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AFiF 4, Chapter 24: Bells of Frost
🕑 Added 2024-11-11 11:46:02 +0000 UTCXXIV. Bells of Frost
Seven long tables covered the length of the Beauxbatons Dining Hall. Harry nestled himself along the fifth one from the left-hand side, pulling Astoria closer to his side as the girl took a seat. The blonde girl smiled sweetly.
“This is a table for fifth years,” Sylvain Toussain said pointedly, “Just because you’re allowed in -”
Harry stared into the boy’s eyes, projecting his thoughts loud and clearly.
Mind your tongue.
Smiling, he turned back to Astoria.
“Where’s Luna?”
“At the third year table,” Astoria whispered, giggling, “She’s trying to learn French.”
Harry turned. Sure enough, the dreamy-eyed Ravenclaw was plopped in the center of the third table, her Language Amulet very obviously missing.
She’s a fascinating one, she is . . .
Harry’s eyes roamed. They slid past Luna and down several tables, coming to rest along the witches and wizards that lined the walls. Each of them was adorned in light blue robes, silver Language Amulets gleaming upon their wrists.
“I don’t understand,” Harry murmured, turning to the boy sitting to his left, “Why are there so many Aurors here?”
Oliver frowned.
“For protection, of course.”
“Protection?” Harry frowned, “I thought they wanted to talk to us about the Fiendfyre debacle?”
They can’t possibly think I might set the damn school on fire.
The faint image of the Forbidden Forest crumbling to ash flickered in his mind. Harry frowned.
Alright, fine.
He looked up. The nearest students - Cerise’s friends, to be more precise - had all gone somewhat quiet.
“They do,” Cerise agreed, nodding. There was a strange look in her eye, “But they wish to ensure the speaker’s safety. She is a very powerful woman, after all.”
Harry nodded slowly. For a moment, he once again wondered if Cerise knew what he had done.
She can’t be sure. She’d only know what Grace Weitts knows.
Harry’s lips thinned.
That on the night of the attack, I was at Hogwarts with burned up robes.
He shook his head.
“And who is she, exactly?” he asked curiously. The look in Cerise’s gaze intensified.
“The Lady of the Land.”
And she turned away, joining the conversation held by the Toussaint twins and Bardot. Harry, still frowning, turned to Oliver expectantly.
“Wife of the Minister,” said Oliver simply. Harry nodded.
“That’s the Laurent guy, right?” he asked, thinking back to the selection of Triwizard Champions. Though it had just been a few months, the occurrence felt like forever ago.
“Henri Laurent, yes,” Oliver agreed.
Creak.
Hundreds of heads turned to the grand birch doors, watching as they were pulled open by a half dozen guards each. Harry's eyes widened as a tall, glowing woman with flawless skin and long, silver hair strode into the hall. She practically oozed perfection.
She looks like Gabby.
Harry’s heart quickened. His head turned from the angelic woman to the fourth year, his eyes struggling to spot the French Champion. At last he found her by the table’s edge, her head ducked and her expression irritable.
A lonesome clattering echoed through the hall as Apolline Delacour stepped toward the grand lectern, the students rising as one.
-(xXx)-
“Where exactly are we going, Harry?”
Snow shifted under heel. Harry wrapped his thick winter robes more tightly around himself, his head ducked as he pushed his way through the cold air.
“It’s a surprise.”
“Not entirely,” Gabrielle noted. Her eyes were scrunched from the force of the wind, “I know we’re near Durmstrang, genius. You’re not the only one who explored the school’s surroundings.”
Harry grinned.
“I almost forgot,” he laughed, “And to think, we were sneaking through the mountain just a few weeks ago -”
Wack.
Harry turned. Gabrielle stared at him, a finger to her lips. She seemed to be fighting a grin.
“Quiet,” she warned, her lips curving upward, “We’re near the scene of the crime.”
Harry laughed.
The pair continued forward for some time, soaked in a comfortable silence. After some time, Gabrielle broke it.
“So,” she said softly as wooden buildings grew in the distance, “You never told me what we’re doing.”
Harry paused for a moment.
“Do you remember how we met?”
Gabrielle stared at him curiously.
“At the Quidditch World Cup,” she nodded slowly, “When we likely killed those two Death Eaters.”
Harry nodded stiffly.
“Which you haven’t told anyone about, right?”
The girl rolled her eyes.
“You’re the only person I could really tell anything,” she reminded him, “If anything, it’s you who should be getting interrogated.”
A slight frown marred Harry’s features.
The only one . . .
“Some of my friends would love to meet you, you know,” he said, “You don’t have to be alone -”
“I’m not,” Gabrielle smiled, “but I adore the sentiment.”
Her hand, cold yet soft, slipped into his. Harry’s heart raced.
“Anyway,” he continued, fighting to keep a straight face, “I was trying to find out who that girl was for months. She - you - dueled really well. Almost as well as I do.”
“Aren’t you humble,” Gabrielle rolled her eyes, grinning, “If I remember correctly, one of us went flying during the first task, and it wasn’t me.”
