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SS Chapter 14: Roiling Flames
🕑 Added 2024-09-22 00:11:21 +0000 UTCXIV. Roiling Flames
Harry clambered into the snow-covered cave, panting heavily as he pulled his Invisibility Cloak off. A large black dog barked excitedly at him.
“Hello, Snuffles.”
He watched tiredly as the dog contorted on the spot. Black fur was replaced with pale white skin.
“You look like you just swam ten kilometers,” Sirius frowned, inspecting him. Harry doubled over, breathing hard.
“I dunno if you noticed, but it’s raining a little.”
“Yeah, yeah, no need for sass,” Sirius barked. He furrowed into his pocket before pulling out a thin vial, “I brought everything you need. Still got the mandrake leaf?”
Harry nodded, opening his mouth. Sirius nodded approvingly.
“Perfect,” he said, “I’ve done most of the heavy-lifting for you, but there’s still quite a bit left to be done.”
He passed Harry a number of odd objects and instruments. Harry stared as Sirius passed him what looked to be a dead bug.
“This isn’t a joke, is it?”
“Chrysalis of a Death’s-head Hawk Moth,” Sirius said simply, “I’ll explain in a second -”
He passed the last of the objects to Harry before taking a seat.
“Right,” the man clasped his hands together, “Listen carefully, as I’m only going to say it once -”
“What?”
“I wrote it all down, don’t worry,” Sirius waved him off, “But you should listen anyway. Ready?”
Harry nodded slowly.
“Brilliant. Firstly, the moment it turns from October to November, you take that mandrake leaf out of your mouth and put it in here -”
He held up the thing vial.
“- you’re gonna add a single piece of hair to the vial, too. After that, store it somewhere where no sunlight can reach it. This place needs to be somewhere no human feet have ever touched, understood?”
“I think so,” Harry muttered, taking the vial from him, “How long do I leave it there?”
“Seven days,” Sirius said, “After that, you’re going to add the chrysalis you were asking about. Just pop that in the vial, understood?”
Harry nodded.
“Once you’ve done that, you want to move the vial to somewhere very dark and very quiet,” Sirius told him, “Leave it there until a lightning storm occurs.”
“Got it.”
“Starting from today, you’re gonna have to say ‘Amato Animo Animato Animagus’ every sunrise and sunset with your wand tip placed atop your heart -”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Harry protested, standing up, “Say that again -”
“‘Amato Animo Animato Animagus’,” Sirius repeated, “Every sunrise and sunset until that electrical storm.”
“Amato Animo Animato Animagus,” Harry muttered, “Okay, got it.”
“When the storm happens, you go to where you’ve hidden the vial. Its contents should be a scarlet potion if you’ve done it right. Put your wand to your heart, say ‘Amato Animo Animato Animagus’ one more time, and drink it.”
“And then?”
“And then you transform.”
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
“That’s not as bad as I thought.”
Sirius shook his head.
“There’s a bit more,” he warned, “You’ll have to enchant your hair and the chrysalis. I’ve written down all the details of the enchantment, of course.”
Harry frowned, studying the instructions. He paused.
“This is . . . “
Complicated.
“You think that’s bad,” Sirius snorted, “Good luck with inscribing runes into your piece of hair.”
Harry blinked, looking up.
“How the fuck am I supposed to do that?”
“The same way as you’d normally enchant something,” Sirius muttered, “Only difference is that the runes are too small for you to check your work, so you’d better get it right the first time.”
Harry grimaced.
This just might be the death of me.
(-{- S S -}-)
Rain poured heavily. Fleur sat along the edge of the Ravenclaw table, watching as the Goblet of Fire glimmered in the center of the hall.
“What’s the time?”
“Five,” Aimee responded in accented English, “You have about six hours to practice your English before you’re selected Champion.”
Fleur frowned.
“It is not guar - not a sure thing that I will be champion.”
“We admire the humility, Fleur dear,” Adeline yawned from her left, “We really do.”
“Not humility,” Fleur corrected carefully, “Honesty. Aimee is far more knowledgeable than I.”
Aimee smiled kindly.
“This is a tournament of magical ability, Fleur, not magical knowledge,” she reminded her, “In that regard, I am not your equal.”
“Alice is better at Transfiguration than I am,” said Fleur stubbornly, “Potions, too.”
“It will be you Fleur,” Alice said with certainty, “The longer you try to ignore the fact of the matter, the more unprepared you’ll be.”
Fleur sighed.
