521-DREAM
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SS Chapter 12: Into the Fray
🕑 Added 2024-09-11 08:20:11 +0000 UTCXII. Into the Fray
Impatience flickered in Harry’s chest. His fingers curled around yellowed pages, turning it quickly.
This is pointless.
The orange embers of the Gryffindor fireplace cast a faint glow across the common room. Harry closed the book with a faint sigh, shifting slightly as Lavender continued to run her fingers through his hair.
“You’re so tense,” she muttered, her thin fingers carefully braiding his too-short hair, “Are you worried about something?”
Parvati, Hermione, and Ginny all watched him carefully. Harry closed his eyes.
“I want something,” he admitted, “It’s just . . . dangerous.”
“Want something?” Parvati repeated. A faint tinge of scarlet slipped over her cheeks.
“Nothing like that,” Harry muttered, “It’s . . . an object.”
He absentmindedly toyed with a ring he wasn’t wearing. Hermione watched him carefully.
“Why do you want it?”
Harry thought carefully. He wiped the look of contemplation from his place, replacing it with an easy smile.
“Why not?” he murmured, “Besides, I could use a bit of fun -”
“Fun,” Hermione repeated, frowning, “Danger isn’t fun -”
“‘Course it is,” Harry yawned, “Why do you think the Weasley twins are trying to enter the Tournament?”
“Because they’re idiots,” the curly-haired girl snapped irritably, “Which reminds me - you’re not thinking of joining, are you?”
Harry waved her off dismissively.
“No. Dumbledore doesn’t want me involved.”
“I thought you said you just weren’t sure?” Hermione frowned.
“I’m still not, technically,” Harry admitted. He paused.
It’d certainly be interesting, even if Dumbledore think’s Tom’s involved.
Harry suddenly sat up, ignoring Lavender’s wince.
Tom’s involved.
Voldemort was trying to meet him. Harry knew his style, knew the way he thought - after thirteen years, the real Tom Riddle was tired of waiting. His chest heaved.
“I can prove Draco wrong,” he murmured thoughtfully, “Or, at the very least, find out for myself -”
Let’s find out what Lord Voldemort is really like.
“Harry,” Hermione muttered worriedly. Ginny was leaning closer from her left, “Harry, what are you talking about?”
“I’m gonna rip off the bandaid. Both of them.”
I want the tournament and the stone.
He strode out of the common room, the anxious shouting of his friends following in his wake.
(-{- S S -}-)
Fleur glanced carefully at the slip Madame Maxime had handed her.
“A permission slip?”
The overbearing headmistress of Beauxbatons eyed her carefully.
“Access to the Restricted Section,” she said, nodding, “You will pursue its contents tonight.”
Fleur frowned. Her gaze slipped to the windows of the Beauxbatons carriage. The dark British sky loomed overhead.
“I highly doubt students are allowed to be out at such a time -”
“You are,” Madame Maxime said pointedly, “I have spoken to Dumbledore about your . . . condition. The cover of night will allow you to roam the library unperturbed.”
“I don’t care,” Fleur hissed, “I don’t want to go alone. I don’t know these people.”
“Then take your friends,” the headmistress shrugged, “Adeline, Aimee, and Alice shall more than suffice -”
“They are not duellers,” Fleur muttered, “They can not fight as I can -”
“This is not a war, darling,” Madame Maxime let out a low, rich laugh, “It is a school.”
She sighed, watching as Fleur stiffened.
“I understand your fears,” the headmistress whispered, “But you must have faith in yourself. You are Fleur Delacour. No one can touch you.”
No one at all.
“Go,” Madame Maxime turned, ducking her head to fit through the doorway that led to her chambers, “Select any book which might aid you. The bookkeeper will allow you entrance - this has already been discussed.”
“Yes, Headmistress.” Fleur whispered faintly. She hurried through the carriage and down toward the girl’s dormitories, banging loudly on the door.
“Wha - whatizit?” Alice muttered in scrambled French. She poked through the door. Through the gap, Fleur spotted Adeline and Aimee lying on the floor.
“I need you. All of you,” she said, staring through the gap, “Could you please get changed?”
The faintest hint of desperation echoed in her voice. Fleur almost winced at the sound.
“Of course, Fleur,” Alice whispered. She opened the door, “Come in.”
Fleur stepped inside. Adeline and Aimee looked up as she entered, frowning.
“What is it?”
Fleur held out the permission slip.
“Madame Maxime wants me to go to the library to get books,” she said, “She thinks it will help me prepare.”
Adeline sighed.
“If that isn’t blatant favoritism, I don’t know what is,” her expression turned to a smile, “Better now than earlier, anyway. People were staring at us earlier, remember?”
“I would have preferred earlier,” Fleur admitted faintly.
No one would try anything with everyone watching.
