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AFiF 4, Chapter 26: Stargazing
🕑 Added 2024-12-06 12:53:21 +0000 UTCXXVI. Stargazing
Harry stared at his reflection. Gaunt cheekbones poorly concealed his hateful eyes.
Tainted by obsession . . .
The voice in his mind sounded old and withered. Harry gritted his teeth, pushing away the haggard face of Albus Dumbledore.
“I’m not obsessed,” he assured himself, taking a step back from the mirror, “Just unafraid to act.”
The mirror shimmered. Harry fought the urge to jump.
“You look ill, Harry Potter.”
The boy frowned.
“Hello, Magus,” he whispered, “It’s been a while.”
The magic mirror, unsurprisingly, stayed still. Had it a face, Harry imagined it would be smiling faintly.
“Indeed it has,” Magus murmured, “You haven’t dropped by much.”
Harry wrestled with a drop of guilt.
“I’ve been busy,” he eventually offered. The mirror grunted.
“So I’ve heard,” the magical mirror said loud and clear. Harry inspected it carefully.
“From Luna, right?”
“Yes, Harry Potter, from Luna.”
“Did she say anything I ought to know?”
“Ought to know?” the mirror said it as though the idea were laughable, “Well, if you ought to know, I imagine you would, wouldn’t you -”
“Not necessarily,” Harry grimaced, “There’s a lot of things she hasn’t been telling me lately.”
“Oh?” the mirror sounded curious, “Do go on.”
Harry thought for a moment.
He’s been talking to Luna. I can’t trust him.
“Nothing in particular,” Harry said carefully, “Just . . . she’s been trying to control me by using other people instead of talking to me. I don’t like that much.”
Magus sighed.
“I suppose that explains why you look so out of it,” the mirror admitted, “That doesn’t mean she’s wrong, though.”
Harry’s palm balled into a fist.
“Doesn’t it?”
“I don’t think so,” Magus murmured, “It sounds like she’s doing what she thinks will help you the most.”
The mirror paused.
“Perhaps she thinks if she speaks to you, you will not listen.”
Harry gritted his teeth, struggling to smother his annoyance. It only half worked.
“Right,” he forced out, turning aside, “I’d better get going -”
“Looking like that?” Magus frowned, “It’d do you good to stay inside and recuperate, Harry Potter -”
Harry waved his wand. His sticky, pale skin cleansed itself and the bags vanished from beneath his eyes. His reflection looked happier and healthier than ever.
“Until we meet again, Magus,” Harry smiled, stepping through the common room and out of the Hogwarts Express.
“Until you feel like talking,” the mirror corrected faintly, “I’m always here . . .”
The door clammered shut behind him. An uncomfortable feeling settled in Harry’s chest.
I should talk to him more.
“If only to hear whatever plot Luna’s cooking up.”
He shook his head, hurrying through the bright green blades of grass that blanketed the French grounds. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, the golden sun casting a plethora of beautiful shades over the fields. Harry hurried past them, tossing his hood over his head as he approached the gaggle of people that crowded around the entrance hall.
Faint whispers rippled around him as he entered. Harry quickly spotted a familiar head of silver hair standing apart in a far corner, wrapped within an oddly muggle hoodie. He smiled, making his way toward her.
“You really ought to change out that hoodie,” he whispered, “You’ll start to stink soon.”
Gabrielle rolled her eyes, looking up at him.
“I know how to do laundry, Harry,” the girl smiled, “Just because you don’t doesn’t mean we’re all in the same boat.”
Harry snorted.
“Yeah, yeah, alright,” he glanced around the room, doing his best to ignore the few sets of eyes that watched him when they thought he wasn’t looking, “Why’d you call me, anyway. Not that I was busy -”
“Moral support,” said Gabrielle simply. Harry watched as her jaw clenched.
“Er - is everything alright?”
The girl shrugged.
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, pulling him through the crowd. The whispers surrounding him grew louder.
“Gabby?” Harry whispered, “What happened to - you know, rumours?”
“I’ve decided I don’t give a shit,” Gabrielle said a bit louder than necessary, “I’ve wasted enough time worrying about what other people think.”
Harry frowned at her words. It sounded as though it were directed at someone.
I wonder where we’re going.
The grand entrance to Perenelle’s Bridge loomed before them. Gabrielle stopped just before the woman Harry had met with Cerise, her hand still holding his.
“Good afternoon, Professor.”
“To you as well, Miss Delacour,” the woman smiled. Her eyes flicked toward Harry, “Is she your friend too, then?”
Harry frowned. Confusion flitted across Gabrielle’s features.
“Yes, she is.”
The woman nodded.
“Very well,” she said, stepping aside, “The two of you had better stick together . . .”
With that, she turned away. Gabrielle turned to him.
“‘Is she your friend too,’” she repeated, frowning. Harry sighed.
“Cerise said we were friends when I came here for the first time,” he explained, “At least, that’s what I think that was about.”
Gabrielle’s brow furrowed with an emotion Harry couldn’t quite place. He allowed her to drag him into the hall, her grip on his arm tighter than before.
“Hurry up, Scarhead.”
