Written in the Stars - An Unwitting Accomplice

An Unwitting Accomplice

Months had passed since the Dark Lord had set Augustus his task, and were it many other of his followers, he would be questioning the man’s effort and dedication to what he had been instructed to do.

Not Rookwood, however.

Augustus had long ago proven his loyalty and willingness to serve in whatever way was seen fit, so Voldemort had no doubt that the former Unspeakable was merely being as careful and meticulous as ever.

Still, it was a matter of urgency, and the Dark Lord needed answers.

He watched as the tired man entered the study he was making use of in the Malfoy home, the bow he received as unwavering as ever.

“What have you discovered, Augustus?”

“Many things, My Lord,” Rookwood answered. “Firstly, you have my apologies for the delay. The prophecy itself took much time to locate.”

“But it does indeed exist?”

Rookwood nodded.

“A prophecy pertaining to yourself and Harry James Potter as spoken by Sybil Trelawney and heard by Dumbledore.”

The Dark Lord’s nostrils flared at the mention of Potter and Dumbledore.

“And you are still of the belief that only one of us named on it can retrieve it.”

“Undoubtedly, My Lord,” Augustus sighed. “It would be foolish for any other to attempt it.”

The Dark Lord nodded his understanding as he pondered the matter.

“The department itself, is it difficult to access?”

“No. But navigating it will take weeks for any that are not familiar with it,” Rookwood explained. “The security measures in place throughout are second to none, My Lord. The real challenge will be obtaining the prophecy. Without any of the named people to do so, it is impossible. The magic surrounding them is ancient, and even if it could be broken or manipulated, it would be a highly dangerous task.”

“What of the Unspeakables, can they retrieve them?”

“No, My Lord,” Rookwood sighed. “I had considered it, and even have one of them placed under the Imperius Curse, but it will not work. Any other will meet a most terrible end if they are not one of the named individuals.”

“You have an Unspeakable under the Imperius Curse?”

“Broderick Bode, My Lord. We worked together once, and for as gifted and intelligent as he is, his mind has always been weak. I have been using him to lead me through the department to circumvent the security. Without him, it is likely I would have been caught.”

“Then you have done well,” Voldemort praised.

“There is something else I have observed,” Rookwood replied warily. “There are people there that should not be. I think they are members of Dumbledore’s Order, but I cannot be certain. They are under an invisibility cloak and I thought it best not to interfere without discussing it with you first.”

Voldemort’s jaw clenched.

Of course, the old fool would have the department watched.

“Then we must be cautious,” he mused aloud. “Could we use Bode to gain entry?”

“We could,” Augustus confirmed. “What are you thinking, My Lord?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Voldemort murmured thoughtfully. “We cannot use Dumbledore, and I am loath to risk exposing myself should anything go awry.”

“The seer then?”

“She is within Hogwarts,” Voldemort pointed out. “Getting to her whilst she is under Dumbledore’s nose will not be easy. I expect he will be watching her as closely as he is the department. No, it is unlikely either will work. Leave it with me, Augustus, I need to decide our best course of action.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Rookwood replied as he stood. “Would you like me to continue with what I have been doing?”

Voldemort shook his head.

“No, just check in from time to time to ensure there are no changes within the department,” he instructed. “There is no use risking yourself being caught when we have all the information we need. Thank you, Augustus. Your efforts are most appreciated.”

Rookwood offered him a final bow before taking his leave of the room and the Dark Lord mulled over what he had been told.

The seer would be the easiest to force to comply if only she could be accessed.

If he had not proven himself such a cowardly fool, Lucius’s son could have perhaps been instructed to fetch her, but the boy could not be trusted with such an important task.

No. His next step needed to be considered carefully, but several ideas were already forming.

The Dark Lord merely needed to decide which was the most feasible.

(Break)

It was as though he was watching Britain collapse in on itself through a looking glass. The already fragile pillars that held up what it had been since Voldemort’s fall slowly but surely crumbling to dust and so close to no longer being able to bear the load weighing down on it.

Worst of all was that there was nothing that could seemingly prop it up until it could be fixed, and it was only a matter of time before there was nothing left to salvage.

It was with reluctance that Harry had returned to Durmstrang and had only done so at the realisation that there was little that he too could do.

