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AFiF 4, Chapter 36: The Future Festival
🕑 Added 2025-04-21 10:16:30 +0000 UTCThe golden light of the sun coated his skin as he walked, letters in hand. Harry shifted through them silently, his hooded head ducked as his thick black robes obscured the remainder of his pale skin. Whispers followed in his wake.
“Le petit sauveur . . .”
“Peut-être que je devrais -”
“No. Leave him be.”
“Ils lui parleront de la deuxième tâche. Ne le faites pas arriver en retard.”
Harry paid them no mind. The crowd parted around him as he walked, the eyes of hundreds of students pulling at his back like a rope along a tired neck. The end of the French courtyard drew nearers, surpassed by fields far less packed.
At least the people waiting for me there don’t see through me.
Harry frowned at the thought. A man with greying brown hair flickered through his mind.
Not that they really see me, either.
Lips thinned, he held up a letter to his eyes, re-reading it for the fourth time:
‘Dear Harry,
Good luck with your little task within the second task. If you’re going to chase that trinket, be sure not to make it obvious to the people watching live. I suppose that lucky feather will help with that.
Daphne wishes you good luck. I think she wants you to beat your girlfriend. I do too - you’ve already got Hogwarts in second place. Whatever you do, just make sure it’s good enough for you to come back in the third act.
Wishing you the best,
Theodore Nott’
Harry sighed, tucking the letter into his robes. Another, less through letter presented itself:
‘Dear you,
Good luck. WE - which is to say me AND her - believe in you. I know you’ll beat your little Veela girlfriend with no problem.
Sending all my love,
Me’
“And to think I thought she was more lucid these days,” Harry scoffed to himself, pocketing the second and final letter, “Batty old hag . . .”
He stepped out of the courtyard, leaving the dregs of the Beauxbatons students in his wake. The seemingly never-ending French fields loomed beyond. Out in the distance, Harry spotted what appeared to be about a dozen little dots. Not one of them sported a head of silver hair.
Weird.
As he drew closer, Harry came to notice that a certain Bulgarian seeker was missing, too. In fact, the only present person who resembled either of the two champions was Dumbledore, whose long greying hair lacked the distinctly magical qualities of Gabrielle’s.
“Good afternoon, Harry,” the man smiled tiredly, beckoning closer. His eyes lacked their familiar twinkle, “Your skin looks remarkably lively.”
Those nearby - the other judges, the aurors, and a few Ministry workers - all shared puzzled looks. Only the fair-skinned French Minister Henri Laurent seemed to have understood Dumbledore’s words.
Harry smiled, stepping forward to shake the headmaster’s hand with his left rather than his right.
“Skincare products really do work wonders,” he said, shrugging, “My girlfriend gave them to me.”
He watched, half-satisfied, as Minister Laurent’s lips thinned into a narrow line. Dumbledore’s own lips curled upwards.
“How very thoughtful of her.”
“It was,” Harry agreed earnestly, “Which reminds me - why isn’t she here?”
“The champions are each being briefed on the second task independently,” Barty Crouch called from near the back, looking tired as ever, “This is to prevent the sharing of ideas amongst one another. We wish them to put their best foot forward, after all - not someone else's.”
“Ahh,” Harry nodded.
To stop me and Gabby from talking about it. How stupid.
His emerald eyes flicked to Gabrielle’s father. Judging from the disbelieving expression on his face, he seemed to agree.
“Now then,” Ludo Bagman stepped forward. Harry watched with vague intrigue as the man rubbed his hands together, his baby blue eyes bright with excitement, “Have you got any guesses as to what the second task might be?”
Harry frowned, shaking his head.
“No,” he lied dully, “Does it have anything to do with this field?”
Ludo Bagman boomed with laughter.
“No, Harry, not at all!” he grinned, “No, you’ll be shifting through a little maze under France.”
Harry nodded slowly, doing his very best to reign in his emotions. Despite this, he could still feel his jaw clench.
So the stone’s hidden within the second task, then.
Blanketing his features with a puzzled expression, Harry leaned closer.
“A maze under France?” he asked, sounding confused, “I - am I just supposed to do?”
A knowing glint emerged in Dumbledore’s eyes as he stepped forward, frowning slightly.
“You are tasked with obtaining one of three prizes hidden within the catacombs beneath Paris,” he revealed simply, much to Bagman’s chagrin, “Pointed will be rewarded based on the speed in which you obtain this prize as well as the skill and efficiency with which you do so.”
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
“These prizes,” he began, “Can I go after any of them, or am I assigned to a specific one?”
Dumbledore smiled.