Twelve large openings - thirteen, if you counted the entrance they’d come through - surrounded them. Harry’s eyes slipped from one to the next, his mind making guesses as to which one they’d be using.
Not the countryside . . . Place Cachée is to obvious, too -
They came to a sudden stop. Harry blinked.
“Paris?” he whispered, staring up at the overbearing silver archway, “We’re going to Paris.”
Gabrielle nodded.
“There’s a magical cafe my sister and I used to sneak off to back when we were both studying at the same time,” she explained, “That’s where we’re going.”
She fiddled with her robes, withdrawing an Inferior Token. Harry did the same. The coin he pulled out was silver.
“Ready?” Gabrielle asked.
Harry nodded, and the two of them stepped through the silver mist as one.
-(xXx)-
The fog retreated. Neatly laid cobblestones covered the ground under heel. Harry looked around taking in the odd arrangement of magical shops that surrounded them. He turned to Gabrielle.
“Are you sure we’re not in Place Cachee?”
The girl nodded.
“This is Gabriel Street,” she murmured, “Named after Gabriel of Corsica -”
“The guy the Toussaint twins say they’re related to?” Harry frowned.
Gabrielle nodded.
“I’m named after him, too,” she said simply, “A lot of traditional French witches and wizards look up to him.”
“Who was he?”
“A sheppard.”
Harry frowned.
“Well, what’s he famous for?”
Gabrielle yawned, taking him through the narrow street.
“He died for his sheep.”
Harry blinked.
That’s it?
“There’s more, of course,” the girl continued, “He was very magically powerful - that’s why the rest of France likes him. But my father likes him most because Gabriel wanted nothing more than to look after his sheep.”
“Love and happiness over fame and fortune,” Harry surmised, “I suppose that’s fair . . .”
A large poster caught Harry’s attention. He turned to find an image of a hooded figure surrounded in golden flames. A heap of jumbled French writing sat below it.
“Golden Knight,” Gabrielle read aloud, translating it for him, “Public enemy number one. Wanted dead or alive.”
Harry breathed heavily.
“Dead or alive,” he repeated. He shook his head, “I’ve heard the name in French before . . .”
He watched as Gabrielle pulled the silver amulet from her wrist. The girl stood on her toes, her lips curving toward his ears.
“Chevalier D’Or,” she whispered. Harry pulled off his own amulet for the briefest of moments.
“Chevalier D’Or,” he murmured, thinking carefully, “Chevalier D’Or . . .”
I like the sound of that.
The two of them replaced their amulets along their wrists.
The long, winded road continued for some time. Harry allowed Gabby to pull him along, his eyes flicking along the row of shops. French Aurors stood before each and every one, their blue robes just a few shades lighter than the sky that hung above.
At last, they came to a stop before a rather ordinary looking coffee shop. Gabrielle turned to him.
“Hood up.”
Harry did as instructed, watching as Gabrielle tossed the hood of his sweater over her head. She inspected her reflection in the window, pulling on the drawstrings until all of her silver hair was hidden from view.
“Can you do something for me, Harry?”
Harry turned to her. The girl was still inspecting her reflection in the window.
“I - of course. What do you need?”
Gabrielle paused.
“When I squeeze your hand, I want you to look into my sister’s mind.”
Harry gaped.
“What?”
“Fleur’s horrible at the mind arts,” Gabrielle whispered, “It’s the only thing I’m absolutely certain I dwarf her at. I chose to hide my allure while she embraced it. Her mind is loud. It’s like she’s broadcasting her thoughts to the world.”
She turned to him.
“When I tell you to, I need you to read her thoughts.”
Harry grimaced. An uneasy feeling filled his stomach.
“Say it’s as easy as you’re making it sound -”
“Oh, it won’t be easy,” Gabrielle shook her head.
Harry stared at her.
“But you just said -”
“Fleur’s atrocious at Occlumency, and you’re the best Legilimens I know,” Gabrielle said confidently, “She won’t know if you delve into her mind.”
Harry frowned.
“But?”
“But,” there was a slight hitch in Gabrielle’s voice, “Anaïs might.”
Harry remembered the brown-haired girl he’d seen from Fleur’s window. His chest hurt.
The greatest Charms Mistress France has seen in decades . . .
Harry shifted uncomfortably.
“She taught you Occlumency, didn’t she?”
Gabrielle blinked.
“She did,” the girl frowned, “I didn’t tell you that.”
“Cerise,” Harry explained simply. Gabrielle seemed irritated.
“Right,” she frowned, “Well, you’re better. So long as you’re careful, Anaïs won’t suspect a thing.”
Harry nodded slowly.
“Why am I doing this again?”
“Because that’s what friends are for, Scarhead,” Gabrielle snapped.
I certainly didn’t miss that nickname.
The girl beside him took a long, deep breath before steadying herself.
“Right. Let’s go.”
Gabrielle pulled the door open. A loud ‘ding’ permeated the room as they entered, courtesy of the silver bell that hung above the door. Gabrielle was quick to make her way through the quiet, cramped cafe and into a booth in the corner, dragging Harry along with her.
