Harry Potter stood alone by the cliff overlooking the Shrieking shack, his eyes trained on the infamous hovel in the distance. Distant chatter and laughter streaked in from the village as he basked in the solitude, finally away from all the crowd. The edge of the Forbidden Forest was to his right, its foliage dark and ominous even during daytime.
He closed his eyes, letting out a contented sigh as he enjoyed the momentary peace. He could hear the sound of crunching leaves growing louder within that dark foliage and his lips curled into a subtle smirk. They weren't nearly as stealthy as they thought they were.
Harry was astounded that the idiots didn't even think of masking their presence with a silencing charm or something, but perhaps that was expecting too much from a group that followed a literal troll. A part of him had hoped that they would not act on this foolish plan of theirs after what had happened to Malfoy and everyone else who had worn those badges, not for their sake, but purely because he did not want to bother with them. Alas, it seemed he was asking a bit much from those idiots.
"You know," Harry said without turning around, his voice carrying clearly in the crisp air, "for a bunch of snakes, you lot make about as much noise as a herd of hippogriffs."
There was a moment of silence before the usual suspect broke it.
"Think you're clever, do you, Potter?" Marcus Flint's gravelly voice spat out. Harry turned lazily to face them, counting five Slytherins spread out in a loose semicircle – Marcus Flint, Adrian Pucey, Terrence Higgs, Graham Montague, and Thomas Avery Jr. Their wands were not even out, and Harry had no doubt that they believed they had the upper hand in this encounter purely because of the numbers advantage. Well, he would be happy to clear up this little misunderstanding very soon.
"Clever enough to notice you following me since The Three Broomsticks," Harry replied casually, his hand resting loosely on his wand. "Though I suppose subtlety isn't exactly your strong suit, is it, Flint? Must be why you needed three tries to pass your OWLs. Must have taken all morning to plan this little ambush – what's that, about thirty minutes per brain cell?"
Flint's face contorted with rage at the insults. "You won't be so mouthy when we're done with you, Potter. Can't very well compete in the tournament if you're in the hospital wing, can you?"
To their surprise, Harry let out an actual laugh as he eyed them, looking utterly relaxed. "Five against one? And here I thought Slytherins were supposed to be ambitious, not desperate." His eyes swept over the group. "Though I suppose when you've got the combined magical talent of a flobberworm, you need the numbers."
Although he was entirely dismissive of them, he stood ready nonetheless, waiting for whoever would bite first. He expected it would be Flint the Troll himself, but Higgs was the one to lose his temper before anyone else.
"Ossio Dispersimus!" he shouted, the bone-shattering curse flying toward Harry.
Without a word, Harry's wand moved in a fluid motion, and the curse splashed harmlessly against an invisible shield. Before Higgs of his pals could react, he sent the boy's wand flying into the air, to his sheer shock. The wand floated mid-air for a second and with another quick flick of his wand, Harry summoned it to himself, holding it idly in his free hand.
"Really, Higgs? A bone-shatterer?" Harry tsked, shaking his head. He eyed the wand in his free hand and gazed meaningfully at Higgs whose eyes widened when he saw what Harry was doing. "I wonder what would happen if I do… this."
"Potter!" Higgs cried out in alarm, fearing Harry would really snap his wand, and Harry paused, eyeing the boy with a look of faux sympathy on his face.
"Ah man, you look like you'll cry," he mocked, and with a sigh, he threw the wand back at the boy. "There, take it back."
Higgs eagerly reached out to catch his wand, only to be shocked once again when his wand was transfigured mid-air. Blinking, he stared at what looked like a yellow duck made of rubber wearing a tiny dunce cap and holding a sign that read "I belong to a little crybaby bitch."
Montague and Pucey growled in rage and attacked together almost instantly.
"Reducto!" "Confringo!"
Harry's movements were fluid and precise, and one would be hard-pressed to guess that he was at least two years younger than those attacking him. He sidestepped Montague's reductor with effortless grace, deflected Pucey's Blasting Curse with a potent shield that absorbed most of the Oomph! from the spell, leaving only a bright flash behind, and in quick succession, cast two skilled transfiguration spells silently.
