The Dark Apprentice Chapter 58

Chapter 58

The tense atmosphere crackled around Harry as the Aurors, their faces grim and set, moved to apprehend him. The accusation of Igor Karkaroff’s murder hung heavy in the air, a chilling pronouncement that threatened to shatter the fragile peace that occurred after the battle. Instinctively, Harry’s hand twitched, a desperate urge to apparate away, to flee the suffocating weight of their suspicion, warring within him. But the wards of Hogsmeade, usually a comfort, now felt like an impenetrable cage, trapping him with his accusers.  His arm was also not in the best of shape due to whatever Karkaroff had hit him with, so fighting was hardly an option.

Just as desperation threatened to consume him, Dumbledore arrived, his presence a sudden, calming anchor in the storm. The Headmaster, his eyes sharp and discerning, assessed the chaotic scene with a practiced ease. His voice, though firm, carried an undeniable authority as he intervened, insisting on a thorough investigation before any rash arrest could be made. Dumbledore, leveraging his significant influence as Chief Warlock, demanded that Harry be taken to the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, not as a prisoner, but as a patient requiring medical attention. He would remain there, under the watchful eyes of armed guards, until his injuries could be assessed and the truth, whatever it may be, could be uncovered. For once, Harry felt a surge of unexpected gratitude for the old man’s timely and unwavering intervention. He knew, with a certainty that settled the frantic beating of his heart, that Dumbledore would at least carry out his own investigation before he allowed anyone to take him to Azakaban.  Besides he did have a witness.

As the group was marched back to the castle from Hogsmeade they were met by Barty in disguise as Moody at the Entrance Hall, the man thundered, “What’s happened?”

“There was a fight in Hogsmeade, old friend.” Dumbledore explained as he moved quickly to the man he believed was Alastor Moody and began having a hushed conversation as the Auror behind Harry nudged him forward indicating that he needed to keep moving.  Whatever Dumbledore was saying to the Death Eater in disguise, Harry could not tell, because they were soon around the corner, and moving up the Grand Central Staircase.

The walk to the Hospital wasn’t long, but the weight of the situation seemed to weigh on Tracey as she attempted to reason with the Aurors, “My father is an Auror.  Roland Davis, someone needs to tell him what happened.”

A tall pale man with long hair and a short beard growled, “You are both suspects in a murder case right now missy, no one needs to be notified of anything.”

The man then bumped Tracey forward, and Harry nearly drew his wand again to resume the fighting, but a large bald black man in purple robes put a calming hand on his shoulder, “Easy son.  The fight is over.  Scrimgeour is just doing his job.”

Harry wanted to threaten the man, and tell him what would happen if he touched Tracey again, but instead he swallowed hard, and allowed the large bald Auror to mumble to Tracey,  “Roland has been made aware.  I trust he is on his way to Hogwarts now.”

Tracey nodded, and had a sudden spasm, causing Harry to watch her with an increasing worry.  He had never been hit by the torture curse, but he knew it could often leave people with lasting side effects.  Tracey however had been hit by a man who was not at his full power, so perhaps that would help, but the spasm still had Harry concerned.

It was a foolish sentiment, Harry realized.  He was worried about Tracey having a slight spasm while he might still end up in Azkaban.  If not for murder of Igor Karkaroff, then for the magic he used to win the fight for his life.  Luckily the parselmagic spells would not be able to be identified, but other dark curses he had used might be able too.  He had no idea how we would explain his knowledge of them as he began to think quickly.

Arriving at the Hospital Wing, Madame Pomfrey was waiting for them with a cart of potions at the ready as she directed them to separate beds, “Mr. Potter on the left, Ms. Davis on the right, come now.  Aurors, I will ask that you wait outside.”

The pale man spoke gruffly, denying the woman, “Impossible ma’am.  You have two murder suspects in your care.”

The woman put a hand on each of her hips and shook her head, “They are children first, Mr. Scrimgeour.  You will not disrupt my care for these students.  The Headmaster will not allow it.”

The man looked like he would retort, but Dumbledore came surging into the room, “Auror Scrimgeour, Shacklebolt, I will be conducting this investigation.  This is an international incident with the murder of another Head of a magical Institute.  You will trust my judgement on the matter.”