“Gabby, where are you taking us -”
They came to a sudden stop. Harry’s eyes came to rest atop two figures. The first was a pretty brunette witch with dimples and hazel eyes. The second was the spitting image of Gabrielle, only older and slightly taller. She too hid her presumably silver hair, though hers was hidden beneath pale blue robes rather than a muggle hood.
“Here,” Gabrielle said before either could speak, passing them each a silver amulet, “So Harry can understand you.”
Fleur Delacour said something Harry couldn’t quite understand. It sounded like jumbled French.
“Just put it on,” Gabrielle snapped, “I had to trade eight Inferior Tokens just to borrow these for a day.”
They watched as Fleur and Anaïs slipped the Language Amulets over their wrists. Satisfied, Gabrielle slid into the booth, pulling Harry along with her.
“I see you brought your boyfriend along with you,” Fleur smiled, her eyes flicking to Harry. The boy struggled to keep his cheeks from going red.
“I see you brought your girlfriend along with you,” Gabrielle said pointedly. Fleur shrugged.
“You asked.”
“Hello to you too, Gabrielle,” Anaïs smiled. She turned to Harry, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Harry.”
She held out her hand. Harry shook it.
“We’ve met before, technically,” he remembered aloud. Fleur smiled.
“Yes, I recall,” she smirked, “When you dropped her off for a visit after your little date.”
Harry couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping. He turned to Gabrielle, hoping for help. To his surprise, Gabrielle Delacour was staring at her older sister, looking oddly unimpressed. Only the faint tinge of pink that lined her cheeks hinted at anything else.
“You know, love is the whole reason I wanted to meet,” Gabby said, “You can call this a double date of sorts.”
Harry almost choked. Under the table, Gabrielle stomped on his foot.
“How exciting!” Fleur laughed, leaning closer. Beside her, Anaïs frowned, looking oddly pensieve, “I should have known - I’ve never seen you tolerate anyone so well!”
“I confess, I’m surprised as well,” Anaïs murmured. She was watching Harry, not Gabrielle, “I can’t help but suspect your parents would disapprove.”
Gabrielle laughed plainly.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
Anaïs’ frown deepened. To her right, Fleur eyed Gabrielle carefully.
“Anaïs is right, you know,” she warned her younger sister, “Maman will not be pleased.”
Beneath the table, Gabrielle’s palm snaked into his. The girl smiled.
“You say that as if Papa won’t be disappointed either.”
Fleur frowned.
“He can make use of it, politically speaking,” she paused, glancing at Harry, “And he is not one to judge someone without meeting them first.”
“Thanks,” said Harry blankly. Fleur snickered.
“Anytime,” she smiled, “You’ll really have to work to convince maman, though. I was being honest about that -”
“He can meet her at the Rosier Gala,” said Gabrielle clearly, “He’s been invited, obviously.”
I - what?
“Obviously,” Fleur repeated, grinning, “We’d best hope they like you, Harry. I won’t be able to bear any family reunions if maman and papa are on your case.”
Harry coughed loudly.
“Family reunions?”
“She’s teasing,” Gabrielle’s cheeks were a sharp pink, “Ignore her.”
“I am teasing,” Fleur agreed, “But I’m not wrong . . . I know what kind of person you are, Gabrielle -”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“One and done,” Fleur’s lips curved upwards, “Only accept perfection, and once it’s yours, never let it go.”
Gabrielle blinked. A pensive expression coated her features as she leaned back into her seat. Fleur swiftly took action as the opportunity presented itself, turning to face Harry.
“So . . . enemies to lovers, huh?”
Gabrielle went a bright red. Harry did his very best to ignore her, focusing on Fleur. She, like Gabrielle, looked an awful lot like someone Harry would have preferred to forget.
Emily . . .
The diary flickered within his mind. Harry’s jaw clenched as he pushed it aside.
Forget about it.
He returned his gaze to Fleur, who was talking loudly.
“. . .can’t help but think it’ll impact the tournament,” she was saying, “You’d best hope the tabloids don’t find out about this. They’ll be having a field day.”
Harry smiled faintly.
“It could be worse,” he said with an air of certainty, “If I were back home, I’d have to deal with Rita Skeeter.”
He watched as Anaïs scrunched her nose with distaste.
“I have read her work,” the young woman noted, “She’d make quite the fantasy author -”
Fleur irritably waved her hands before them.
“Nevermind that,” she snapped. She turned to Gabby and Harry, an almost predatory look in her eyes, “I want to hear about your first kiss!”
Gabrielle lurched forward with an air of excitement that confused Harry to no end.
“Fine,” she said. She sounded hesitant now, “But you have to share, too. Otherwise it’s weird.”
“Alright,” Fleur huffed.
She stared at Gabrielle for a long moment before speaking again.
“Well, go on!”
Gabrielle shook her head.
“You’re older. It’s more appropriate if you go first.”
Fleur groaned. Gabrielle glared at her.
“I’m serious,” she snapped, “Really picture the moment. I want to know exactly what happened.”
“Alright, alright . . .” Fleur sighed, “We’d had a fight in our seventh year of schooling because she wanted to stay in France and I wanted to be a Curse Breaker, which would’ve meant we wouldn’t be able to see each other.”
The girl paused, her eyes glistening as she reminisced.
