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The Dark Apprentice Chapter 57

Chapter 57

The remaining months at Hogwarts swiftly vanished, each day bringing the Third Task closer. For Harry, it was a period of intense focus, but also of growing intrigue, especially regarding Tracey's remarkable progress. Her magical capabilities had surged far beyond his initial expectations, a direct consequence, he now understood, of the ritual they had performed.

Their immediate duel following the ritual had been a revelation. It was, without a doubt, their most formidable encounter to date, a whirlwind of spells and counter-spells that left both of them breathless and exhilarated. At first, Harry had attributed Tracey's enhanced prowess to a lingering magical high, a sensation he himself had experienced after his own last ritual. He recalled vividly how he had dueled a former Auror to a standstill under similar circumstances, a feat he was certain he could not replicate without that amplified state.

However, as the days bled into weeks, it became undeniably clear that Tracey's advancements were not fleeting. The initial surge of power had settled into a consistent, elevated level of magical proficiency. Her spells were sharper, her reflexes quicker, and her control more precise. She moved with a newfound confidence, her aura vibrating with a refined energy that spoke of deeper reserves and a heightened connection to her magic. Harry observed her with a mix of admiration and a touch of curiosity.  None of the other Gaunts who underwent the ritual spoke of an increase in skill as sharp as Tracey’s and Harry was eager to understand the full extent of this transformation and what it meant for their future duels, and perhaps, for future rituals.

The transformation in Tracey was remarkable, becoming so profound by the time Spring was coming to an end she started drawing the notice of older students, a development that ultimately led to a dramatic confrontation. One particularly jarring incident involved Grant Page, a fifth-year Ravenclaw, who, in a moment of utter stupidity, referred to Tracey as one of "Harry's whores."

Harry himself was not present to witness the altercation, but the details were vividly recounted to him later by Hestia Carrow. Tracey, at the time, was in detention, serving out a punishment for her part in the ensuing chaos. Hestia explained that while Tracey had initially caught Grant off guard, a full-blown duel had quickly erupted. In a stunning display of skill, the brunette girl had goaded him into the fight, publicly humiliating him even further in front of his housemates and solidifying her newfound reputation as someone not to be trifled with.

Harry had been genuinely impressed to learn that Page was considered one of the best duelists in that year's group at Hogwarts. This knowledge fueled his desire to push Tracey even further, especially now that she was riding high on the confidence of her recent victories. Their Saturday afternoons became dedicated to this intense training, with most of their day spent hidden away in the Undercroft.

Within the confines of that secret chamber, Harry relentlessly pushed Tracey to her limits. However, he also began to harbor some concerns regarding her bouts of anger that occasionally flared up after their duels. These were not just flashes of frustration but something deeper, a volatile edge that seemed to emerge when she was pushed to her physical and magical boundaries.

The anger was never pointed at Harry, but at herself, for not throwing up a better fight.  Despite Harry encouraging her, and promising that she was doing loads better than she had been before, she still wanted more.  Her ambition had caught fire, and now the girl wanted to burn bright, which Harry respected to a point, but it did cause some concern.

Before the ritual when the two had dueled she was always so bright and bubbly afterwards, just like she had always been, but now it was different.  The bright and bubbly girl was still around most of the time, but when they finished duels often he noticed her eyes would turn back to the inky color he had seen after the ritual.  It was something he knew that must’ve been caused by the ritualistic magic, because he had not seen it before then.  He had of course double checked his work with the runes, and the magic around the ritual, but nothing seemed to indicate why these personality changes may have occurred, but he knew he needed to keep a close eye on it for the time being.

The weekend before the 3rd task was the final Hogsmeade weekend, and Harry had been given permission by both Tom and Barty to rest, and begin preparing for the final showdown of the Tri-Wizard tournament.

Since the second task Krum and Delacour had both kept a wide berth of him.  They had a glimpse of what he was capable of now, and it was clear neither were prepared to get on the wrong side of him again, much less alone.

At the same time, Harry had continued monitoring Barty, but it seemed that the man just seemed to become more frantic each day.  Harry had offered to work on the Mind Arts with the man, when he suggested that perhaps he was becoming a little too high strung, but the man nearly bit Harry’s head off for suggesting such a thing.  Since then he had kept his distance from the former Death Eater, but kept Tom informed of his slipping sanity.

With the final Hogsmeade weekend looming, Harry felt a surge of determination to savor every moment. The previous two visits with Tracey had been remarkably devoid of the usual drama and stress that seemed to follow him. He had genuinely come to appreciate her presence, finding a comfort and ease in their companionship that was a refreshing counterpoint to the complexities of his life. He looked forward to their time together with an anticipation that rivaled only the eagerness he felt for his sessions with his mentor – a testament to the quiet, growing significance of their bond. Tracey offered a sense of normalcy and lightheartedness during the times they weren’t training with magic.  Yet when they were dueling, it was serious and they were both focused on becoming better, the combination was a stark contrast to the weighty burdens he often carried. It was easy with Tracey and he knew this would be their last chance to simply be teenagers enjoying a day out before the final, relentless push towards the third task and his own ritual. He wanted to ensure this memory, like the others, was unblemished and filled with the simple joy of shared laughter and conversation, a small pocket of peace in the turbulent storm that had been his fourth year.

The sun, already a fiery orb in the pale blue sky, beat down mercilessly as they gathered at the carriages in the early hours of the afternoon. It was undeniably a hot June day, the kind that promised sweltering humidity and endless thirst. The previous day, after a rigorous training session that left them both pleasantly exhausted, they had made a pact: a day of pure leisure, wandering through the village streets, seeking refuge from the heat and the demands of their usual training.

