Marseille is a lot of things.
It is warm and lively, chaotic and vibrant, diverse and historic. The cosmopolitan is situated between the Mediterranean and the Etolie mountain ranges, there's beauty on every side.
If you stretch your eyes out far into the sea, it is endless blue for miles. Waves of striking beauty and intensity only interrupted by the Frioul archipelago.
Four islands, the king of which, Château d'If, is a fortress, an almost impenetrable prison made famous by Dumas and his Count of Monte Cristo.
Aunt Petunia had took me and Dudley by the hand when we were younger one day, staring intently and speaking softly. "You shouldn't tell lies Diddykin," He had broken a plate and blamed it on me. "If you tell one lie, it leads to another and another and another until you're trapped in a prison of your own making. You understand don't you?" She wrapped her arms around the both of us, holding me as tight as she held her own son. Feeling the mockery of love that I forced her to feel. "That goes for you as well Harry."
It was a good message to be sure, a good lesson to try and reign in disobedient children. Spoken with all the care and love a mother should have. Perhaps it would have came off better from anybody else…
But I knew this woman.
I knew how vile she could be. I knew her every thought and desire. I knew her heart and so her words were meaningless to me.
Even so, as my eyes take purchase on the fortress, erected so far away, I suppose this was an apt place to free myself from this particular lie.
"This is going to take some getting used to." Her arms, lithe and delicate, are wrapped around me a tad possessively. I smell that familiar scent of burnt holly and feel her magic, bright and hot, a reflection of her Veela nature settle against my back. "You are shorter now." She says teasingly.
"Only for today." I turn my eyes up from the sea, the sun is setting, bleeding red and orange and soft pink through broken ivory clouds. "I'll drink the potion next time, though I think I'll do without the glamours."
I turn and move her to my front until she's up against the railing, the Mediterranean a perfect backdrop against her. She peers at me, taking in my features. There's a similarity to what she's used to, but there's more detail now, there's no glamour, no aging potion, just Harry Potter.
"You're taking this better than expected." I had thought there'd be more anger, or betrayal or disgust, all of which would have been justified.
"Did you forget Mon cherí?" She smiles coyly at me. Without the potion, I'm at eyeline with her lips. She would have been a whole head taller than me last year. She licks them. "I can feel your magic. Whilst I'm not as good as Gabby, I could still tell you were using some sort of glamour."
"And you didn't mind?"
"Non. I just thought you were ugly and being self conscious about it." I have to stop myself from laughing. She grins, running a hand through my hair and pulling my head towards hers. "It would have been fine if you were. I am pretty enough for the both of us. So no, I don't mind." She presses her body flush against mine, teasing.
"Ok but seriously, I'd understand if you—"
"I am part-Veela remember." She tilts her head, her eyes still roaming my face, not giving my words any attention. Soft blue settles on emerald, taking in the glow, cataloguing the subtle difference between before and now. "I am in love with you, with your magic, not your age. You are still the same person. You have not changed, that I can tell." She trails kisses along my cheek. "I would have liked to know your age before… but what's done is done. I do not have a time turner, I cannot change the past but I wouldn't want to. Just… Just don't lie to me again. I am happy here, in these stolen moments. I am happy with you, Arry Potter." She drags the name out with emphasis, tasting it with a satisfied smile and then presses her lips on mine. I reciprocate eagerly and she makes that pleased little sound at the back of her throat.
"Arry Potter," she begins, pulling back slightly breathless, "I like it. Much better than Pierre."
"You're never gonna let that go are you?" Her eyes glimmer in amusement. That's fine, two can play that game. "Mon Lys—"
"Stop!" She flushes a furious cherry red, pulling away and smacking my arm before I can continue. There's a flicker in her eyes, comprehension and then horror. My grin is wide. "Your mother… she's called—that's why you were laughing! And you let me name it…"
"I thought it was a cute coincidence." She grumbles, turning away. I pull her close, but still she avoids my kisses. I can't help but laugh. When she glares at me I bring myself under control with Herculean effort.
"I'll make it up to you—"
"Hmm."
"—I'll buy some cake?" She turns back to me, raising an eyebrow imperially.
"Chocolate." I nod. "How many slices?"
"Thre—" The eyebrow hikes higher and her lips turn into a frown "—Four." I get a brilliant grin and a soft kiss in return. We stay like that for a moment, watching the pier and the boats in the setting sun.
"Well?" Her voice, soft and tinged with the beginning of laughter, cuts through.
"Hmm?" She laughs.
"My cake you silly man." I snort.
"Hungry are we?" I take her hand in mine, turning away from the pier.