“I - we talked about why we didn’t want to be apart, and I could tell we were thinking the same thing.”
“So you kissed her?” Gabrielle whispered.
Fleur nodded. An odd, familiar feeling grew in Harry’s chest.
“So I kissed her.”
She’s lying.
He felt Gabrielle’s palm squeeze his own beneath the table. Doing his best not to react, he delved past Fleur’s eyes and into her mind.
A younger Fleur sat beside an equally de-aged Anaïs. Before them was nothing more than a sheet of parchment. Intricate, neatly organized lines of French covered the length of the page.
“You are certain?” Fleur said. Judging by Anaïs’ reaction, she’d asked more than once.
“Absolutely,” the brown-haired girl replied, “It gets them off your back, doesn’t it? No need to worry about you popping out a child.”
Fleur frowned.
“They’ll be on Gabby’s back, though.”
“They will,” Anaïs agreed, “She could use the attention. You and I both know how hurt she is, what with your parents favouring you more.”
Fleur nodded.
“It might help her,” she sounded hopeful, “She might prefer it this way -”
“- still feeling a bit hungry.”
Harry blinked. He watched as Fleur - a few years older than she’d appeared just seconds ago - twisted her wand. A small plate soared into the booth, neatly carrying a presumably French treat Harry didn’t recognize. He watched as the girl quickly picked up her fork, stabbing at the cake like substance.
“Now then,” Fleur held the fork up, pointing it almost accusingly at Gabrielle, “It’s time to hear about your first kiss.”
Gabrielle went a bright red.
“I - Harry can tell you.”
What?
Harry turned to Gabrielle, his jaw hung wide open in sheer horror. He nearly yelped as the girl stomped on his shoe.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Harry cleared his throat. Across the table, Fleur was watching him with an expectant smile.
“Well - er,” Harry started nervously. His ears suddenly felt very hot, “I - I mean we - were stargazing -”
“I knew it!” Fleur guffawed. She held the cake-filled platter in the air, “I knew it would be some soppy shit, you little romantic -
“Be quiet!” Gabrielle hissed. If possible, she looked redder than before, “I think we’ll be going now -”
“So soon?” Anaïs frowned, “But you’ve only just arrived.”
As if to match her, Fleur drew her features into a delicate pout. Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise just a little.
She’s beautiful.
Her lips, her perfect skin, her bright eyes - all of it reminded him of someone. It was as though she were a discolored clone -
Harry gritted his teeth, pushing the thought aside. Gabrielle shook her head.
“I was joking, but only partially,” she made a show of looking at the watch wrapped tightly around her wrist, “We really do have to get going.”
Fleur sighed.
“I imagine you two must want some alone time,” she grinned. Her eyes flicked to Harry, “Besides, I doubt they'd let him out for long.”
She and Anaïs gently removed the language amulets from their wrists, passing them back to Gabrielle. Fleur watched with a stupid smile as Gabby shuffled out of the booth, pulling Harry along with her.
“Jusqu'à ce que nous nous revoyions, bébé oiseau!” Fleur called cheerfully, her words now heavily accented “Assurez-vous qu'Harry sache que j'approuve !”
Gabrielle roughly pulled herself and Harry out of the cafe, the thin wooden door loudly banging shut behind them. Gabrielle rounded on him the moment they were out of sight.
“Well?” she asked expectantly, “What did you see?”
Harry frowned.
“I don’t know,” he murmured, “I think they were planning something . . .”
“They weren’t kissing though, were they?”
Harry shook his head.
If anything, it sounded like they were planning out being in a fake relationship.
Harry blinked. Gabrielle dragged him along, his palm still within hers.
“It doesn’t make sense,” the girl said, frowning, “All Fleur’s ever wanted was freedom. And suddenly she’s a lesbian of all things -”
“Why does that matter?”
“It doesn’t,” Gabby grimaced, “It’s just so . . . sudden. And more importantly, it’s a solution to all her problems.”
“Problems?” Harry repeated.
Gabrielle nodded.
“Being forced to pop out a kid and lead the family,” the silver-haired girl explained, “I can’t help but feel like she - she . . .”
Gabrielle paused.
“I can’t help but feel like she did this for herself.”
Harry’s stomach churned uncomfortably within his chest.
“Say for a moment that Fleur is faking it -”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe she’s trying to help you,” he suggested, recalling the conversation he’d seen in Fleur’s mind, “Maybe she’s hoping your parents will favor you more.”
Gabrielle stared at him with narrowed eyes.
“I don’t want their attention,” Gabby snapped, “Not when it’s superficial. I would’ve settled for being looked through when I was ten. I want them to see me for me, Harry. Not as some child bearer or future matriarch.”
Gabrielle rounded on him.
“Fleur should know that,” she said with an air of certainty, “She knows I hate being seen for something I’m not. I’m more than just a kid maker.”
Harry nodded reassuringly, thinking carefully. His fingers moved to intersect with hers.
“I know, Gabby.”
“I don’t need this,” the silver-haired girl frowned, “Fleur - Fleur knows who she is. I don’t. And now I never will.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” Gabrielle’s eyes shimmered, “You should’ve seen the way they controlled Fleur before she and Anaïs started dating. The only reason Fleur’s not a child-bearing heiress is because she’s too stubborn -”
“Then you’ll be fine,” Harry laughed. He eyed the girl knowingly, “Merlin knows you’re like that too.”