“Dumb luck,” Harry turned to her, “But I suppose we’ll find out, you and I.”
Wooden structures - similar in size to a peanut just moments ago - now towered over them. Delacour’s eyes widened with intrigue as they approached.
“Kalddød,” she murmured, “You’re taking me to that place, aren’t you? The dueling club?”
Harry nodded.
“You can’t tell anyone about this, by the way,” he added off-handedly, “I’m not entirely sure this place is legal.”
“I’ve got no one I’d want to tell anything.”
Harry paused.
“I meant your father,” he muttered.
Gabrielle’s grasp suddenly felt tighter. The two slowly strode toward the Silver Spire, the black-haired one painfully aware of the nervous sweating of his palm.
“You’re upset,” the Veela girl guessed. Her expression had fallen into a slight frown, “You’re mad I didn’t tell you.”
“What? No!” Harry said loudly. His voice dropped as Gabrielle sent him a warning glare, “I - I get it. I’d be worried people would treat me differently.”
Gabrielle smiled faintly.
“I kind of thought you already knew,” she admitted, “It’s not exactly a secret that he’s minister -”
“Yeah, yeah, I should’ve done my research,” Harry said, exasperated. He frowned as the girl laughed, “Why’d you think I was upset?”
Gabrielle shrugged.
“Your palms are sweaty.”
Harry yanked his hand out from her grasp.
Dim flames sat trapped within lanterns wrought from steel and iron. Harry and Gabrielle quietly made their way through the dark, mostly-empty streets. Harry stopped upon arriving some fifty meters from the Inn.
“What is it?” Gabrielle frowned, her silver amulet gleaming in the moonlight.
Harry held out a finger, waving his wand with his other hand. A velvety burka materialized before him, woven from light blue cloth that perfectly matched Gabrielle’s robes. The girl stared as he held his hands out, wrapping it over her head.
“What are you doing?”
“Allure,” said Harry simply. As he worked, the faint desire to impress the Veela girl faded into nothingness - not that Harry had been particularly aware of it before.
“Done,” Harry said some moments later, stepping back. Gabrielle’s face was now completely hidden from view. Only a thin mesh window allowed her to see anything at all.
“Harry,” Gabrielle whispered. It sounded as though she were smiling, “That’s not how my Allure works.”
“It’s not?” Harry blinked. Gabrielle shook her head, “But your Allure feels weaker -”
“That’s because my hair’s obstructed,” she hissed.
Harry stared at her.
“Your hair?” he balked, “Who are you, fucking Rapunzel -”
“What?” Gabrielle flicked him across the forehead, “Don’t swear when you’re interrupting me either, that’s a double rule-break. I’d have thought you learned your lesson during the first task -”
“That wasn’t me, that was the bloody Jarvey -”
Gabrielle flicked him again.
“What did I just say?” she said, her eyes shining with mirth, “Now, do you want to learn something interesting about me or not?”
Harry thought for a moment.
“We’re competitors, you know,” he reminded her, “It’s probably not smart to give me an unfair advantage.”
One of Gabrielle’s brows rose.
“You make it sound like we’re at war,” she whispered, “It’s just a competition.”
Harry smiled.
That might be the first time she brought up the tournament without -
“One I’ll win, of course.”
Harry rolled his eyes.
Nevermind.
Gabrielle leaned closer. Though Harry could see little more than her eyes, Harry swore her allure was tugging at his mind.
“Besides, I said you could trust me, didn’t I?” She reminded him, “Trust is a two way street.”
The two of them stood inches apart, hidden in the shadows of a frail wooden shack. Harry’s heart lurched almost uncomfortably.
“So you trust me, and I trust you, huh?” Harry said nervously. Gabrielle nodded, her eyes unnaturally wide, “And you won’t tell anyone?”
The girl nodded once more.
“Not a soul,” she whispered, “Not Fleur, not maman, not even papa.”
There was an almost desperate tinge to her tone. Harry stared, transfixed.
“I can tell you anything?”
“Anything,” Gabrielle repeated. Harry felt on edge.
She knows something.
Golden flames flickered through his head once more. They had been doing so for quite a while now, and their visits had grown more frequent since his return from Egypt.
She saw me leave Durmstrang to meet Nagel.
Harry focused on the girl before him. He suddenly became aware that he wasn’t the only one whose heart seemed to be racing.
“I’ll bear that in mind,” he assured her, “But . . . your hair.”
“My hair,” Gabrielle rolled her eyes, reaching to pull the singular braided strand from beneath her hood, “It’s brimming with magic. That’s what causes the allure.”
“What about bald Veela?” Harry asked curiously, holding the braid that Gabrielle presented to him, “They don’t have allures?”
Gabrielle shook her head.
“Veela don’t go bald, Harry,” she told him softly, “In fact, our hair can’t even be cut.”
“You don’t?” Harry felt confused, “But - but what about haircuts?”
“Our hair doesn’t work like that,” she said, “It grows at a different rate than non-Veela - rapidly when we’re young, then really slowly once you’ve passed puberty. That’s why long hair is respected in Veela enclaves. It’s a sign of experience.”