For all of Dumbledore and the Order’s efforts, there was nothing to show but an exhausted and insufficient resistance for what was happening.

As things were, Harry was still a child in the eyes of the law, and though he carried influence from his unwitting feat as a child, it was not nearly enough to make a difference.

He had not been a presence in Britain either.

To most, he was nothing but a distant memory of when times had been unfavourable and he had somehow achieved the unthinkable.

Ever since, other than his brief stint at Hogwarts, Harry Potter had been absent.

No, he was currently as useless as the Order.

If there was to be any hope of defeating Voldemort and his followers, he needed the influence of his titles on the Wizengamot.

With the current power structure, he knew that he could not simply return to Britain and take the fight to the Death Eaters.

If he did, he would likely find himself wanted under the guise of murdering a pureblood who was ‘not acting of their own accord.’

It was the defence the likes of Malfoy had used before, and to great effect.

Harry had no doubt it would be used again, and Fudge and his cohorts would lap it up to avoid admitting the truth of what was unfolding.

Harry had to be smarter than that.

He needed to give Britain hope, but he needed to do it in the right way.

In only a matter of weeks, he would have his titles, and he could use the favourable system the purebloods had built for themselves against them.

As of now, the name Harry Potter was not at the forefront of any mind, but it soon would be.

Harry would make sure of that, by hook and by crook.

Although he knew he would need every ounce of political acumen he possessed, it would not be enough.

There was only one language the Death Eaters and Voldemort understood, and unfortunately for them, Harry was fluent in it.

Politics aside, Harry was under no illusion that he would be entering anything short of a war. And though the fools like Fudge wished to either ignore it or were too stupid to see it for what it was, Harry would not allow it to continue.

“Magical Registration Act,” he muttered as he read the latest update on the awful legislation that had been passed in the Ministry.

It had been done under the guise of protecting the magical population of Britain, but Harry knew better.

It was a movement to have every magical person in Britain tracked and registered, and as expected, the Lord and Ladies of the Wizengamot had already found a loophole so that they need not register.

For the rest of the country, however, it was now mandatory to present yourself to the Ministry and submit your name, and a myriad of other personal information.

At first, it had merely been encouraged, but when so few did so, further legislation had been past, making it compulsory.

For the past weeks, swathes of people had been arriving at the Ministry of Magic to comply, and those that did not, were sought out and arrested.

Harry shook his head in disgust as he slammed the paper down next to his untouched breakfast.

“Do you think it is a good idea to keep reading it?” Ana asked. “It’s making you miserable.”

“I have to,” Harry sighed. “I need to know what I am getting myself into.”

The others shared a look amongst themselves.

They were worried about him.

Harry would admit that he had not been feeling particularly happy since returning to school.

If anything, he knew he was simply waiting until he could act, until he could make a difference, but doing so was deeply frustrating and it had not had a positive influence on him.

When he wasn’t in class, he was either duelling or training, and sleeping very little with it.

Lucinda had all but forced him to take a measure of Dreamless Sleep on more than one occasion.

Harry had not wished to, but he knew the girl was looking out for him.

Not once had she, unlike the others, tried to talk him out of returning to Britain.

If anything, she was supportive despite her obvious feelings on the matter.

His friends too had read the article, and each of them believed, though they had not said it aloud, that Britain was a lost cause, that Voldemort had already won.

Harry refused to believe it.

Although he had not spent much time there over the years, Britain was his home, and the titles he had inherited meant that he was responsible for it.

From what he knew of his Grandfather, and Arcturus Black, they would both fight until the bitter end for what they believed in, and Harry would do the same.

He would need to be the best and worst of the former lords, and he would be just that.

Harry Potter would be the difference in the blossoming war; the thorns between the roses of the seeds that Voldemort had planted.

He offered Lucinda a reassuring smile as she squeezed his thigh under the table before a grin tugged at his lips.

“Any higher and it won’t be my leg you’re touching,” he snorted.

Lucinda quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Then it seems as though my aim was inaccurate,” she quipped.

Cain grimaced in disgust as Harry laughed.

“Why don’t you two just jump into bed and get it over with?” the werewolf huffed. “The scent coming from you both is sickening.”