The girl graced him with a gentle smile.
“Thank you, Harry,” she said sincerely, “I just . . . I don’t know. It hurts to think Fleur might’ve sold me out.”
Harry came to a stop. The blue French sky loomed overhead, causing Gabrielle’s silver hair to glow with all the beauty of the divine. Harry thought for a moment.
But Fleur did. She might’ve not meant to, but she did.
His eyes fell to the spitting image of perfection that sat before him. Despite the beauty of her form, the sharpness of her mind, and the potency of her magic, Gabrielle Delacour had always been second fiddle.
An endless chasm of uncertainty and fear.
Harry stared into her eyes. Something feisty and determined sat far below the surface.
The real Gabrielle Delacour. Who she wants to be.
Harry took her other hand within his, drawing her closer. He could feel her breath against his skin.
“You’ve got to trust people, Gabby,” he told her, “You’ve got to believe -”
“You think Fleur and Anaïs are really dating.”
Harry paused.
“I don’t know,” he lied, “I don’t really think it matters.”
Gabrielle stared at him. She looked hurt.
“Doesn’t matter?” she whispered, her eyes wet, “Harry, she might’ve thrown me under the bus -”
“You don’t know that,” said Herry firmly, “But that’s beside the point. Fleur doesn’t matter right now.”
Gabrielle’s irises burnt like bluebell flames.
“She might have sold me out,” said Gabrielle, “The only person I can count on to have my back -”
“One of them,” Harry corrected irritably, “But nevermind that for now. This isn’t about her. This is about you.”
Gabrielle stared at him for a long moment. With every passing second a silent crowd of onlookers grew around them. Harry grimaced.
Harry Potter and the minister’s daughter. That’s bound to attract attention.
Gabrielle irritably tugged him through the crowd, snapping irritably at the few who dared to block their way. Harry quickly found himself dragged into a clothing shoppe filled with dress robes. Gabrielle Delacour rounded on him.
“What do you mean, ‘about me?’” she whispered, her voice abnormally plain.
Harry cleared his throat.
“You’re acting like being burdened with some fancy title is going to strip you of your sense of self. You’re not getting that it’s not what we’re born that matters, it’s what we choose to be. No one can take that from you.”
Gabrielle frowned at him.
“Of course it can’t strip me of myself,” she murmured, “I hardly know who I am -”
“You do, you fucking idiot,” Harry seethed. Gabrielle stared at him, “You’re just worried it’s not good enough for your dad, or your mom, or even Fleur.”
Harry straightened up.
“Who gives a fuck what they think? It’s your life. Either live it or waste it away.”
-(xXx)-
Curly black hair twisted through the air as Bellatrix Lestrange rose to her feet. A child with cracked, porcelain-like skin sat within the tattered armchair before her.
“You have something to say?” Voldemort whispered, her adolescent voice squeaking as she spoke.
Bellatrix nodded deeply.
“He’s bound to return your diary, master,” she whispered, “I offered him the knowledge of the Truisms, just as you instructed me.”
The curly-haired woman’s head ducked further as she spoke. Unlike before, it was not a sign of respect.
She helped him.
The porcelain girl leaned forward. Her eyes shone a horrible red.
“And did you tell him anything, Bella?” Voldemort asked, “Anything at all?”
The black-haired witch forced her head defiantly into the air.
“The first and second,” Bellatrix whispered. Voldemort’s tiny fingers clawed into a tight fist.
And after I told her not to . . .
“Crucio.”
Horrible screaming flooded the stale air. Wood splintered under heel as Bellatrix rolled across the floor. After little more than a few seconds, the curse ended.
“Not for disobeying me, Bella,” Voldemort whispered, watching as the curly-haired witch pushed herself to her feet, “Little more than a reminder against growing soft . . .”
Bellatrix wiped a drop of blood from her lips.
“It doesn’t matter,” she assured her master, “It’s nothing without the third. He can’t perform blood rituals without all three.”
“I am well aware, Bellatrix.”
Voldemort’s fingers tapped against the length of her armchair in a manner not unsimilar to a spider’s scuttle. She pulled her palm back, her fingers tracing the cracks that lined her skin. Her lips curled with distaste.
“You are certain he has no means of learning the third?” she asked curiously.
Bellatrix nodded.
“There’s only one person in France who knows for certain, and Harry’s never met him. A man named Garnier?”
“Garnier?” Voldemort said, her eyes alight with recognition, “He fought against Grindelwald.”
The porcelain girl thought for a moment.
“It would not be unwise to kill him, Bellatrix,” Voldemort warned, “I would be greatly displeased if Harry found another source of counsel in this matter.”
Bellatrix bowed deeply.
“I have covered everything, master,” she whispered, “Your diary will be returned to you by the year’s end.”
Voldemort laughed.
“And how can you be sure?” she crooned.
Bellatrix stared up at her.
“Because there’s no other way,” she whispered, “If he doesn’t hand it over, Astoria Greengrass will die.”
