1,205The finale of the Durmstrang Arc! We'll go on a brief hiatus after this, during which I'll be posting more chapters for Sacred Sight.
P*T*E*N Page is up and running, slightly ahead of FFN and AO3. This pace will change to significantly ahead of FFN/AO3 once we reach the next hiatus point (at the end of the Durmstrang Arc). Visit P*T*E*N / 521dream if interested. Posted stories include A Flaw in Fate and Sacred Sight (A King's Path Rewrite/Remaster).
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The next chapter will be published the Saturday after next.
Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate
The Desolations of Destiny
XXI. Chevalier D'Or
Two thousand and two, two thousand and three, two thousand and four . . .
Harry shook his head, frustration seeping from his nostrils in heavy puffs. He glanced at his silver curtains, imagining the soaring European countryside that likely sat behind its depths. His chest heaved with every passing second.
This is pointless.
"Accio book," Harry said firmly, his hand outstretched. An opened textbook flew hesitantly toward him. Harry flicked idly through the pages, catching the tome's title on the window's reflection:
'Rituals: The Evile Art of Magickal Alterations'
Long, winded passages loomed before his eyes. Harry's skittering fingers came to a stop after a long moment.
There.
"Not bad," Harry muttered curiously, leaning closer, "Not bad at all . . ."
Several diagrams littered the page, drawn up in heavy red ink. Harry traced them curiously as his eyes jumped from word to word.
Truisms . . . three truisms. I don't understand . . .
Something stirred in the back of Harry's mind. His fingers stretched past the confines of his bed, pulling on his curtains. Nothing more than the open air awaited him.
What the fuck -
Harry rose to his feet, wrapping his evening robes tightly around his form. Faint noises echoed from beyond his dormitory door. Harry edged closer to it, pulling it ajar -
"- if you'd just shut the fuck up!" someone was saying loudly. Many other voices danced around them, "I told you I heard voices, if you were a bit quieter you might've heard them too!"
Emerald pajamas shimmered as Pansy Parkinson strode past the fireplace, pressing her ear against the window. Several others watched as she moved, standing in a semi-circle beside the mantle. Faint whimpers permeated the room.
"Er - Luna? Could you, you know, cry a bit quieter?" Marietta Edgecomb whispered. Through the crack in the door, Harry could see Fred gaping at her.
"You've got some fucking nerve -"
Harry pushed the door wide, stepping out into the open. Several sets of eyes flicked toward him.
"What's going on?"
His eyes surveyed the room. Nearly everyone was packed within the minuscule common room, from Hermione to Hannah to even Marcus Belby. Past them, Luna had crammed herself into a corner of the room, wiping her eyes.
"Train's been stopped for nearly an hour," Belby muttered, "Marietta reckons we've been stopped by the French."
A heavy sensation pooled in Harry's chest. He conjured up a confused expression.
"The French?" he frowned, "Why would we be stopped by the French?"
They all turned to Marietta, who huffed irritably.
"I told you, I heard them speaking French!"
"How would you know?" asked George pointedly, nodding at the silver amulet adorning her wrist, "You've got your language amulet on, clearly -"
"Well, whoever was speaking doesn't have one, clearly," Marietta growled, "I'm not being stupid, Granger heard them, too -"
"I've only been to France once," Hermione added unhelpfully, "But the accent sounded similar to me."
"And, in case you idiots have forgotten our destination," Marietta finished, mouthing the word 'France' for all to see.
"I just don't understand why they would've stopped us on a bridge," Hannah Abbott whimpered from her armchair. Her hands were clenched firmly on either side, "I've got a terrible fear of heights."
"I don't think you're the only one," Pansy muttered, glancing at Luna.
She looks ill.
"I just don't understand why any odd French bloke would stop us," Fred continued as Harry strode across the room, heading for Luna, "It's not as if they don't know we're coming - the tournament's not exactly a secret, is it?"
Marietta's eyebrows scrunched with irritation, her lips curving to form an angry retort. Harry tuned her out.
"What's wrong?" he asked softly, cupping Luna's jaw, "I don't take you for someone afraid of heights."
