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AFiF 4, Chapter 22: Perenelle’s Bridge
🕑 Added 2024-09-02 12:01:40 +0000 UTCXXII. Perenelle’s Bridge
Harry frowned, watching as the heavy-browed owl fluttered off into the horizon. This was not Scotland; there were no clouds to obscure its departure. Harry watched as the avian creature shrunk into little more than a speck, eventually vanishing from sight. His gaze reluctantly lowered to the letter it had delivered.
Inevitable.
Harry’s finger twisted. The envelope rose deftly in the air, unraveling to show the penned letter:
‘Harry,
Recent events demand we speak.
You owe me an explanation, asshat. Set a time and place with your return letter.
Sending Daphne’s love,
Theodore’
Harry sighed, letting the letter drop to the floor.
“I suppose it could’ve been worse,” he muttered, “That’s the price you pay for bringing him along.”
A necessity. If someone happened to me, someone else needed to know how to help my -
“Astoria,” Harry said slowly. He nodded to himself, “Someone needed to be able to Astoria, just in case.”
Knock.
“Coming!” Harry shouted, jumping to his feet. Nott’s letter soared over to his desk with a wave of his wrist, “Just a sec -”
He waved his wand across his chest. In the mirror, his reflection was suddenly adorned in a clean set of Slytherin robes. Satisfied, Harry stalked toward the end of his room and opened the door. Marietta was waiting for him outside.
“Something wrong?”
“No, not at all,” Marietta said, “But there’s someone waiting outside for you.”
Harry frowned. His mind conjured a plethora of images. Many of them contained the purple-robed images from Egypt.
“Who?”
“A girl,” said Pansy stiffly from further down the hallway.
“A pretty girl,” George specified. He and Fred were staring out the window, “You’ve really got to tell us how you do it.”
Harry rolled his eyes, closing the door to his room behind him. He followed Marietta down the hall and into the common room. Most of the Hogwarts delegates were already here. Harry watched as Marietta returned to her seat beside Marcus Belby, pulling two bronze coins from her robes. Hermione sat again in her armchair by the fire, and behind her, Astoria was comforting a teary-eyed Luna.
Crying again.
The youngest Greengrass looked up. Her features softened into something sweet as she met Harry’s gaze.
Nightmares?
Astoria nodded. Harry smiled, turning away.
She can take care of it.
He turned away, pulling open the main door with a gentle tug. A familiar black-haired witch was waiting for him.
“You took your time,” Cerise’s soft, smooth voice noted. Her lips curved into a simple smile, “Come on. Let’s go.”
Harry stared at her in surprise.
“What do you mean, let’s go?”
“Only one way to find out.”
She wrapped her fingers tightly around his wrist, pulling him out of the Hogwarts Express. The door clattered shut behind him.
“You don’t have anything important to do, do you?” Cerise asked quickly, “This might take a while.”
Curiosity flooded him. Harry slowly shook his head.
“No,” he decided.
I’ll reply to Nott when I come back. It’ll give me time to think.
“Perfect” Cerise smiled, “Hurry along, then. There’s a few people I want you to meet.”
“There are?”
“Well, I did say you could meet my friends, didn’t I?” Cerise reminded him, “What better time than now?”
Harry shrugged, following the girl up the Beauxbatons Grounds. Though smaller than Hogwarts, the French castle was somehow more impressive. Tall towers rose up into the sky, glimmering like crafted glass.
It looks like that castle on the Telly. Cinderella’s castle.
“You’ll need a token, of course,” Cerise noted as they hurried up the steps, “I’ll give you one, since it’s your first day here -”
“It’s fine, I have one,” Harry said quickly. He withdrew the silver coin he had found on his dinner plate the night before.
“Silver Libre?” Cerise sounded surprised, “I didn’t think they’d grant you one.”
“What does it do?” asked Harry curiously, “All the other delegates got one as well -”
“Their coins are bronze, I imagine?”
“Er - yeah,” Harry nodded, “How’d you know?
“Beauxbatons gives out two different kinds of Libre - silver and bronze,” she explained, “Most students call them Superior and Inferior Tokens, respectively. They’re used to traverse the doors.”
Doors?