"Mhm. There's a place not far from here, they do desert and they probably have Bouillabaisse!" At my blank look she goes incredulous. "Surely you've had it before? I would have taken you to get some."
"I don't even know what that could possibly be."
"Oh don't worry, you'll love it." She spins to face me, walking backwards now in front of me with a smile. "How about this? I'll pay for it, incase you don't like it. You are English after all—"
"Hey!" She grins. "I sense a but coming…"
"Buuutttt." She sings. "I get six slices." I don't even bother holding the laughter.
"You know what? Fine." I say with a smile, she takes my hand, leading me away. "It's a wonder you don't get fat.
"I am Fleur Delacour."
"It's only funny when I do it."
"Is it? Is it really?" She asks wryly. We share a grin, heading deeper into the city.
He's staring at me as if I'm speaking gibberish. Grey eyes blinking blearily from underneath long wavy black hair. Not a single thought behind those eyes.
I sigh.
"Ok, say it again," He begins, "But in English this time mate. Use normal words." I shake my head.
"Me capture dawnbreak in this potion. I call it Morning Star." I emphasise each word, gesturing to myself and the vial that contains a shining golden liquid held in my right hand, speaking to him as if he were a particularly dumb chimp. He sends a pillow blurring at me with a flick of his wand. A wave of my hand sends it veering of to the side of the drawing room.
"I got that part mate, I'm not that slow." Sirius says. He turns his eyes over the vial, curiosity and wonder swirling in his irises. "What I don't get is how? And why I suppose?"
"Why? Why does anyone do anything?Because I can! How? Well, I'm Harry Potter and—"
"Okay, and I'm Sirius." I blink at him. "Okay, no Siriusly, go on." He says, with a bark of laughter.
"…Anyway, I can see how the ingredients in potions react quite clearly and so I wanted to experiment, to see what I could create…" I bring the vial up to eye level, shaking it softly. I glows brighter, glimmering and shining. "I remember Remus and how he looked. The effect Lycanthropy had on him. I decided to try and cure it, or atleast make it more bearable." Sirius doesn't interrupt, letting me speak, though I do notice his eyes soften.
"I wanted to study the effects of moonlight… but that's just reflected sunlight. So I tried to capture sunlight, observing and experimenting until I got it right. Just to know if it was possible, next I need to do the same with moonlight. Study the discrepancies, why does sunlight not force the change? What is the difference between moonlight and sunlight? What is the difference between moonlight on the full moon versus not on the full moon?"
"And so you made that?" He says, getting up for a better look. He inspects it for a while before straightening and looking up. "What does it do? I was decent at potions, following instructions and all that, but I'll admit Lily and snivillius were always better."
"Take a sip." I hand it over. He looks between the potion and I, hesitating reasonably. "Drink it, you'll be fine." I assure him.
"If anything happens to this face…" He warns dramatically. I snort.
"Don't worry, I'm sure even if you were disfigured, you could bed all the muggles you like." Perhaps not as many as he had recently. Ten years in Azkaban had placed him behind in the tally of women he had wanted to achieve. I had to obliviate two girls this morning who woke up before him to find Kreacher cleaning. I see the annoyance in his eyes. Still not over it apparently. I cut in before he can bring it up.
"Just drink the damn potion." He grumbles, something about ungrateful Godsons ruining his fun. He takes a sip though, eventually. Instantly his eyes light up.
"I-you… I feel—"
"Energised?" He nods. He looks it too, the last of grogginess of the morning being washed away.
"It feels almost similar to a Pepper up potion, not as much energy but I feel awake." He summises.
"It's to do with the symbolism of the sun, and good rising. I started with water and I had to stir it with a pine branch with the leaves still attached, mix 3 sunflower seeds and 7 white Ivy leaves and surprisingly the wings and eyes of a vampire bat. The eyes of course are to capture the sunlight, but the wings are for flight and the movement of—" He's yawning exaggeratedly and once he sees that I've noticed him, he just grins. I sigh. Why do I even bother?
"So is that all it does?"
"No." I pick up the rest of the vial. "Might wanna cover your eyes." He looks at me, a question hanging on his lips but then he realises what I'm about to do.
I smash the vial against the wooden floor, there a bright flash of light, almost blinding even behind my blindfold. A feeling of warmth follows swiftly after. It lasts only a few moments.
"What the hell!?" I laugh, crouching down to inspect the remains. Just glass, no liquid left behind. A quick reparo and the mess is gone.
"If you had let me finish, I'd have said that it could also be used as a lamp or if you're in a pinch, to kill vampires when destroyed."