Lady Voldemort leaned closer, a curious gleam in her eyes.
-(xXx)-
Harry sat within the common room again. His fingers toyed with an aged diary he’d removed from the bottom of his trunk.
“You mustn’t do it.”
A breath he didn’t know he’d been holding slipped free. Harry fought the urge to laugh.
“Good evening, Luna,” Harry smiled, “Or is it morning now?”
Still dark out. Can’t be too late.
He watched as Luna Lovegood stiffly slid into the armchair beside him. She watched him with a focus so sharp that had it been any other day, Harry no doubt would have been unnerved.
“You’re going about this all wrong,” Luna whispered, “I’m begging you. If you hand over that diary, Astoria is fated to die.”
Harry frowned, turning over the diary in his palms. There was no hole to be seen.
“And how do you know?” he asked curiously, turning to her, “Your dreams, I imagine.”
Luna said nothing. Harry gritted his teeth.
“You see, Luna, there’s a slight problem,” he explained dryly, “If I don’t give the diary, Astoria’s as good as dead -”
“There are other ways -”
“Like what?” Harry snapped, “Because the only other route I know is Garnier.”
He leaned closer.
“I don’t know if you’ve seen Garnier in your dreams, so I’ll fill you in,” he murmured, “Garnier’s a war hero - French Moody, if you will. His entire job is to make sure the secret of blood magic dies with him. And it probably will, seeing as Bellatrix Lestrange is hunting him down as we speak.”
You aren’t the only one with magical dreams.
Luna frowned. Her gaze fell to the book in Harry’s lap.
“You shouldn’t hold that for too long,” she told him, “It makes you angry.”
Harry tucked the diary out of view. Something desperate welled up in his chest.
“Just tell me what you know,” he pleaded, staring Luna in the eye, “You can help me. Something, anything -”
“You are walking into ruin,” Luna whispered, “There is no future within which no one dies. Someone must pay the price.”
“Someone does,” Harry nodded, “But it doesn’t have to be Astoria.”
Luna stared at him. Her eyes seemed lifeless.
“Do you really think the alternative is any better?”
Her eyes glazed over for a long moment. The girl slowly rose to her feet.
“Astoria is not the only thing you have to lose, Harry Potter,” Luna warned, “Don’t let yourself believe you have nothing to lose simply because you’ve lost so much already. You are not yet so lost.”
The girl turned, walking away. Harry stared at her back.
“You aren’t going to stop me?”
Luna frowned.
“I doubt I would have succeeded. Someone else can do it.”
“I’m assuming you’re not going to explain anything to me, either.”
The girl shrugged.
“You’d be far more upset if I did,” Luna whispered. She stared off blankly, “They’re all dreams, for now. You can only hope they stay that way . . .”
And she wandered off, her dirty blonde hair vanishing beneath the shadows of the train corridor. Harry mumbled darkly under his breath.
I think I hate seers.
His fingers curved around the diary, pulling it closer as he rose to his feet. Harry took a deep breath.
“I have to,” he murmured, “It’s the only way.”
Harry tucked the diary into his waistline, stepping through the exit door and out into the French fields. He silently withdrew his wand, waving it through the air.
“Expecto Patronum!”
Silver mist coalesced into a shining thestral. Harry waited impatiently as it bounded through the grass, eventually returning to just before him. He stepped up to it uncertainly.
“Er - find Bellatrix Lestrange,” he began, “Tell her to meet me at the Shrieking Shack.”
For a moment, the patronus stood still, staring at him; Harry feared it hadn’t worked. The next, it was dashing up into the air and out of sight.
I wonder how long it’ll take to reach her -
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Harry frowned. He turned around to find Gabrielle Delacour standing opposite him, a tabloid clasped within her palm.
“Gabby,” Harry said, “Why - what’s that?”
Gabrielle tossed the paper to him. Harry held it aloft, reading:
‘Harry Potter and Gabrielle Delacour Spotted During Romantic Outing in Paris!’
“To save you the time, it’s a bunch of yap about you and I being affectionate in public,” Gabrielle supplied helpfully, “People think we’re dating.”
Oh.
“I don’t really care,” Harry said, tossing the tabloid back to her, “I think I got desensitized to it all after that first kiss rubbish with Fleur earlier.”
Gabrielle laughed weakly. Her eyes fell upon the diary in Harry’s hands.
“My mother’s not too happy about it,” Gabby whispered, “She’s already forbidden me from being around you.”
Harry watched her carefully.
“Are you going to listen?”
Gabrielle shook her head.
“No,” she decided aloud, “I - I know what I want.”
Harry’s heart fluttered. The girl took a step closer.
“And - and what’s that?”
“A great many things,” Gabrielle whispered, “But, for now, to keep you safe.”
Harry stared at the girl, bewildered.
“Okay,” he laughed nervously, “Er - how exactly do you plan on doing that?”
Gabrielle frowned. Eventually, she nodded at the diary.
“Probably by taking that.”
Harry’s chest tightened.
That’s why Luna didn’t try to stop me.
Hot, molten fury tore through Harry’s chest. The blades of grass at his feet began to droop as the life left them, a furious green glow burning in Harry’s eyes.
“Luna put you up to this,” he whispered, his heart aching.