“I do suppose you could chase whichever prize you prefer,” he nodded, “After all, the three are all one in the same.”
Right.
“And am I allowed to know what exactly they are?”
“A flower petal,” said Barty unceremoniously, “Each of you will be tasked with retrieving an invaluable petal from a treasured flower.”
A - what?
Something raw and unsettled whispered beneath Harry’s pale skin, pumping blood heavily through his heart. A rush of nerves prickled against his chest.
“A flower petal,” he repeated carefully, “What does it do?”
“That, Harry, is a mystery for after the second task,” Ludo smiled, “For now, just concern yourself with this. You’ve got your lucky feather, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” Harry nodded, picturing the glowing feather hidden amongst his clothes.
“Well there you are, then!” bagman smiled, “That’ll be yours to use during the second task. I’d love to tell you how to, but of course I haven’t the foggiest idea -”
“That is an additional task for you, Mr. Potter, to resolve,” said Mr. Crouch pointedly, “Should you fail to do so, the feather will be of no aid to you during the challenge.”
“Right,” Harry nodded, uninterested. His thoughts were now fully consumed by something else.
It can’t possibly be the same one . . .
“The task will be preceded by the Gloire Parade, mind you,” Mr. Crouch continued. He was now reading from a lengthy sheet of parchment, “Your carriage will be -”
“Gloire Parade?” Harry interrupted, confused. Mr. Crouch huffed, “What’s the Gloire Parade?”
“A traditional French festival honoring the Triwizard Champions,” Dumbledore offered gently, “You will be required to do little more than sit in your carriage as it is paraded throughout the streets of Paris.”
Harry gritted his teeth. He imagined he looked as though he were sucking on one of Professor Dumbledore’s infamous lemon drops.
Paraded . . .
Harry didn’t much like the sound of that.
“Your carriages will be completely covered with only a small window on either side permitting others to see you,” the aged headmaster assured him, “Your involvement in this will be minimal.”
Harry let out a sigh of annoyance.
“Fine,” he muttered, “No one else can enter, right?”
“Not unless you request they have access.”
“Gabrielle,” said Harry instantly. He watched as Minister Laurent turned away, “Astoria and Theo, too.”
“Mr. Nott is currently being housed at Hogwarts, unless I am mistaken,” Professor Dumbledore said with a raised brow, “I expect he will be viewing the second task in the Great Hall with the others.”
Harry shrugged.
“Just in case.”
“Very well,” the headmaster nodded, “If that is all, I advise you to return to the Hogwarts Express. A great deal of preparation awaits you.”
“Of course,” Harry nodded swiftly, not bothering to see if anyone else had anything to add, “Thank you, Professor.”
“Good bye, Harry.”
-(xXx)-
Harry rolled his wand over in his hands. An empty armchair sat before him, almost taunting him.
No Luna. And I really thought she’d come out to lecture me.
Sighing, Harry rose to his feet. The floorboards of the common room creaked under heel as he made his way towards the door.
“I suppose you can’t see everything,” he whispered, humming to himself.
Thank Merlin for that.
He shoved the door open, piling out of it whilst wrapping his thick robes tighter around him. It was unbearably warm, what with the warm midnight weather of France encasing him. Thin blades of grass tickled his heels.
Hurry up.
Harry closed his eyes, focusing his mind on a fortress surrounded by ice.
Crack.
The French fields were violently replaced with cold stone and pouring snow. Harry’s breath fogged up in the air before him. Without skipping a beat, he began hurrying in the direction of the nearby castle, waving his wand before him.
“Calorem Focis.”
Steam wafted off his body. Harry felt as though a raging fire was but a few feet away from him.
And I thought winters at Hogwarts were bad.
He hurried down through the snow-strewn grounds, sneaking in through a bolted window and down a familiar set of halls. After what felt like forever, Harry found himself standing before a familiar tower. Two women stood on either side of the entrance, draped in flowing robes and silver chains that obscured their faces.
“You’ve broken many rules in coming here tonight, Harry Potter,” one of them whispered. Harry watched as the chains shifted as she moved, revealing dull brown eyes, “Headmaster Kakaroff would be incensed.”
Harry frowned, taking a step forward. He fought the urge to reach for his wand.
“Are you going to tell him?”
The four women shook their heads as one.
“No,” the first spoke, “He warned us of your coming.”
“He - Karkaroff?” Harry muttered, perplexed, “What -”
But the prophets turned on their heels before the words could so much as slip from his mouth. Harry watched as they pried the large door open, slipping into the darkened depths of the scarlet tower. He stared after them for a long moment.
He . . . I thought the Scarlet Prophets were a matriarchal society.