"That was—"
"Brilliant?"
"—fucking awesome!" He says laughing. I join him.
"I know, now I just need to try and do the same for moonlight." He nods, remembering what this was for. "I'll need yours and Remus' help to see the effects."
"Me? …Why?"
"You're an Animagus, I want to know how that transformation differs from the werewolf one."
The understanding in his eyes is expected, but there's something else, something stronger.
"Your parents would be proud Harry." Would they? I'm not so sure.
The words are light, meant to build up and comfort. They do neither. Something shifts in my chest as the words fall, that same ugly feeling that rears its head whenever I think of the boy whose body I'm inhabiting. I brush the feeling away.
Whilst it would be good for Remus to feel better about himself and his unfortunate hand at life, this wasn't about him. Or atleast, not just him.
Whatever solution I decided on for when the statue fell, I'd need the wizarding world united. That meant not just the wizards but I'd have to persuade the other creatures too if feasible. Some I wasn't counting on, goblins for instance. Too much hatred there.
Observing the now restored vial, for this alone I doubt the vampires would react warmly to me. However, I wasn't inclined to believe they'd fully ally with me anyway, they fed mostly on muggles due to their abundance. They couldn't care less if the statute fell. All they wanted was blood.
But werewolves…. Most just wanted simple lives, to be acknowledged and not discriminated against as they were today. If I could cure them, or even just make life easier for them, I'd have their undying loyalty.
I examine the letter once again, carefully, purposefully, still not really understanding why. Professor Dumbledore looks at me knowingly, accepting freshly brewed tea from Kreacher.
"Mr Potter,
We hope this finds you well. It is our great delight to offer you the role of British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot, if you are willing to accept. We at the British Ministry of Magic—"
And on and on it went. Exceptional academic record and maturity, great ability to influence and be the voice of the youth. Will have to attend certain Wizengamot sessions, make visits to the ministry, speeches and more.
"Professor?"
"Yes Harry?" He's looking particularly pleased in his yellow robes, so in contrast with the drab black and greys of Grimmauld Place.
"Why?" The question is broad, with a multitude of answers.
"The Wizengamot was in need of a new youth representative, and I thought you'd make for a good one. And so I nominated you. Your name was already being thrown about anyway, especially after I showed them your recipe for Morning Star, which should be published in The Practical Potioneer by the months end. I thought this could be a good experience for you."
"Professor I'm…" What? Busy? His eyes seem to say, twinkling in amusement. But I was busy, and I'd be even more so in the new year with all the electives.
"You're busy. I know, Harry, trust me, I know." He takes a sip of his tea, swirling it abit before joining his eyes with mine.
'You need to think of life after Tom, my boy.'
'I am Headmaster. Why do you think I choose so many electives? The more capable I am, the greater freedom I'll have to do as I please.'
'Good initiative Harry. I applaud you for it, but pained as I am to say, you'll need more than academic achievement to get by in the world.' He grins. 'Now this applies to you less so because you are Harry Potter O.M., you are the Boy Who Lived, famous the world over, you even have a chocolate frog card and you have me in your corner, the last two are arguably the most important.' I feel my lips turn up in response, his eyes continue to twinkle.
'In short, you need connections my boy. This will help you in that pursuit. It'll be a good experience. I remember my time as the youth representative fondly, I'm sure you'll come to do the same.' He's right. For the future I want, I'll need connections, an in with the ministry and not just the one in Britain.
This will be a good start.
'But Professor, that would have been like 300 hundred years ago for you.' He chuckles.
'You brat!' He sends the equivalent of a mental smack, I deflect it laughing.
'Anyway, I urge you to accept. Leave the horcruxes to me and focus on this opportunity and your studies.' I concede, nodding. He doesn't pull back though, I'm assuming there's something more he wants no one to overhear.
I am right.
'Now, you said Kreacher mentioned a cave, I think I may have found it…'
The Scottish highlands are slick with rain, the weeping from the moody clouds above bombard the windows like wet hungry munition shells. Still, the Thestral pulled carriages continue to sway down the path to the castle. Everything is as to be expected except for one thing.
Neville is quiet.
Too quiet. He had barely said a word, watching the scenery sweep by with an inscrutable frown on his lips.
Ron nods his head at me, gesturing to Neville, leaving this one up to me. We had asked if he was alright, and he had replied with an affirmative. But even a salamander, blind as they are, could see that was lie.
The conversation is stilted, hesitant, as our carriage continues its march along with the others.
Hermione squeezes my hand as we stop and get out, whispering in my ear.