Montague's poncy robes immediately transformed into a frilly pink ballet tutu. At the same time, Pucey found himself upside down on the ground, his robes falling over his face to reveal pink underwear emblazoned with dancing cupids blowing heart balloons in the air.
"You see," Harry lectured as he casually deflected the first curse Flint cast, "this is why they say wisdom comes with age. Though in your cases, I suppose we're still waiting for that particular theory to prove itself."
Avery Jr., who had been trying to look inconspicuous amid the frenzy, took a quick aim and cast a particularly nasty cutting curse. "Sectum!"
Harry, who had been staring at Flint, did not even need to turn around. His backward flick of the wand deflected the curse and he swatted it back to its caster after he transformed it into a shower of glitter that coated Avery from head to toe. "Attacking from behind, Avery? How predictable of you. Though I suppose when you're seeing your pals getting schooled by someone two years younger, you do get disheartened and have to take whatever advantages you can get."
His words struck a chord with the older students, it seemed, as Flint and Avery helped the others up, and together, they rejoined the fight, coordinating their efforts. Their spells grew darker, the fact that they were being humiliated by him not sitting well with them in the slightest.
"Defodio!" Flint bellowed.
"Lacero!" Higgs had managed to get the transfiguration reversed and had retrieved his actual wand.
"Corporis Contusio!" Montague cried out.
"Ossium Fragor!" Pucey shouted.
Harry merely let out a disappointed sigh. They truly did not learn.
With a half-hearted effort that he knew must piss them off even more, he swatted Flint's gouging curse back at him, not even bothering to tamper with it in any manner. He did the same with Higgs' cutting curse, returning it with even more force. He swerved out of Montague's concussion hex and sent Pucey's strong bone breaker back at both him and Montague.
The curses struck true, sending the four wizards crashing to the floor as they cried out in sheer agony. The concussed Higgs, looking delirious, remained groaning while the other three wizards hissed or cried in pain.
Harry gazed upon his handiwork. Three of Flint's fingers were missing, the wound having been cauterized by the gouging curse already. Both Pucey and Montague's shoulders were fractured and they gingerly held their hand over the dislocated joints.
"Is this really the best you lot have to offer? No wonder you flunked so bad, Flint. And these lot? Pathetic," Harry taunted as he stood over them, gazing down with a look on his face that conveyed exactly what he thought of them. Fucking vermin.
"I suppose this is what happens when you spend more time terrorizing young kids in corridors than any on practicing any actual magic," he jeered. "What did you plan to do here, anyway? Ambush me and beat me up, maybe? Why? So I wouldn't be able to compete tomorrow? Oh you amateurs… You've no idea how screwed you four are. It's a shame that blonde ponce is not with you. I would've loved to bring him down a few more pegs after that little shitty stunt of his."
He walked from left to right, keeping his eyes on the quartet, three of whom kept groaning pathetically in pain as they glared up at him. They did not say anything though, and Harry was not one to complain. He had no interest in hearing their voices.
"You know what's truly pathetic?" Harry asked in a conversational tone, ignoring the groaning band of buffoons on the ground. He cast an itching curse on them as well, smirking when they began to writhe and hiss in even more pain as the movement added to their plight. "It's not that you thought five-on-one was fair odds. Silly you. It's not even that you lowlives had to resort to spells that must've taken you years to master. It's not that you decided to ambush me like this so I couldn't compete tomorrow. It's that after five years at Hogwarts, you still haven't learned that quantity doesn't make up for quality."
To demonstrate his point, Harry decided to humiliate them even more. He launched into a series of flicks and swishes of his wand, casting numerous spells silently that left his ambushers in increasingly humiliating states.
Their robes transformed entirely, making them look like donkeys, and they even sported similar tails.
"There you go. Now you all look like your true selves," Harry nodded, admiring his handiwork.
Flint's face purpled with rage and overcome with sheer frustration, hatred, and rage, he screamed, "Cruc─"
Harry's eyes hardened for the first time and he immediately flicked his wand. Flint's screams of agony pierced the stillness as his wand arm shattered entirely, and his wand with it, as Harry's powerful bone-shattering curse struck dead on target. However, that was not enough. Harry glared and methodically decided to dismantle Flint. One bone breaker fractured his ribs, and another couple took care of his knees, eliciting loud, painful cries from the weeping cretin.