“Maybe we will,” Lucinda replied with a shrug, “but I’m not sure Potter deserves me with how he has been. He has a lot of ground to cover before he gets anywhere near me.”

Cain groaned and placed his head in his hands as Harry and Lucinda stared at each other quite intently.

“I have,” Harry agreed with a sigh.

Although he had made considerable effort to not let what was happening get to him so much, it had and it had been his relationship with his friends that had suffered.

He hadn’t meant it to, but he had been stuck in his own mind for much of the year.

“What is going on, Harry?” Ana pressed gently. “This isn’t just the war, is it? You’ve not quite been yourself since you came back from Hogwarts.”

“I know,” Harry murmured. “Things happened, some I’d rather not talk about, but if anyone deserves some kind of explanation, then it is all of you. Tonight before dinner,” he promised.

He didn’t know how much he would tell them, but he knew he could not keep them in the dark any longer.

All of them had been there for him as much as he had for them since they’d arrived at Durmstrang and he trusted them all implicitly.

They deserved some insight to what was happened and had already come to pass at the very least.

Ana nodded as she reached across the table and squeezed his hand gently.

“You’re not alone in this, Harry,” she whispered.

The others nodded their agreement, and the sentiment warmed Harry’s heart more than he could express.

He truly had gathered an odd, but valuable group of friends and despite how distracted and sometimes difficult to be around he had been, their loyalty to him had never wavered.

“Thank you,” he returned gratefully. “Come on, we’d best get to Transfiguration.”

Taking their leave of the table, it was strange just how at ease he suddenly felt as he made his way towards their lesson.

Things were not easy to cope with as they were and being so distant from everyone had only made Harry feel as though he was truly alone, but that wasn’t the case.

The war may well hinge on him and what he would do to combat it, and there was no promise that he would even survive the conflict.

However, the outcome was so far from his mind right now.

There was much he needed to do before he and Tom would clash for a final confrontation, something that seemed so far away but no less close than it ever was as now.

(Break)

Cassie made a point to spend as little time in Britain as she could. The country was in a deplorable state under the current, foolish regime that were, on the surface, in charge, and she had not thought of it as home since she had been a teenager.

Nonetheless, she was intrigued by the perhaps not so unexpected letter she had received and had spent the past few days here watching the place she had agreed to meet the woman that had reached out to her.

Cassiopeia Black was no fool.

She would not risk being ambushed.

The months that had gone by since Christmas had been frustrating to say the least.

She wished more than anything that she could put an end to the war, that she could relieve Harry of all the burdens he carried, but it was not to be.

As Harry had pointed out, this was his war to fight, and though she had argued that there was much she could do to assist him, he had been adamant that she not act on her impulses.

Much to her chagrin, she could not find fault in his logic.

Cassiopeia Black was not a popular woman here, was loathed by most for her part in Gellert’s rising and subsequent campaign, and it would take little for her to be locked away in Azkaban where she and Harry had no doubt she would be dealt with silently.

Her advanced years would be to her detriment under the influence of the Dementors, and there would be nothing stopping the likes of Lucius Malfoy getting to her whilst she was unarmed.

She needed to be cautious and exercise patience, something she’d never had in abundance.

Perhaps Harry was right.

It would serve no purpose to take matters into her own hands whilst Malfoy had the ear of the Minister and the Dark Lord remained within the shadows.

Still, it was frustrating to feel so utterly useless, and it did not help that Gellert seemed to agree with Harry wholeheartedly.

‘It would not do Harry any favours if you were to come to harm or you created political difficulty for him before he has even claimed his titles. Patience is the key here, Cassie. I know you wish only to protect the boy, but he is on the cusp of manhood and he will need you when he returns to Britain.’

Cassie shook her head of her thoughts as she watched the cloaked figure approaching The Hog’s Head from one of the quieter lanes in Hogsmeade and waited for a few moments to ensure she had not been followed before entering the dank, musty pub.

Placing a Galleon on the bar to pay for the private room she had requested days before, she found it on the second floor.

Drawing her wand, she cast a myriad of privacy and detection charms around the hallway before entering, startling the still cloaked figure seated by the fire.

“Narcissa,” she greeted the woman.

