Written in the Stars - Twelve Years On

Twelve Years On

31st October 1993

“Keep going you lazy shits!” Olaffson called.

Harry growled as he continued pulling the rope, bringing the large boulder tied to the other end ever closer.

It was only him and Viktor treated to the pre-dawn attentions of the Icelander who would drag them both unceremoniously from their beds to put them through their paces; the Bulgarian by necessity, and Harry by choice, though he often regretted making the request of the man.

“Good,” Olaffson praised. “That’s enough for today.”

Without another word, he walked back towards the school, leaving a pair of exhausted teens in his wake.

“Sadist,” Viktor grumbled as he joined Harry who snorted amusedly.

Dropping the thick length of rope he had been holding, Harry winced as he looked upon his blistered and torn skin from his efforts.

“Why do you do it to yourself?” Viktor asked. “You can’t enjoy it.”

“I don’t,” Harry confirmed, “but suffering now will reduce the amount I may suffer later,” he added ominously.

Viktor offered him a sad smile.

“Come on,” he urged. “Let me show you one of the small joys you can have here.”

Harry followed the other boy towards the mountains in the opposite direction of the school, the icy wind making his sweat freeze, eliminating any warmth he had accumulated during their exercises.

“Are you taking me somewhere to murder me?” he quipped.

Viktor chuckled.

“You’re no use to me dead, Potter,” he replied. “So long as you’re helping me with my Quidditch practices, I’d like to keep you around.”

“Thanks, I think,” Harry returned dryly.

Viktor merely grunted as he continued walking for another few moments before he suddenly paused.

“Here we are,” he declared, pointing to a pool of steaming water.

“A hot spring?”

Viktor nodded as he disrobed.

“I found it whilst I was flying last year,” he explained. “You’re the first person I’ve told about it, and I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself.”

“I will,” Harry assured him as he removed his own dirtied robes and slid into the almost uncomfortably hot water, releasing a blissful sigh as he did so. “Bloody hell that’s good.”

Viktor laughed as he watched him curiously.

“Why do you punish yourself so much?” he asked. “You take extra sessions with Olaffson, and you’re always practicing some form of magic or other.”

Harry deflated.

“I will be the head of two prominent houses one day,” he reminded the boy. “Both are traditionally very different from the other in almost every way, and I will likely lose any long-standing alliances from both sides. I already have enemies, and I will gain more. I need to be able to handle them either politically, or by other means if it comes to me. I will not chance failing by not being as prepared as I can be.”

Viktor shook his head.

“You’re Harry Potter,” he snorted. “I bet lots of people will want to be your ally.”

“No,” Harry disagreed. “People will only wish to be associated with me if I am in a position of strength and can prove my worth to them. As much as I couldn’t give a toss about them, I will need some of them to an extent if I wish to be successful in my roles. Many great families have fallen from grace and faded into obscurity because their heads have been incompetent failures. I will not be responsible for the demise of two of them.”

Viktor nodded his understanding.

“I get it,” he murmured. “I just find it hard to see you pushing yourself so hard at times. As much as I appreciate your help, I do care about you, you little shit.”

“Thanks,” Harry said dryly, punching the Bulgarian on the arm as he guffawed.

Viktor scowled and rubbed his shoulder.

“You should think about coming to the duelling hall some time,” he suggested. “It might help blow off some steam.”

Harry shrugged.

It was something he had considered.

He would need to be prepared for the fighting to come, and the duelling hall was as good a place as any to begin.

As a third year, he was allowed to attend now.

“Does Barkus do it?”

Viktor snorted.

“He thinks he would like another go with you, but he’s just all talk,” he sighed. “You’d do well with some of the older students. I bet you’d give them a good fight.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

Maybe it was something he should look into, or watch at least once to see if it was something worth investing his time in.

(Break)

The impending meeting had been a long time coming. For the best part of the last two years, Albus had been in communication with Madame Maxime and Igor Karkaroff in a bid to rekindle the famed Triwizard Tournament, a venture that both seemed as eager as him to pursue.