"Talk to him." She begins softly. "He'll listen to you. He always does."
She drifts away, pulling Ron ahead with her further to the castle.
I walk with Neville for a while, slowly, not in much of a hurry, giving him the opportunity to start if he wishes. But he doesn't. And so that responsibility falls onto me.
"Nev, do you want to—"
"They really are quite beautiful you know." I follow his eyes, landing on the carriages. I feel honest confusion lance through me. Why would—oh!
"Who?" I pour all the sympathy I can into one word. He smiles, a brittle and sad thing with an aftertaste of rage.
"My grandfather." He kicks a small stone, hands in his pockets and sighs. He sees the question in my eyes. "He was… he was the only one who was somewhat nice to me back then. Not like Gran or Uncle. He'd been bedridden since that night—" I don't have to ask which one "—he had been there with my parents. He tried to fight, but he was an old man even then. One of them, I don't know who, hit him with some kind of curse. Some obscure dark cutting curse they said. They couldn't heal it, it was all they could do to hold his body and internal organs together. But atleast he was alive right?" He gives a mocking laugh. "Just like my parents." He concludes, voice dripping with hate and fury. For whom, the death eaters, his grandfather, his parents or even himself, I am not sure. Perhaps all of the above.
"I'm just so angry!" He growls the words out. He turns, facing me in this barren path, breathing heavy.
"At the death eaters?" I pause, feeling his magic fluctuate and spike, watching as tiny portions of it seep into the air around us, turning it warm and heating the rain. "Or at your parents? Your grandfather?… Yourself?" His breath hitches at the last one.
"I-no…" He meets his eyes with mine. "I-I is it wrong? That a part of me is upset at them. For risking their lives for me… and then for the Cruciatus curse… I visit them you know, they don't remember, don't even know their own son. Grandad had to live in pain for years, Gran is alone now. And for what?"
"You're not wrong to feel that way mate." I cup his head with both hands, making sure he's listening, paying rapt attention to my words. "It's understandable even… but you know who's really at fault. You know who caused the house of Longbottom this suffering. They are all in Azkaban. Rabastian—"
"Rodolphus, Bellatrix and Barty Crouch Jr."He finishes with disgust. The last name wants to force a reaction out of me but I keep my composure. Crouch is not in Azkaban. His fool of a father…
"Yes, them. They are suffering for their crimes." He looks at me with so much fear and pain and all the vulnerability in the world.
"Then why do I feel so angry! Why am I not satisfied?" He crumbles. There's tears now, streaming from his eyes. Tears that would be unnoticeable in the rain if not for the umbrella charm I place overhead. I hug him for a while, letting him cry on my shoulder, keeping him steady as any brother would. Meanwhile my mind goes through all I can do to help.
"Nev…" He looks up, flushing, embarrassed. He looks almost like he used to in first year in that moment. "I can help, I can—"
"No Harry, you can do a lot but I don't think you can—" He notices my pointed gaze and pauses, realising.
"I can make them not so hurtful, not so vivid. I can remove it—." His response is instant.
"No." He takes a breath in, shaking his head. "No. As much as it hurts, even with Occlumency, I-these are my emotions, my way of remembering them, it would feel wrong to… No."
"Alright, just know that I'm here for you, as I always will be. Ron and Hermione too." He wipes his eyes, giving me the best smile he can.
"Thank you brother."
Professor McGonagall purses her lips, Dumbledore is smiling pleasantly at us from behind her, running his hands through Fawkes plumage, the bird seems to be in the prime of life. Ron coughs, I don't bother suppressing my smile. She seems particularly exasperated today.
"I take it this was your idea Mr Potter." She states, raising an eyebrow at me.
"Of course not Professor." I don't bother trying to sell it, even though it's the truth. She wouldn't buy it either way. She sighs, turning and placing a simple wooden box on the headmaster's desk.
"So you say. These are," The deputy headmistresses begins, gesturing to the box. Within are four identical intricate looking objects. Spherical, with small golden interlocked rings surrounding hourglasses filled with sand. They are of course-"Time turners. They will give you the time you need to attend all your lectures. It goes without saying," Her eyes, catlike and intense, land flat on each of us, "that this is a privilege. We expect you to be responsible. You were all screened by the ministry and were thought to be able to handle it." She picks up the box and takes one from it, handling the time turner with deliberate care, and comes to stop before Ron to my left.
"Mr Weasley," He straightens, "Your academic record is excellent and the ministry has trusted your family with this before. Bill and Percy were responsible with theirs. I hope the trust placed in you, now, is not misplaced." She hands it to him with a small, proud smile. She turns to me.