"I'm n-not," Luna agreed, wiping her eyes, "Just nightmares."
Harry smiled kindly.
"They're not real, Luna. Don't forget that."
"I'm trying."
Bang.
"Would you lot stop making noise?" Pansy barked from the window, "It's hard enough to find the French as it is."
A blur of blonde streaked past her, ignoring the girl completely.
"Turn on the Wizarding Wireless!" said Astoria loudly, jumping into a pile of cushions beside the mantle, "The French Minister is addressing the nation!"
"So?" asked Fred, confused. Behind him, Marietta began fiddling with the radio.
"So, I heard Dumbledore talking about it with the French ambassadors just outside my window!"
The students around the room all froze. Fred stared at her, unconvinced.
"How can you be sure?" he frowned, pointing at Marietta, "Eagle-brain overhear said they were speaking French. They don't have any language amulets."
"Dumbledore wasn't using one, either," Astoria smiled, "Doesn't matter. Mummy made me learn French when I was five -"
"Here!" Marietta called, stepping back. A loud, almost electrical buzz surrounded the wireless.
"- vers midi trente-neuf heures du matin, des flammes dorées furent à nouveau projetées dans le ciel," a firm voice played through the static, "Cette fois, la magie ignoble a été lancée sur une île isolée au large des côtes égyptiennes -"
"What's the point of these damn things if they don't even work?" George snapped, waving his silver amulet around. Marietta hissed at him.
"Shut up! Do you have any idea what's going on?"
"Of course not -"
"There's been another Fiendfyre attack," several heads flicked toward Astoria, who had spoken. Her eyes were latched firmly upon Harry's, "This time on an island off the coast of Egypt."
A heavy silence blanketed the room. Unsurprisingly, it was Fred who broke it.
"Merlin's fucking beard . . ."
"What are they saying?" Hermione crept toward the wireless, a pang of fear in her voice, "Did they mention anything else?"
Marietta held a finger to her lips, and the room fell into silence once more.
"Les flammes ont été vues par plus de dix millions de moldus, ce qui en fait la plus grande violation jamais réalisée du Statut international du secret magique," Marietta's jaw fell open, though she hushed the others quickly, returning her ear to the radio, "Nous ne savons pas encore s'il y a eu ou non des victimes."
"What is it?"
"The Fiendfyre was cast somewhere densely populated. They're saying about ten million muggles saw it happen."
Harry felt as though he was going to suffocate. From the looks of it, so did everyone else.
"Ten million," Hermione repeated weakly, "Ten million muggles -
"La France enverra la plupart de nos Obliviators pour aider l'Egypte dans cette période de crise. Nous espérons que beaucoup d'autres nous rejoindront, considérant cela pour ce que c'est : une attaque contre notre sécurité, une attaque contre le monde dans son ensemble."
"Egypt won't be able to deal with that sort of chaos," Marcus Belby noted from beside the mantle, "They haven't got the resources."
"They won't be alone," Marietta pulled her ear from the wireless, "France is sending aid. The other nations probably will, too."
"They'll have to do more than just that," Hermione said worriedly, "Muggles, they're not stupid. And besides, how will they stop the people who saw it from leaving Egypt? How will they stop people from calling their friends and family on the other side of the world?"
"Calling?" Belby squinted, "What do you mean, 'calling'?"
"Instant communication," George muttered, "Dad goes on about it all the time. Muggles can send Owls across the world in seconds."
"What do you think?" a soft voice called from across the room. Harry glanced over, watching as Astoria's uncertain gaze lingered upon him, "How do you think they'll fix it?"
Harry shifted.
She knows.
"They'll start obliviating the government, not the public," Harry said slowly, "Once that's all said and done, they'll probably have some high-ranking muggles announce that it was a military training accident or something."
"That would work?" Hannah sounded skeptical, "The muggles - they'd actually believe that?"
Harry shrugged.
"That sort of stuff happens all the time," he told them, "Besides, it helps that there weren't any casualties -"
"How do you know?" Hermione said pointedly. She leaned forward in her armchair, watching him carefully, "Marietta didn't say anything about that."