“You never cut your hair?” Harry stared, whispering, “You really are like Rapunzel.”
“I’ll hope that’s a compliment,” Gabrielle decided aloud, “But that brings me back to my initial point. You don’t have to do all this.”
She motioned to the Burka adorning her, which covered everything but the blue of her eyes.
“So long as my hair’s hidden I’ll be fine.”
Harry shook his head.
“This place is still a little sketchy,” he murmured, “I don’t want someone to try anything fishy.”
Gabrielle frowned, turning to the Silver Spire. Flickering lights and loud shouts emanated from it.
“Is that likely?”
“I don’t think so,” Harry said, “But I’m not about to find out.”
He glanced back at her.
“You’re a little too gorgeous for your own good.”
Harry froze the moment the words left his mouth. Gabrielle did too.
“Besides, best not risk things,” he said quickly, allowing the silver braid to slip through his fingers, “Imagine what the French tabloids would say if you and I were caught exploring Norway at two in the morning?”
Gabrielle giggled, replacing her fingers between his.
“Come on,” she called, pulling him closer, “Let me show you why I have yet to lose a duel.”
-(xXx)-
Dozens of witches and wizards sprinted through the circular office. Tonks hurried after a tall black man, her wand drawn.
“Where?”
“Puddlemere,” he said simply, “Move quickly. They haven’t been able to throw up Anti-Apparition wards yet.”
Tonks grimaced.
“I - I don’t count as an involved party, do I?”
Kingsley looked at her for a long moment.
“Not to me,” he said firmly, “Let’s go.”
And they hurried out of the office and toward the floo chamber.
-(xXx)-
“You’re insane.”
Harry pulled his eyes from the glowing lights. Gabrielle was watching him silently, a thin gash marring her otherwise flawless skin. He leaned closer.
“Am I?” Harry frowned, sliding his thumb across her wound. He smiled with satisfaction as it sealed up, “Why is that?”
“You fought like you were trying to kill me,” Gabrielle reminded him, “If it were anyone else, I would’ve returned the favor . . .”
She trailed off as Harry slowly shook his head.
“We’re dancing differently, you and I,” he suggested, “You’re dueling. I’m fighting.”
The girl’s lips quirked upwards.
“Are those two different things?”
“I think so,” Harry nodded, “It’s like . . . you’re just an actor putting on a show. You don’t really believe what you’re saying, you know?”
Genuine fascination flickered in Gabrielle’s eyes. Harry watched as she dipped her hand into the brown paper bag that sat within the snow, pulling out a handful of french fries. He smirked.
“What happened to not wanting to get fat?”
“Shut up,” Gabrielle snapped, pulling the bag closer. She held it up to her eyes, “What is this McDonald’s, anyway?”
“Fast food,” Harry supplied, “Walk up, tell them what you want to eat, walk out with it.”
“And the muggles can make it that quickly?” asked Gabrielle curiously, “Without magic or anything?”
“Yup,” Harry popped, sinking into the snow. He plucked a few fries from Gabrielle’s hands, ignoring her scowl, “They’ve mastered the art of living without magic, as you can imagine.”
Gabrielle frowned.
“They’ve mastered the art of packing junk into a single meal.”
“Delicious junk.”
“I suppose,” the girl shrugged, “It’s a wonder you didn’t show up to Hogwarts overweight . . .”
She paused.
“You didn’t, did you?”
“What? No!” Harry laughed, “No, the Dursleys would never let me eat McDonalds.”
“Why, because it’s unhealthy?”
Harry shook his head.
“Because I wanted to.”
An uncertain silence fell upon them. Harry watched as the snow beneath Gabrielle’s palms singed, melting into water.
“It’s not a big deal, really,” he assured her quietly, “They can’t hurt me. Not anymore.”
“How can you be sure -”
“Because no one can,” Harry said with an air of certainty.
Scarlet eyes burned bright in the back of his mind. Harry ignored them.
Not even you.
“It’s far more beautiful than I ever expected,” a soft voice admitted after a while, “It looks a bit like your eyes.”
Harry glanced up. High above them, the Northern Lights glitter across the Icelandic sky. Harry frowned.
“You’ve never seen the Northern Lights?”
Gabrielle shook her head, popping another fry into her mouth.
“Not that I’m complaining. It makes this all the more special.”
Harry smiled.
“I’m surprised we made it this far,” he admitted, “I was half-worried the French Aurors would be watching you around the clock -”
“There’s no need,” Gabrielle said simply, fingering the medallion wrapped around her neck, “This can get me out of just about anything.”
Harry nodded, his mind slipping back to the Quidditch World Cup. Gabrielle slowly tucked it beneath her hoodie, her fingers sliding against the smooth cloth.
“I told you it was nice,” he murmured, watching as the girl’s fingers lingered, “Muggles do have nice clothing, admit it -”
“I never said they didn’t,” Gabrielle rolled her eyes. She tossed the hood over her head, “What’s this called again - a hoodie?”
Harry nodded.