“Now see here, Dumbledore-”

“Rufus, I am sure you are an excellent Auror, but if you continue to interfere with affairs of the ICW, and the running of my own school, I will have no choice but to have you removed.” The Headmaster said severely, and Harry’s eyes widened at the threat.  The teen had never seen Dumbledore so serious in his life.

It was clear the long haired Auror was taken aback by this proclamation as well, but before he could protest, Kingsley put a hand on the man’s arm, “The Headmaster is right, Rufus.  This is out of our hands for now.  We can wait in the hall.  I am sure Mr. Potter and Ms. Davis will go nowhere for the time being.  Right Headmaster?”

The man merely nodded, as his eyes shifted over to Harry, clearly the man was burning with questions, but Madame Pomfrey was clearly tired of waiting as she all but shoved Harry and Tracey into their respective beds across the room from each other.  

Moody chose to come in at this point and said, “That’s right lads, show is over.  Go wait your turn outside.”

Scrimgeour seemed put out by the dismissal and stormed out of the room, while Moody hobbled over to his bedside and looked over Harry with an even expression.

In the meantime Madame Pomfrey was waving her wand over Harry and the woman looked at Harry’s arm, and gasped, “Headmaster, I am afraid I will need Alastors expertise.  This wound is beyond my care.  Dark magic.”

Moody looked like he was going to come forward, but Dumbledore swept past the man coming to Harry to inspect his blackened arm.  The man drew a long wand with a spiral like design and pressed it to Harry’s wound causing it to heat up so intently it burned.  Harry groaned in pain, but quickly the arms color began to return and the wound began to fade away.

Madame Pomfrey blinked a few times, before shaking her head, slamming a potion on his bedside table, then turning to Tracey’s bed, and began waving her arm around the prone girl.  She gasped as she said, “Headmaster, this young woman has been held under the crucitas curse.”

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed at this, and he looked directly into Harry’s eyes, “What happened tonight, Mr. Potter?”

Swallowing hard, Harry knew there was no reason to lie about the overall incident, and could essentially just leave out his own spell choice he used to defend himself, “Tracey and I were on a walk, slowly making our way back to the castle, trying to enjoy our last evening together,” Harry hoped by playing on their romance the Headmaster might hold a soft spot for them, but if the old man was phased at all he didn’t show it, “When we stopped to talk for a moment, she was cursed in the back from the direction of the forest…she was hit by a spell that made her scream…I didn’t see the spell, but then I heard someone yell my name, and I looked towards the forest to see Karkaroff coming towards us.”

The two wizards seemed to be enraptured by his story and he swallowed hard, “Professor, the man wasn’t himself.  I hit him with spells that should’ve at least stopped him in his tracks, but he walked right through them.  The spells definitely worked too, because there was blood, and signs that I had damaged his body, but there was no reaction to the pain.  It wasn’t until we were closer that I realized his eyes were glazed over.  I think he might’ve been under the imperious curse.”

Dumbledore frowned at the description, and Tracey spoke from across the room, as Madame Pomfrey finished her initial treatment, “He is telling the truth, Headmaster…I’ve never felt pain like that before, I’ve never been so scared for my life, but Harry fought for us.  He kept us alive.”

Before Dumbledore could ask another question the doors to the hospital wing were thrown open and in came Roland Davis still in his purple Auror robes.  The man all but ran to Tracey’s bed side, as he put both hands on her face, “Tracey!  Are you okay?  Where are you hurt?”

“Just about everywhere, right now.” Tracey said as she embraced the man, “But I am okay, thanks to Harry.”

The man separated from her daughter, gave her a concerned look, and then rose back to his feet storming over towards Harry’s hospital bed where Moody and Dumbledore stood over the teen, “What happened?”

The demand of the man’s voice left no indication of patience over the matter, while Dumbledore spoke calmly in return, “It seems your daughter and Mr. Potter went through quite the ordeal together, and came out on the right side of a fight for their lives.”

“Is it true?  Igor Karkaroff did this to them?” The man demanded.

“And paid for it with his life.” Dumbledore said severely.

Roland recoiled slightly, and his eyes fell upon Harry, while the teen stared back at the man, “I told you I would protect her with my life.”