“And if you are selected?” she frowned, “Will you not be equally unprepared?”
Alice shrugged.
“I suppose so.”
Fleur couldn’t help but stare.
Though food was not being served, the Great Hall was teeming with life. Hundreds of students all gathered around the room, watching as the brave few stepped forward to enter their names into the goblet. Fleur eyed a group of particularly young students. They were pushing each other closer to the goblet, giggling excitably.
“Do you think you’re right about who the Hogwarts Champion will be?” Adeline asked, also eyeing the gaggle of younger years.
Fleur nodded slowly.
“Davies, Pucey, Johnson and Diggory all entered their names earlier,” she said, “I’m almost certain it’ll be one of the latter two who is chosen.”
Across from them, Aimee frowned.
“I thought you were looking into five -”
She quickly quieted, wilting beneath Adeline’s glare. The three of them snuck glances at Alice. The girl was paying them no mind, instead watching the goblet with all the others.
“She’ll be furious when we get back,” Adeline whispered, “I burnt the flowers.”
Aimee swore.
“It’s like you’re trying to start fights -”
“French,” Adeline snapped irritably, “You sound like a bunch of gibberish.”
Aimee rolled her eyes.
“Alice will skin you alive.”
“I don’t care,” Adeline shrugged, “It’s for her own good. He is at best a manipulative womanizer, and at worst a fucking murderer -”
“And now you’re making stuff up,” Aimee sighed. Fleur leaned forward.
“Can we stop talking about him, please? I’m really not interested -”
“Neither am I!” Adeline snapped.
“Lovely,” Fleur leaned back in her seat, “Then you can help me plan for the first task.”
“Plan?” Adeline frowned, “How are you supposed to plan if you don’t know what the task is?”
Fleur smiled.
“Analysis.”
She motioned toward the book, clenched in Aimee’s hands. The girl passed it to her.
“This is one of the books I checked out from the library,” she explained simply, “It goes over most of the previous tasks.”
“The first task usually involves some sort of magical creature,” Aimee added, “The champions are usually made to face off against them in front of a crowd.”
Adeline nodded appreciatively.
“What, like a fight?”
“No,” Fleur frowned, “There’s usually some objective the champion is meant to complete. The challenge is completing it while in the same space as whatever magical creature they choose.”
She cracked the book open, gesturing to a detailed picture of a cockatrice.
“The creature from the last tournament back in 1792 was a cockatrice,” Fleur explained, “It broke out of its enclosure and nearly killed all of the judges.”
Adeline winced. Beside her, Aimee paused thoughtfully.
“Do you know who the judges will be?”
“Head of each school,” Fleur said quickly, “There’s usually two more to ensure that the scores remain relatively unbiased, though I'm not sure how they’re selected . . .”
She trailed off, looking around. The hall had suddenly gone silent.
A black-haired boy strode through the hall. He was soaked, his wet locks pressed against the side of his face and his circular glasses covered in water droplets. Though significantly shorter than many of the other students, the boy somehow managed to cut an imposing figure. Emerald eyes glimmered above high cheekbones as the boy surveyed the room.
Harry Potter.
The boy paused. His eyes latched onto those of his headmaster. Harry smiled, pulling a thin sheet of parchment out of his pocket. He stepped forward, tossing his name into the fire. The flames turned scarlet.
Hurried whispers slipped across the hall. Fleur watched, feeling sick, as the boy turned around, his eyes landing upon Alice. He smiled.
“I’ll kill him,” Adeline hissed, “I’ll fucking kill him.”
Without a word, the boy wrapped his robes around him, stalking to the end of the Great Hall and out of sight.
(-{- S S -}-)
The fire of the goblet dimmed. Harry leaned forward, his heart racing with anticipation.
Finally.
Dumbledore stepped forward, and the hall fell silent.
“It appears the goblet has decided!” the headmaster yelled, addressing the hall, “I ask the silence of you all, please.”
The torches around the hall went out. Harry watched as the goblet suddenly burnt a sharp crimson. A tongue of flame shot upward, and the hall gasped as a singed sheet of parchment fluttered into Dumbledore’s hand.
“The Durmstrang Champion,” Dumbledore began,”will be Viktor Krum!”
“Krum!” Ron cheered as the hall broke into applause, “No surprises there, eh?”
“I heard he was the only Durmstrang student who entered,” Parvati muttered. Ron ignored her, jumping along with Dean and Seamus as the Bulgarian seeker approached the antechamber on the left.