The Headmistress of the prestigious French school arrived first via the floo, ducking low to avoid hitting her head on the stonework surrounding the fireplace.

“Madame Maxime,” Albus greeted her warmly. “It is wonderful to meet you at last.”

The large woman offered Albus a smile and her hand which he brushed his lips across the back of.

“And you, Professor Dumbledore,” she replied, her eyes shifting around his office interestedly.

“Please, take a seat,” Albus urged. “Igor should be along shortly.”

Maxime hummed as she did so.

She did not appear to be so keen on their colleague, but if the tournament was to go ahead, the three of them would need to find some common ground.

As expected, Karkaroff did arrive only a moment after Madame Maxime was seated, and Albus welcomed him with a firm, yet hesitant, handshake.

The last time he had laid eyes on the man had been at his trial for his activities as a Death Eater during Tom’s rise, so many years prior.

He was not a pleasant man to look upon, his thick greying hair and beard neatly kept, but his eyes were what were difficult to trust.

Although he seemed amiable enough on first impression, he did not cut a warm or friendly figure.

“Dumbledore,” he acknowledged Albus with all the caution one would expect from someone like Igor Karkaroff. “Madame Maxime,” he added much more warmly.

The woman gave Karkaroff a guarded smile, her own thoughts evidently similar to Albus’s.

“Shall we?” the hosting headmaster suggested.

Both Karkaroff and Maxime nodded, and Albus took his seat behind his desk to get the highly anticipated meeting underway.

“I believe we should begin by discussing the suggestions that both Barty and Ludo have put forward,” Albus suggested, removing a roll of parchment he had received from the Ministry representatives and creating a copy for his guests before handing each of them one.

They read through them thoroughly for several minutes before Maxime nodded, followed by Karkaroff shortly after.

“It makes sense,” the latter mused aloud. “Is the age limit really necessary?”

“For the first tournament at least,” Maxime answered. “It would not do for someone not recognised as an adult to be severely injured or even killed.”

Karkaroff nodded somewhat reluctantly.

“Then I have no disagreements with their suggestions.”

“Nor me,” Maxime added.

“Excellent,” Albus declared. “Now, all that needs to be decided is when the tournament will be held, and who will be hosting. I believe Beauxbatons had the honour last time.”

“We did,” Maxime conceded, “and it was Durmstrang before that, so it is only fair that Hogwarts hosts the next.”

Karkaroff scowled but offered no argument.

“It is fair,” he agreed unhappily. “Would it be too soon to hold it during the next school year?”

Albus frowned thoughtfully whilst he scratched his beard, pondering the logistics of doing so.

“I think we could manage it,” he mused aloud. “It would take some effort from all of us, but I do not see why it needs to wait any longer.”

“Then let us do it,” Karkaroff urged enthusiastically. “I see no reason to stand on ceremony.”

“Madame Maxime?” Albus questioned.

“I do not foresee any problems,” she replied, “and I do have some promising students that will be eligible.”

Albus nodded.

“I shall write to Barty with our proposal,” he informed them as he removed an exceptionally good bottle of wine from within his desk and conjured three goblets.

Having poured each of them a generous measure, he handed one to each of his guests before leaning back in his chair, surprised but pleased that the discussion had gone so smoothly.

“To the tournament,” he toasted.

Maxime and Karkaroff echoed the sentiment, sealing it by drinking deeply from their cups.

“I must say, I am looking forward to the proceedings,” the latter mused aloud. “If I were you, I would, however, prepare to be disappointed. My students will not be beaten.”

“Nor mine,” Maxime returned challengingly.

Albus chuckled.

“Is this not what the competition is about?” he asked. “A healthy rivalry between our respective schools in honour of reforging the friendship that once existed between us.”

Maxime and Karkaroff nodded their agreement.

“Why now?” the French woman asked curiously. “You have been the headmaster for decades and haven’t broached the subject until recently.”

