brilliant," he said and she knew it was sincere, both the smile and the compliment.
He assisted her in sitting upright, giving her her wand back. "How are you so good?"
His face turned serious. Leaning towards her, he brought his lips to her ear.
"I practise."
Both bemused and annoyed by the admission, a laughter bubbled up in her chest and broke out of her in a rush. She saw his eyes, a brilliant emerald shade, dancing with amusement and shook her head.
He began to stand up.
"Well, don't be a stranger, alright?" he said firmly and she nodded automatically. Only in the next second did she ask herself, what did he mean by that?
But by then, he was walking away from her without another glance, leaving her lying there half-awake in the dirt.
--_- .
After an enthusiastic reunion with his family, Harry felt overjoyed at his victory. The trophy was secondary, the pride on his parents' face though, it was everything.
His Mum had taken some time to acquiesce to the fact that he had taken so many risks and done so many stupid things that could've landed him in the infirmary or worse, in one of those infamous wards at St. Mungos, but at last, after the continued exaltations of his Dad and Godfather, she too had shook her head and let out a chuckle.
Bella had hugged him and told him how proud she was of the fact that he was the now the youngest ever Under-17 champion. His sisters had looked at him in awe and wonder and told him how happy they were for him. Even John had shook his hand and congratulated him with more than a half-hearted effort. It seemed like even his perpetually jealous twin could let go of his natural instincts and join his family in celebration.
After the runner-up had been awarded, he'd climbed up the accepted the trophy, bowing humbly to the standing ovation of more than ten thousand wizards and witches and then descended the stairs to join his family. As soon as the applause had died down, he'd handed over the trophy to his Mum.
"You can decorate it however you want in the Manor," he's said getting rid of the burden.
His Mum had burst into tears then and even his perennially unserious Dad had turned away to hide the wetness in his eyes.
As they together began to leave the stadium, chatting and laughing and teasing, Harry heard a familiar voice call him.
"Potter!"
He would've never stopped had she been not literally coming to stand in his way. Granted he could simply ignore her but he couldn't appear rude.
"Greengrass," he greeted neutrally. "What are you doing here?"
They stood in silence for a moment. He wanted to keep going but he must've moved a second later because someone much more attuned to the way of females took the matter into his own hands.
"We'll see you outside, Harry," His Dad said and winked at him behind Daphne Greengrass' back.
"We'll be okay, brother," He tried to protest but then Rose smiled at him in a knowing way, as if telling him to take his time.
He sighed internally and nodded. He didn't need to take a glance at his Mum or Bella to know that they were looking at the girl in suspicion. And John was another matter altogether, and he didn't even want to go there.
As soon as they were out of earshot, he turned his gaze upon the witch who stood there with her palms joined in front of her, her ocean eyes an insistent shade of blue.
"Congratulations on the victory, Potter," she said looking at him. "You were impressive."
He nodded. "Thanks."
Looking at her beautiful visage with her high cheekbones, a soft nose and pouty lips, he could tell without even going further down her body as to why the other Harry had such a huge crush on her. And what had the witch done in return? By Merlin she'd never even looked at him with a kind gaze in three whole years.
"Slytherin will be talking about you," she began, paused and then snorted, continuing, "Merlin, the entire school will talk of nothing but your fantastic duels from today."
He nodded, appearing flustered to see where she was going with this. He averted his gaze and saw a small smirk appear on her face before it was quickly hidden.
"Do you have any idea of the kind of waves you've made today?"
He looked confused. "Waves?"
She took on an understanding smile. "Of course!" she said, coming closer and he looked at her dainty figure slither up to him like a snake. "Slytherin will try to measure you after this, to see what you're made of. They'll want to curry favours, ask for things, and even the upper years will try to test you, manipulate you, guide you."
He shook his head. "I don't want any of that."
She placed a hand on his forearm. He followed it with his own to feel its softness against his own rough ones. She clucked her tongue. "You can't avoid it now, Potter," she explained, "You've entered a whole new world now."