"And that," Harry said coldly, "is why you will never amount to anything, Flint. Resorting to an Unforgivable? I should kill you right here for your audacity."
Flint kept moaning and crying in agony while Harry watched him with a disgusted sneer.
"I should've let you cast it. Azkaban would've been a far more suitable place for a pathetic thug like you," he spat. Eyeing the rest of the lot, Harry felt no sympathy. They had decided to ambush and target him, and it meant they deserved no consideration from him.
"Consider this a final warning, you all, and especially you, Flint," Harry growled as he stood over them. "You even try to come after me again, and you'll find I wasn't bluffing earlier. Keep that audacity of yours in check. I know you lot don't learn your lessons easily, but you'll find there would be no second pass if you decide to curse yourselves in the feet again."
With a final disgusted look toward the conscious quartet, Harry walked away, a simple flick of his wand fixing his clothes wherever necessary. He shook his head, pushing the encounter out of his mind. However, try as he might, he found it immensely challenging to bury the flare of rage erupting within him at the mere thought of Flint and what he'd almost done.
There was no way he would be letting that asshole remain unscathed after he'd attempted to cast an Unforgivable Curse on him. The other four were pathetic thugs but Marcus Flint was a real criminal, if only because of his daring mere minutes ago. He deserved to be treated as such.
Harry knew he should've let Flint do it. He could've dodged the curse easily, but it was an almost reflexive action on his part to stop that curse before it could be cast. He shook his head. There was no need to dwell on it any longer. All he needed was to figure out what to do to take care of Flint, and the sooner he did, the better it was. However, it needed to happen in such a manner that did not implicate him in the slightest, which meant it required some careful planning.
Something to think about.
-Break-
Fleur Delacour remained rooted to the spot as she watched the retreating figure of Harry Potter beyond the treeline where he disappeared. Her Disillusionment charm remained perfectly intact and her thoughts raced as she turned to the spot where five students lay in a mess of broken and bleeding bodies. She could easily hear the pained whimpers and groans of those students – particularly the pained gasps of the boy who looked like a troll as he cradled his shattered arm with the other, his face ashen.
She truly believed that face was one of fear and not pain after what she had seen Potter do to him.
Casting a Cruciatus, or even attempting to… Fleur shuddered in spot as she recalled the look in Potter's eyes. The methodical way he had broken that boy's bones after the attempted Cruciatus – it was precise and controlled, almost deliberately methodical in its execution, and the sight replayed in her mind. There had been no hesitation, no grand gestures, no shouted spells throughout that encounter. Only a silent, efficient spellwork that spoke volumes of power far beyond what she had expected of a wizard two years younger than her.
"Ridiculous," she whispered to herself in French, her voice barely audible as she shifted and turned around, making her way back to Hogsmeade. Yet, even as the word left her lips, she knew she did not believe it anymore. Her initial assessment of Harry Potter could not have been further from the truth, and it was all being slowly proven to her. The opinions she had formed in the beginning had been crumbling fast, much like that boy's bones had under Potter's wand.
She remembered scoffing dismissively when Madame Maxime had told her about the Chamber of Secrets incident. A student facing down a Basilisk? The mere thought was absurd. She had declined it in typical British exaggeration. After all, what kind of school housed a Basilisk, of all things? And what sort of schoolboy could possibly…
Only to have all her notions shattered when the news came out of Potter commissioning a combat suit made of Basilisk hide.
Her opinion of him had started to change then, and everything that had unfolded since then, either during the Wand Weighing ceremony when he had so unceremoniously tried to… feel her up… Fleur thought with a flush… and now this encounter… what she had just witnessed was not the work of an amateur or a young wizard.
Harry Potter had moved with the grace of someone who had been in fights and emerged on top every single time. The way he had fought, each spell effortless and seamless in transitions, without breaking even a hint of sweat – it reminded her of her father's old dueling memories, of her great-grandfather's efforts during the Grindelwald War that her father had shared with her.