“It’s nice,” Gabrielle admitted. Her eyes drifted to the one Harry wore, “But I like black more. I have too many blue clothes.”
Harry laughed.
“Fat chance,” he grinned, “This one’s mine. I paid for it -”
“You stole it,” the girl corrected, her eyes bright, “You stole both of them from those poor hard working muggle.”
“I left a galleon on the counter,” Harry muttered sheepishly.
Besides, it was a department store.
“You’re a criminal,” said Gabrielle teasingly.
“That makes you an accomplice,” Harry said hotly, “What are you going to do, tell your dad -”
The silver ring wrapped around his finger burned painfully. Harry sat up, gritting his teeth furiously.
“Nott,” he murmured.
What the fuck does he want now?
“Harry?” Gabrielle asked, frowning, “Harry, what is it -”
Crash.
Harry’s wand flew into his hand. He jabbed it at the spinning snow before him, relaxing only when he made out a familiar tuft of dark brown hair.
“Harry!” Theodore said loudly, spitting out a mouthful of snow, “Harry, you need to come with -”
The boy trailed off, his jaw hung wide open. Dark, beady eyes latched upon the Veela girl sitting at Harry’s side.
“What the fuck is she doing here?”
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing loudly as Nott took a better look at their surroundings. His head swiveled like a muggle bobblehead.
“Where the fuck are we?”
“Harry?” Gabrielle whispered from his side, “Harry, what is he saying?”
Harry paused. A band of silver glimmered from around Gabrielle’s wrist.
Oh.
He straightened up.
“The two of you won’t be able to understand each other,” Harry said aloud, “Theo hasn’t got a Language Amulet.”
He turned to the boy in question.
“And I still don’t get why you’re here,” he said. He paused for a moment, “Or how, actually. Aren’t I supposed to call you?”
His words seemed to remind Nott of something. The boy stared at him, looking abnormally panicked.
“It was an emergency,” Nott said quickly, “I think the ring must’ve known - it’s Lestrange.”
Harry froze.
“What?”
Nott nodded hurriedly.
“She’s been seen in Puddlemere,” he breathed, “She was terrorizing them, screaming from the rooftops about wanting to meet Ophelia’s boyfriend back in their classroom,” he paused, taking a deep breath, “I assumed you would know what that meant.”
Harry’s jaw clenched. Sending Gabrielle an apologetic look, he took off his Language Amulet, letting it drop to the snow.
“Ophelia . . . I’m Ophelia’s boyfriend,” Harry deduced aloud, “But . . . but classroom -”
“And who is this Ophelia, may I ask?” Nott inquired irritably. Harry went a faint red.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s just something Bella’s called me before.”
Nott frowned.
“And the classroom?”
Harry thought. After a short moment, he nodded.
“Hogsmeade. I know where to go.”
“Then get a move on,” Nott said, holding his hand out, “We’re wasting time.”
Harry paused. His eyes trailed toward the French girl sitting in the snow.
“You can’t bring her,” Nott grit his teeth, “It’s too risky. Especially with her family.”
“Yeah, I know,” Harry sighed. He bent over, brushing the snow from his amulet before replacing it along his wrist. He turned to the silver-haired girl.
“I’m sorry, Gabrielle,” he said earnestly, “Something important came up. Do - do you want me to Apparate you back?”
There was an agitated look in the girl’s eyes.
“No,” she said pointedly. Harry winced, “I will wait.”
“Hurry up,” Nott glared at him, “We don’t have time.”
“Right,” Harry nodded, glancing at Gabrielle again, “We’ll be back soon.”
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. The thin outline of the Shrieking Shack flickered in his mind.
Crack.
The world churned. And a mangled shack stood before them, covered in sheets of snow. Harry spun dizzily for a moment before straightening up.
“Ophelia’s not going to be pleased, just so you know.”
Harry stared as Nott stepped forward.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what you think, I imagine,” Nott muttered, “How long have you and Delacour been dating?”
“Dating?” Harry sputtered, “We’re not dating -”
“You and her were watching the Northern Lights. Just you and her. At night.”
Harry threw his hands up.
“What was I supposed to do, watch the Northern Lights during the day?”
“She didn’t seem pleased about you leaving, either,” Nott noted, “Agitated. You don’t act that way with your friends.”
Harry scoffed.
“Trust me, she definitely does.”
Feisty one, she is.
Nott shrugged, seemingly unconvinced.
“I don’t really care either way,” he muttered, “But Daphne will, and that’s on you.”
Harry’s jaw clenched.
“There’s nothing going on between me and her.”
“You and Daphne, or you and Delacour?”
Harry didn’t answer. Nott sighed loudly.
“You’re an idiot, you are,” he said dryly, “But this is most undoubtedly a you problem. Right now, I’d rather deal with the one that also involves me.”
The two of them eyed the Shrieking Shack. Harry frowned, watching as a mound of snow fell from the roof to the jagged fence that lay below.
“How does Bella’s tantrum involve you?”
Nott stared at him.
“You really think she wouldn’t pay me a visit to try and reach you?”