He turned to Cerise. The girl wore an amused expression.
“You’ll see.”
Tall ivory walls enclosed them. Harry followed the dark-haired girl through a set of halls and toward the center-most tower. A vast silver archway loomed before them, surrounded by hundreds of students.
“You should probably throw your hood up,” Cerise warned him faintly, “Unless, of course, you’re a fan of worship.”
Harry glanced around. A younger girl along the edge of the crowd stared at him, her eyes wider than the silver coin wrapped tightly within his palm.
“Harry Potter . . . “
She bowed her head, forcing her pale blue eyes to stare into the floor. Harry stared at her.
What the fuck?
“Cerise,” Harry muttered, still watching the girl, “Why won’t she look at me?”
“Psyche.”
“What?”
Cerise turned around, her gaze slipping along the crowd. As she approached him, her fingers wrapped around his hood, tossing it over his head.
“Psyche was a young woman forbidden to gaze upon her husband’s face,” she explained, fasting his hood, “He was too perfect, you see. When she snuck into his chambers and glanced upon his form, his beauty overwhelmed her. Her hand slipped, and hot oil marred her husband’s form.”
Her fingers pulled apart, strengthening the knot she had just tied. Harry stared at her.
“That’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard.”
Cerise stared back. Her blue eyes glistened.
“Is it?”
She turned away. Harry watched as she wandered into the crowd below the grand doors.
Krum was right. They’re fucking insane.
He followed after her, pulling his hood further down his head. Empty space lingered in Cerise’s footsteps. Harry followed, tailing the girl through the crowd and up to the silver archway.
“Cutting the line, dear?” a disapproving voice rang from before Cerise. Harry stalked up to her, listening as she replied.
“No, Professor. Just showing my friend around.”
Harry looked up. An aging blonde woman was glancing between Cerise and him. Her eyes eventually lowered to the Silver Libre clenched within his palm.
“Potter,” the woman’s breath hitched. She turned back to Rosier, “Were you assigned to him?”
Cerise frowned.
“I don’t see why I needed to be,” she murmured, “Harry is my friend.”
The blonde woman nodded, turning to the quill that hovered beside her head. It scribbled something on a clipboard clenched within her palms.
“I will inform Madame Maxime that you have chosen to lead our guest through the gates,” the witch said firmly, “He is your responsibility.”
“Of course, Professor.”
“You will not be going alone.”
“We don’t intend to,” Cerise said clearly, “Several other students will be accompanying us.”
“Students Potter is familiar with?”
“Students Potter will be familiar with.”
The woman scribbled something on her clipboard, unimpressed.
“Very well,” she said curtly. She turned to face him, “You, dear - should you find yourself in a dangerous situation, simply hold out your Silver Libre and say, ‘emergency’.”
“Er - right,” Harry nodded, “I mean, of course I will.”
The woman sighed, motioning toward the grand doors behind them.
“Hurry along, then. Your friends have been waiting for you.”
Harry let Cerise pull him through the large archway.
“What was that about?”
“Paranoia,” Cerise whispered, “They’re not thrilled with the idea of you being outside Beauxbatons, what with everything that’s been happening.”
Harry blinked.
“We’re leaving Beauxbatons?”
“Yes,” Cerise nodded, “That’s what the tokens are for. Inferior Tokens are a ticket to wherever you want to go and back. They’re awarded to students who do well in class, similar to your house point system.”
Harry glanced at the coin in his palm.
“And silver?”
“Infinite tickets. Only granted to students in their final year of study.”
The coin in his grasp suddenly felt much heavier.
“What?” Harry hissed, “So I can just - just leave whenever I want to?”
“Of course not. There are limitations.”
“Like?”
“You can only use the silver token twice a day,” Cerise said carefully, “That’s one trip from Beauxbatons to one of the gates, and right back.”
“Okay,” said Harry slowly, “And there’s no way of using it more than twice?”
Cerise shook her head, reaching for his palm.
“There’s a design on each side of the coin, you see,” she said, nodding at his coin, “Each time you use a gate, a side of the coin you used goes blank. When your coin is blank on both sides, it disappears - the bronze one forever, and the silver one until the following day.”