She watched absentmindedly as the girls changed into their school robes. After several moments, they were ready to depart.
“Come,” Adeline led her by the hand out of their shared dormitory and through the carriage, “Best not to make it any longer than it needs to be.”
The four girls threw their hoods over their heads as they stepped out of the carriage. Fleur relaxed slightly as the soft mud pressed against her boots.
“You can hardly see the stars,” Alice frowned, looking upwards, “The sky is so much prettier in France.”
They hurriedly strode through the Hogwarts grounds and up the stone steps. The large oak doors opened as they approached. Long, dimly lit halls stretched before them.
“This way,” Aimee said, leading them down the path that led to the library.
“Of course she knows.” Adeline snickered. Aimee rolled her eyes.
“You’ve been frequenting the library as much as I have, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Adeline grinned.
“‘Course I have. I want to see Diggory!”
Aimee broke into a fit of coughs.
The four of them made their way up to the second floor, moving quickly. A nervous, familiar sensation filled in Fleur’s chest.
“Stop,” she whispered, grabbing the others. Her eyes were wide, “Someone is here.”
“So?” Alice frowned, “There’s four of us -”
Two loud sets of footsteps rang through the hall. Fleur jumped as their shadows appeared on the floor. They were undoubtedly male.
“Please.”
Adeline grabbed Alice by the hand, dragging her into an oversized cupboard pressed up against the wall. She closed the doors as Fleur and Aimee quickly jumped in. Fleur pressed an eye against the gap, holding her breath.
“I won’t do it!” a voice hissed angrily. The girls winced, watching as a boy with platinum blonde hair rounded the corner, “You’re going to get me killed.”
“You’ll do what you’re fucking told,” a smooth voice muttered, “I already let you off the hook once. Tonight, you’re earning your stripes.”
The boy who’d spoken appeared from around the corner. Fleur’s eyes widened as she took in a head of pitch black hair, high cheekbones, and pretty green eyes.
Harry Potter.
Beneath her, Alice and Adeline squirmed. Aimee glared at them.
“No, I won’t,” the blonde boy whispered, “Do you have any idea what they’ll do to me if they find out? The Dark Lord will kill me -”
“No, I will,” Potter snapped. His eyes were glowing a sickly green, “If Voldemort wants you, he can scrape your corpse from Slytherin’s study.”
Voldemort. The Dark Lord vanquished by Harry Potter.
Fleur wasn’t sure if she was sure if she was going to throw up or wet herself. Beneath her, tears began to form in Alice’s eyes.
‘Can we go?’ She mouthed silently, ‘I want to go.’
Fleur rubbed her back soothingly. Outside the cupboard, the blonde boy shook his head.
“Make Longbottom do it,” he said, “You were real pleased with how your little plan worked earlier -”
“No,” said Potter pointedly, “If you bend something too quickly, it snaps.”
“Right,” the blonde laughed blankly, “Silly me. I forgot.”
“Besides,” Harry continued, yawning, “It’s one thing to talk about something. If Nev knew I actually had the stone . . .” he trailed off.
“You never explained what the stone -” Draco started, only to fall silent with a flick of Potter’s wrist. The bespectacled boy looked around.
“Someone’s here.”
Fleur’s eyes widened. She and the girls watched, panicked as Harry Potter looked around the hall, his wand raised. His eyes continued to glow faintly.
“We should hurry,” the blonde boy said, eventually breaking Potter’s wandless silencer, “If one of the Professors overheard -”
“It wasn’t a Professor,” Potter said with certainty, “A girl. Several of them.”
Fleur’s heartbeat quickened. Beside her, Aimee wrapped her wand over Alice’s lips to stop the crying girl from making a sound.
“I don’t know the Memory Charm,” Malfoy whispered, panicked, as the boy with the glowing eyes tip-toed about the hall. Harry Potter snorted.
“As if I would’ve asked you to use it.”
He came to a stop just before the cupboard. A curious expression overtook his features.
“I know who it is.”
“Who?”
“The Veela girl,” Harry muttered thoughtfully. Fleur paled, “I can feel her allure poking at my mind. It’s annoying.”
“And the others?”
The boy shrugged through the gap.
“A few friends.”
“Well?” the blonde’s eyebrows rose, “What are you waiting for? Obliviate them!”
“No.”
“No?” the blonde snapped, “Potter, I swear to fucking Merlin, if you screw me over -”
“Stop talking, Draco.”
The boy bristled.
“Now isn’t the time for your fucking games. They heard -”
“I know what they heard,” Potter whispered, “I was there, in case you’ve forgotten.”
The boy bent down, his eyes level with Alice’s.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he said kindly to the cupboard, “I’m going through a lot right now, as you might’ve gathered. I didn’t mean to push it out on you.”