The applause slowly died down. Professor Dumbledore held a finger to his lips.
“Our second champion approaches,” he whispered, eyeing the flames, “Alas!”
The goblet exploded into flames. A dainty, thin paper sputtered into the air, falling gracefully. Dumbledore plucked it from the air.
“The Beauxbatons Champion,” Dumbledore paused, “will be Fleur Delacour!”
Harry watched as the Ravenclaw table burst into applause. The silver-haired Veela slowly rose to her feet, looking uncomfortable.
Someone doesn’t like attention.
He tracked her movements down the length of the table. All along the hall, people ogled her, staring at her face, her legs, and less courteous places. Harry grimaced.
Animals.
Blue eyes twinkled before him. Harry focused, catching Alice’s gaze. She smiled endearingly.
The hall fell silent once more. This time, a sliver of barely controlled anticipation raced through the room. At long last, the Hogwarts Champion was to be announced. Harry watched with bated breath as the goblet burnt red, a square of parchment shooting up into the sky. He watched as it fell into Dumbledore’s waiting hand.
“The Hogwarts Champion,” Dumbledore frowned, “will be Harry Potter.”
For a moment, there was silence. Harry sat impossibly still, reveling in the moment.
Harry Potter. Triwizard Champion.
The hall exploded. Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs alike rose to their feet, yelling and stamping as though their life depended on it. Harry smiled, rising to his feet. Twp girls opposite him only stared, their disapproving gazes marred by the slight rising of their lips. Harry leaned closer.
“You think this is something,” he smiled easily, “Wait ‘til I win the damn thing.”
Parvati and Hermione both rolled their eyes, clapping along with the others as stupid grinds overtook them.
The route to the antechamber was longer than it looked. Harry made his way down, his ears ringing from the roars, shaking and clasping each and every hand that reached for them. Familiar blue eyes sat just feet before him as he reached the end of the table.
Harry held a hand out.
“I’m Harry.”
The girl smiled. She placed her hand in his.
“Alice.”
Harry smiled. To the girl’s left, another black-haired girl looked positively murderous.
“Hurry along now, Harry,” Albus Dumbledore called from beyond his lectern. Unlike the many students, he wasn’t smiling, “They’re waiting on you.”
Harry nodded. His eyes slipped past the unreadable expression on Dumbledore’s face and toward the door to the left. Harry quickly made his way toward it, pulling the door open with a heavy swing. The shouts of the many students quieted as the door swung shut behind him.
A number of important-looking witches and wizards were scattered along the room. Harry ignored them, instead eyeing the two standing by the fire. Though Krum continued to gaze into the mantle’s depths, the girl with the silver-haired turned the moment the door opened.
Fleur.
She glared at him. Harry stepped toward her, holding his hand out.
“You’re Alice’s friend, aren’t you?”
If possible, her glare strengthened.
“I am Fleur Delacour,” she said, her French accent potent. She eyed his hand, “And you may put that down.”
Harry shrugged, offering his hand to Krum instead.
“I saw you at the world cup,” he said smoothly, “The Inter-House Quidditch Cup is canceled this year, what with the Triwizard Tournament and all, but I look forward to using that ‘Wronski Feint’ next year.”
Krum turned around, nodding appreciatively.
“You play seeker as vell?”
Harry nodded.
“Never failed to catch a snitch,” Fleur rolled her eyes, though he ignored her, “I’m sure that’d change after a match against you, but what better way to learn?”
A faint heat glimmered in Krum’s eyes. The boy hunched closer.
“I vill take you up on that,” he said, smiling, “It has been too long since I have faced a satisfactory seeker from this part of the vorld.”
“Does the seeker for Ireland not count?”
Krum shook his head.
“A great team, and a great player, no doubt,” he began, “But he vas not as gifted as a world-class seeker should be.”
Krum glanced at him.
“Are you really any good?”
Harry smiled.
“Only one way to find out.”
The Bulgarian seeker smiled. They shook hands.
“And find out ve vill, Harry Potter,” he said, his voice deep.
Click.
The door swung open again. Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, Igor Karkaroff, Professor McGonagall, Snape, and many others stepped inside.
“Gather around, champions,” Dumbledore said tiredly. He motioned to an excited man adorned in bright yellow, “Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and Barty Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation, are here to enlighten you on what is to come.”
The man in yellow stepped forward to reveal a more formally dressed man behind him. It was the latter who spoke. He held a sheet of parchment up to his monocle, reading carefully.