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
“Why’d they give the delegates Inferior Tokens?”
Cerise stared at him.
“Why do you think?”
Because their delegates, and I’m champion.
“They can earn more, of course,” she noted off-handedly, “As can you. You won’t be able to get another Superior Token, but you should definitely stockpile bronze livres. There will be days when you’ll want to visit more than one place.”
Right.
“So the coins are like bus fares,” he decided aloud, “But then . . . what’s the bus?”
Cerise laughed.
“The buses are all around you, Harry.”
Harry glanced around. The room they had entered was vast, a circular chamber lined with thirteen large, overbearing archways. Harry spun around, looking at the one they had just walked through. The sea of Beauxbatons students still loitered beyond it.
“Welcome to Perenelle’s Bridge,” Rosier smiled earnestly, “Each of the twelve doors - thirteen, if you feel like counting the entrance - leads to an important location within magical France.”
Harry felt his jaw drop. His eyes flickered through the room at breakneck speed, inspecting each and every door. Though all were of different color, size, and shape, Harry could feel the same branch of powerful magic emanating from them all.
Like portals.
“Wicked.”
Harry stepped forward. At the center of the room, a giant crater marred the open floor. No one was walking there.
“They say there used to be another door here,” Cerise whispered from behind him, “The real thirteenth archway.”
“What happened to it?”
“The British Ministry seized it during the war with Grindelwald. France has been demanding its return ever since.”
Harry frowned, eying the vast crater with newfound interest.
“Why?” he turned to Cerise, his brows furrowed, “I - where did it lead?”
Cerise shrugged.
“No one knows,” she admitted, “I imagine the destination had something to do with Grindelwald’s interests, though.”
Harry nodded slowly.
Another mystery . . .
A dainty palm wrapped gently around his own.
“Come,” Cerise said, dragging him again, “They’re waiting for us.”
Several students stood before an archway across the room. Harry studied them as they approached, his brow furrowed.
“They’re all fifth years, aren’t they?” he guessed aloud, “Same as you?”
Cerise nodded. The two of them came to a stop before the group.
This is awkward.
“Hi,” Harry said quickly, smiling at them all, “I’m Harry.”
“We know,” one of the boys said. At his side stood another boy wearing an identical face.
Twins.
“Sylvain and Benoit Toussaint,” Cerise introduced, “Benoit’s the one with the shorter hair. They like dueling.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Harry,” a girl with long, straight hair and tanned skin smiled. She held out her palm, “My name is Aurore Vernier. I’m interested in the magical court of law.”
Harry nodded, shaking her hand. The girl’s hand quivered slightly.
She’s nervous.
“I’m - I’m interested in using magic, I suppose,” he said weakly. The Toussaint twins snickered. Vernier ignored them, blushing faintly.
“That makes sense,” she gushed, “You’re quite good at it.”
“I am?” Harry frowned, “Er - how would you know?”
“We saw you during the first task, of course,” a blonde girl noted from behind. She stepped forward, “You did quite well against - what’s her name -”
“Man’s Nedula,” Cerise reminded her.
“Yes,” the girl nodded, “Her.”
She held her hand out.
“I am Hélène Fournier,” she said as they shook hands. Once again, Harry felt a slight nervous jitter, “I - I enjoy potion crafting and baking.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Two more,” Benoit muttered from the front, “Get a move on, will you -”
“Be quiet, Toussaint,” Vernier snapped, “Introductions are important.”
“We’ll lose our spot in line . . .”
Harry ignored the boy, watching as a dark-haired girl stepped forward. She had noble features and heavy-set eyes.
“Adeline Bardot,” she said simply, nodding to him. Harry felt a tinge of familiarity wash over him.
“You’re one of the delegates, right?” he said slowly, “You and a few others came up to Cerise when we were talking in the library.”
Bardot nodded.
“And, last but not least, Garnier,” Cerise smiled, “Say hello, Oliver.”
A nervous-looking boy stepped forward. He reminded Harry an awful lot of a younger Neville.
“Hi,” he said faintly, “It’s nice to meet you.”
Harry smiled.
“Likewise.”
“Well, now that that’s all out of the way,” Sylvain began, clapping his hands together, “Why don’t we get a move on!”