Roland rubbed both of his eyebrows with one hand as he took a deep calming breath, “This is the second time my daughter has been placed in danger at your side, Harry Potter.”

Harry heard Tracey call to her father, but the man ignored her, giving Harry a penetrating gaze, “I would hear the truth of the story.”

Harry didn’t deny the man the right, restarted, and went into detail of how they survived the fight, and what had happened to them during the conflict.  He expressed even his own pride that Tracey had fought her way back into the fight, and refused to bow down to the man that was intent on killing them.  While Roland looked horrified of what his daughter had gone through, he looked more disturbed by what his daughter had done to stay alive. Of course that was without the mention of the Dark Arts both Harry and Tracey had used to win.

“This sounds like a clear case of self-defense, Dumbledore.” The Auror stated, looking at the Headmaster expectantly.

The older man sighed, running a hand through his long white beard, “I am afraid it is not that simple, Roland.  If Igor was held under one of the Unforgivable curses, as Mr. Potter believes, then that means his true attacker is still at large.  Igor was also no slouch of a wizard, and was very well rehearsed in the Dark Arts, whoever managed to control the man, must have been quite formidable.”

Harry couldn’t explain it, but when he said this his eyes fell on Barty.  The man had no love for Igor Karkaroff, and had the formidable abilities to put the man under the Imperious Curse.  Crouch Jr, was no stranger to this particular unforgivable.

A surge of fury passed through Harry as the realization came to him.  There were only a few wizards alive capable of what occurred, and one of them was in the room with him.  Harry had known the man’s mind was slipping, but this was something else.  This was vindictive, and Harry or Tracey, or both could’ve been killed.

A part of him began to doubt that Barty would’ve concocted the plan though.  Harry had saved the man’s life by restoring his mind over the Summer, surely he wouldn’t turn against him in this way?

Perhaps this entire scenario was a meticulously orchestrated test by Tom, a dark crucible designed to gauge Harry's burgeoning capacity for ruthlessness and his willingness to eliminate those who stood in his path. It was a chilling thought, especially given Harry had just undeniably proven his capability to do so. However, a deeper skepticism gnawed at him. Tom's methodology, as Harry understood it, was rooted in efficiency and maximizing potential. To send him an adversary who was not at their peak, not fully powered, not at their absolute best – that would be an egregious waste of a training exercise. Tom, the pragmatic and calculating force he was, would never squander an opportunity to push Harry to his limits, to force him to overcome a truly formidable challenge. A weakened foe offered no true measure of strength, no genuine catalyst for growth. Therefore, the idea of this being a mere "test" in such a diminished capacity seemed entirely uncharacteristic of his mentor's ruthless yet logical approach.

This led back to Barty, but Harry didn’t want to believe it.  Lost in his own thoughts, he had not realized the three wizards were looking at him waiting for him to answer the question, but Harry had not heard it, “Sorry, I…I was a little lost for a moment.  What was the question?”

Dumbledore gave him the first look of sympathy that Harry had received so far, and the man said, “Would you be willing to submit a memory of the event, Harry?”

Swallowing hard, Harry glanced at Barty, before shaking his head, “I am not proud of the magic I used Headmaster.  I only did what I had to, to survive.  To protect my friend.  I don’t wish to be judged for it.”

Roland seemed to accept this, while Barty nodded his head as well, the Headmaster however shook his head, “I am afraid I must insist.  I can clear you of this crime, Harry, but only if I see what you endured, and how you survived.”

Harry tried to recall each spell he had used.  Some were Tom’s personal spells, and he for an agonizing moment, wondered if Dumbledore would recognize some of them.  He wanted to refuse, but he knew the choice was out of his hands.  

Before he decided to submit the memory, Roland spoke up, “The boy is right, Headmaster.  The evidence speaks for itself.  I am told there are remnants of a killing curse and fiendfyre down at Hogsmeade.  Whatever the boy did is justified based on those two things alone.”

The relief Harry felt could’ve been palpable, but he did everything he could not to show it as he remained under the scrutiny of the Headmaster.  The man at last turned away, and called over his shoulder, “Alastor, make sure our students are safe in the Hospital Wing tonight.  I need to alert the ICW, Madame Maxime, and the Durmstrang students of what has happened.”