Her great niece removed her hood, her eyes roaming over the older woman, evidently reassuring herself that it was indeed Cassiopeia Black that stood before.

“Aunt Cassie,” Narcissa replied reservedly.

The woman looked tired.

Her skin had always been pale, but it looked waxy in the light of the fire and the bags under her eyes were thick and dark making her look older than she was.

“What is it you want, girl?” Cassiopeia huffed.

Narcissa swallowed deeply.

“I…I don’t know,” she answered with a shake of her head.

“Then there is nothing we have to discuss.”

Cassie turned to leave, irritated that her time had been wasted.

“Wait!” Narcissa pleaded. “I didn’t know you were alive, not until Potter told me at the World Cup.”

“And why would you?” Cassie returned. “I left Britain and then the family fell to pieces. You married Lucius, Bellatrix married Lestrange, and Andromeda ran away with a filthy mudblood! I had such high hopes for all of you, and I can only say how disappointed I am. Sirius was an insolent whelp and Regulus was a simpering buffoon who spent too much time trying to please Walburga. The less said about the rest, the better. The Blacks truly fell from grace and I am disgusted by what the family became. Arcturus was too lax, and your own father wasn’t fit to wipe his arse. Orion was a pampered disgrace, and look what happened. You all decided to follow the Dark Lord. Where are the Blacks now, Narcissa?”

The woman opened her mouth to speak, but Cassie cut her off.

“Dead!” she snapped.

“Bella isn’t.”

Cassie laughed humourlessly.

“I suppose she is staying with you,” she snorted. “Bella was the one I had the most faith in, but she proved to be the biggest disappointment of you all. Licking the boots of a man that murders women and children before following his lead. She will meet a most unpleasant end, that I can promise you.”

“You would kill her?”

“Without a second of hesitation,” Cassiopeia vowed.

Narcissa was taken aback by the declaration and deflated in her chair.

“Why Potter?” she asked. “Why did you raise him?”

“Because he is family, or did you forget that? He is Dorea’s grandson!”

Narcissa shook her head.

“He attacked my son in Diagon Alley,” she revealed, “and he threatened to kill me just to get to Draco and Lucius.”

“Did he?” Cassie chuckled. “Well, you had best hope your son and husband do not give him reason to act on that threat.”

“He would kill me?”

“My Harry does not make threats he does not keep,” Cassie replied simply. “You made your bed, Narcissa, and now you and your sister have to lie in it. You have no idea what storm is coming. Your husband is already dead, and your son will undoubtedly follow soon enough. Voldemort will not win, not against Harry.”

“You have no idea what he is capable of,” Narcissa whispered.

“I know more than you could ever imagine, girl,” Cassie bit back. “It is your master that does not know what it is he is facing.”

“He is not my master!” Narcissa growled, rolling up her sleeves to show her bare forearms.

“You are married to Malfoy and you share a spawn together,” Cassie pointed out. “To me and to Harry, you are just as much an enemy. Perhaps I should kill you now.”

“You wouldn’t,” Narcissa choked.

“I would,” Cassie countered sincerely. “You may not run around in a mask murdering innocent people, but you know exactly what your husband does. He murders, he rapes, and he tortures people for his own enjoyment. The fact that you think that you can sit there and deny any guilt is baffling. Your inaction makes you guilty. You are harbouring these people, and that makes you just as guilty as them in my eyes. The Malfoy name suits you, Narcissa. You are just as cowardly as your husband. You are not a true Black, and the only reason I will allow you to leave is because I want you to witness your world falling apart around you. Lucius is not as untouchable as you believe, and you are going to learn the hard way what misery life can provide.”

Narcissa could only look at her fearfully, and Cassiopeia offered her a smirk before taking her leave of the room.

The woman had not come because she felt any remorse or sorrow for what was happening.

She had come to fish for information and to see how credible the threat against her family was.

Cassie did not know that Harry had attacked the Malfoy boy nor that he had threatened Narcissa, and in truth, she did not care.

Narcissa was a Malfoy through and through and the Wizarding world would be much better off without them in it.

(Break)

The Dark Lord stared into the roaring fire, the crackling of the flames the only sound to be heard in the study. He had been locked in here for the best part of two days as he weighed up his options, eventually deciding he was unable to ignore the one that would bring him the most pleasure.