"The French Minister said so in his speech," said Astoria quickly, "I've been teaching Harry French to help him in Beauxbatons, just in case. He must've picked it up."
Harry felt his heart beating wildly in his chest. He watched as Hermione sank back into her seat, frowning.
Astoria saved me.
He looked up, his eyes falling on the blonde-haired girl sitting amongst a sea of cushions. An intense, Fiendfyre-like heat burned in her eyes.
Thank you.
He could practically hear his thoughts echoing within the girl's head. Her lips curved faintly into a grateful smile.
"Le Chevalier D'Or lui-même constitue une menace évidente pour notre sûreté et notre sécurité. Il a compromis non seulement le bien-être de notre jeunesse, mais désormais la paix même que nous maintenons depuis la chute de Grindelwald. Je vous assure que ni moi ni le reste du gouvernement français ne nous reposerons tant que ce signe avant-coureur de troubles ne sera pas démasqué."
With that, the wireless went silent. Everyone turned to Marietta expectantly.
"He just said that France would be looking for the culprit," she sighed, "Not exactly the most shocking statement . . ."
"Do you think that's why they stopped us?" Hannah mumbled, "What if they think it's one of us?"
"There's no way the French ministry thinks it was a fucking child," George argued loudly, "Not even they would sink so low."
"The first attack was at Hogwarts," said Hermione curtly. Her eyes snaked toward Harry, "It makes sense."
Fred perked up, elbowing his twin.
"Maybe it's what I said over the summer."
George stared blankly at him.
"You don't expect me to remember, do you?"
"That bit I said about it being Dumbledore," Fred reminded him. He glanced around the room, "It's him they're talking to, isn't it? Not us."
"Why in the world would Dumbledore use Fiendfyre at Hogwarts?" asked Pansy, unimpressed. Fred sighed.
"Dementors, probably. I dunno."
"Right," said Hermione, "Well, you'll have to forgive me for not buying into your ridiculous theory -"
"- I don't forgive you, actually."
"You lot are all ignoring something," a snobbish voice rang through the room. They all turned to face Marcus Belby, who was now standing by the fire, "The second attack took place in Egypt. Unless any of you know any Hogwarts students who've taken a trip across the pond recently . . ."
Marietta sighed.
"At least we know it can't be one of us," Marietta sighed, "We were all on the train."
"Harry wasn't," Hermione said quickly. She turned to face him, "He snuck out."
Harry felt his heart quicken again. From across the room, George laughed.
"So he snuck out to spend the night with Delacour, so what -"
"Delacour?" Astoria piped up, frowning, "What do you mean, Delacour?"
Fred yawned.
"It isn't our business, really -"
"- but if it clears his name," George sighed, "We've seen Potter sneaking off to that Gabrielle girl a fair few times now."
"Only ever happens in the night," Fred noted, "Weird."
Just about everyone stared at him, bewildered. Harry felt his cheeks develop a slight pink tinge.
"I don't - I didn't - what?"
"He can apparate," Hermione pointed out, "We've all seen him jumping from one place to the next -"
"He can't apparate as well as we can, I can promise you that," Fred yawned, "Do you think we did it?"
Hermione stared at the two twins.
"You know, I wouldn't put it past the two of you to try -"
A cacophony of arguments permeated the room. Astoria made her way toward Harry, unnoticed. She tapped the backside of his palm, her eyes unnaturally wide.
"What is it?"
"Read my thoughts," Astoria whispered. Frowning, Harry delved past her eyes and into the confines of her mind. A single word replayed itself in her head.
'Why?'
Harry took a deep breath.
You.
"What?" Astoria said aloud, confused. Her eyes widened at her mistake, 'What do you mean?'
The back of Harry's palms felt sweaty. He glanced around the room before returning his attention to Astoria, pouring his thoughts into her head.
Blood curse. Cure.
The girl froze.
'Me?'
You.
'What happened?'
"Can't tell you," Harry whispered. Astoria leaned closer, her chest pressed against his side as her fingers wrapped tight around his arm, "It isn't anything you should worry about.