Without further words, the man stormed out of the room, and left Harry with Moody and Tracey’s father.  The Auror stared at Harry with an emotion the teen could not decipher, and when he spoke Harry felt the anger in the man’s words, “My daughter was put in harm's way tonight at your side, Potter.  I am grateful for what you did to protect her, but as a father to a young woman, I must insist you put some distance between yourselves.  I will not see my daughter killed over a school girl's crush.”

Tracey once again exclaimed her fathers name, but Harry didn’t spare the brunette a glance as he stared back at the man, “I have proven to you I can keep her safe, sir.”

“Safe from danger you brought upon her.” The man accused pointedly.

Harry nodded his head in acknowledgment, then shook his head, “It’s Tracey’s choice.”

“The hell it is.” The man thundered back, but Harry had been scolded by the Dark Lord, this Auror hardly paled in comparison.

Harry for his part said nothing further though, and the man huffed, as he turned towards his daughter, “You will stay away from the boy.”

Tracey glared at the man, “I won’t.  He saved me.  He has made me a better witch. I won’t turn my back on him.”

The Auror glared at his daughter, and shook his head, “I will remove you from this school if I must.” The gasp from Tracey made Harry’s heart sink, while Mr. Davis seemed to just harden his resolve, “I will allow you to finish the school year, and give you time to think about if that boy is really worth your education.  That is my final word.”

Tracey looked like she might draw her wand on the man, and her eyes turned into the dark inky color that Harry had begun to recognize as a side effect of her rage.  Before the girl could do anything they would all regret, Harry spoke to her, “Trace, we can talk about it later.  Let’s get you better, and not make any rash decisions.  It’s been a long night.”

The girl deflated at his words, and nodded her head, while she turned over on her side in the bed refusing to meet the eyes of any in the room.  The Auror however offered Harry a shake of his head, moved to sit at Tracey’s bedstation, and closed the curtains around her, ensuring the two were cut off from any contact, leaving just Harry and Barty on his side of the Hospital Wing.

The man stared at Harry for a long moment, as if seeing something he didn’t like for the first time, and shook his head, “Best be getting some rest, Potter.  We will talk later.”

Barty seemed quick to leave, and Harry wondered if the man was going to inform Tom of what had happened.  He could hardly imagine the man would be pleased, but perhaps that wasn’t true.  Perhaps Tom would be happy that Harry eliminated a Death Eater that had turned coat at the end of the first war.  Harry could hardly even fathom all the possible scenarios as his mind swam with exhaustion from the long day.  Taking a deep breath he huffed, and turned over in his bed, despite his exhaustion he imagined there would be little sleep to be had as he pondered the ramification of the evening.

.o.

Tracey had refused to talk to her father for the remainder of the night.  Tears had begun falling not long after she was shut off from Harry, and the reality of what they had endured that night began to set in.  She had been held under the Crucitas curse, and Harry had saved her again.

The fact that her father wanted to separate her from the boy she had grown to care for, the young man that had done so much to develop her growth infuriated Tracey.  Harry was the only one in her life pushing her to be better, and she had earned her spot at his side.

When dawn broke her first visitor arrived, and she was unsurprised to see her best friend entering the Hospital Wing with wide eyes.  Her father was asleep in the chair beside her.  His arms crossed tightly across his chest, his chin buried into his upper chest.  

Slowly Tracey began to sit up to greet the girl, but held a finger to her lips at first as she drew her wand.  Daphne approached the bed, and Tracey did a small diagonal slash with her wand, erecting a thin privacy ward to give them space to talk.  Daphne raised an eyebrow, “Nice ward.”

“Harry taught me.  It’s not much, but should give us some privacy and allow my father to sleep.” Tracey said with a mostly dismissive tone but she had to fight the smirk that threatened to cross her face at the memory of Harry teaching her the advanced piece of magic.

It couldn’t have been more clear these past few weeks that Daphne was jealous of her relationship with Harry, and while her best friend had yet to say anything about it, she knew the truth.  Daphne had misjudged Harry’s capability to be a teenage boy, and had missed out on her chance to be with him.  Tracey had proved herself beyond the Pureblood witch now, and there was little she could do to close that gap.

“What happened last night?” Daphne asked curiously, as she glanced over towards Harry's side of the room that was currently hidden behind the medical curtains.