Fair enough.
Harry’s wand rose upwards as he lips curved.
“Homenum Revelio.”
The tip of his wand shimmered a faint orange. Harry watched as it spun once in his hand, shifting to point toward the middle of the shack.
“It’s just her,” Harry murmured, tightening his grasp around his wand, “C’mon.”
They hurried through the wooden gate and through the damaged door, Nott wiping their footprints from the snow as they passed. The tips of their wands glimmered faintly as they stepped into the shack.
Where are you . . .
A faint creaking emanated from the room to Harry’s left. Harry closed his eyes.
It’s a lie.
He pointed his wand to the right, focusing. A faint heat hovered somewhere in the room beyond. Harry silently edged closer, turning to Nott with a finger pressed against his lips.
Closer . . . closer -
“Stupefy!”
Harry pointed his wand at the floor, pulling a loose board in between himself and the beam of red magic. A loud cackling rang from the room before him.
“Good!” Bella shrieked, appearing seemingly from thin air, “Good, good - you haven’t lost a thing!”
Harry watched as the woman hurried forward. Her skin seemed healthier, her hair now longer and thicker. Somehow, Harry couldn’t help but feel like she had deaged many years since they last met.
“Hello, Bella,” Harry said softly as the woman wrapped her arms around him. To his surprise, he was now taller than her, “Why were you terrorizing Puddlemere?”
Bellatrix frowned.
“That’s no way to say hello,” she snapped. Her eyes slid from his face to the boy behind him, “And you’ve brought Naughty.”
“Theodore Nott,” Nott corrected irritably. Bellatrix ignored him.
“It’s good you’re both here, really,” she crooned, a positively wicked smile etched across her face, “I’m sure you’ll both be interested in my little proposal.”
“And that is?”
Bellatrix grinned.
“You give me something I want and I return the favor, obviously!”
Harry glared at her, his grasp around his wand tightening.
“What could you possibly offer us?”
The woman’s smile grew. With a wave of her wand her form changed, her hair switching to blonde and her skin tanning. When she spoke, her voice held a faint French accent.
“Did you enjoy your milkshake, Harry?”
Nott swore. Harry felt his heart beating frantically in his chest.
The waitress from the Cellar.
“How much did you hear?” he asked, his lips thinned. Bellatrix smiled.
“Oh, not much. I do give you your privacy, you know. Only because you’re my favorite -”
“What did you hear?”
Bella pouted.
“Fine,” she huffed, “I heard you’re interested in Blood Magic.”
Harry’s chest tightened. He stared at the woman before him with newfound interest.
“Go on.”
“There’s three core components to Blood Magic, called Truisms,” she said slowly, “This, I imagine, you know.”
Nott nodded. Harry frowned, turning to Nott. His thoughts projected into the boy’s mind.
I only know that the Truisms are a thing. She might be able to fool us.
Nott started pointedly at him. Harry delved into his thoughts.
‘I read about them recently. They’re the three components to blood rituals. The ministry hid them from the public to prevent the usage of Blood Magic.’
“If you’re done with your little conversation, I’d like to continue my monologue!” Bellatrix snapped irritably, “Done?”
“Sure,” Harry sighed, “Continue.”
“As I was saying, the Truisms are quite important. Without all three, you can’t perform a ritual. And you don’t know them.”
Harry frowned. To his side, Nott grit his teeth.
“And you expect us to believe we can’t find them elsewhere?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m sure you could,” Bellatrix shrugged, “At least, you could definitely find the first two . . .”
A Cheshire-esque smile dominated her features.
“Not the third, though!”
Harry frowned.
“You could be lying to us.”
But the deranged woman simply shook her head.
“You know I wouldn’t, Harry. Not to you.”
She stepped gently across the room, circling around him. Thin arms wrapped around his waist as Bella placed her head atop his right shoulder.
“I know why you want to know the Truisms, Harry,” she whispered for only him to hear, “You can save Astoria. All you need is to give me what I want.”
Harry squirmed out of her grasp.
“If you really cared, you’d help me for free.”
“I wanted to,” Bellatrix pouted, “I pleaded for hours, look -”
She pulled up the hem of her robes, revealing thin gashes that lined her legs.
“She wouldn’t let me,” Bella whispered, “She didn’t even want me to give you the Truisms.”
“Why?”
Bellatrix stirred.
“Fear,” Bella murmured, “True blood magic can be used for more than just healing your little friend. It can make you stronger.”
Harry frowned, turning away. He and Nott shared a nervous glance.
“Bell, could you give us a moment?” Harry asked seriously, “He’s just as invested in this as I.”
Bellatrix stared irritably at Nott for a moment before nodding.
“Be quick,” she warned, “I haven’t much time.”
And she strode back into the room behind them, plopping herself down on a tattered couch whilst singing to herself. Harry turned to Theo.
“What do you know about -”
Theo frantically shook his head, mouthing the word ‘eavesdropping’.
“She wouldn’t,” Harry said with an air of certainty, “Not to me.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
Harry frowned.
“I’m not.”