“You sent for me, My Lord?” the voice of Barty pulled him from his thoughts.

Voldemort nodded and took a moment pondering his options a final time before leaning back in his chair.

“It is time, Barty,” he answered simply.

The man grinned malevolently in response.

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“It shall be done, My Lord.”

“Excellent, now you must follow my instructions to the very letter,” the Dark Lord said firmly. “We cannot risk anything going awry. Take a seat. There is much for us to discuss.”

(Break)

It was a nervous Harry that waited for his friends to arrive on the secluded sixth floor corridor, a place he had come to often so that he could study and practice away from prying eyes.

He still did not know what he would tell them all, but he would not break his promise to them.

Tonight, they would know much of the truth of what had led him to where he was now, and why the war in Britain was important to him beyond seeking his vengeance against Voldemort.

Was it more important?

It was difficult at times to see the bigger picture of what he had to do, and he could not deny that more than anything in life, he wanted Riddle and his followers to suffer immeasurably for all they had done, but his purpose was indeed more than vengeance, even if it was that he chose to focus on to fuel the fire within him.

Britain had suffered under the incompetent Fudge, and those that he chose to surround himself with.

It was a dreary country and was only growing more so with none having a backbone to truly fight back.

Harry would not hesitate to do so.

He had been prepared and groomed for it his entire life by Cassie, but the betterment of Britain was never going to come down to simply entering the political field and gathering support.

No. Voldemort had always been on the horizon, and Harry knew that the man and his followers would have to be dealt with permanently if he wished to see the country thrive.

“We’re here,” Cain announced as Harry’s friends rounded the corner. “It’s not very private, is it?”

Harry snorted as he tapped a series of bricks, revealing a hidden door that his friends gawped at.

“Are you coming or not?” Harry chuckled as he pushed it open.

Silently, they followed him inside the room.

“I didn’t know that this was here,” Ana whispered as she looked around.

Within, there was a large desk piled with books that Harry had accumulated and a space where he could practice his magic.

“No one does,” he replied with a shrug. “There are lots of rooms like this around the school.”

“How many?” Ana pressed.

“Dozens.”

Realising that Harry wasn’t going to provide any more information, the girl frowned at him.

“Anyway, the secrets of Durmstrang isn’t why we are here,” Eleanor pointed out.

“It’s not,” Harry sighed. “Honestly, I don’t really know where to begin. Everything is just so complicated.”

“Well, you could start by telling us why you need to fight in a war for a country you haven’t lived in since you were a baby,” Jonas urged. “It’s not just because of what happened to your parents, is it?”

Harry shook his head.

“No,” he confirmed. “Partly it is because of who I am. My Grandfather was a war hero, and from what little I know about my family, many of them have been over the centuries. He fought against Grindelwald, and I suppose I feel like I have to prove myself to an extent. I’d want him to be proud of me.”

“Even if it costs you your life?” Ana asked.

“It’s not as simple as that,” Harry chuckled dryly. “The Potter title is not the only one I have inherited.”

“You’re going to be the Lord of two families?” Eleanor whispered.

As the only pureblood amongst them, albeit having been born to a disgraced family, she understood the magnitude of what that meant.

Harry nodded.

“I will be the next Lord Black.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened, and even though the others may not have understood the significance of him taking the mantle of two prominent families, they had heard of the Blacks.

There were few across the magical world that had not.

“Shit,” Cain whispered.

“That still doesn’t explain why you have to fight in the war,” Lucinda pointed out. “Fighting for family pride is not a good enough reason, not when the stakes are so high. You don’t have any heirs if anything happens to you.”

“It’s not a good enough reason,” Harry agreed. “I wish it was, but there is magic at play here; magic that I won’t even begin to pretend to understand. I suppose it all started even before I was born and the night Voldemort killed my parents. It wasn’t them that he came for,” Harry revealed.

“It was you,” Lucinda whispered.

“It was.”

“Why would he come after you? You were only a baby.”

“There’s a prophecy.”

The group were silent for a moment before Cain burst out laughing.

“Come on, Harry, you can’t possibly believe in that?”