Tracey re-told the story with pride of how she had endured the torture curse and fought her way to Harry’s side.  Daphne’s eyes had widened more and more as the story went on and when Tracey was finished she scowled, “The bastard was lucky Harry hadn’t taught me anything better.  That little rotting charm barely slowed the man down.  I will have to make Harry teach me something a little more powerful over the Summer.”

“Trace, this is serious,” Daphne said with a clearly disturbed tone, “I doubt your dad was bluffing, and if you continue to see Harry, he may not allow you to return to Hogwarts.”

“He can do as he pleases,” Tracey said with a huff, “but he can’t keep me from Harry forever.  I can sneak out, or Harry could teach me to apparate.  There are many ways we can still be together, even if my father forbids it.”  Tracey’s eyes narrowed towards the resting man, and shook her head, “He will only push me further away from the family if he does.”

Daphne’s eyes widened at the proclamation, “Do you think Harry feels as strongly as you do?”

Snorting, Tracey asked, “How many witches do you think can do what I have done to stay at his side.”

It was a slip, but Tracey didn’t regret it.  Daphne’s eyes narrowed at her words however, and asked, “What have you done?”

“You mean other than endure the torture curse?” Tracey asked slyly, “I didn’t think you were interested in what Harry and I would get up to in our alone time.”

Instead of blushing at the insinuation, Daphne huffed, “I know that’s not what you meant.  What did you do?  Another ritual?”

“Maybe I did.” Tracey shrugged, “That’s between Harry and I.”

“I can’t believe you.” Daphne whispered, “One was dangerous enough.  You didn’t even wait very long to do the next one did you?  I remember that night you snuck out, and returned in the early hours of the morning. I thought you two were just sneaking it off to have alone time, but it was more than that wasn’t it?”

Tracey said nothing to this, and Daphne just shook her head, “I told you he was dangerous, and you still went off with him!”

“I’m dangerous!” Tracey hissed back.  Causing Daphne to recoil back in surprise at her best friend's outburst.  Tracey took a deep breath before shaking her head, “I did what I had to be a better witch.  I want to be good enough to stand at his side.  I want to be able to make a difference, and be respected by my peers.”

The girl was practically heaving with rage now, and Daphne just watched her carefully, undoubtedly wondering if Tracey might curse her.  Instead Tracey crossed her arms, “Ask yourself this to Daph, if I hadn’t done it, would I even have survived last night?”

Daphne didn’t know what to say to her friends’ words, but had to acknowledge that she was right.  Any changes in the fight last night could’ve been life and death.  

Instead of speaking to her words, Tracey just shook her head, “I’ve accepted my darkness, Daphne.  What have you done with yours?”

Daphne stood her feet abruptly, clearly searching for words, “I hope you get feeling better, Trace.  I’ll see you later.”

Tracey sat frozen, a silent sentinel in the bustling Hospital Wing. Her gaze, usually so vibrant and full of playful mischief, was now a tight, unblinking stare fixed on Daphne's retreating back. No words had been exchanged after the heated confrontation, no apologies offered, no olive branches extended. The blonde's departure was abrupt and cold. Not even a backward glance, not a flicker of hesitation, not a sign that the years of shared secrets and laughter meant anything in that moment.

A wave of conflicting emotions warred within Tracey. Anger, a hot, bitter surge, threatened to consume her. How could Daphne, her oldest friend, her confidante, betray her so completely? Then, a sharp pang of hurt, a deep ache in her chest, followed close behind. The casual dismissal, the unwavering conviction in Daphne's eyes – it felt like a dagger twisting in an old wound.

Her hand, clenched into a tight fist, trembled slightly at her side. She opened it, then closed it again, the repetitive motion a desperate attempt to ground herself, to control the storm raging within. Her jawline was set, a hard, determined line. No, she thought, shaking her head slowly, a single, defiant gesture. No matter what Daphne said, no matter the accusations or the thinly veiled threats, she would not regret her choices. She had made them for reasons she believed in, for principles she held dear. Regret was a luxury she couldn't afford, a weakness she refused to indulge. The path ahead was uncertain, perhaps even lonely, but she would walk it with her head held high, even if it meant walking it alone. The friendship, once a beacon of light and comfort, now felt like a fragile, shattered relic of a bygone era.