He curled his fingers through the air. A bouquet of flowers appeared in his grasp.
“I’m sorry.”
He placed them gently on the floor. Alice sniffled, watching as the boy stepped back. The other boy - Draco - stared at him.
“I know what you’re up to.”
Harry Potter shrugged.
“I don’t care.”
“You should at least double-check,” the blonde snapped, “For all you know, you’re wrong.”
“I’m not wrong,” Harry frowned, “Besides, the Veela’s allure would make you act like a retard. You’re bothering me enough - you don’t need to bother her, too.”
He glanced back at the cupboard.
“You don’t have to forgive me, but I do hope you at least feel better.”
He pressed a hand against the cupboard. Alice’s tears vanished into nothingness.
“If you ever feel like talking, I’m easy to find,” Harry smiled as he straightened up, “Au revoir, Alice.”
And he set off, the blonde-haired boy following in his wake.
(-{- S S -}-)
Crack.
The world righted itself. Harry appeared atop the hill of Little Hangleton, a dazed Draco Malfoy stirring at his side.
“Brilliant,” Harry smiled, setting off. Draco followed after him, “I wasn’t sure that would work -”
“You what?”
“Apparating from the chamber,” Harry explained lazily, “I was pretty sure, but I’d never actually tried it before. Now I have.”
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.
“And the girls?” he asked irritably, “You’re going to let them go?”
Harry frowned.
“I didn’t let them go. I planted a seed.”
“Right, of course.” Draco nodded, “I thought you let them get away after hearing about the Dark Lord and how we’re - we’re defying him, but you’re right! You were planting a seed -”
“Drop the sarcasm, peacock,” Harry snapped, “You’re annoying me.”
Malfoy bristled.
“What happens if they spill? What if they tell anyone about what we’re doing?”
Harry shrugged.
“They can’t. Now without explaining the little bit about Voldemort being alive, which no one would believe,” Harry paused, “Besides, I doubt they’re in a rush to spread the word.”
“And why’s that?” Draco frowned, “Gut feeling?”
“Something like it.”
I could use a foreign friend or two.
“Is it because you’ve met them before?”
Harry paused, bewildered.
“No, of course not. They’re from France. How would I know them?”
Malfoy shrugged.
“You knew that girl’s name. Alice.”
Oh.
“I could see her eye through the gap in the cupboard,” Harry muttered, kicking a rock at his feet, “Figuring out her name was nothing more than basic Legilimency.”
Draco stilled.
“I didn’t realise you were that good.”
“I’ve been practicing.”
They came to a sudden stop. The Gaunt shack sat opposite them.
“You never explained what the stone was,” Draco reminded him as he approached the worn building.
“I’m not going to, either.”
The blonde boy frowned irritably.
“Why?”
Harry shrugged.
“What reason is there? It’s not like you know anything useful about it.”
“You don’t know that -”
“Right,” Harry rolled his eyes, “Well, until I have any questions, you’ll have to stay out of the loop.”
He strode forward, eyeing the serpent nailed to the door.
“Open.”
The door swung open just as it had in the dream. Harry’s grasp tightened around his wand.
“Follow. Don’t touch anything.”
The two of them stepped into the building. Harry winced as a wave of old, potent magic washed over him.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Harry nodded slowly.
“I told you, I know how he thinks,” he muttered, closing his eyes, “Tom’s biggest error - his only one - was his arrogance.”
Harry stepped forward. Oppressive magic pressed against his skin.
“Leave us.”
The wards crumbled at once. Malfoy stared at him.
“What - there’s no way that worked.”
Harry shrugged.
“They say Parseltongue is a gift Salazar Slytherin created for his line,” he muttered, “Tom had every reason to believe no one else could remove his wards.”
“But you’re not an heir of Slytherin.”
“No, I don’t think I am.”
A silent understanding overtook both of them. Harry was almost certain he knew what Malfoy was thinking.
A part of Tom lives within me.
“It’s under the floorboard,” Harry muttered, pointing at a particular slab of wood, “Remove the box for me, carefully.”
Draco glared at him. The effect was ruined when the boy stooped over to collect the box.
“I still don’t see why you need me,” he muttered, rising again. A golden box was clenched within his palms, “It’s not like I did anything.”
“You’re the emergency plan, obviously. In case something goes wrong.”
He took the box from Malfoy, unable to hide his excitement. A slight trill of uncertainty echoed in his chest.
I don’t know how to remove the Withering Curse.
Harry thought for a moment before carefully tucking the box into the pocket of his robes. He removed another, identical box, handing it to Draco.
“Just in case,” he said simply. Malfoy took the box from him, opening it.
“How’d you make this?” the blonde boy asked, inspecting the false ring that sat within sown satin.
Harry stared at him.
“Magic, obviously.”
Draco frowned.