“Right . . .” he began, “The first task is designed to test your daring. As such, we will not be telling you anything about the task, aside from the fact that it will take place on the morning of November 24th.”
He rolled up his sheet of parchment.
“Any questions?”
Harry blinked. To his left, Fleur shifted.
“How will we know what the second and third tasks are about?” she asked slowly.
“Ah,” Crouch nodded, “You will receive information regarding the second task when the first is over.”
He turned around to face the man in yellow.
“Mr. Bagman?”
“Yes, of course,” the man stepped forward, pulling out a sheet of his own. He began to read, “Let’s see . . . champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests.”
Mr. Crouch nodded when Bagman had finished reading, turning to Dumbledore.
“I believe that’s all?”
Dumbledore nodded.
“Nice and simple,” he said. It was just then that Harry noticed the headmaster eyeing the ring that sat along his middle finger, “Are there any more questions?”
Fleur and Krum shook their heads. Harry frowned.
“Then you may be dismissed,” Dumbledore said, “Harry, a word if you please?”
Harry nodded. The French champion eyed him suspiciously as she and the others departed the room, leaving only Harry, Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall within. Dumbledore turned to McGonagall.
“See to it that the students return to bed,” he said tiredly, “A bit of partying from the Gryffindors is to be expected, but ensure it does not leave the common room.”
McGonagall nodded. Harry watched as she disappeared through the portrait hole and out of sight.
“You know, Harry, I do recall you assuring me you would not enter the tournament.”
Harry frowned. He toyed with Tom’s ring.
“Funny. I thought you were frowning because of the ring.”
The headmaster eyed the ring.
“It is real, then?”
Harry nodded.
“And you have used it?”
Once again, Harry nodded. Dumbledore sighed.
“I will remind you, once again, of our conversation in your first year,” the Headmaster said. He looked as though he aged a hundred years, “It does not do to dwell on dreams -”
“- and forget to live, I know,” Harry finished. He frowned, “I haven’t tried talking to my parents.”
And I doubt I ever will.
Somehow, Dumbledore didn’t seem comforted.
“I assume you are unwilling to share with me just how you obtained that stone?” Dumbledore asked, “Surely it was not at Hogwarts?”
Harry shook his head.
“Not at Hogwarts, no.”
For a moment, Harry thought Dumbledore would continue to ask. To his surprise, the Headmaster did not.
“Your choices are hardly mine to control,” he sighed eventually, straightening up, “Just know that you are not the only one in this room to have allowed the promise of the Deathly Hallows to consume them.”
Harry nodded, his jaw clenched.
I’m the only man in the room with two, though.
He fought the urge to eye Dumbledore’s wand, instead meeting his gaze.
“I didn’t mean to change the subject, sir,” he said quickly, “You were saying?”
“Ah, yes. I was under the impression you would not be entering the Tournament.”
“So was I,” Harry admitted, “But then I thought about it. You said you thought Voldemort would try to use the tournament as a trap, right?”
The headmaster nodded slowly.
“Well,” Harry reasoned aloud, “At least this is a trap we can predict. If I didn’t enter, Tom - Voldemort - would still be trying to capture me. The only issue would be that we wouldn’t see it coming.”
Dumbledore frowned.
“You risk a great deal.”
“I know,” Harry sighed, “But I only risk myself. I couldn’t guarantee the same if Voldemort’s plan played out in a more unpredictable way.”
The Headmaster nodded lethargically.
“I confess I considered the same,” he said, “Convincing Madam Bones, however, was a losing battle. She and many others have worked tirelessly to ensure the Triwizard Tournament will be a success. I imagine they will not be pleased with your selection.”
“Let them be displeased,” Harry said, “It’s worth ensuring the safety of others.”
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled approvingly. Harry glanced back at him.
“Anything else, sir?”
The man shook his head.
“That is all, Harry. You are free to go.”
Harry nodded. With one last look at the tired Headmaster, Harry strode to the door of the antechamber and back into the now empty Great Hall. He made his way out into the corridors undisturbed.
“Tempus.”
Harry caught his breath. He had only a few minutes left.
Shit.
He sprinted down the hall, racing up a moving staircase, through the second floor, and into Myrtle’s bathroom. After what felt like a dangerously long time, Harry stood in the Chamber of Secrets, a thin vial clenched in his hand.
“Tempus.”
A single minute was left before the month switched over. Harry bent down, plucking the singular hair piece he’d enchanted just hours ago.