And he turned around, following his brother toward the nearest archway. The others all followed after him.
“Well,” Cerise whispered faintly, “What did you think?”
Harry shrugged.
“I don’t know. I’ve only known them for thirty seconds.”
“We reach a great many conclusions about people when first meeting them,” Cerise noted, “I’m sure you’re thinking something worthwhile.”
Harry thought for a moment.
“The blonde one -”
“Hélène.”
“Right. Her and Aurore were nervous.”
“As was Oliver.”
“He was different,” Harry shook his head, “I get the feeling he’s normally quite . . . jumpy.”
“I suppose,” Cerise agreed slowly, “You think Aurore and Hélène were nervous to meet you?”
“I think they were nervous to meet Harry Potter.”
Cerise giggled politely.
“Speaking in third-person,” she laughed, “Are you not Harry Potter, Harry?”
Not the Harry Potter most people envision.
“The twins didn’t seem to like me much,” he noted, “Same with Bardot.”
“It isn’t their fault they seem standoffish,” Cerise sighed, “Most students from politically powerful families are like that.”
Understanding slipped through Harry’s skull.
They’re like the Slytherins of the bunch.
“The Toussaints’ family is fine with them pursuing dueling?” he asked, surprised, “I’d have thought they’d prefer politics.”
Cerise shook her head with a gentle smile.
“And there lies the difference between Britain and France,” she whispered, “Where you come from, political strength is true power. Here, it is not so simple.”
“Oh?” Harry frowned, “Go on.”
“Here, in France,” Cerise smiled, “Magic is power. Those who utilize it most effectively will rise up the ranks in all other facets of life, be it political, social, or anything else.”
Harry nodded slowly.
“Because of Grindelwald, I imagine?”
Cerise nodded.
“Because of Grindelwald,” she agreed, “We have not forgotten what he did. We never will.”
He did great things. Terrible, but great . . .
A thin wave of magic blanketed him. Harry straightened up, his fingers wrapping tight around his wand.
“Relax,” Cerise giggled, “Just hold out your coin.”
He did. He watched as the design on the front side - a slithering runespoor - vanished into nothingness.
“Perfect,” Cerise stepped forward, dragging him along, “Together now.”
The archway glistened, a silvery fog emanating from it. Harry closed his eyes, took a long, heavy breath, and stepped in.
-(xXx)-
Golden light coated the marble path. Harry’s eyes widened as he observed his surroundings. It was like Diagon Alley in many ways, only larger and more ornate. Tall glass constructs towered overhead, and many crystalline structures lined either side. A semi circle of buildings stood before him, each veering off into their own separate substreets.
“Where are we?” Harry muttered, watching as the other students talked loudly amongst each other. Only Oliver and Cerise were close enough to hear him.
“Place Cachée,” the former muttered, “France’s most popular magical shopping district.”
Harry nodded, looking around speculative.
“It’s more - er - grandiose than Diagon Alley.”
“Of course it is,” Cerise sighed, “Diagon Alley was constructed during the Medieval Ages. Place Cachée is a much more recent production.”
“Grindelwald?”
Oliver shifted uncomfortably. Cerise, however, laughed.
“Grindelwald,” she agreed, “Move along now. We’ve got much to see and too little time.”
She stepped forward. Oliver eyed the silver token Harry held in his palm.
“You should keep a close eye on that,” Oliver muttered, “I wouldn’t put it past the Toussaint twins to try and steal it.”
Harry frowned, glancing across the courtyard. The twins were talking loudly with Bardot, sneering slightly.
“Thanks,” Harry muttered, tucking the coin into his pocket. Oliver smiled.
“No problem. You seem much more bearable than them, anyway.”
Harry couldn’t help but show his surprise.
“Aren’t they your friends?”
Oliver frowned.
“I don’t really know,” he admitted, “Sometimes I think they only let me hang around because of my grandfather.”
“He’s a politican?”
“War hero,” Oliver corrected, “One of the last from the war against Grindelwald. A lot of politicians try to- well, lick his boots because of it.”
Harry grinned.
“He must really be something, then.”
Oliver shrugged.