“You should not mock things you know nothing of!” Ana snapped irritably. “Prophetic magical is real. We have sages that live amongst us.”

“Really?” Cain asked curiously.

Ana nodded.

“It can be woefully inaccurate magic, and dangerous if it is interpreted incorrectly, but it is very real. There are many stories of elves and others that have fallen victim to it. If there really is a prophecy at play, it should not be ignored.”

“What do you know about the magic?” Harry asked Ana.

“Not much,” she admitted apologetically, “but the sages I have met have always warned me not to mess with it. What does the prophecy say?”

“I only know a part of it,” Harry sighed irritably. “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him…born as the seventh month dies…”

“That’s it?” Cain scoffed. “How do you know it pertains to you? You were born in July, but so were dozens of other babies.”

Harry shrugged.

“You need to hear the rest of it,” Ana said gravely. “Cain is right. It’s too vague for you to risk your life over.”

“I know, but it’s as though I can feel the magic pulling us together,” Harry explained. “I’m working on getting the rest of it, but it’s not so simple. A copy of it exists in the Department of Mysteries in the British Ministry.”

“Then why don’t you request to hear it?”

“Because I cannot trust the Ministry or anyone that works there,” Harry explained. “Voldemort had an unspeakable working for him the last time, and he was one of the Death Eaters he broke out of Azkaban.”

“Unspeakable?” Jonas questioned.

“They work in the Department.”

“So, they can’t be trusted.”

Harry shook his head.

“I’ve visited a couple of times to see if I can find where it is kept,” he admitted.

“And?”

“Nothing,” Harry grumbled. “The department is off limits, and even when I managed to get in there, I couldn’t find the room. It’s difficult to navigate.”

“So, what will you do?”

“I don’t know,” Harry murmured. “I could ask Dumbledore, but then he will question how I know of its existence.”

“How do you know of it?” Ana asked.

“That is even more complicated than anything else I’ve told you,” Harry snorted humourlessly.

“Try us,” the half-elf urged.

Harry gaze shifted over to each of his friends, all of them as curious as the other, though none were absent of the same look of concern.

He relented by releasing a deep breath.

“The night he tried to kill me, something happened that I can’t explain,” he began, pacing back and forth as he pondered the same thing he had many times over the years, never reaching a satisfactory conclusion.

“You survived the killing curse,” Eleanor acknowledged.

“Not just that,” Harry murmured with a frown. “There’s more to it than that. When he tried to kill me, it created a connection of sorts between us. Sometimes I can feel what he feels, and I see things in my dreams that he has done. Terrible things.”

“Him murdering people?” Cain gasped.

Harry nodded.

“That, and other memories of his,” he explained. “Not full memories, but glimpses of things I’ve learned a tonne of magic from what I have seen, and he somehow passed other things to me.”

“Other things?” Lucinda broke in.

Harry released a deep breath as he conjured a large python and the others took a cautious step backwards.

“Come here,” Harry instructed.

The serpent did so, and the two of them shared a brief conversation before Harry vanished it.

“You’re a parselmouth,” Cain whispered dumbly.

“I’m not related to Slytherin,” Harry assured his friends. “The only reason I can speak to snakes is because he can.”

“I’ve never heard anything like it,” Eleanor mused aloud. “You can’t just pass on magical abilities like that. If that was possible, people would have found a way to steal other’s magic.”

“I know,” Harry huffed. “It doesn’t make sense, but not very much does when it comes to what happened between me and him.”

“You really need to hear the prophecy,” Ana reiterated. “Regardless of anything else that may have happened that night, I think it will go a long way in explaining everything, or at least give you a better idea.”

Harry nodded his agreement.

“I’m working on it,” he assured the girl. “Anyway, that’s all I’ve got to say right now.”

There was much more he could tell them, but they were already overwhelmed by what they had learned, and if truth be told, Harry was not ready to explain his somewhat apprenticeship under Grindelwald, and certainly not the Elder Wand.

“Come on,” Lucinda urged, nudging him with her shoulder, “Let’s eat before you wipe the floor with half the school again in the duelling room.”

Harry snorted as he followed his friends from the room and sealed it behind him.