"Please," she pleaded desperately, "Harry, please . . ."
Harry grit his teeth.
Cornered a man who had a lead on a cure. He unleashed an army of dementors.
'And you fought them?'
I did.
Astoria's eyes watered.
'For me?'
Harry thought for a moment. Realization slipped beneath his skin, translating his emotions into legible thoughts.
For you.
Astoria's grasp on his wrist was impossibly tight. She positioned her head firmly on her shoulder, positioning herself so that no one but him could see her cry.
"I have more than a decade left," she murmured, "You - you don't have to be so - so -"
Her voice failed her. Harry tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, turning her gaze to meet his.
Every second counts when you're facing a curse without a cure.
'Does that justify using Fiendfyre?'
Harry paused.
No one was hurt.
'You were seen by millions.'
Harry's heartbeat quickened again. He stared into her eyes, feeling the desperate emotions that consumed her. He shoved his own honest thoughts into her skull.
Whatever it takes.
Astoria forced her head back in the direction of the corner, tears sliding down her cheeks again. She wiped them away as quickly as she could. Harry felt her thread her soft, dainty fingers between his own.
"I love you," she whispered, pressing her lips just below his ear, "I love you more than you could possibly understand . . ."
Harry shivered. Uncomfortably raw truth echoed in her words.
"I love you, too."
-(xXx)-
A sea of endless bodies loomed just outside the window. Harry watched as several thousands pushed and shoved, all screaming as they pushed their hands forward, desperate to so much as graze the red coat of the Hogwarts Express -
"Nervous?"
Harry turned. Hestia Carow sat neatly in a tall, thin chair. She watched him with narrowed eyes.
"No," said Harry truthfully, "It doesn't matter."
They don't even know me.
Hestia nodded thoughtfully. Behind her, the other students stood still, waiting silently for their headmaster to address them. He did so just a moment later, the door creaking loudly as he entered.
"The train has been brought much closer to the school than initially intended, owing to the rather rambunctious crowd and current international conflicts," he said loudly, brandishing his wand through the air, "You're to stay within the guard of the French Aurors. They are dressed in a light blue."
Professor Dumbledore waited just a moment for the other students to nod before turning to Harry.
"By my side, Mr. Potter," he said curtly, "The ambassadors wish for you to stay close to me."
"Er - of course, sir."
He hurried forward. Dumbledore cast one more glance around the room.
"It's time."
The door slid open. Hundreds of bright lights flickered just a dozen feet from where they stood, an array of sounds blasting in Harry's ear -
"Scurolumin."
The lights faded. Harry blinked to himself, his heart racing as the sea of faces leaned closer, reaching towards him.
"Stay between us Aurors!" one of the men in blue shouted. A silver amulet gleamed on his wrist, "Quickly, quickly, let's go."
"They seem agitated," Harry whispered, watching as the Aurors pushed them forward. The other Hogwarts students lingered slightly behind.
"I imagine you would be too, were you working overtime," said Dumbledore calmly, "In light of the attack on Egypt, the French Ministry felt it necessary to send several hundred Aurors. For our safety, of course."
Harry swallowed, catching the sharp edge hidden within Dumbledore's words.
"You're disappointed with me."
Dumbledore's fingers twitched. Harry felt subtle wards wrap tightly around him and the headmaster.
Silencing wards.
"Disappointment is indeed one of the many thoughts flickering beneath my scalp," Dumbledore's lips barely moved as he spoke, the tall man striding confidently through the gardens that led up to Beauxbatons Institute, "Another is the conversation I shared with you last June. Do you remember?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably.
"I - no, sir."
Dumbledore's frown deepened.
"We discussed the possibility of your expulsion, should you prove a danger to your peers."
Harry felt as though the wind were knocked out of him. A thousand possibilities jumped through his mind all at once. Most of them involved the leering faces of his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and cousin Dudley.
No.
"Professor, it wasn't my fault -"
"Not your fault," Dumbledore repeated plainly, plastering a kindly smile on his face as he waved to the surrounding crowd. He didn't bother looking Harry in the eyes, "Perhaps I am mistaken. Was it someone else who managed your rather uncommon feat?"