“It seems to be as good a time as any,” Albus answered innocently. “I would like our schools to share in a common interest, nothing more.”

Neither Maxime or Karkaroff seemed to be convinced by his explanation, but they didn’t press the matter any further, and Albus decided to take advantage of the silence that fell between them.

“Ah, Igor, I wanted to enquire about Mr Potter. I was close to both of his parents and have been wondering how he is doing?”

Karkaroff frowned suspiciously before taking another sip of his wine and placing it on the desk.

Madame Maxime seemed to be curious too and leaned forward slightly in her own chair.

After a moment, Karkaroff nodded.

“When I first met the boy to show him around the school, I was concerned about his motivations for wanting to attend and had my reservations about allowing him to do so,” he began thoughtfully.

“Well, he was registered at Hogwarts by his parents,” Albus pointed out. “I was very surprised when I received his letter declining his place here.”

“I had thought he would come to Beauxbatons,” Maxime broke in with a sigh. “He seemed rather taken with the palace when he came for a tour with his aunt.”

Albus was not entirely surprised that Harry had visited the French school along the way.

Karkaroff snorted.

“If you were disappointed that he did not choose Beauxbatons from the short meeting you had with him, I expect you will be even more so now.”

“Is that so?” Maxime replied with a quirked brow.

Karkaroff nodded smugly.

“Like I said, I had both my concerns and reservations, but the boy has proven himself worthy,” he said proudly. “He is quite brilliant, and I do not believe he knows just how talented he is. I would go as far to say that if we were not implementing an age restriction for the tournament, the Goblet would likely have chosen him above the others.”

“Truly?” Albus asked.

“Truly,” Igor confirmed. “He is leagues above his peers in most subjects, and even many of the older students. His work ethic is second to none and he has a natural grasp of magic. By the end of this year or his fourth at the latest, he will be beyond our standard education.”

“That is remarkable,” Maxime commented, a hint of envy evident in her tone.

“It is, considering that the last student to grace our halls who proved to be so gifted was the one who found himself expelled.”

“Grindelwald?” Maxime questioned with a frown.

Karkaroff chuckled.

“Indeed. I trawled through the records myself and Mr Potter is on par with him, even beyond in some of his subjects.”

The revelation surprised Albus.

Gellert was perhaps the most talented wizard he had ever met.

“Well, despite what feelings the wizarding world has towards the man, there is no denying that he was an exceptional individual,” Maxime offered reservedly.

Albus and Igor nodded.

“Even though he can be a handful at times, Potter is doing well,” Karkaroff declared.

“A handful?” Albus pressed.

A smirk tugged at Igor’s lips.

“He does not take kindly to any attempting to assert themselves over him or his friends,” he explained. “There was an incident during his first year when an older pureblood student tried. It did not end well for him. As polite as Potter can be, there is a ruthlessness to him, and the other students respect him for it. Don’t look like that, Albus,” Igor sighed irritably as his expression fell. “He’s proven himself to be a strong leader. He even personally funds our crop of werewolf students so they have a monthly supply of wolfsbane.”

“He does? That must be quite expensive,” Maxime pointed out.

“It is,” Igor confirmed, “but he has done it since his first year. Do not let his ruthlessness distract you from the fact that he is a decent human being. His closest friends come from all walks of life from werewolves, vampires, and even a half-elf. I believe one of the boys he spends much of his time with was born to a hag.”

Albus hummed thoughtfully, experiencing a mixture of emotions, though he should have expected such a report.

Harry was being raised by Cassiopeia and unknowingly guided by Gellert.

The headmaster knew that he should be relieved that Harry was demonstrating such compassion towards the werewolves.

Both Lily and James would be exceptionally proud of him.

“Thank you,” he offered sincerely to Karkaroff who merely nodded in response having not allowed the opportunity to boast about one of his students to pass.

“Maybe we should lower the age limit,” Maxime chuckled. “I would be interested to see how truly you have spoken.”