"Mr Potter, you perhaps, are being given the most responsibility. You represent not just the ministry, but you are also acting Youth Representative to the Wizengamot." She places it my palm, wrapping my fingers around it, patting my hand warmly. "Your practical and spell casting are always a joy to witness, I hope for the same consistency with your theory and homework this year." She stares at me, eyebrow arched. She only relents when I reluctantly nod. "Good."
"Miss Granger I trust I can count on you to keep them in line?"
"Of course Professor." She says, a little too happily and readily in my opinion. Ron seems to agree, grumbling. The headmasters eyes twinkle merrily as he laughs.
"Mr Longbottom, you have been an exemplar student, and have given me no issues. I trust that won't change, your Grandmother is on the board of Governors after all, she will be the first to know." Neville gulps and receives his own.
She hands us each a handbook with dos and donts, and seems like she's about to remind us all on how big of a responsibility it is, when thankful the headmaster cuts it.
"I think they understand Minerva. Don't missuse them, don't tell anybody else about them. You do understand don't you?" He asks us pleasantly.
"Yes Professor."
The time turners we had been gifted were curious little things. Made special issue by the ministry to be given students who had applied to study all electives. For the safety of time and especially because they were to be handed out to teenagers, these could only take us back in time for 7 hours and 37 minutes at once.
It also couldn't be used again whilst I was already back in time. I couldn't travel back an hour and then use it to travel back another at the same time.
If I wanted to stay alive I also couldn't interact with my past self or magic, lest I risk terrible thingshappening to me. I wasn't really sold on that but I remember the story of Eloise and the 25 people she forced to be unborn. I'd rather not test the validity of not interacting with one's self.
Hermione had tried to caution us, stating that we should only use them to relive one hour so we could attend our lectures. We just stared at her and eventually she wilted.
Most days we jumped back at around 8pm, going back to 1pm in order to be able to attend the 2pm Runes on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. At the same time our past self's would be attending divination followed by care of magical creatures with Hagrid. At 5 we would be in the Room whilst the other us was attending Arithmancy. Tuesdays and Thursdays would be muggle studies, followed by Runes. If the past us was in the Room, we'd be in the chamber.
Which apparently didn't require a Horcrux present to enter, which was quite the disappointing discovery. But magic could be silly like that.
After 9, there would be only one of us running around to attend astronomy, which had proven to be the hardest part of the day. We were operating on 31 hour days and so after and sometimes during the lesson, we slept like the dead.
It was trying, but we were doing it together and the experience, the secret, brought us even closer still.
Some days felt like they dragged and others were the opposite. Hermione was in a bit of a tizzy at first, thinking we had broken time. That we had caused the same effect that occurred when Eloise Mintumble returned from her 500 hundred year trip back in time., after which some days were 4 hours and others were 60.
Thankfully, that was not the case.
And so time continued to turn, life became a mixture of study, homework or just having fun during the moments when we weren't in class. I thought it would stay that way too, a peaceful, if stressful year of academia.
I was proven wrong on Halloween.
The lack of papers in the morning should have clued me in, but I was still on a high from my visit to Toulouse the night before.
The feast was in full swing, laughter and jokes on every side. The festivities were interrupted by the mass fluttering of feathers. Ministry owls with paper in their beaks, darting into the hall. The last time this had happened was for Pettigrew. I shouldn't be feeling anxious, it could be for anything. It could have been good news, but there's a pit in my stomach, hungry and growing. I know this won't be good. Why is it always Halloween?
A hush blankets the hall, followed by sharp inhales, muttering and murmuring. And of course the eyes turn to me. It's not as many as I expected however. Quite a few of the stares and pointing is for me, yes. What is unexpected, is that most of it is for Neville.
I summon a paper to my hand and as my eyes land on the title, instantly I understand and I feel a migraine brewing.
I look up at Neville, who had been getting more lively again, his eyes are still on the headline and moving picture. There is none of the joy and merriment of a few moments ago. All there is fury. All there is loathing. All there is pain.
I see his magic spike and reach out, and I do the same with my own.
I am faster.
A shield goes up over the Gryffindor students and then every piece of glass on Gryffindor table shatters.
There's screaming and pandemonium, my eyes remain on Neville. He's panting, bleeding anger and hatred. But I understand, I am pissed too.
"Azkaban Breakout! Bellatrix Lestrange and Augustus Rookwood free and at large!"Last edited: Today at 4:53 AM Like Quote ReplyReport Reactions:Ender Wiggen, Consumer, Aldevil24 and 69 othersDDragonman