"What do you mean?"
Daphne sighed. "Well, you were already the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived before. A little unknown but still recognizable. And now, you'll be known all over as the boy who won a tournament he couldn't or shouldn't have won. They'll think all kinds of things. Students, parents, influential wizards, politicians, all with an agenda to make use of your abilities and your fame."
Harry grimaced. "But what do I do? I just want to be left alone."
Daphne patted his arm in understanding. "I know. I'll help you, Potter. We're in the same House and it wouldn't be odd for us to spend time together as I teach you all about navigating this new world you've stepped into."
"How?"
"Don't worry about that, I'll tell you as the time comes," she said dismissively.
Harry looked at her beautiful face staring at him with a hopeful expression and felt a torrent of emotions. Anger, laughter, incredulity and disbelief. The most dominant one was however, laughter and he tried hard to control it from spilling out of his mouth.
For three years he, or rather his other self, had suffered humiliations upon humiliations at the hands of his fellow Slytherins. He'd had his satchel torn weekly from a stray curse just when he was going to be late for a class, he'd had ink spilled over his homework, he'd had suffered detentions and more from Professors because of his plotting and gossiping classmates. Merlin, he'd even had to avoid eating his favourite dessert for a while because of the risk of a potion.
For the first two years, he'd had such a huge crush on Daphne Greengrass that he'd waited for her to say a word in his favour so that his housemates stopped harassing him. She obviously held a lot of power in the Slytherin House, courtesy of Malfoy who was sweet on her and her sister. Even his future intended didn't seem to mind that Malfoy wanted the ice queen to himself and so she was beyond limits to everyone else.
In his third year, Harry had become immune to her cold, disdainful stares and resigned to his life in Slytherin.
And now, out of nowhere, the ice queen herself was marching up to him in France and propositioning him to act as his political handler.
Too much, it was all too much.
He guffawed.
Daphne flinched and jerked her hand away from his arm, taking a full step back.
He saw her looking at him as if he'd gone mental and he analyzed what he knew about her.
What could make a disdainful pureblood witch suddenly attempt to cozy up to a wizard who she'd considered below her notice for years?
"Daphne Greengrass wants to be my friend?" he scoffed, "Why? Trouble in paradise?"
It was then that he witnessed the fear on her face and knew he'd hit the jackpot. She needed him to do something for her or someone she cared about that she couldn't do herself.
"What is it you truly want, Daphne?" he asked and she tried to take another step back but he snatched her hand within his grasp, pulling her closer.
"Potter... Harry, please," she begged quietly, squirming in his grasp and looking at him with pleading eyes.
"Please what? What did you need from me that you felt the need to do this...charade?" he spat and she flinched, as if slapped.
Even as she begged him, she had a coldness about her, a haughtiness, that just dried his humour and made him angry.
A tear escaped the corner of her eye and ran down her rosy cheek. Why did this cold, selfish, haughty and cruel girl had to be so beautiful too?
"If you had come to me with a genuine offer of friendship, I'd have never turned you away. But you had to come to me like a snake instead."
He jerked her hand away from himself and she shrieked and stumbled.
"Get out of my sight," he hissed, barely able to resist doing harm to this delicate flower. She turned to him then, looking at him beseechingly and this time, he knew for certain that it was one hundred percent genuine.
"There will be changes coming to Slytherin," he said in warning, "I hope you don't choose the wrong side."
He departed immediately, not waiting to see more of her crocodile tears.
--_- .
Harry had barely taken control of his emotions again when his gaze caught the wave of another witch, and this time, it morphed his face into a genuine, happy smile.
"Claire!"
He walked briskly in her direction, putting the previous encounter completely out of his mind. As he came closer, he took in her appearance and snorted to himself.
She was clad in a simple yet elegant black dress, her short greyish-blonde hair framing her heart shaped face quite adorably while her lips lay parted in joy.
"Harry!" she said and opened her arms warmly. He stepped into them with a surprised but happy acceptance.