Karkaroff shook his head.

“Even if we did, I have my doubts that Potter would be interested,” he explained. “The tournament is not his style. The only person he competes with is himself. From what I have seen of the boy, he would not relish the opportunity, and a thousand galleons does not seem to be much gold for him.”

“No, I don’t suppose it would be,” Maxime replied. “Would he not wish to participate for the chance of glory?”

Igor snorted as he shook his head.

“I had my preconceived notions about him, but I feel no shame in admitting I was wrong. A boy of such fame, I expected him to be arrogant, egotistical, and with an overinflated sense of self-importance. All of my thoughts were proven false. Potter is not a glory-hunter. He much prefers his own company for the most part, and he does not show off unnecessarily. No, I doubt there would be anything that would tempt him to submit his name, even if the age limit was lowered.”

Albus was pleased to hear it, and as he drained his cup of wine, he felt that his mind had been put at ease of most of the concerns he’d been harbouring about Harry.

One day, he would need all the talent he possesses, and Albus could relax more knowing that he finally had a measure of the boy from someone who had, albeit feeble, a reason to see the worst in Harry.

(Break)

He had waited until the early hours before venturing from the cave he currently called home. The presence of the Dementors in the village below keeping him there for days at a time until he was desperate enough to scavenge for food once more.

Tonight, however, was not about feeding, it was about righting the wrongs from over a decade ago.

Even in his Animagus form, the chill of the Dementors seeped into every fibre of his being, but Sirius’s determination would not allow him to falter under the effects of his former guards.

He needed to get to Wormtail to ensure that he brought no more harm to Harry than he already had.

Having been unable to obtain the password to the tower, the Fat Lady in the portrait had been easily spooked with the knife he had managed to steal from the kitchen of the pub.

It wasn’t Sirius’s preferred approach, but he had little other choice.

Still, with her gone, he’d been able to open the portrait hole and make his way to the third-year boys’ dormitory, the common room having been mercifully empty at this hour.

With his previous antics, he knew that his time was limited but at first glance, none of the slumbering boys within could be Harry.

It was confusing to say the least.

With James and Lily having been Gryffindors, Sirius had not even considered the possibility that Harry would be placed elsewhere.

He himself had bucked family tradition by not being sorted into Slytherin, so it was not beyond belief that Harry had done the same.

But what house was he in?

Sirius shook his head of those thoughts as he turned his attention to the bed containing the snoring redhead.

Wormtail had somehow ingratiated himself with the Weasleys, and the boy he found himself looking upon had become an unwitting caregiver to the rat.

“I know you’re here, Peter,” Sirius whispered, his grip tightening on the knife he held. “You know you cannot escape me.”

He took a step forward only to be met by the sound of silence, and a pair of terrified eyes bulging at him in the moonlight.

Before Sirius could gesture for him to remain silent, a bloodcurdling scream rent the air, and the other boys began to stir immediately.

Cursing under his breath, Sirius fled the way he had come, swiftly turning into the dog that had become his familiar form and bounding through the corridors of the castle before the rest of Gryffindor House became aware that he was present amongst them.

Much to his relief, he met no other, and disappeared into the passage below the one-eyed witch, sealing it behind him as he did so.

He had failed in his efforts tonight, but at the very least, he would be able to help himself to some of the goods in the Honeydukes basement.

Not that any confection would ever taste as sweet as making Peter suffer for what he had done, but for now, that would merely remain a fantasy until Sirius could come up with another plan.

(Break)

For the second time in the same night, Albus found himself playing host to a meeting in his office, though this one was not being held in the spirit of re-establishing forgotten friendships.

No, this gathering was to discuss the concerning security breach that had taken place at the hands of Sirius Black.

“I do not understand it,” Minerva murmured confusedly. “Even in the dark, no one could mistake Ronald Weasley for a Potter.”

Albus nodded his agreement.

“Black is out of his mind,” Severus declared. “He has no clue what Potter looks like.”