“I suppose,” he said, “But if it weren’t for his photos, I would’ve never believed it. He seems a bit too . . . normal.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Harry laughed.
“It’s not, I know,” Oliver sighed, “But it does make things a little confusing.”
“Hey, you two!” Oliver and Harry turned. One of the twins poked out from the crowd, standing on their tip-toes, “Get a move on, will you?”
Oliver frowned.
“C’mon.”
They hurried along the marble path, following in the wake of the others. Imposing figures adorned in baby blue silk lined either side of the street.
“Who are they?” Harry muttered, inspecting them carefully. Each of them held a wand in one hand and a spear in the other.
“What you call Aurors,” Hélène said quickly. There was a slight pitch in her voice, “They’ve been patrolling here ever since the first Fiendfyre incident.”
Harry nodded slowly. A sudden thought sparked in his mind.
Grace Weitts saw me after I used Fiendfyre in Egypt.
More importantly, the blonde Slytherin was friends with one Cerise Rosier. Harry could just vaguely conjure up the memory of Grace and Cerise meeting up in the Three Broomsticks.
She might suspect, then . . .
It took everything he had not to glance over. Instead, Harry continued moving forward, inspecting the French Aurors with faux interest.
“There’s more of them now,” Aurore noted curiously. She leaned closer, inspecting them, “There weren’t nearly as many last time.”
“Of course there weren’t,” Adeline Bardot sniffled, “Last time, there had only been one attack.”
Harry felt his intrigue multiplying within his chest.
“The Hogwarts delegates and I have been talking about that a lot recently,” he said, stepping forward. Bardot glanced back at him, “Is it really as big a deal as the French Ministry is making it out to be?”
Sylvain snickered.
“It was seen by over ten million muggles,” the French boy said in an almost condescending tone, “Does that sound like ‘not a big deal’ to you?”
Harry grit his teeth.
“Kind of, yeah,” he said. Some of the French students blinked in surprise, “It’d be ridiculously easy to write it off as a muggle military error, wouldn’t it?”
Sylvain turned to his brother, who shrugged uncertainly.
“You’re talking about bombs, aren’t you?” asked Hélène eagerly. Harry nodded, “Yes, I’ve heard quite a bit about them. Metal spheres that can make explosions large enough to level cities.”
“Mother mentioned those,” Cerise added thoughtfully, “I imagine that would be a good excuse for the muggles, wouldn’t it?”
She turned to Harry, smiling faintly. Harry smiled back.
They wandered aimlessly through Place Cachée for a while, taking in the shops and statues. Harry soon found himself across a cash register at a particularly lively shop in the leftmost junction.
“Tarot cards?” Cerise asked, peering over his shoulder, “I didn’t take you as the superstitious type.”
“They’re not for me,” Harry admitted, pocketing them.
“Ah,” Cerise murmured, “For the blonde girls?”
Harry nodded.
“One of them.”
I reckon even Tarot cards are too mundane for Luna to find particularly interesting.
“Surely you should get something for the other?” Cerise said as they stepped out from the shop, “It isn’t exactly my business, but you do seem quite close to both of them.”
“I’ll find something for Luna, too,” Harry told her, “She’s been feeling down lately. Merlin knows she could use it.”
“What does she like?”
Harry laughed.
“Just about anything abnormal, really -”
He trailed off. A sea of people stood before them, crowded around the main court. Harry watched as the twins stood on their tippy-toes, doing their very best to peer through the crowd.
“They’ve blocked it off,” Benoit snapped irritably, “Barely letting anyone into District Beaumont.”
Harry turned to Oliver expectantly.
“Elitist district,” he explained, “It’s not particularly surprising that they’re turning people away.”
“They wouldn’t turn away everyone, though,” Aurore frowned, “It’d drastically drop the district’s revenue.”
Cerise shrugged.
“I doubt they have a choice, what with the Fiendfyre debacle.”
Harry felt his stomach lurch. Before him, Sylvain and Benoit stalked restlessly back and forth.
“Who the fuck cares?” Sylvain muttered, “We should just make our way to the front. They won’t turn us away when they hear our surnames.”
Helene snorted.
“Didn’t your father recently get demoted?”