“Fine,” Nott sighed, “What were you going to ask?”
“About Truisms,” Harry muttered, “I’ve only read about them once, on the train ride from Durmstrang to Beauxbatons. I don’t really know much about them.”
Nott thought for a moment.
“Everything she said was true, as far as I know,” he said eventually, “Truisms - they’re the three fundamental aspects of true blood magic. The three key things that need to occur in order for any potent blood-based sacrificial magic to prove successful.”
“And you don’t know any of them?” Harry asked desperately.
Nott grimaced.
“I can guess the first one,” he murmured, “From the way texts mention the subject, I’d imagine it has something to do with how blood is imbued with magic.”
Harry blinked.
“Fuck,” he swore, “That doesn’t exactly sound like something we can figure out on our own.”
To his surprise - and immense relief - Nott shook his head.
“I highly doubt that,” he said confidently, “If I was able to put that much together while being stuck at Hogwarts, I’m almost certain I’ll be able to find something useful when I get back home for break. If not in my family library, then I can ask my grandfather.”
Harry looked up.
“Your grandfather,” he said thoughtfully, “You don’t think he’d know, would he?”
Nott frowned.
“It’s possible,” Nott murmured, “But I doubt it. You’ve no idea how long this sort of magic has been censored.”
Harry sighed.
“I just - I don’t understand,” he grimaced, “I’ve used blood magic before. I used it to heal myself after the world cup -”
“It’s not the same,” Nott explained patiently, “On a low level, it’s quite simple. But the difference with blood magic and other magic - as far as I can tell - is there’s no real limits to what blood magic can accomplish, provided you’ve got enough to sacrifice. The truisms become really important the moment you want to push past what should be possible.”
“And you figured this all out from the Hogwarts Library?” Harry asked, surprised.
Nott shrugged.
“It’s the biggest collection of magical knowledge in Europe,” he reminded him, “Besides, Flitwick gave me a pass into the Restricted Section for his class.”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The pair turned around to find Bellatrix watching them intently.
“I have to go, dearest,” the woman murmured, stepping toward Harry, “You’ll have to tell me whether you accept the next time we meet.”
Harry stared at her.
“I don’t have to agree now?”
“You couldn’t possibly,” Bellatrix said simply, “You wouldn’t be able to give me what I wanted, anyway.”
“And what do you want?” Nott asked pointedly. Bellatrix glared at the boy before turning back to Harry.
“The diary,” she said, “My master’s diary.”
Harry felt his heartbeat quicken. His palms balled into fists.
“I don’t -”
“- need to answer me right now,” Bellatrix finished for him, “You won’t be agreeable at the moment. It’s after you’ve given it some thought that you’ll be more realistic.”
She stepped closer, pressing her lips against him thrice - once on his forehead and either cheek.
“I love you, little angel,” she whispered, “I’ll see you in France.”
Harry stared at her pleadingly.
“Are you sure you can’t help?” he asked, “Anything at all? If not for Astoria, then for me?”
Bellatrix stared at him for a long moment, her jaw clenched.
“The first is about runes,” she said faintly, “Potent blood magic needs to be formatted via runes - that’s how you connect the blood to the sacrifice. It’s ritualistic.”
Harry’s heart pounded.
“And the second?” he asked quickly, “You said only the third would be hard to figure out. Can’t you . . . the second -”
“Much simpler,” Bella told him. Her voice was uncomfortably quiet now, “Whatever you sacrifice needs to be greater than whatever is gained.”
Harry’s mind raced. His fingers wrapped tightly between Bellatrix.
“Thank you,” he said gratefully, his voice choking, “Thank you Bell -”
“I wouldn’t,” the woman said, “They’re nothing without the third, Harry.”
Harry’s face fell for a moment.
“Still,” he said, smiling weakly, “It means a lot.”
Bellatrix smiled.
“Until we meet again, ickle Harry. I love you.”
And she turned on the spot, disapparating with a loud crack. Nott stared at where she had just been.
“Does she normally dote on you that much?”
“No,” Harry muttered, distracted, “Maybe. I don’t know . . .”
Runes, sacrifice, diary. Runes, sacrifice, diary -
Harry paused painfully.
The diary. I haven’t checked on the diary in ages.
“It’s probably healed by now -”
“Harry?”
Harry blinked.
“Sorry,” he murmured, “Sorry, I spaced out for a bit.”
“I can tell,” Theo said, “What’s so important about the diary? It’s the one you used to write in second year, right?”
Harry nodded.
“It belonged to Voldemort,” he explained simply, “It was sentient, in a way. A part of her lived within it.”
“And they want it back,” Theo surmised. Harry nodded.
“I used the Killing Curse on it,” he muttered off-handedly, “For all I know, it’s destroyed. There’s not much you can do with it if it is.”
“That’s probably true,” Nott agreed, pausing for a moment, “But it doesn’t sound like you believe it’s really destroyed.”
“I - I’m not sure,” Harry admitted, “I don’t know much about Killing Curses failing.”
“Ironic, that is.”
Harry laughed. The two of them slowly made their way to the door, thinking aloud.