“Weasley said that Black was walking towards him, and that it wasn’t so dark in the room,” Filius pointed out.

Albus hummed.

“It was a foolish risk to take,” he mused aloud, “especially as he is certainly lacking communication, if he believes that Harry is even here.”

“So, what was he doing?” Pomona questioned.

That was indeed the pertinent question.

Sirius could be rather rash and reckless in his ways, but he was no fool.

He would not have taken such a risk if he wasn’t certain he would find what he was looking for.

“Perhaps there is more to this than we know,” he sighed.

“What, he sees Weasley as an enemy?” Severus snarked. “Black’s mind has been warped beyond reason by his years with the Dementors. He is undoubtedly convinced that Potter is here.”

“Then maybe we should ensure he learns that he is not,” Minerva suggested. “We cannot risk him entering the castle again.”

“We cannot,” Albus agreed. “I shall discuss the matter with Cassiopeia and see if she is amiable enough to allow the knowledge that Harry is studying at Durmstrang be made public. We could use the anniversary of James and Lily as a way to release the information in The Daily Prophet. I have no doubt that Sirius will be keeping abreast of the news.”

“That could work,” Remus agreed, “but shouldn’t we be more concerned that he is staying nearby and found a way to avoid being detected by the Dementors?”

Albus nodded.

“I will advise Cornelius that a search of the village and surrounding areas should be carried out,” he assured the gathered professors. “Have you found a replacement guardian for the tower?”

Minerva’s nostrils flared.

“Only one was brave enough to take on the task,” she replied unhappily. “Sir Cadogan will fill in for the time being.”

Albus’s moustache twitched in amusement at the mention of the rather rambunctious painting.

He would be problematic, but his bravery could not be questioned.

“A suitable replacement,” the headmaster declared, “and I will look to add further security to the tower. For now, it is safe to say that Sirius has not hung around. When Hagrid has finished his search of the forest, I will lift the lockdown measures, and we will cancel all lessons for tomorrow. If there is nothing else?”

The staff took the hint of dismissal and began to file out, though Albus gestured for Remus to remain behind.

The man was pale, and the full moon was still a fortnight away.

“Is there anything else you can tell me that I may be missing?” Albus asked the werewolf.

Remus hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.

“No,” he answered. “I will check what passages I know of one last time.”

Albus nodded gratefully, and Remus took his leave of the office.

He knew more than he was letting on.

Albus didn’t believe he was assisting Sirius in any way, but he was withholding vital information that would assist in his childhood friend being captured.

What that was, Albus knew not, but he was disappointed to say the least that Remus still showed some loyalty to Sirius who had shown none to his friends.

Albus released a deep sigh as he shook his head.

Was it truly so simple?

Sirius had always been so fiercely loyal to James and Lily, and there was nothing that Albus could think of that would have changed that.

So, what had happened?

The headmaster couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t only Remus’s unwillingness to share what he knew that was dirtying what he had for so long believed to be a clear pool of knowledge and events.

No, there was much more to it than he had first thought, and Albus was determined to get to the bottom of it, no matter the outcome.

(Break)

“Do you think this is a good idea?” Lucinda asked as the group made their way towards the duelling hall for the first time since they had arrived at Durmstrang. “You know there will be people who want to challenge you.”

Harry frowned questioningly at the girl who tutted.

“You’re Harry Potter,” she gushed mockingly. “Most of them will want to beat you just because of the Voldemort thing, and even more because of your reputation here. Don’t you realise how big of a thing to brag about it would be?”

“My reputation?” Harry asked.

The vampire shook her head and looked towards the others for support.

“You really don’t know what people think about you?” Cain huffed.

“I don’t pay attention to that stuff,” Harry replied with a shrug.

“Well, you probably should,” Summerbee chimed in, “especially since you’re walking into a place where you can be challenged. I might be tempted to do it myself,” she added with a grin.

Harry merely nodded and continued on his way, his fingers twitching towards his wand in anticipation.