The twins glared daggers at her.
“Doesn’t matter,” Benoit spat, “He’s still a Toussaint. The blood of Gabriel of Corsica still runs through his veins.”
Harry frowned. He turned to Oliver, who was glancing rather nervously between Helene and the twins.
“I thought France didn’t care much about purebloods after the war with Grindelwald,” he whispered.
Oliver nodded.
“They don’t,” he admitted, “But the few pureblood families that survived the war managed to grasp a great deal of power. “
Harry nodded slowly.
“Are there many families like that?”
“No. Just the Toussaints, Bardots, Rosiers, and a few others.”
“Like the Delacours?”
Oliver shifted uneasily.
“I suppose,” he decided, “Though you’ll have a hard time convincing most that the Delacours are purebloods.”
Right. Veela.
The two of them looked up as Cerise strode forward. The others followed.
“Come on,” she said, glancing back, “We’re going to the front.”
Harry frowned.
“Shouldn’t we - you know, wait our turn?”
The French purebloods looked at him as though he’d grown a third eye. Cerise smiled half-heartedly.
“There isn’t a point. It’ll make the guards’ lives much easier if we make our way forward now.”
With that, she set off, the others following in her wake. Harry paused.
“She seems awfully confident we’ll be let in.”
“For good reason,” Oliver smiled weakly. Harry turned to him.
“Why’s that?”
“She - she’s a Rosier, of course,” Oliver said as though it were obvious, “The Rosiers and the Delacours practically run all of France.”
He hurried off. Harry blinked.
All of it?
The space between him and the others began to think. Harry quickly darted through the gap before it could close on him. He could just barely make out Cerise near the very front, arguing with a tall guard adorned with a thin golden badge.
“- your mother,” the guard was saying. Cerise bristled.
“I’m not here to go galavanting,” she whispered harshly, “I am here to accompany a foreign guest.”
“Of course,” the guard sounded wholly uninterested, “And who might that be?”
Cerise turned around, her eyes falling upon him. She beckoned him closer with a slight tilt of his head.
“Good afternoon,” Harry smiled uncertainly, stepping forward. The guard’s eyes widened as they peered beneath his hood.
“I - I’m sorry, sir,” he said quickly. He vanished the side gate with a hurried flick of his wand, “Right this way.”
The twins cheerfully led them through the gates and beyond the restless crowd. Harry turned around, watching as Cerise spoke to the guard.
“Suppose you are good for something, huh?” Sylvain chuckled as they waited. Irritation flickered beneath Harry’s chest.
“You know, I get the feeling you don’t like me much,” he said offhandedly. The others perked up, watching as Sylvain smiled.
“What makes you think that?” he grinned.
“You and your twin remind of someone,” Harry admitted, the vague outline of Draco Malfoy hovering in his head, “He didn’t used to like me much, either.”
“Didn’t used to, huh?” Benoit piped up. The other students watched quietly, “You change his mind? Give him a heart-to-heart?”
“Not exactly,” Harry shrugged, “Just made it abundantly obvious that if he kept irritating me, he’d suffer the consequences.”
Sylvain grinned darkly.
“That’s the thing with you Brits,” he grinned, wagging a finger, “Always think you’re the - what’s the phrase - top dog.”
He stepped closer.
“You won a fight against a dark lord as a one year old, yes?” he said, “Thanks to your own skill, I’m sure.”
Harry fought the urge to laugh.
“Because you’re so virtuous,” he frowned, “A real hard worker, I imagine. You’d never rely on your family name, would you?”
Sylvain’s expression darkened.
“I am a fighter,” he said. He nodded toward his brother, “We are fighters. We come from a family full of them.”
He grit his teeth.
“Your ministry wishes to parade you through the streets like you’re Merlin’s greatest soldier,” he hissed, “But you’re nothing more than a fraud. You have not fought a day in your life -”
“- and you’ve fought for over a decade in some country club by the sea,” Harry interrupted irritably, “You know, you really remind me of that guy I mentioned. He had his head stuck up his own arse, too.”
“I can afford to,” Sylvain said proudly, “Welcome to France. Here, we judge people on their experiences, not their accolades.”
He leaned closer.