Gabrielle stared at him, her eyes slipping from his own all the way down to his shaking fists.
“She warned me,” Gabrielle admitted. Her eyes latched onto his, “That doesn’t mean she put me up to anything. This is my choice.”
Harry glared at the girl, his palms clenched.
“And returning the diary is mine,” he whispered, “I assure you, it’s for a good cause -”
“You mean Astoria?” Gabrielle whispered, “You’re my Astoria, you know. I’m not exactly in a rush to see you hurt either.”
Harry’s jaw clenched.
“This is the only way,” he whispered, “You wouldn’t understand. You couldn’t . . .”
He trailed off, his hands suddenly grasping at air. Harry turned. Emily’s diary, once firmly nestled within his palm, was now tucked neatly between Gabrielle’s fingers.
The silver-haired girl gave him an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” she whispered firmly, “I won’t let you hurt yourself.”
Harry’s jaw clenched. He stalked toward the girl, who quickly pulled her medallion from beneath her robes and shouted, “Be safe!”
There was a blast of light. Harry looked away, shielding his eyes. When his vision returned, the girl was gone.
Motherfucker.
Harry closed his eyes, holding out a hand in the direction of where Gabrielle had just been. He focused more carefully than he had ever focused on everything before, feeling the magic just as he used to do -
Recognition flared in his head. Harry twisted on the spot -
Crack.
Gabriel Street stretched before him. Harry watched as a girl wrapped within a dark hoodie sprinted across the empty road. He angrily pointed his wand toward her.
“Accio.”
Silvery-blonde blurred through the air. Harry conjured a shield of water as Gabrielle’s palms caught fire. The bluebell flames she threw at him flickered out before they could get close.
Not that they were particularly strong.
“The diary, Gabby,” Harry whispered, “Give it to me.”
“Impedimenta!” Gabrielle hissed, “Melofors, Relashio, Expelliarmus!”
A series of school yard jinxes flew towards him. Harry lazily batted them aside, staring down the girl.
“Just give it to me, Gabby. Let me do something good -”
A blast of magic tore through the street, sending bits of cobblestone and pavement flying. Harry shielded himself in the nick of time.
“Be safe!”
There was another flicker of light, and the girl disappeared. Harry gritted his teeth, clawing at the magic that lingered.
Crack.
“Expelliarmus!” Harry spat as the snowy village of Kalddød swam into view. The diary soared into the air, “Accio diary -”
Wham.
Harry twisted, landing face-first in the snow. He messaged his jaw, particularly the spot where Gabrielle’s hex had hit him. Harry rose to his feet.
“I’m not playing Gabby,” he whispered, his wand aloft. He squinted through the air in search of the girl, “If you really care about me, give me the diary.”
He was met with nothing but silence. Harry swore, pointing his wand upward as he stalked through the snow. Dilapidated buildings and empty shacks stretched on for about a hundred meters. Nothing seemed to move.
Where are you? Where are you . . .
Harry paused for a moment, jabbing his wand forward.
“Homenum Revelio.”
The tip of Harry’s wand shone a faint orange. Harry watched as it turned once - then again - before falling still. His heart lurched.
Someone else is here.
Harry’s jaw clenched. He silently waved his wand across his form, his mind racing.
Abscondere.
His body flickered, quickly fading away beneath the Disillusionment Charm. Harry quietly trodded through the snow, erasing his footprints with every step. He kept his wand pointed forward, his heart pounding heavily in his chest.
They have Gabby.
Something stirred. Harry turned sharply, his wand pointed at a building just a few meters opposite him. Gabrielle lay motionless atop the snow, the diary sprawled open at her feet.
“Gabby!”
Harry raced towards her. He quickly fell to his knees, hoisting her up from her back. Her skin felt cold and lifeless, just as - as -
Ginny.
“Look at you. You’ve grown so much.”
Harry’s heart lurched. He watched as his breath fogged up before him, his fingers shivering for reasons apart from the cold. Slowly yet with purpose, Harry turned to face the voice.
She was just as he remembered. Her hair was long and dark. Her eyes, hazel in colour, sat above high cheekbones. Her skin was pale and smooth, her lips soft and pink. Harry even saw a glimmer of white as she smiled.
Gabrielle’s lifeless form slipped from his fingers as he rose to his feet. Harry’s grasp tightened around his wand.
“Emily.”
The girl smiled. Harry stiffened as she stepped forward, her form flickering all the while.
“I hate to say I told you so, you know,” she whispered, her gaze slipping to her diary in the snow, “But I told you so. You didn’t mean it, Harry.”
Harry glared at her, his wand raised.
“What do you want?”
Riddle frowned.
“Why do I have to want anything?”
Harry’s wand raised further. The girl sighed.
“I want to talk to you. Is that acceptable?”
“No -”
“Tough,” she snapped irritably, “I’ve missed you. I want to talk to you. I’m going to talk to you.”
Her eyes lingered on him for a moment. Harry watched as her lips curved into a smile as she traced his features with her eyes.
“You’re my height now,” she noted curiously, “I must be two years older than you, too.”
She stepped closer, reaching for his face. Much to his own dismay, Harry didn’t flinch away.