He wanted to believe that his friends were exaggerating, but he could not dismiss their concerns so easily. Not when they paid much more attention to the talk and gossip of the school than he did.

If there were people who truly wished to duel him, then the consequences of that eagerness would be theirs to deal with.

They may believe that a victory over him would boost their status in some way, but Harry was not here to swell his own ego.

One day, and it could be much sooner than he wished, he would find himself faced with enemies that would wish him dead, and he had been preparing accordingly for that eventuality.

As such, he was not particularly concerned with other school children.

He had come a very long way in the couple of years he had been here, and so much further throughout his entire life than they would be ready for.

Duelling, as it turned out, was indeed a popular pastime at Durmstrang with at least a few hundred students packing the hall dedicated to the art, and almost every member of staff that worked here in attendance too.

None paid the group any mind as they entered and mingled with the crowd who were watching an ongoing contest between two of the older students.

A girl with tanned skin and dark hair pulled into a high braid was defending herself well from one of the boys of Barkus’s group whose approach seemed to consist of overwhelming his opponent with volume.

To Harry, it became immediately clear who would win this bout. And as expected, only a moment later, the girl retaliated, and the boy was sent tumbling from the platform.

“Winner, Zabini!” one of the professors declared. “Who is next to make a challenge?”

A seventh-year boy stepped onto the platform and took his position, his eyes scanning the crowd until they fell on to one of his peers.

“Porta,” he declared.

A tall, gangly boy emerged from the far end of the room, grinning from ear to ear as he took his place opposite his opponent and the duel began shortly after.

Porta was a crafty combatant, nimbly avoiding curses and not wasting energy by shielding, laughing as he danced between the curses sent his way.

“Your presence has been noted,” Lucinda warned Harry quietly, nodding towards the group where Barkus and his usual lackeys were standing.

“They’re not that stupid, are they?” Cain snorted.

Lucinda rolled her eyes.

“Of course they are,” she snorted.

Harry continued to watch then as they seemingly decided who would be the one to challenge him, and as Porta dispatched of his foe, one of them stepped up before the professor had even bid any to do so.

“Potter,” he said immediately.

Harry merely shrugged his robes off as he flicked his wand into his hand and stepped onto the platform.

Aliev was large for his age, with eyebrows thicker than Krum’s.

The Bulgarian was here too, and had not noticed Harry’s arrival, but offered him an encouraging nod as his Russian opponent sent forth his opening salvo.

To Harry, the older boys’ spell work was slow and sloppy, and he simply step through a gap in them to avoid the attack.

Aliev growled and fired another plethora of spells, some of which would leave Harry in a rather bad state if they were to land.

Flaring his nostrils angrily at the attempted slight, Harry offered his rebuttal, his wand work faster, more precise, and more fluid than his opponents’ who screamed in agony as he thudded to the ground, clutching a broken arm as the wound where his ear used to be bled freely.

It wouldn’t be a permanent injury but would leave the boy with a scar as a reminder of what Harry had done to him.

“Winner, Potter,” the professor announced, seemingly impressed by his performance.

Before Harry could step off of the platform, however, another of Barkus’s friends replaced Aliev who was being helped out of the room and likely to the medical bay.

“Not so fast, Potter!” Gruber called.

He was from Bremen, and from quite a prominent German family himself. Not as respected as Barkus’s, but still from a well-thought-of line.

Harry released a sigh as the boy drew his wand.

He was a sixth year, and rather gifted in Transfiguration, from the little Harry knew of him.

“Fine,” Harry agreed.

It wasn’t as though Aliev had been much of a challenge, after all.

As expected, Gruber did indeed employ Transfiguration as his preferred approach, but his efforts were feeble compared to what Harry had expected from a sixth year.

Eleanor was better than Gruber.

At least when she had conjured an animal to attack him after one of his pranks, the chihuahua she’d sent could walk correctly and in a straight line.

Gruber’s wolves were out of proportion, clumsy, and burnt to ash from the balls of fire Harry defended himself with.