“At least we know two now,” Nott sighed, “The first one fits, too - you use runes to connect the sacrifice to the blood of the person you want to alter. That sounds simple enough.”
“The second one seemed easy, too,” Harry added, “Sacrifice needs to be greater than what’s gained . . . but that seems pointless, doesn’t it?”
“Not really,” Nott frowned, “Selling fine art for a knut sounds stupid, but reckon most blind people wouldn’t see much wrong with that.”
“They wouldn’t see much at all,” Harry snorted. He paused for a long moment, “Dumbledore said something like that, by the way.”
“What do you mean?”
Harry straightened up.
“I was talking to him about rituals once, back when we were at Durmstrang,” Harry muttered, “He said something about trading a music box for a sugar quill being a half-decent idea for a deaf man.”
The two of them stared at one another.
“Do you think he knows?”
“About the Truisms?” Nott paused, “Maybe. You were talking about rituals, right?”
Harry nodded.
“Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure he said he’s done them before,” he whispered, “He told me he’d done them back when he was younger -”
“Forever ago, then.”
Harry frowned.
“I think we should ask him,” he suggested, “He doesn’t like the fact that I’m interested in the Resurrection stone. I think he’d be more willing to help me with something like this if it’d take my eyes off the stone for a bit.”
“Maybe,” Nott nodded, “But it doesn’t change how completely illegal it’d be for him to tell you. The public outrage if anyone found out would be insane.”
Harry grimaced.
“Who the fuck is telling anyone?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
They stepped through the shack door and out into the snow. Harry closed the fence gate behind them as they passed. Dried blood stained the snow-covered handle.
“Theo,” Harry started slowly, “Do you think the Truisms have anything to do with the High Order?”
Nott stared at him, confused.
“I’m just asking,” Harry said, “But I mean, their leader is called the Truest. They’re informally called the Scarlet Prophets . . . that sounds like two pretty direct links to blood magic to me -”
His mind raced as a single memory flicked within his skull.
“I saw her in a pool of blood, too,” Harry whispered, “The night we went to Egypt. Don’t you think that means something?”
Nott shifted uncomfortably.
“It probably does,” he admitted slowly, “But I don’t see how they’ll be able to help us much. I highly doubt they’d just tell us the third Truism.”
“They’d do it for the flower,” Harry recalled, “The Truest seemed desperate to get it back. I’d bet she’d be willing -”
“But we don’t have the flower, Harry,” Nott reminded him, “It’s another dead end.”
Harry sighed. The two of them each thought in silence for quite some time.
“I’ll definitely ask Dumbledore,” Harry decided eventually, “That seems like the most obvious path.”
Theo nodded in agreement.
“And if he says no?” he asked, “I can’t imagine handing over the diary is a good idea.”
Harry grit his teeth.
“Neither can I,” he muttered, “But we may not have a choice.”
“There’s got to be other ways, or at the very least, other people who know about the Third Truism,” Nott thought aloud, “That book you said you read on the train - that didn’t mention it, did it?”
Harry shook his head.
“I didn’t see anything in it,” he whispered, picturing the book in his head, “No, I don’t think . . .”
He paused. Another book slowly swam through his mind, beating as though it were a heart pumping blood through his veins.
“Theo,” Harry said suddenly, “Theo, have you ever been to Borgin and Burkes?”
“Loads of times. My father always takes me with him.”
“You know that huge book he has behind him, hanging on his wall?”
Nott thought for a moment. His eyes quickly went as wide as galleons.
“The black book on rituals!” Nott hissed, “He brags about it all the time, won’t shut up about how it’s the last book in Britain that teaches blood magic!”
Harry's heart was beating frantically in his chest.
“This is perfect,” he said, almost excited, “We can ask Dumbledore, and if he can’t help, the book will -”
“Are you going to steal it?” Nott asked, “There’s no way he’s selling that book for anything less than a house.”
Harry frowned.
“We can get to that when the time comes,” he decided, “For now, we just need to know what to do next.”
Theo nodded.
“I assume you’d rather follow the blood magic path now,” he said, smirking knowingly, “Or is the Resurrection Stone still calling your name?”
Harry thought for a long moment.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, “The stone seems valuable, too. Just . . . risky. Too much at play.
“That’s not to say I’m not still interested,” he added quickly, “But you were right. Blood magic works just as well.”
They came to a stop some distance away from the shack.
“Did you ask Moody about his dream yet?”
“Oh, yeah,” Nott’s face fell, “He said he wasn’t allowed to show it to me. Got in hot water with the DMLE for showing it to us at all.”
Harry groaned, kicking a mound of snow.
How unlucky can we possibly get.
“He did mention it happened in Paris, though,” Theo added, “That’s something, at least.”
“Yeah,” Harry sighed, “Yeah, I suppose it is.”
They stared at the shack for some time. Eventually, Nott’s voice split through the silence once more.
“There’s a few other things you should know, by the way.”
“What?”
“Remember how you were worried about Grace Weitts knowing your friend Cerise? How you thought Cerise might find out about the Fiendfyre rubbish through her?”