“And your eyes,” she murmured, “You know, Harry, I’ve always hated the fact that you wore glasses. Your eyes are beautiful.”
“How fascinating,” Harry hissed irritably, “How are you here?”
Emily pouted. Something twisted in Harry’s chest.
“Rude,” she murmured, “And to think, you’ll probably threaten me again to get an answer -”
“You know me too well,” Harry snapped, jabbing his wand at her flickering chest, “How’d you take over Gabby so fast?”
Emily’s smile faded. Her gaze slipped from Harry to where Gabrielle lay in the snow.
“Is that her name, then?” Emily said curtly, “Simple. I didn't.”
Harry glared at her.
“Then how are you here?”
“The witch in violet, I imagine,” Riddle supplied almost helpfully, “That’s assuming it wasn’t secretly you, of course -”
“Witch in violet?” Harry repeated, “What witch?”
“The one who knocked out dearest Gabrielle,” Riddle frowned, “Again, assuming that wasn’t secretly you -”
“It wasn’t!”
“Well then, it was the witch in violet,” said Emily, “You’ll have to blame her, not me, as much as that may disappoint you.”
Harry grimaced, turning away. He could feel Emily’s gaze slipping between him and Gabrielle.
“She’s very pretty.”
“I didn’t ask,” Harry snapped, turning around. A thin-lipped smile covered Emily’s features.
“She looks like me,” Emily whispered, “Just with silver hair and blue eyes. How odd.”
She drew her eyes away from Gabrielle, turning to him.
“Is she the one, then?”
Harry felt his heart lurch again. He turned away.
“That isn’t any of your concern.”
“I can’t help but ask,” Emily said softly. Her voice pressed against his skin in an almost seductive manner, “You deserve only the best, Harry . . .”
Harry shivered. Emily laughed.
“Do you still like stories, Harry?” she asked, “I could tell you the Tale of the Three Brothers one more time, if you’d like? Preferably before you throw another Killing Curse my way -”
“Get lost,” Harry snapped, “The longer you’re here, the longer Gabrielle isn’t.”
The smile quickly faded from Emily’s face. She stared at Gabby’s unmoving form.
“She’s a lucky girl.”
Emily forced her gaze away, turning back to Harry. Her hazel eyes bore into his own.
“Now what?” she whispered, “Are you going to try killing me again?”
“Funny,” Harry laughed heartlessly, “I was about to ask you the same.”
“The answer’s no,” said Emily simply, “It’s a bit hard without a wand or my basilisk, as I’m sure you can imagine -”
“I’m glad to hear the only reason you’re not killing me is because you can’t at the moment,” said Harry bitterly, “Anything else you’d like to add before I make you go away?”
Emily nodded.
“It’s good to see you,” she said softly, “I - you’ve grown greater than even I could have imagined.”
Harry snorted.
“You don’t know me.”
Emily stepped closer. Harry felt the cold, almost wet feeling of her flickering form press against his skin.
“I know you better than anyone, Harry Potter.”
He felt her lips press against his cheek, and the spirit disappeared.
-(xXx)-
Countless stars stretched out overhead. Harry struggled to count them one by one before he eventually gave up.
“You’re not giving up the diary, then?”
Harry turned. Gabrielle lay beside him, her silver hair casting a million different imprints in the snow. He slowly shook his head.
“No, I’m not.”
Gabby smiled.
“Did I convince you?”
“Not even a little,” Harry snapped. The girl laughed, rolling her eyes.
“So long as you still have the diary, I don’t care,” Gabrielle murmured.
“Why is that?” Harry frowned, “Because Luna said it’s in my best interests?”
“Something like that,” Gabby nodded.
The two of them returned their gaze to the evening sky overhead. Harry’s mind spun.
“What did Luna tell you, anyway?” Harry asked curiously, “I remember you said she said something to you that convinced her she wasn’t just spitting out bullshit.”
He watched with fascination as Gabrielle went a bright pink. The girl stared determinedly up at the stars.
“None of your concern.”
Judging from that, it probably is.
“If you say so,” Harry sighed. He rolled a bit to face the girl, “But, for what it’s worth, I appreciate what you did earlier.”
Gabrielle rolled over as well.
“What, you mean when I assaulted you?”
“When you did what you had to do to keep me safe,” Harry corrected half-heartedly. Gabby laughed, “I - it’s nice to know you care.”
“You’re welcome,” said Gabrielle sincerely, “Thanks for helping me break into my sister’s mind.”
“You’re welcome,” Harry smiled. Gabby smiled back.
“I still can’t believe you told her we were dating . . .”
“Like you were any better,” Gabby snorted, “That first kiss story was fascinating -”
“What, stargazing?”
They both froze. Harry felt his heart race for what had to be the hundredth time that night.
“Yeah,” Gabrielle whispered, “Stargazing.”
Harry turned to her. There was a peculiar look in her blue eyes. He imagined he had a similar look in his own.
Stargazing. How romantic . . .
Harry leaned over, and beneath a midnight sky of constellations and shooting stars, pressed his lips against hers.
Comments
sansunderune
Wow...
suspicious
Quality of your writing seems to improve with each chapter. Well done.