Gruber looked to be surprised by the ease with which his creations were dispatched, but that did not deter him.

Instead of wolves, a flock of ravens, a simpler conjuration was implemented, but with only a wave of his wand, Harry turned them on their caster.

Gruber squealed as the birds began to peck at him, and whilst he was distracted with trying to fend them off, Harry sent his own beast at the boy.

A wolf, this one much bigger and more vicious than Gruber’s had been.

The large canine bounded across the duelling platform, its paws pounding against the wood rhythmically before it lunged and pinned the German to the ground.

Gruber could only whimper pathetically as the wolf bared its teeth, snarling and drooling only an inch from his face.

“Winner, Potter,” the professor declared once more.

If Harry thought his victory would be enough to prevent any other from challenging him, he was sorely mistaken, and he found himself facing another of Barkus’s cohorts, and then another.

He defeated each of those that stepped onto the platform, racking up win after win until Barkus had none left to fight for him.

“Are you next?” Harry asked him. “Or are you too cowardly?”

Barkus only glared in response, but did not rise to the bait, storming from the room when the other students began to goad him.

“I’ll have a go,” a voice declared.

Harry frowned questioningly as the Zabini girl he had seen duel earlier in the evening took her place on the opposite side of the platform and offered him a respectful bow.

He returned the gesture, and without preamble, the contest got underway.

It was odd that she too seemed to be moving slower than he had expected, so much so that he could see her wand movements clearly, and quickly deduce what she was casting at him.

For Harry, whenever Cassiopeia had been teaching him it had been similar, but he thought she was simply holding back so that he could learn how to avoid the spells sent his way.

Now, however, he was questioning why he felt so comfortable partaking in something so dangerous, why he was enjoying it so much, and why he was so seemingly good at it.

He had of course practiced diligently for years, but he had never actually duelled anyone else other than Cassiopeia, so how was he so good?

Or was it that those he faced were just terrible?

No, he had seen Zabini duel and her wand work was almost flawless, her movement graceful, and her choice of spells coming in many varieties.

It was something he would need to ponder, but for the time being, he had another duel to complete.

He watched closely as the older girl twirled around the platform on her toes as she unleashed flurry after flurry of spells his way, offerings he avoided with apparent ease.

Steadily, Zabini began to grow frustrated, and her form began to slip into something much less refined, and that was when Harry struck back.

He baited her with a bludgeoning curse that she sidestepped, only for her eyes to widen as she realised her error.

In her effort to avoid the first, she found herself in the path of a throttling curse that Cassie had took no small amount of pleasure in teaching Harry.

Zabini attempted to counter it several times before she fell to her knees, her wand clattering to the floor as her face purpled.

With her disarmed, Harry undid the spell and helped the spluttering girl to her feet.

Zabini took several breaths as she trembled from the shock but offered Harry a weak smile.

“Not bad, Potter,” she wheezed, patting him on the shoulder. “Now, help me,” she commanded, leaning her weight on his arm.

Harry did so, escorting her off the platform and to her waiting friends who were eying him curiously, many evidently surprised by the outcome of the duel.

“I’ll get you next time,” Zabini choked as Harry retreated.

He turned to face the girl who was now grinning challengingly at him, her eyes full of determination.

“Maybe,” he agreed with a shrug. “Maybe I’ll get you again.”

Zabini raised a delicate brow in his direction before she laughed.

“Well, then we both have something to look forward to.”

Harry shook his head amusedly as he returned to his own group of friends.

“What?” he asked as they stared at him wordlessly.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Cain asked. “I thought what you did to Barkus before was something, but this…”

He broke off as he looked towards the others.

“You must have had specialist training,” Bruno declared.

“And had his wand since before he could walk,” Lucinda snorted.

The others nodded their agreement and Harry chuckled to himself.

“I got my wand when I was eleven, just like the rest of you,” he assured them.

“Is this what you do when you disappear for hours at a time?” Ana asked.