Although he had seemingly achieved nothing by revealing what he had to them, he somehow felt less burdened by all that was weighing him down, and as they reached the Main Hall to eat their dinner, he was simply grateful that they had listened to him.

“Who are you duelling tonight, Harry?” Jonas asked excitedly as they were finishing up.

“It might be you,” Harry replied thoughtfully.

The other boy shook his head.

“No thanks,” he chuckled. “I’d rather not spend the evening in the Medical Bay having things pulled from my skin. Fight the vampire.”

Lucinda bared her fangs at Harry, resting her lips on his ear.

“I will not be going to the medical bay to have things removed from me. You will have to do it yourself, Potter,” she whispered.

Harry shuddered as her cold breath ran down his neck.

“The two of you sicken me,” Cain grumbled. “Are we going to duel or what?”

“We’re coming,” Lucinda declared as she stood and pulled Harry to his feet. “I think I’ll keep hold of you. That way, you can’t run away from me.”

“Why would I run?” Harry returned challengingly, cupping her cheek.

Lucinda narrowed her eyes at him as she bit her lower lip and a droplet of blood spilled onto her chin.

“Look what you made me do,” she huffed.

With a shrug, Harry wiped it away with his thumb.

“Better?”

The girl hummed and pushed him ahead of her into the duelling room as they reached it.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Harry asked.

“I’m not afraid of you, Harry,” Lucinda replied with a grin as she drew her wand. “Then again, we could always forego magic and have a vampire’s duel.”

“I’m not falling for that one again,” Harry muttered.

A vampire’s duel was little more than a fight without magic, and Harry knew he had no chance of winning that.

He had made the mistake of accepting the challenge only once before, and Lucinda had thrown him around the common room with very little effort on her part until he had admitted defeat.

“Shame,” Lucinda sighed wistfully. “I was looking forward to getting my hands on you.”

Before Harry could respond, he felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked up to see Professor Karkaroff offering his own challenging look.

“What do you say, Potter?” he asked. “Are you ready to face me again?”

He had only squared off with the headmaster on one occasion and the two of them had destroyed the duelling room worse than when Harry and Professor Sidorova had pit themselves against one another.

Many people he had met had their opinion of Karkaroff, but there was no denying that he was indeed a talented wizard in his own right.

“Sounds good to me,” Harry accepted with a respectful bow.

Karkaroff chuckled as he wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulder and led him on to the platform, the students within the room whispering excitedly amongst themselves in anticipation of the impending show.

“Same rules as before,” Karkaroff declared. “Nothing immediately fatal and nothing that would see you missing any of your exams next week.”

Harry nodded his agreement and took a stance that was mirrored by the headmaster.

“BEGIN!” the man instructed.

The two began trading spells, neither committing to a full-frontal attack as both were wary of one another.

Harry had certainly proven himself a worthy opponent during their last outing, and Igor Karkaroff was an exceptionally crafty duellist.

His ability to disguise what he was casting until he did so was second to none and something Harry knew he had to be cautious of.

He had almost been caught out several times in their last bout.

Karkaroff remained content with the back-and-forth pace they had set and with studying how Harry was reacting to his offerings.

Still, such a thing could not last if either wished to emerge victorious.

It was Harry that upped the ante only a moment later, firing a trio of curses towards the headmaster who conjured a shield to absorb them, acknowledging the effort with a nod before returning the gesture.

The spells came at a blistering pace, and Harry managed to parry them away in only the nick of time.

He frowned as he looked down at his wand.

He had made a point to continue practicing with it despite having obtained the Elder Wand, but something did not quite feel right with it.

It took only a few more exchanges with Karkaroff to realise that it wasn’t the wand that was failing to perform for him, there was something amiss with him.

His arms had begun to feel heavy, and his movements laborious and more tiring than he was used to.

The duo had only been duelling for a matter of minutes, but Harry felt as though he had not slept in days and that he had been put through his paces continuously.

No, something wasn’t right, and as he mustered a considerable effort to bat another spell aside, he took a deep breath and attempted to steady his shaking legs.

(Break)

“Is he alright?” Cain asked the others worriedly. “Was he hit with something we didn’t see?”

Lucinda watched as Harry swayed, his posture and movements sluggish and wand work nothing short of sloppy.