“You can’t just conjure gold,” he said, nodding at the band of the ring, “Everyone knows that.”
“I melted a galleon,” Harry explained simply, “Reshaped it into the shape of a ring.”
Malfoy nodded, leaning closer.
“You didn’t do a very good job.”
“Just put the box in the fucking floorboards, will you?”
He watched as the blonde boy stooped over yet again, replacing the golden box beneath the floorboards. He quickly straightened up, brushing dust from his robes.
“Are we done, then?”
“Guess so.”
“That was deceptively easy,” Malfoy muttered, “You sure there isn’t some sort of catch?”
“Why would there be?” Harry frowned, “Besides, it was only easy because we knew every trap Riddle put up.”
“And because you can speak Parseltongue.”
That too.
The two of them strode out of the shack. High above, a crescent moon cast an eerie white glow over the green hills. Yawning, Harry held his arm out. Malfoy silently grasped the sleeve of his robe.
Crack.
Malfoy tripped as they reappeared in the Chamber of Secrets. Harry, ignoring him, removed the golden box from his robes.
I wonder . . .
“Unless you plan on telling me about the ring, I’m going to bed,” Draco said loudly as he pushed himself up from the floor.
“Goodnight, then.”
Huffing, the blonde boy hurried off. Harry headed over to Slytherin’s study, sealing the door shut behind him. He fell into the cozy seat behind the desk, dropping the box atop the table. Harry sat in silence for many moments.
“A part of him lives within me.”
No one but I can touch it. No one but I . . .
Taking a deep breath, Harry removed the box’s cover. A gleaming golden band sat before him, the Resurrection Stone gleaming atop it.
“Finally -”
He froze. Familiarity emanated from the ring. Harry’s heart tightened. He’d felt this only once before -
The diary. Tom Riddle’s diary.
His eyes widened as his hand slowly snaked toward the ring. A hot flare of panic roiled in his mind.
Stop. STOP!
His fingers closed around the band. Harry shut his eyes -
Nothing happened. Harry’s erratic breathing slowed down as he peered through narrowed slits.
Nothing.
“It worked,” Harry whispered, panting heavily, “It worked -”
The Resurrection Stone is mine.
Harry laughed wildly, putting the ring on his middle finger. A surge of joy overtook him. He jumped across the room, practically giddy with excitement, approaching the Invisibility Cloak he’d placed in the far corner of the study.
The cloak. The stone. And I know who has the wand -
Harry paused. His smile faded.
Dumbledore.
Harry shook the man from his thoughts, returning to Slytherin’s desk. A sudden thought flickered in his mind.
Who do I bring back first?
Harry frowned, thinking carefully. Long, scarlet hair appeared within the corner of his mind.
“No.”
Scared she’ll be disappointed? A traitorous voice whispered, Scared she’ll be afraid?
Harry squished the trail of thought to a pulp. His eyes fell upon the portrait that sat proudly beyond his desk. An old, bald man with heavy set eyes and a strong, grey beard sat within a regal armchair, staring down at him.
Better than nothing.
Harry held the ring out before him, clearing his throat.
“I’d like to resurrect Salazar Slytherin!”
Nothing happened. Harry frowned.
“Er - I’d like to speak with Salazar Slytherin?”
Still nothing. Harry pulled the ring from his fingers, staring at it.
What could it possibly be?
“There’s now much you can do with a stone, at least not physically,” he muttered, his brows furrowed with annoyance, “If there’s some sort of password I might never end up using it.”
He tried flipping it over, rubbing it, and pressing the symbol etched across the stone. Nothing worked.
Multiple times, maybe. Numbers have power.
Harry paused again, thinking.
“Magical numbers . . . seven, thirteen, three -”
He froze.
Three brothers. Three artifacts.
Shaking slightly, Harry turned the ring thrice in his palm. He focused his mind on a single thought.
Show me Salazar Slytherin.
A pale, almost solid form appeared before him. Harry stared as the bald man’s corporeal feet pressed against the floor.
“You’re not Tom,” the man whispered, his eyes narrowed, “Who are you?”
Harry returned the ring to his middle finger, staring at the spirit of Salazar Slytherin.
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521-DREAM
I've worked pretty hard to level up as a writer, so your comment means a lot to me. Thanks for the support too! It means the world, regardless of how long it lasts. I hope you continue to enjoy Sacred Sight and A Flaw in Fate.
suspicious
I like where this is going! Certainly more unique than the portrait :) I recently joined the patreon after rereading AKP and just wanted to tell you that's it's incredible what kind of progress you made in writing. You really improved by leaps and bounds, be it tone, pacing, dialogue - you name it. Really satisfying to see you mature as a writer. Can't promise to keep on being a patreon indefinitely (there are bills to pay), but wish you all the best!