“Sometimes,” Harry replied with a shrug. “I practice magic, but this was the first time I’ve duelled with anyone other than my aunt.”

“Really?” Cain questioned disbelievingly. “It looked like you’ve been doing it for years. Shit, I don’ think I’ve ever seen anything like it. You move so quickly. I couldn’t even see what you were casting because the spells came so fast.”

“It even looked quick to me,” Lucinda added. “I can move fast, but that was something else.”

She could too.

Despite the amount of physical training Harry did, Lucinda could catch him in a matter of seconds without fail.

“Maybe I’m just a natural at it,” Harry offered.

“You can say that again,” Cain snorted.

“Come on, we can discuss the marvel that is Harry Potter later,” Lucinda sighed as she led them from the duelling hall. “It’s getting late, and Summerbee here is unbearable if she hasn’t slept enough.”

“I am not,” the blonde protested.

“You’re worse than my mother, and she’s a hag,” Bruno quipped.

The others laughed, and Harry joined in, though his mind was focused on what had transpired whilst he was duelling.

To him, it was something else that he would need to look into for an explanation.

He may well merely be a natural duellist, but something told him there was more to it than simple talent.

His thoughts shifted to his parseltongue gift, and he could not help but wonder if his duelling ability was something else he had somehow inherited from Voldemort.

Maybe he would need to discuss it with Cassie, if he could not discover an answer for himself.

(Break)

The Fall of the Dark Lord: 12 years on

By Rita Skeeter

In the midst of the fear and anxiety of the escape of the notorious Sirius Black, we as a nation seem to have forgotten that another year has passed since You-Know-Who was defeated, so what has changed?

“Nothing has changed,” a Ministry source who wishes to remain anonymous believes. “There is still the same bigotry from the purebloods, and less opportunities and rights for us who were not born to one of those families. It’s just not so openly spoken of now, but it is still the same. The crimes of those that claimed to be under the Imperius Curse have all been forgiven, and they still remain on the Wizengamot. Where is the justice for the dead?”

Several others I spoke with who also wished for their identities to be omitted echoed the same sentiment, and no member of our governing body were willing to discuss the statement when I approached them with it.

One man, however, none other than the Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore, did consent to sharing a few words with me when I asked him about the fall of the Dark Lord.

“They were difficult days, and ones that I’m sure all are relieved to see the back of. Now is not the time to reopen old wounds, but to allow them to heal.”

When asked about the status of Sirius Black, Dumbledore had this to say.

“The Ministry of Magic is doing all that it can to ensure Black is recaptured as quickly as possible. It is only a matter of time before that happens.”

 (“Does the Ministry believe that he is targeting Harry Potter?”)

“I would not hazard a guess at Black’s motivation for escape but finding Mr Potter would be quite the task in itself. The boy has not been seen in public since before Halloween of 1981.”

Potter’s absence from the public eye caused quite the stir when he did not arrive to attend Hogwarts when he was expected to a little over two years ago, leading me to conclude with a final question for our revered Headmaster.

“Is Harry Potter alive and well?”

“I can assure you that he is healthy and thriving, but that is all I will say on the matter.”

Sirius allowed the newspaper to fall from his grip as he read the final words from Dumbledore, breathing a sigh of relief, but finding himself equally confused.

If Harry was not at Hogwarts, where was he?

That was something he could not answer, but what he did know now was that getting to Peter was no longer so urgent.

Wherever Harry was, he was not in danger from the rat, and that gave Sirius time to prepare properly before he made another attempt.

Still, knowing that Harry was safe made him feel considerably more relaxed, and relieved him of the burden of his biggest concern.

For the first time since he had escaped Azkaban, Sirius had the time to think with clarity, but as things were, he was too tired and his mind still too muddled to do so.

Yawning, he added a few more logs to the fire to keep him warm whilst he slept, something that came easier to him this night than any other in the past twelve years.

Peter may still be at large, but Harry was safe, and that was all that Sirius was focused on.