“In case you were wondering, my experiences far outnumber yours.”
Harry grit his teeth, unable to halt the magic that flooded his veins.
“I doubt that,” he whispered, his eyes glowing. Sylvain’s palms balled into tight fists.
Clap.
“Finally,” a smooth voice called as it approached, “We’ll have to go to the Cellar. They wouldn’t let me take Harry anywhere else, they’re scared he’ll get assasinated . . .”
Cerise trailed off, glancing between Sylvain and Harry. She smiled faintly.
“If you’re done showing off, we’d best be on our way.”
Sylvain clenched his jaw, turning around and following his brother down the street. Bardot followed soon after.
“Well, go on,” Cerise told the others, nodding at the twins, “You’d best make sure they don’t do anything rash. I’d like a word with Harry.”
Helene, Oliver, and Aurore nodded slowly, wandering off. Cerise pressed her palms around his wrists.
“You’re a bag full of surprises, aren’t you,” she smiled. She stared curiously into his eyes, “Your eyes are pretty when they glow.”
Harry stirred. Another black-haired, pale skinned girl appeared within his mind, staring at him. Her eyes flickered scarlet.
“Hello, Harry . . .”
Harry shivered. The witch faded away, replaced with a leather diary. It was flawless, lacking a rather distinct hole that had once marred it.
“Is everything alright?”
Harry blinked. The world righted itself, his overactive imagination fading away. Cerise continued looking up into his eyes, smiling faintly. Harry paused.
“I’ve said this a lot today, but you remind me of someone,”
Cerise smiled curiously.
“Coming from you, that must be a compliment.”
Harry frowned.
You’re a little too smooth with your words.
“We should go,” he muttered, “I wouldn’t put it past those twins to ditch us.”
Cerise smiled, wrapping her palms around his wrist.
“Right,” she grinned, dragging him along, “We’ve got a city to explore, Harry Potter.”
-(xXx)-
“And then what?” Astoria asked, her head placed neatly within his lap, “They took you to - to the cellar?”
It was late at night. Harry, Astoria, and Luna were all sprawled across the former’s bed, letting the hours wilt away. The earliest rays of light peered from beyond the trees that sat in Harry’s window.
“Pretty much,” Harry agreed. He grinned as Astoria shuffled through the Tarot cards, “I’m pretty sure you’re using those wrong, by the way.”
Astoria glared at him, rolling around in his lap.
“Go on about the cellar,” she said, “What was it like?”
Harry sighed.
“Oppressively wealthy,” he admitted, “Lots of gold and escorts -”
“Escorts?”
“Nevermind,” Harry rolled his eyes, “Just know it’s the sort of place rich people go to be arseholes.”
“You said it was a dueling club.”
“It is.”
“Well,” Astoria looked up at him, “Were they any good?”
Harry paused. He vaguely recalled the two masked men who had taken the stage.
“It felt like I was watching ballet,” he said eventually, “You know, dancing.”
“That’s nice,” Astoria smiled.
“Sure,” Harry agreed, “But for a fighter, it’s a bit . . .”
“Pathetic,” Luna muttered from the edge of the bed. Harry nodded.
“Yeah, pretty much,” he nodded, “It felt like they were more concerned with putting on a spectacle than actually fighting. Two owls fluffing out their feathers. That sort of thing.”
He returned to the half-written letter held within his hand, pressing it against Astoria’s stomach. The girl glared at him.
“I’m not a table, you know -”
“You’re literally laying in my lap,” Harry argued, penning out his thoughts with a quill and ink, “It’s not like I can get up and write it at my desk.”
He lowered the quill back to the letter, finishing it:
‘Nott,
Meet me Friday evening at seven (my time, not yours) in the centermost courtyard of Place Cachée.
Sending all my annoyance,
Harry’
He pinched the letter’s center, creasing the fold. An uncertain thought crossed his mind.
I really hope this doesn’t end up in the wrong person’s hands.
“Take good care of this, Hed,” he muttered, turning to his owl. The creature soared from his desk to his shoulder, wrapping her talons tightly around the envelope. Within seconds, it soared through the window and out of sight.
“Nott or Daphne?” Astoria asked curiously.