Still, he managed to continue to defend himself, even if he could offer no offense.

“He must have been,” she replied, though she could not think of when anything may have slipped past his defences.

Harry looked terribly pale and his eyes were becoming rather glazed over.

Nonetheless, he continued to fight until he was sent sprawling by a spell that did slip through his rather paltry shield and even Professor Karkaroff seemed to be concerned now as he approached the downed Harry.

“Stand back!” the man commanded sharply as he checked him over, frowning as he placed a hand on his forehead and conjured a stretcher.

“Professor, what is wrong with him?” Lucinda questioned worriedly.

“I’m not sure,” Karkaroff replied apologetically as he levitated the unconscious Harry in front of him. “He must be taken to the Medical Bay to be checked over.”

Lucinda and the rest of the group followed as the other students whispered amongst themselves in shock.

None had ever seen Harry be felled like that, nor had they seen him perform so terribly.

Something was undoubtedly wrong with him, but how?

He had been himself only a few moments before the duel had started, and even at the beginning of the contest, he had seemed as sharp as ever.

Lucinda could only wonder what happened in between.

“I’m afraid you will have to wait outside whilst he is assessed,” Karkaroff said apologetically as they reached the Medical Bay. “I will bring news as soon as I can.”

Although none of the group were pleased, they understood and took up vigil outside.

“What do you think happened?” Ana asked.

Lucinda shrugged in response, and no answer was forthcoming from the rest.

Instead, they remained silent until Professor Karkaroff returned around half an hour later, his expression one of relief.

“He will be fine,” he assured them. “It seems as though he had a rather unpleasant reaction to something yet to be identified, but the healer assures me he needs only rest and a few potions.”

“Can we see him?” Lucinda requested.

The headmaster shook his head.

“Not tonight, but I expect he will be well enough come the morning. He needs to sleep now. You should return to your quarters. Mr Potter won’t be going anywhere tonight.”

It was reluctantly that the group did so, relieved that Harry would be okay, but no closer to understanding what had left him in such a state.

(Break)

He felt as though he was floating, but he was also aware of the soft, warm mattress he was laying upon. Harry couldn’t remember how he got here, and when he tried to think, his thoughts became nothing but a jumbled, incoherent mess.

He tried to move, only to huff in frustration at his inability to do so, and his head swam making him feel nauseous.

Unable to even think with any clarity, he allowed himself to drift into the restless sleep that threatened to overcome him.

When his eyes fluttered open once more, it was to the sound of muffled voices that he could not make out the words to, and again, he fell into a restless slumber.

It was a different voice that woke him an inordinate amount of time later, only this time, he caught snatches of the conversation being shared.

“What do you think you are doing?”

That was the healer that Harry had become all too familiar with since he’d arrived at Durmstrang.

He clamped his eyes shut in protest as a bright light flashed around him, and he did not open them again, the sleep carrying him far away from what was happening around him.

There were several voices talking when he found clarity in his thoughts again, but there was no warm mattress below him and he shuddered from the cold, hard surface against his back.

“Be quiet, he is waking up,” one of the voices said harshly.

That voice was another one he had heard before, but not one he knew well.

Harry kept his eyes closed as he tried to make the link, but to no avail.

“Are you sure he will be quite helpless?” another asked.

“Barty assures me he is quite defenceless,” the first replied confidently. “He personally took his wand from him.”

Who was Barty?

Carefully, Harry opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of several cloaked figures peering at him, each sporting a bone-white mask.

“Ah, he’s awake,” one of them declared.

Now that he could see just whom he was being surrounded by, he could identify the owner of the voice, despite his sporadic thoughts.

Lucius Malfoy.

“Welcome to the Department of Mysteries, Potter,” the man goaded. “Come now, we have a most important task for you. Imperio.”

Harry felt the spell wash over him, and to be free from whatever was ailing him was nothing short of bliss.

However, the moment the foreign magic met his own, something primal erupted within his chest, and he no longer felt content being under the influence of another.

He may be weakened, but Harry was not one to submit to any. And as he allowed himself to be led down the aisles of glass orbs on shelves higher than he could see, he began to ponder just how he could turn the tide of the situation he found himself facing.