"What are you doing here? How are you?" he asked, unable to believe that this was the same woman who had lain there injured and sapped just an hour ago.
"I have been searching for you," she said in an accented English, ignoring his inquiries. "I wanted to ask what you meant!" she said, and he just stared at her, taken aback by her enthusiasm.
He could never imagine that this was the same ruthless witch he'd just fought. "What?" he asked in a daze.
She shook her head at him in a pout. He suddenly had an urge to kiss those lips.
"I wanted to know what you meant!"
"I heard that!" Harry laughed and she laughed alongside him. "What do you mean by that?"
She giggled. Was this how she was in real life? So effortlessly charming and just...nice?
"'Don't be a stranger', what did you mean by that?"
He blinked. "I meant this, exactly this of course. You stopping to talk to me for no reason at all."
"Like we're friends?"
He shrugged. "We could be, if you want to," he said. "But enough of this - how are you doing?"
She grinned. "No lasting damage. I was released from the infirmary just a few minutes ago."
Harry had a sudden craving to cradle her cheek in his palm and he acted without thinking. He wondered for a moment if he was being too forward but when she gasped at his touch but didn't complain, only kept looking at him with an inscrutable expression that he took it to mean something.
"I'm relieved," he said sincerely, letting his eyes convey his emotions.
He must've done something right because when she nodded and he removed his hand to let it fall back to his side, he saw a tiny downward curve of her lips.
He looked around. "So are your parents here to collect you?" he asked.
"They're waiting outside," she indicated and then snorted. "My father was very angry with how you defeated me."
He smiled impishly. "I could say I'm sorry but that would be a lie."
She broke into peals of laughter. "Do you want me to go apologize to him for it?" he asked in the same breath.
"Slow down, Mr. Potter. We have only just met," she teased. "There will be plenty of time for you to meet my parents later."
"Well, I wouldn't want to appear ru-" his words were cut off by a brilliant flash that instinctively made him spring into action and erect a shield over the both of them.
Only then did he notice that the photographer standing in the distance looked like he was going to piss himself.
Claire seemed to sense his change in mood because she was grasping his arm, tugging him away.
"Come on, I know a place where we can talk privately."
He followed without a word, keeping his wand at his side and scanning the crowd milling about for threats. His hackles refused to come down until he was pulled behind a door that looked too much like--
"Wait, did you just bring me to the ladies bathroom?" he asked, both amused and incredulous.
She met his gaze unrepentantly. "It was the best option," she replied. "No one will disturb us here."
It was as if her words were a prophecy that fate was determined to thwart because in the next moment, one of the stalls opened and a middle-aged woman stepped out. She'd only walked to the sink before her mouth dropped open in surprise.
Harry looked at Claire who had turned a deep shade of red.
"You were saying?"
--_- .
"Why Lucius, you look like shite."
Lucius Malfoy vanished yet another splotch of slime from his robes as he carried some large heavy bags out, some by hand and some by magic.
"Still in the chamber, is he?"
He glowered at his longtime colleague who he wished he had the authority to curse.
"I'll still say that this idea is a foolish one."
"Well, why don't you go tell that directly to Master, Nott?" Lucius gritted out.
Nott said nothing, instead waiting for Malfoy to remove his burdens and sit down on the desk beside him. "Another failure?"
Malfoy nodded, choosing to glare at the fire with his newest glass of firewhisky. "I wish he'd let me or anyone else help."
"Well, I'm shite with both rituals and potions but I'm sure someone like Rookwood could help," Nott added.
"He's busy with other missions," Lucius informed him, "But I'm sure that Master is close. He looked satisfied with his limbs this time even without complete success."
"Well I'm sure he is," Nott got up to leave, and then turned to him with a frown, "Oh, I just recalled. One of your whores just arrived, she's waiting in your study."
Lucius grunted without looking. Nott shook his head.
"I'll never understand what they see in you."
Lucius smirked. "It's not about what they see in me but what I see in them."
Nott left the room without another word.