His breath fogged as he plucked his wand from his robes. Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped into the room, holding his wand aloft.
It was just as he remembered; a long dark hallway that seemingly stretched on forever, its walls made of a liquidy construct of the blackest of liquids. Only the floor was different. Its glossy blood-like red shimmered, contrasting with the white robes of the veiled women that lined either side.
Just as creepy as I remember.
The woman he sought was stood at the hall’s end, clad in robes as white as a pure sky. Golden chains glistened atop her pale face, weaved into designs far more intricate than those of her sisters.
“You’re wearing clothes this time,” Harry noted, unable to hide a sigh of relief, “Thank Merlin for that -”
His eyes widened with alarm as the Truest surged forward, ripping the gold from her face. Harry was once again met with delicate, beautiful features and silky white eyes.
“You,” she hissed lustfully, blindly stumbling towards him, “I smell it on you -”
“Smell it?” Harry frowned, “Smell what -”
“THE ROSE! WHERE IS IT, WHERE IS THE ROSE -”
The air blurred as the Truest at him, her pale fingers tearing through the darkness like clawed talons. Dozens of wands rose from either side of the room, blasting her back down the hall. Harry’s heartbeat quickened.
What the fuck is going on?
He pointed his wand at the Truest, struggling to make out where she lay at the end of the hall. He could just barely see as she pushed herself to her feet, wiping blood from her lips.
“Look at them,” she spat, glaring furiously at the veiled woman on either side, “Look at what he did to them.”
“He. Who is he?”
“GRINDELWALD!” the Truest roared, “GRINDELWALD, GELLERT GRINDELWALD! LOOK AT WHAT HE’S DONE, LOOK AT WHAT HE DID -”
She stabbed a dainty finger at her sisters. Looking closely, Harry couldn’t help but notice that not one of the women had shifted since he entered the hall.
Aside from blasting her away, anyway.
“Grindelwald did this to them?” Harry frowned, “He’s imprisoned.”
“Imprisoned,” the Truest scoffed, “He still led you to the stone, didn’t he?”
Harry’s jaw clenched. The Truest turned away, still laughing to herself.
“Imprisoned . . .”
“How do you know about the stone?”
He watched as the Truest glanced over her shoulder. Though he knew she could not see him, Harry still recognized the look in her eyes.
Divination, obviously.
“Right,” Harry shook his head, clearing his throat, “I saw the flower. It was stored in the French Hall of Enigmas for quite some time.”
“Was it?” the Truest whispered, “They truly left it to rot in a hall meant for empty trinkets?”
There was a sort of steel to her voice. Wisely, Harry decided to stop talking.
“It sits there no longer, though,” he heard the woman mutter, “I felt it shift. They felt it shift.”
She waved behind her in the direction of her sisters. Harry eyed them carefully.
“They don’t seem as . . .” Harry paused, nervously searching for the right word, “Personable as they once were.”
The Truest clawed her hands into tight balls of anger. Harry, his fingers wrapped tightly around his wand, took a step back.
“They are loyal to the flower,” the Truest whispered eventually. She turned to him once more, her white eyes glistening, “It is their oath, their very life. Their magic can not understand that it is in the hands of an imposter . . . but I see clearly. I alone am doomed to such a fate.”
She threw her robes around her, retreating into the dark confines at the end of the hall. Her back curled, her posture that of a wounded animal. Pity trickled through Harry’s veins.
“I saw the woman who took the rose,” he whispered softly, “I fought her.”
“I know. I have heard. I have seen.”
She drew herself up, impossibly gazing into his eyes.
“You were so beautiful,” she murmured, “Even now I long to see you. I understand why the Violet One desires you so dearly.”
“Desires?” Harry now felt uncomfortable, “I’m fourteen, you know.”
“You could be four,” the woman shrugged, “It hardly matters. It does not change the feeling of the magic that pumps within your veins. Its purity is unparalleled.”
Oh.
“You worship magic of that sort, don’t you?”
“Magic of olde,” the Truest whispered, “Instinctual magic. True magic, the final remnants of -”
“- the Truer World,” Harry finished, nodding, “You’ve told me before.”
The Truest let out a gentle sigh, seemingly peering through the darkness.
“It was a utopia, they say,” she murmured lustfully, “Everything balanced, everyone at peace. We lived as one, regardless of species. Muggles and goblins and elves and all -”
“We’ve been feuding for eons,” Harry slowly shook his head, “There’s never been a recorded instance of such a thing.”
The Truest quirked her head upwards, smirking.