“Nott. I prefer to see your sister in person.”
Astoria smiled at him. A second later, she pulled a tarot card from the deck, holding it up to her eyes.
“You got the Tower, Lune,” Astoria called. She shuffled it back into the deck, “I don’t really know what that means, though . . . wait, it says at the bottom.”
She held the card to her eye, squinting carefully.
“Upright, the tower means sudden upheaval, broken pride, and disaster. When reversed, it’s disaster avoided, delayed disaster, fear of suffering.”
Astoria frowned.
“That’s a bit off putting.”
Shrugging, she rearranged the cards, placing a few on Harry’s crossed legs. From the end of the bed, Luna watched the two of them carefully.
“You both seem to be in better spirits lately,” Harry noted as Astoria placed down another card, “What’s got you in a good mood, Luna?”
The girl paused.
“Astoria’s feeling better,” she said eventually, “That’s always a good thing, isn’t it?”
Harry nodded, turning to the girl in his lap.
“Feeling better?” he repeated, “What does that mean?”
Astoria smiled. She held out another card.
“You’re the hermit,” she told him, “Upright, it means contemplation, or that you’re searching for the truth or inner guidance -”
“Put down the cards, Tori,” Harry muttered, gently lowering her hand, “I want to make sure you’re doing okay.”
“I’ve never felt better,” Astoria smiled, “But, since you were kind enough to ask, I’ll put in a good word with Daphne for you -”
“I’m not asking for her,” said Harry simply. The girl paused.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” she whispered eventually. She removed herself from his lap, turning away, “I’ll be back.”
Harry and Luna watched as she hurried off, closing the door behind her.
“She worships you.”
Harry turned. Luna shuffled across the bed, inspecting the tarot cards that lay across Harry’s lap.
“What?”
“She worships you,” Luna repeated, “Ever since that night in the forest. To hear you say things like that . . . it gets her emotional. The same way those muggles react when they hear the supposed voice of God.”
Harry blinked. He watched as Luna pulled a singular card from the deck, holding it up to the light. Heavy tears streamed down her face.
“Luna?” Harry leaned closer, “Luna, what’s wrong?”
The girl collapsed into his arms. Harry felt his heart pound with worry.
“Luna -”
“The Hanged Man,” Luna held a card out. A painted man coated it, a thick rope wrapped around his neck, “Astoria’s card is the hanged man. Sacrifice . . .”
Harry’s chest tightened. Something ugly boiled in his chest.
“What does that mean, Luna?”
Luna sniffled loudly.
“What do you think?”
No.
“They’re just cards,” he said loudly, “It - it’s not real.”
“I don’t know,” Luna’s lower lip trembled, “I’ve been seeing it in my dreams for weeks -”
“What?” Harry sat up, “What do you mean, you’ve been seeing it for weeks -”
Luna took a deep breath.
“It’s always the same dream,” Luna whispered, “Astoria, lying on the floor, taking her last breath -”
Harry felt his body begin to shut down. Before him, Luna continued to ramble.
“- there’s dirt and long grass about, and blood all over her robes -”
“Stop talking, Luna.”
“ - she only looks a year or two older than she is now -”
“I said be quiet!”
The window shattered. Harry closed his eyes in frustration, mending it with a wave of his wand.
“I - I’m sorry, Luna.”
“You shouldn’t be,” the girl whispered, “I’m scared, too.”
Harry cleared his mind, rubbing his fingers against the girl’s cheeks.
“I don’t know if your dreams are true or not,” he whispered, wiping away her tears, “But you and I, we’ve got to be brave. For Astoria’s sake.”
He pressed his lips against her forehead. Luna leaned into his chest.
“I know what you’re trying to do. How you’re trying to fix her. I’ve seen it, in my dreams.”
Harry’s jaw clenched.
“Will it work?”
“I don’t know.”
Something desperate pooled in Harry’s chest. He felt Luna press against his robes.
“Just try, please,” the girl whispered. Her eyes shimmered, “Anything you can do, anything at all -”
“I will, Luna. I promise.”
Comments
sansunderune
Amazing chapter can’t wait for the next!
Azmi
cant wait for the next chapter. Keep it up! Fantastic story.