"No," Harry's words felt heavy and lifeless, "I did it."
"I presumed so."
"I had too," Harry added earnestly, "It was that or death -"
"A poor explanation," the headmaster frowned, "Our choices are never so simple and limited. You chose to ignore the other possibilities. You chose to put yourself in that situation."
"I found a cure for Astoria!" Harry hissed angrily, "Was I supposed to ignore that?"
Dumbledore sighed. Heavyset lines adorned either side of his fading eyes.
"You allowed your desire to blind you," the headmaster frowned, "Such desperate, potent desire. I can feel it now, leaking from your very heart -"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
Dumbledore turned to him.
"Do you believe you've found a cure for dear Astoria's rather unique curse?" he asked sadly, "Or, perhaps, do you hope your cure is capable of more . . . unnatural feats?"
Harry grit his teeth.
"You know about the stone."
"Of course I do," Dumbledore admitted, "You forget, Harry, that you were not the only one whose loved ones rest within the dirt of Godric's Hollow. I too have walked this path."
"Is that what you think?" Harry frowned, glancing up at Dumbledore, "That I'm going to resurrect my parents?"
Dumbledore paused.
"That is not a question for me, Harry, but for you," he whispered, "I simply ask that you not forget Death's eternal nature. She is not particularly fond of those who take what is rightfully hers."
Before them, large chestnut doors slid open. Eight tables filled the room: one curving around the front half of the room, with seven others arranged similarly to the students' tables back home at Hogwarts.
"Welcome to Beauxbatons!" a tall, thin man said as they entered. Harry eyes the silver amulet adorning his wrist, "Please, be seated with your age groups - first years starting from the left, seventh years starting from the right!"
The Hogwarts students nodded. They all scurried off to their seats as Professor Dumbledore followed the thin man up to the staff table.
"Come on, Potter," Pansy's palms pulled irritably at the ends of his robes, "You don't want to look like a fool on your first day."
He followed her, Hermione, and Hannah down to the fourth-year table. A number of excitable eyes slipped across his features. Harry ignored them, his heart still pounding heavily.
Expulsion. He wouldn't expel me . . .
Silver hair loomed at the very end of the table. Harry focused, catching Gabrielle's gaze.
Save me a spot.
He hurried along the table, grinning as Gabrielle's eyes widened. He slid into the empty seat beside her.
"What are you doing?" she hissed quietly as he tucked in.
"What?" Harry shrugged, "Friends eat together, remember?"
A thin smile stretched across Gabrielle's lips.
"You're going to start gossip."
"I don't care," Harry admitted, "Do you?"
Gabrielle slowly shook her head.
"Then we're all good."
Woosh.
All around them, Beauxbatons students rose to their feet. Gabrielle pulled Harry up with her.
"What is it -"
"Delegates of Hogwarts and Durmstrang Institutes!" Madame Maxime said in a booming voice, standing at the center of the staff table, "My students and I warmly welcome you to Beauxbatons!"
A smattering of applause rang from the Beauxbatons students. Madame Maxime smiled down at them.
"As many of you know, we face trying times," she said loudly, "The Ministry of Magic has seen fit to alter several safety regulations accordingly. This we shall discuss at great length in an hour's time, but, for now . . . feast!"
Silver cloches vanished up and down the table, replaced with all sorts of foods Harry didn't recognize. He watched as the Beauxbatons students quickly filled their plates.
"Quickly," Gabrielle admonished, pulling an oyster stew towards them, "Or everything will be gone."
Harry stared at the bowl she balanced within her palms.
"I'm not eating that, whatever it is."
"Yes, you are," Gabrielle grinned, "It's good. You'll see -"
She piled several spoonfuls onto his plate.
"You should be grateful, you know," she told him seriously, "Bouillabaisse isn't served very often. I wouldn't normally be so willing to share."
"I'm honored, really," Harry said, poking at the oysters with his fork, "You actually eat this?"
"It isn't any stranger than the obsession with beans on toast you British have."