“Isn’t there?” the woman grinned, “You were raised by muggles. You know of their myths. Their tales of Gods and monsters and lesser beings.”
“Those are myths,” said Harry pointedly, “Made up. Make believe.”
The Truest laughed knowingly.
“Of course they are, Harry Potter . . .”
She chanced a step towards him, eyeing the women that lined the hall. None moved to stop her.
“Gellert Grindelwald has promised a utopia of his own, you know,” she whispered, “You are an essential part of it.”
“I figured as much,” Harry frowned, “His Acolytes have been paying me a little too much attention as of late.”
His thoughts shifted, settling upon a naked woman with long black hair and violet eyes. Her tanned skin glistened beneath the divine light of his golden flames.
Stop.
“Of course they are,” the Truest spoke as though it were obvious, “What kind of mother could take her eyes off her child, if only for a moment?”
She leaned closer.
“That one has been longing to meet you for more than a decade. She was bound to fuss over her prodigal son.”
Harry’s jaw clenched.
“Everything you just said was unfathomably wrong,” he snapped irritably, “I’m not her anything, and she certainly wasn’t -”
Harry paused, allowing the memories from his night in the Hall of Enigmas to wash over him. He shifted uncomfortably.
“Well, dark witches and wizards are usually insane,” Harry spat eventually, “It’s nothing noteworthy.”
“Isn’t it?” the woman frowned, “You are his, Harry Potter, make no mistake. His idea of perfection, his gift to the world. You were molded by his hands, crafted by his instruction.”
“No,” Harry shook his head, “I’m me. I made me who I am -”
“Did you?’ the Truest snapped, “Did you choose to be an orphan? Did you bless yourself with the unmatched power that lays within you? Did you choose the people you surround yourself with, did you choose the goals you chase?”
She glared at him, breathing heavily now.
“No, you didn’t,” Harry heard her faint voice echo through the hall, “He chose for you. He always has. He always will.”
Harry’s heart lurched. Something uncertain flickered within him, something nervous and scared -
“I chose to be with Gabrielle,” he murmured, “I chose to protect Astoria, and Theo, and Daphne . . .”
He paused.
“If anything, my life is touched by Voldemort far more than it is Grindelwald.”
Harry glanced into the darkness, struggling to meet the Truest’s eyes. When he did, he almost wished he hadn’t.
“Do you truly believe that to be a coincidence, too?”
Harry’s stomach twisted, his insides feeling hollow and empty. The Truest watched him with an almost pitying expression.
“Return me the flower, Harry Potter,” she told him, “The eyes of the rose alone transcends his. Only then can you truly escape his gaze. Only then can you be free of his machinations.”
There was an air of finality in her words. Harry watched as black liquid wafted from the walls, slowly obscuring the Truest from view.
“Good bye, Harry Potter,” she whispered, “I pray you receive the luck you undoubtedly need.”
She turned around, and the darkness consumed them all.
-(xXx)-
Crack.
Harry spun on the spot, blinking furiously. The gleaming scarlet paint of the Hogwarts Express shifted into view.
“Flower,” Harry whispered, straightening up, “I . . . I might need the flower . . .”
And I definitely need some sleep.
He stumbled forward, pressing the door open with a gentle shove. A small silhouette sat by the mantle, watching him with uncharacteristically lucid eyes.
“Hello, Harry.”
Harry stared at the girl. Luna’s dirty blonde hair was awfully unkempt. There were bags under her eyes, too, and her skin seemed unnaturally pale, even by Harry’s standards.
She looks like shit.
“You look oddly sane,” Harry commented, slipping the door shut behind her. Luna winced, “I never thought that’d be a bad thing.”
His fingers toyed with the fastenings of his robes, pulling them off as he slipped into the armchair opposite Luna. A flicker of something confusing slid beneath his skin as he stared at the pasty girl.
Pity?
Harry’s stomach twisted. He hastily smothered the anger that threatened to spill.
“I’m sorry for being so angry with you lately,” he forced out. To his surprise, there was some truth to his words, “I - you were probably just trying to help.”
The little blonde girl shifted within her armchair, smiling sadly.
“It’s all about the wording, I think,” she murmured, “Some things make you tick. Others don’t. I - I just want you and Astoria to be alright.”
Harry glanced up.
“Me too?” he snorted, “We’ve never been nearly as close as you and her.”
“Astoria adores you,” said Luna softly, “I don’t think she could survive without you for long. Not willingly.”
Harry frowned. The words of the Violet One stabbed at his skull:
‘. . . worship you. Lust for you, kill for you . . .’
He fought the urge to wince.
“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Harry muttered.