Thirty seconds . . . twenty . . . ten . . . now!
His tongue wriggled in his mouth, turning over the mandrake leaf before spitting it into the vial. Harry made a face before adding his hair, sealing the vial, and tossing it atop the bust of Slytherin’s head.
Speak of the devil.
Harry turned the ring thrice around his finger. Salazar Slytherin appeared in the cold air of the chamber.
“You’re back.”
“I am,” Harry nodded, “I took your advice.”
“Did you?” Slytherin yawned, sounding wholly uninterested, “How so?”
“I entered the Tournament.”
Slytherin scoffed.
“That doesn’t mean anything if you weren’t chosen -”
“My name came out of the goblet an hour ago. I’m the Hogwarts Champion.”
Skytherin paused. Slowly his face contorted into what could only be an expression of begrudging respect.
“Well, that’s something,” he admitted finally, “What of your Animagus project?”
Harry pointed at the top of Slytherin’s statue. The thin vial poked out from above.
“Going swimmingly,” Harry said, “With how often we’ve been having storms, I reckon I’ll be an Animagus within about two weeks.”
“Assuming you don’t mess it up and permanently become a sort of disgusting hybrid, of course.”
“Of course,” Harry rolled his eyes. He lowered himself to the chamber floor, “You know, when I first summoned you, I thought you’d be much more helpful.”
Slytherin sputtered indignantly.
“More helpful,” he repeated, “Preposterous! How could one be more helpful -”
“It’s not like you’ve been giving me any real help with the Tournament.”
“Of course I haven’t,” Slytherin spat, “What do I care for a kid’s game? Surely you aspire for more. Tom did.”
Tom did.
“What did Tom want?” he asked, leaning closer.
“True separation,” said Slytherin instantly, “A world where witches and wizards need not hide. One where impurities like him were removed from muggles rather than forced to grow amongst them -”
“Impurities?” Harry asked, his eyes narrowed. Slytherin shrugged.
“Mudbloods, whatever you want to call them.”
“Tom was a half-blood,” Harry frowned, “But regardless, that doesn’t matter. Who gives a fuck what blood you have if you haven’t got the magical skill to back it up.”
The vague spirit of Salazar Slytherin leaned closer, gleaming.
“There you go,” he grinned, “You know what that is? Something bigger than you or I: an idea! You must chase it fervently, chase it like the snake after the gopher!”
Harry paused. His mind was racing.
I could make a real difference.
“I could be like Tom,” he breathed, “Only with better values. Real values.”
And I wouldn’t fail.
“That’s the spirit!” Salazar somehow clapped, “Make a change! Infiltrate the Ministry, silence the masses, grab the world by the neck and choke it into one of your image!”
He’s lost his mind.
Harry banished him with a tap of his ring. An overwhelming silence surrounded him.
I can change the world.
Harry departed the chamber, a smile on his face.
(-{- S S -}-)
A silver substance floated within a vial she clenched. Amelia Bones studied it carefully, nodding.
It’s perfect.
“Though I wonder -”
Bang!
The door to her office swung open. Madam Bones tucked the vial into her pocket, her displeasure apparent.
“How many times, Miss Jones -”
“They’re here!” the woman who had run in panted, doubling over, “The French Minister and his Ambassadors have arrived.”
Madam Bones froze,
“Who is greeting them?”
“Minister Fudge.”
Shit.
Amelia jumped to her feet, hurrying to the door.
“Lead the way,” she said quickly as the two of them entered a narrow hallway, “I will not risk Cornelius ruining this.”
Hestia Jones practically ran to the end of the hall, jamming the golden elevator button with her thumb. Her red Auror robes still shook when Amelia approached.
Cling!
“They’re in the Atrium, I imagine?”
“Yes,” Hestia nodded, the elevator door sliding shut, “At least, they were there a few minutes ago -”
They stepped out of the elevator, which had quickly risen to the highest floor. A massive hall built from Julian jade marble surrounded them, a sizable crowd housed within. Madam Bones followed Jones to the crowd’s center, kindly moving people aside.
“Out of the way, please, out of the way!”
They carved out a thin path toward the center, where two men stood, chatting amongst one another. Madam Bones ignored the shorter of the two, approaching the other, foreign man. Minster Delacour’s eyes lit up as she approached.
“Amelia Bones,” he smiled, his arm outstretched, “We meet at last.”
Amelia smiled, placing her hand in his.