Potter had been unabashed, and not only had he defended himself admirably, but he had controlled every aspect of the encounter, deliberately choosing to humiliate them until they began casting lethal spells. Even then, his retaliation had been precise. Brutal, yes, but with clear limits and purpose.
She recalled what her father had told her once about great men. Their biggest virtue was that they knew how to temper their strength and exercise restraint.
A twig snapped under her foot, and Fleur realized she was almost in the village now. She could still hear the echo of Potter's voice in her mind, so casual and relaxed right until that final moment when the temperature seemed to drop at his cold warning to that boy who had cast the Cruciatus Curse on him. The contrast was… unsettling, but it also filled her with intrigue.
"Non," she muttered, forcing herself to continue walking, ignoring the glances cast her way. Most of them were filled with derision, undoubtedly the result of that wretched article, and Fleur gritted her teeth in annoyance.
She forced herself to think of something else to take her mind off that article, and her thoughts automatically returned to Potter.
She did not know why she had followed him at a distance under the disillusionment charm to the outskirts of the village, or why she had stood there, merely watching him as he gazed at that dilapidated shack in the distance. It had been almost reflexive on her part, and it was only when she spotted those five students creeping from the treeline that she realized what they intended to do. She had almost given herself away, only for Potter to act on his own and take care of the mess.
Fleur's thoughts focused on how Potter had conducted himself in that encounter once again, but this time, the analytical part of her was at work. She concentrated on the magical abilities he had displayed, and effortless instinctive casting was at the forefront of it.
Silent casting was an advanced magical ability that almost all witches and wizards developed by the time they graduated from their respective wizarding schools, but instinctive casting was a different beast altogether. It required supreme control over one's magical abilities and a superior understanding of the spell to employ it with such apparent ease Potter had demonstrated. It was almost like acting on instinct, as the name suggested, coming as naturally as breathing.
Even she, for all her achievements and superior abilities, could not do it, and it gnawed at her that here was a wizard two years younger than her who could do it with such ease. She did not like the feeling one bit.
A cold breeze blew past her and Fleur shivered, forced to apply a warming charm on herself. She pulled her scarf tighter, only for the knot to give away.
"Merde," She groaned quietly as it flew off her neck, and quickly pulled her wand out to summon it back when, to her visible confusion, it was banished back toward her. She reached out and caught it, her eyes darting around to see who had cast that spell when she saw the same man who had been occupying her thoughts lately.
He was standing under a tree near the Black Lake, one hand in his pocket while the other held his wand idly, and as their gazes locked, Fleur found herself unable to avert her eyes. He looked so unassuming and at ease that it sent a jolt of irrational irritation through her as if she could not believe how he could make it all look so effortless. How dare he force her to question everything she had assumed about him!?
Yet, beneath the irritation lay something else, something she wasn't quite ready to acknowledge. That perhaps Harry Potter had indeed done everything they said he had done. That her disdain for him had been nothing but excuses she had made for her own shortcomings in the face of his achievements at such a young age.
Her mind was filled with turmoil as she found herself walking toward him. Hogwarts was in the distance on the other side of the lake, and he was in the way. There was nothing out of the ordinary she was doing, she told herself, and briskly made her way over, her head held high.
Harry gazed at the approaching veela with a raised eyebrow and turned to stare at the calm water of the Black Lake as she reached him. She stopped a few paces away from him and joined him in staring out at the lake. For a while, nobody spoke, the silence broken only by the gentle lapping of water against the shore and the rustling of leaves above them.
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone what you saw," Harry said suddenly.
"Pardon?" Fleur blinked and straightened slightly when he turned his gaze on her.
"I know you were there," he said, staring meaningfully at her. "The whole time. I know you saw what happened between me and those idiots."
Fleur felt her breath catch, her mind swirling. She had made no sound, given no indication that she had been here. Her disillusionment charm was also top-notch, and she didn't think he could notice the subtle shift in the air from that distance. Could he?
"Comment?How did you─"
Harry merely gazed at her with a raised eyebrow, his lips quirked slightly. "You really need me to answer that? Your allure is quite noticeable, I'll have you know. I caught the feel of it when I was leaving."