“She does her best to hide it from you,” Luna admitted, “Not that she’s very good at hiding it. You must’ve known for some time now.”
Harry nodded slowly.
“I’ve had a feeling.”
He watched as Luna slid further into her chair, her fingers wrapped tight around either arm. Her tiny chest heaved back and forth.
“Your anger hasn’t abandoned you, you know,” she told him eventually, glancing up into the unseen sky, “Although losing the diary is a good start.”
Harry smiled weakly.
“So you know about that, too.”
“I can guess,” Luna corrected, “But aside from that and what happened in the Ministry, I haven’t seen much else. At least, not anything I can understand.”
Harry snorted.
“That’s saying something. The Luna I know could make heads and tails of anything.”
He glanced back at Luna, somewhat unsurprised to spot the sadness that coated her gaze.
“I think that Luna is lost,” she whispered. She sounded hurt, “I think she’s changing. Adapting to the memories that force themselves into her head.”
No more childlike whimsy, then.
Harry sighed, leaning forward.
“What did you mean about my anger, anyway?”
He eyed Luna, who sat in silence for some time.
“The diary played a part,” the girl admitted after a long moment, “But it’s more than that. It’s a part of you. You need to learn to control what remains within, or it will consume you.”
Harry frowned.
“I’ll turn into some angry prat?” he asked, confused. Luna could only shrug.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Harry sighed, forcefully smothering his irritation yet again.
“It’s alright, Luna,” he grimaced, “I know you’re doing your best.”
He sank back into his armchair, allowing the silence to stretch on. His mind slowly wandered, plucking images of a flower, a looking glass, and a small glowing sapphire.
“Luna,” Harry sat up, eyeing her carefully, “Do you know about the stone?”
Luna stared at him.
“Is it the blue one?” she whispered, “The one he always plays with?”
Harry frowned.
“If by he you mean Grindelwald, then yeah, probably.”
He watched as Luna nodded stiffly.
“Yes. I’ve seen it quite a few times.”
“And you know what it does?”
Luna paused.
“I’ve heard,” she muttered, “But I’ve never seen him use it.”
“It’s a prototype of the Resurrection Stone,” Harry explained simply, “A flawed one, but his Acolytes all believe that it at least works to some degree.”
He edged closer.
“I know where it is,” he whispered seriously, “I’m going to take it.”
He watched Luna carefully, noting the way her lips thinned.
“He used to call the stone his ‘little guide’, you know,” she told him, “I think he wants you to find it.”
“I know,” Harry whispered, “I’ve heard as much.”
“He’ll no doubt use it as a means of steering you down a path of his liking.”
But how bad would that really be?
Harry sank back into his chair again, staring at the ceiling.
“What exactly did Grindelwald want, anyway?” he frowned, “Everything I’ve heard suggests he advocated for magical superiority -”
“That’s exactly what he wanted,” Luna whispered, “He wished to eradicate the barriers between magicals and muggles. He wished to have the latter to serve us.”
Harry winced.
That’s not very kind of him.
“I can’t imagine the stone will prove useless,” he thought aloud, “After all the work Grindelwald’s put into incentivizing it, I’d be shocked if it didn’t provide me with something I desperately valued.”
“As would I,” Luna admitted with a frown.
“Do you think I should collect it?”
He glanced up again, watching as the invisible cogs turned in Luna’s head.
“I think the stone is the solution he needs you to choose,” she said eventually, “There’s a reason all other avenues have hidden themselves from you. He wants you to find the stone. He needs it.”
Harry frowned.
“That’s not what I asked, Luna.”
“Fine,” the girl huffed, “I - I think the stone will take everything. In fact, I know it will.”
She paused for a moment.
“But you’ll be happy, I think. At least in the very end.”
And with that, she pushed herself from her chair, stumbling down through the corridor and out of sight.
Comments
gigamans
Prophecy can be an interesting plot device, but it's gotten to the point where every conversation is about that or blood magic. The prophecy stuff is too much. It feels like Harry has no agency in this story, if you want the character to be pulled along by Grindelwald's decades-long plot and machinations sure, that's super interesting. But maybe just have that be revealed at the end or something, because here it just feels like everything he's doing is irrelevant, and leading to some predetermined outcome, if that makes sense? Also every smug character who speaks to him like they know everything and he's just some tool for a greater purpose or he's just a moron doing what he's told is extremely annoying to read, hoping Luna catches a stray curse or something, not to mention the weird ass old women at Durmstrang.
Marek Orbo
It's so juicy though. Its' really peak writing and rare amazing ship.
Michał
I enjoy this story very much, but I can't lie that fourth year is just too long.