Harry blinked at her.
"What's wrong with beans on toast?"
"Exactly."
Harry frowned, carving out a spoonful of bouillabaisse. He raised it towards his lips.
That's really, really good.
"Thoughts?" Gabrielle asked, a knowing smirk on her lips.
"I think you're insufferable."
"And right," the girl grinned, "Insufferable and right, remember that."
Harry rolled his eyes, diving head-first into his meal. It was nice, talking to Gabrielle. The time whirled by as they chattered, more eyes than Harry could bother to count trailing over the sides of their skulls. They ignored them all, leaving their once-full plates practically spotless.
"Somehow, everything feels less exciting here," Gabrielle said as they waited for the other students to finish eating. Her eyes roamed the Grand Foyer, "More dull."
"Didn't expect that from you," Harry admitted, "You do go on about Beauxbatons quite a lot."
"That's because it's better than Hogwarts and Durmstrangs," she said, "And it is. But it's less exciting, too. At least the other two were a change of pace."
"It can't be all bad," Harry frowned, looking at her. A single silver braid hung at the girl's left side, "At least your family is nearby."
Gabrielle sighed.
"Don't take this the wrong way," she said softly, watching him carefully, "But that is not always a good thing."
Harry's head tilted.
"What's wrong?"
"I . . . ever since Fleur and Anaïs, well -" she made an odd heart shape with her fingers, "- Maman and Papa have been tougher on me. They expect more."
Harry frowned.
"I don't understand. Why would they expect more?"
Gabrielle stared at him.
"Someone has to continue the family. From the looks of it, it won't be Fleur."
Understanding flickered like a light in Harry's skull.
"Oh," he fought to keep the blush from his cheeks, "They - they don't want you to - you know - do that now, do they?"
A fierce pink tinge covered Delacour's features.
"You're an idiot," she whispered, slapping his wrist, "No, of course not."
She sighed.
"Maman and Papa, they're sweet. They've known Anaïs for a long time - Fleur and her have been friends for ages. But they're bitter. I know they would've preferred to pass the inheritance to Fleur over me."
Harry frowned, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile across his lips.
"You can't know that -"
"Except I do," Gabrielle hissed, "Fleur's prettier, stronger, more charming - she's just better. I - I don't mind - I love Fleur more than anything. But sometimes . . . sometimes it - it -"
"Hurts," Harry surmised. Gabrielle nodded.
"It's so odd, too," Gabrielle frowned, "Fleur's always hated being pressured by maman about marriage. And her and Anaïs . . . they've always been friends. Just friends. It just . . . it feels so weird."
"Your father isn't as worried, is he?"
"No, he is," said Gabrielle carefully, "Though he won't be as vocal for a while, what with all the extra work he'll have to do because of - you know -"
The Fiendfyre.
Harry nodded quickly.
"For what it's worth," he said, forcing his heartbeat to calm, "Fleur isn't a Triwizard Champion."
Gabrielle laughed weakly.
"She's not winning the tournament, either, though I'm sure she could," she smiled, "It doesn't matter, really. You'd still be up against a Delacour."
Harry rolled his eyes.
"Dumb luck. I'll be on top in a few months."
"Uh huh," Gabrielle smiled, her tongue poking out from between her teeth, "I believe you, Harry -"
Clink.
Harry turned. A large, silver coin clattered atop his plate.
"You're lucky," Gabrielle noted, eyeing the coin curiously, "Those are usually reserved for students in their last year of study. You'd better pocket it."
Harry frowned, looking around. Sure enough, many nearby students were staring at his coin with equal surprise and envy. He swiped it, tucking it into the insides of his robes.
"What is it?" he asked, intrigued.
"Superior token," Delacour replied quickly as Madame Maxime returned to her feet, "I'll explain later. Madame Maxime already looks rather put out."
Harry glanced over. Sure enough, the French headmistress eyes them with a rather disapproving expression. She looked away as Gabrielle pulled him up to his feet.
The dregs of conversation faded from the Main Foyer as Madame Maxime stepped forward, a motherly smile on her lips.