Fleur pursed her lips as she gazed at him. There were several questions popping up in her head, most of which she dismissed quickly, but one remained. Taking a deep breath, she said with slight agitation in her voice, "The Cruciatus… That boy attempted the Cruciatus Curse on you, and yet you─"
"Focus on tomorrow's task," Harry cut in, his tone clipped, and Fleur felt the temperature around them drop. His eyes were cold as he gazed at her, and it was slightly unnerving to see not only the sheer lack of desire that she was used to seeing in a man's eyes but a coldness that could've frozen the entire lake to her right. Harry continued in the same tone, oblivious to her thoughts, "The first task should be your priority now, not something trivial like this."
Fleur bristled at his blatant dismissal. "I am perfectly capable of managing my own priorities,merci beaucoup."
"Could've fooled me," Harry muttered, gazing back at the tranquil lake.
"Excusez-moi?" Fleur's eyes narrowed, her fists clenched at her sides. In her agitation, her accent and vocabulary had both started to mix. "What exactly is zat supposed to mean?"
"It means you're here, questioning me about a schoolyard scuffle, when you should be preparing for facing a dragon tomorrow."
Fleur was so overcome with disbelief that the little tidbit about a dragon didn't even register with her.
"A schoolyard—" Fleur let out an incredulous laugh. "Is zat what you call it when students attempt to use Unforgivables? I know you English are brutes, but even you people do not allow zat."
"And there is no need for you to make it your concern," Harry replied curtly. "Your focus should be on something far more dangerous than a few wannabe Death Eaters. And to be honest, you have enough on your plate already."
His words immediately brought unbidden thoughts of that accursed article to the forefront of her mind. Her jaw clenched involuntarily. Is Fleur Delacour's Veela Charm the Real Reason Behind Her Success? The headline had screamed. As if she had chosen her heritage... as if being a veela made her some kind of─
"Your thoughts are so loud you might as well have cast a Sonorous to broadcast them to the entire country," Harry rolled his eyes. Fleur gazed at him with narrowed eyes. Sighing, he said in a quieter voice, "The people are prejudiced, and Skeeter had an agenda against you. You got her thrown out of the castle grounds, after all. She was bound to come after you. Racists like her always go for the jugular, and when you have thousands of sheep eager to devour whatever shitty fodder they get fed, you can't expect too much. Trust me, I know something about that."
"Do you?" The words came out sharper than she'd intended.
"Cheat, gloryhunter, attention seeker, Dumbledore's lapdog, Dark Lord in training… I can go on," Harry listed off with a bitter smile. "People here have had quite a few choice monikers for me over the years. Did you know that in second year, almost the entire school thought I was Slytherin's heir because I could speak to snakes? An ability I never asked for, by the way."
Fleur's expression softened slightly as she gazed at his shadowed face. "Zat is not the same─"
"No, it's not," Harry agreed. "Because at least I can hide what I am. All I need is to not hiss. But you can't. And you shouldn't have to." He ran a hand through his dark hair that swayed as the cold wind blew. "Your heritage is part of who you are, Delacour. It's not something to be ashamed of. The people who matter won't care, and the people who care don't matter."
Fleur kept her face carefully neutral, even as his words stirred something warm in her chest. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, fighting the urge to show how much his statement had affected her. "Oui, well, zat is easy to say."
Harry's lips quirked in a humorless smile. "Nothing worth having is easy." He glanced at the setting sun. "I should go. And you should rest for tomorrow." He took a few steps away before pausing. "Oh, and Delacour?"
"Oui?"
"The dragons? Try not to become a roasted chicken tomorrow. I'm sure your thousands of admirers would be beside themselves if something happened to you."
Before Fleur could formulate a response, he was walking away, leaving her staring at him with a mixture of irritation and something unfamiliar stirring in her chest. She had come here thinking she could understand more of the puzzle that was Harry Potter. Instead, she had been left with even more questions than before.
The sound of his footsteps as the dry autumn leaves crunched under his boots slowly faded as his retreating figure grew smaller and smaller, and Fleur found herself alone by the shore of the Black Lake with the realization that perhaps she had truly been entirely wrong about the young man everyone called the Boy Who Lived. He was neither the leetle boy she had initially dismissed him as, nor the powerful wizard who had so impressed her earlier in the day.