Harry nodded.
“I did a bit of digging on them both,” Nott muttered, “And it turns out Cerise Rosier comes from a pretty interesting family.”
Harry turned to him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Nott frowned.
“What do you know about the Rosiers, Harry?”
Harry shrugged.
“I dunno. One of them’s named Cerise?”
Nott sighed.
“You might be autistic,” he murmured, “The Rosiers, just like every other magical French family since Grindelwald’s war, are matriarchal. That means instead of the son passing down the surname -”
“I know what it means, asshat,” Harry snapped, “Although, now that you mention it, that does explain why Gabrielle’s father doesn’t share a name with her.”
“Henri Laurent,” Nott said aloud, “That is why, yes.”
He straightened up.
“Anyway, Cerise is an only child,” Nott continued, “Her mother, who runs the family, is named Aveline. Her father’s name is Cyril.”
Harry frowned.
“Is that important?”
“Not particularly,” Nott admitted, “It’s her grandmother who’s far more interesting.”
“And that is?”
“Vinda. Vinda Rosier.”
-(xXx)-
Crack.
“You’re back.”
Harry looked around blindly, waiting for the world to right itself. When it did, he found an upset looking Veela camped around a fire. Above her, the Northern Lights continued to swirl.
“I am,” Harry agreed.
“Your friend is gone,” Gabrielle noted dryly.
“I dropped him off on the way back,” Harry said, “He can’t apparate on his own.”
He stared at the girl, watching as she looked into the fire. A noticeable frown lined her face.
“You’re upset with me.”
“I am,” Gabrielle agreed, “I don’t like being ditched. I don’t like being left in the dark, either.”
Harry frowned, taking a seat beside her opposite the fire.
“I don’t mean to hide anything from you” he said slowly, “It’s just . . . illegal. Really, really, illegal.”
Gabrielle continued to stare into the fire. Blue flames flickered beneath her palms.
“I know a great deal of the illegal things you’ve done, Harry,” the girl murmured. She pulled her eyes from the fire, “I haven’t told anyone, have I?”
Harry froze. It had nothing to do with the snow that surrounded them.
“What do you mean?”
Gabrielle stared at him. Her hands slowly rose, coming to rest just between them. Coloured flames danced along the length of her palm.
“Mine are blue,” said Gabrielle simply, “But gold is a nice colour, too.”
They sat in silence for a long moment. Harry eventually pulled his eyes away from the flickering flames.
“How’d you know?”
“I know you,” said Gabrielle simply, “At least, I know you’re capable of it. I know you can apparate, I know you left Durmstrang on the night of the second attack. It’s so obvious.”
“And you haven’t told anyone?”
Gabrielle shook her head.
“Not a soul.”
“Why?” Harry frowned, “Your father has hundreds of Aurors looking for me as we speak.”
The girl thought for a long moment.
“I know who you are, remember?” she whispered, “I see you. I know you didn’t hurt anyone with it -”
Harry scoffed.
“The dementors would disagree -”
“I don’t give a fuck about the dementors,” Gabrielle snapped irritably, “Don’t interrupt me, either.”
“Sorry,” Harry apologized earnestly.
“It’s okay,” the girl assured him, “I just . . . I’m not your enemy, you know. I really want to help you.”
“Why?”
“Because I like you,” Gabrielle said as though it were obvious, “Because I care. That’s - that’s what friends do, don’t they?”
Harry smiled.
“Sometimes I forget you haven’t many friends.”
Gabrielle glared at him.
“Consider yourself lucky,” the girl told him, “No one else can say they’re friends with the Gabrielle Delacour -”
“Gabby,” Harry said aloud, “I like Gabby more.”
“No.”
“It’s either that or silver-hair.”
The girl sighed with exasperation.
“Not in front of anyone else.”
“Sure thing, Gabby.”
He watched, grinning, as the girl rolled her eyes, straightening up.
“You know, I know a lot of illegal things you’ve done, too,” Harry realised aloud, “You’re a criminal, too -”
“You’re an international terrorist, Harry.”
Harry waved her off dismissively, holding a hand out.
“You’re just jealous,” he decided, “Now come on. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
“About what?” asked Gabrielle curiously. The ends of her lips quirked upwards.
“About what you were left in the dark on,” Harry said, exasperated, “Are you interested or not?”
“Of course I am,” Gabrielle took his hand, “But I’m cold.”
Harry stared at her. The light blue hoodie she’d been wearing was gone. He blinked.
Weird.
Sighing, Harry pulled his own black hoodie from his chest.
“There,” he said, handing it to the Veela girl, “Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” she smiled, putting it on, “A bit big, but it works.”
She waved her wand daintily through the air. The light blue hoodie materialized in her grasp.
“That’s yours,” she said, tossing it to Harry, “Now come on. You’ve got a lot to tell me.”
And she grabbed his hand, leading him down the snowy hill and into the unknown.
Comments
yr45
Exceptional writing and story. I've been incredibly immersed in it for the last week or so. Thanks for your hard work.