He was a complex individual, and that made him far more interesting than she had initially assumed.
-Break-
Harry stood before the tall mirror he had conjured in the room, his shirt discarded on his desk. The pale moonlight streaming through the open window cast an ethereal glow on his skin, making the collection of runes etched all across his torso shimmer, not unlike the famous lightning bolt scar on his forehead.
His fingers traced the three runes right above his abdomen – the runes that had fixed the errors he had made the first time – before his eyes swept over the other six runes spread across his torso and chest. Each one had its role to play, but standing there, having prepared for the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament, Harry focused on the actionable runes that would be of aid to him the next day.
The Rune of Growth was on his left shoulder and he watched as it pulsed slightly under his touch. Enhanced stamina and strength, he thought, studying its intricate lines. That could make the difference between life and death if I need to run or dodge quickly. His hand moved to the Rune of Recovery near his collarbone, which seemed to warm beneath his fingers. Quick healing and enhanced resistance – essential if he were to face something dangerous, which, considering he was supposed to face a dragon, was already certain.
The Rune of Stability on his right side caught his attention next. While not directly combat-oriented, its promise of perfect coordination between all the other runes could prove invaluable. No use in having enhanced strength if his body couldn't handle it in the crucial moment.
As his eyes traced the Rune of Resistance above his abdomen, he considered how its gift of emotional control might help him keep his head clear in the face of the challenge that awaited him. No freezing up, no panic-driven mistakes. Just clear, calculated decisions, as had become evident since he had done the ritual. Its purpose had been purely to temper his uncontrollable sexual urges, but it had even more poignant benefits, as he had discovered so far.
The soft creak of the door opening shattered his silent contemplation and Harry's eyes shifted to the figure that stepped into the room.
Daphne froze in the doorway, her blue eyes widening as she took in the sight before her. Her lips parted slightly in surprise, and Harry felt a sudden tremor course through him under her gaze.
Her eyes traveled across his torso with deliberate slowness, lingering on each rune etched into his flesh. Her gaze traced the path of the runes down to his abdomen, and with a start, Harry realized that this was the first time someone apart from him was seeing all the runes carved into his skin.
Neither spoke. Neither moved. The air between them grew thick with unspoken questions and something neither could exactly pinpoint. Their eyes met in the mirror, emeralds locked with sapphires, and Harry felt his pulse quicken.
Daphne was no better. Her breath caught audibly in her throat, her hand still frozen on the doorknob. Harry could see a wide range of emotions in those sapphire orbs but he failed to decipher their true depths. Now that she had seen everything, he knew he would have to reveal everything to her, and that was all he was certain of.
"I guess some explanations are in order," Harry began. "Why don't you come in and close that door?"
Daphne's movements were strained as she slowly obliged, stepping fully inside and shutting the door behind her. Harry applied the necessary charms on the door and leaned against the wall as Daphne slowly walked toward him. She came to a stop right in front of him, her eyes once again tracing all his runes.
Harry shivered when he felt her trace the Rune of Growth on his left shoulder, her touch delicate yet setting his skin on fire. He reflexively reached out, taking her hand in his, and felt the rune prickle, glowing softly.
Daphne's eyes were fixated on the glowing rune in wonder before her gaze locked with his.
Harry felt the overload of the same sensations from long ago as time slowed down for them. However, unlike from that time before, there was one major difference here.
He did not see the look of utter shock in those blue eyes. Instead, he found the same look reflected in those blue eyes that he knew his emerald eyes held.
His grasp on her hand tightened slightly as their fingers intertwined, and as he saw her tilt her head up, he knew exactly what they both wanted.
Questions could wait. Answers could wait. Rational thinking could fuck off for all he cared. All he saw in front of him was the sexiest woman to ever exist.
Harry couldn't have said who moved first – perhaps they both did. They remained frozen in place, hot breaths mixing, until that last sliver of space between them vanished. Their lips met with the force of a storm breaking, weeks of tension exploding into a kiss that was all heat and hunger and desperation.
They barely registered what was happening, allowing their instincts to take control of their actions, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.