Blaise and Daphne had even agreed to join them for the initial part of their afternoon, and Harry tried to gage the duo in the carriages as they jumped in with thestrals, “Two weeks to go.  Have your families given you your summer plans yet?”

Blaise was the first to answer, as he shrugged, “Another trip to the continent to spend time with my family.  Isaac will have graduated, so I am certain there will be quite the party.  Maybe you can come, Harry?  My grandfather still feels quite bad about what happened at the Cup.  I am willing to bet he would make it up to you.  Might even take you in for the whole Summer if you could convince Dumbledore.”

Harry's sigh was heavy, laden with the unspoken tension that had permeated his interactions with the Headmaster since the second task. Though no words had passed between them, every fleeting glance, every accidental meeting of eyes, was charged with the old man's palpable disapproval. It was an annoyance, a nagging irritation that gnawed at Harry, for he genuinely believed he had exercised remarkable restraint.

The second task, a crucible of chaos beneath the murky waters, could have ended far differently. A chilling thought, a dark temptation, had repeatedly surfaced in Harry's mind: how simple it would have been to silence the hostile Merpeople, to eliminate Krum and Delacour, to leave no witnesses. "Dead men tell no tales," the insidious whisper had echoed, promising an easier path to victory, unburdened by the complexities of surviving witnesses. Yet, he hadn't. He had chosen a different path, one that, to his mind, showcased a level of control and maturity the Headmaster seemed incapable of acknowledging.  One that Tom probably would’ve even disapproved of.

Of course, Dumbledore, with his unwavering faith in conventional heroism and his deep-seated aversion to darker methods, would never grasp the nuances of Harry's decision. Harry wouldn't dare voice such a thought, knowing the immediate condemnation it would draw. But the thought persisted, a constant undercurrent in his mind, a quiet rebellion against the Headmaster's silent judgment. The chasm between their perspectives, a widening gulf of understanding, grew with each passing day, leaving Harry to grapple with his own actions and their unappreciated implications.

“I think Dumbledore would rather see me with a family like the Weasley’s or Longbottoms.” Harry said with a snort.

Blaise, Tracey, and Daphne exchanged uneasy glances, their brows furrowing in unison as they weighed the uncomfortable truth of Harry’s observation. It was a stark reality that both the Weasley and Longbottom families were deeply entrenched in the more liberal and reformist circles of the Wizengamot. They were staunch adherents to the self-proclaimed "Light" faction, a group that championed progressive ideals and often stood in direct opposition to the more traditionalist views prevalent in pure-blood society.  Their views were black and white, or dark magic and non dark magic.

The core of Harry's concern, and what made the trio so disquieted, was the existence of heirs within these very families who were close to their age.  The subtle, yet powerful, influence of peers, especially those from families Dumbledore likely considered "suitable" and "safe," was a tool the Headmaster was not above employing. He might, they all realized with different variations of annoyance, see these young wizards as ideal conduits for shaping Harry's perspective, for guiding him towards a path that aligned with his own grand designs, rather than allowing Harry to forge his own.

The thought was laughable that Ron Weasley or Neville Longbottom could influence Harry.  Ron had not been the same since his sister died at the end of their second year, and Longbottom was afraid of his own shadow.

“Maybe we just need to push for it.” Blaise suggested optimistically, “If my grandfather approved it, and then you requested it, perhaps an accord could be reached.  My family still has influence on the Wizengamot.”

Daphne snorted, “I think Dumbledore has a better chance of letting my family take Harry.  Mine didn’t support You-Know-Who, or Grindelwald.”

Tracey immediately seemed to dislike that idea and said, “My dad is an Auror, and Harry is growing on him.  Maybe my family can take you, Harry.  Our home isn’t huge, but we have a guest bedroom.”

“You too would end up in Azkaban if you both spent the Summer together,” Daphne said with a forced laugh, that made Harry raise an eyebrow.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Tracey said, clearly not liking the insinuation.

“Nothing,” Daphne said, holding her hands up, “I just meant if your dad found out about what the two of you were up too, and the magic you were delving into, it would likely lead you both into a ton of trouble.”

Tracey looked like she would retort with vitriol, but the carriage was pulling into Hogsmeade, and the girl merely pursed her lips in a tight line indicating her displeasure.  Harry shook his head, as he dismounted, and offered his hand to Tracey to help her down, while Blaise did the same for Daphne.  He hoped Tracey would not make a scene about what Daphne had said, and thought carefully on what his own response should be.  The village was already beginning to crowd with people, and he recognized many from his own house roaming the village; he did not wish for the other Slytherins to know if there was any division in the house's leadership.

Before the group of four could begin to wonder off, Harry addressed Daphne’s words, before Tracey could lay into the girl, “I know how to be careful.  Just because I have chosen not to be this year, does not mean I have lost the ability to do so.  I evolved under the radar for years before any of you realized just how powerful I became.  This tournament presented a once in a lifetime opportunity, which is the only reason I put such a large target on my back.  Once it’s over, I will lay low for a little while, and bask in the victory of being the youngest TriWizard champion ever.”

Daphne stared at Harry unblinkingly for a few minutes before sighing, “You’re right.  Forgive me, I spoke out of turn.  I am just not looking forward to the Summer.  Astoria has been sick a lot this year, and my parents are bound to be unbearable.  The thought of some more pleasant company sounded like a nice distraction.”

Tracey and Harry both softened at the mention of Daphne’s sick sister, a somber note that resonated deeply with them. While most of the school, and even their own housemates, remained blissfully unaware, Astoria had spent a considerable amount of time in the confines of the Hospital Wing during the second term of that year. It seemed the younger Greengrass sister was a veritable magnet for magical maladies, becoming awfully sick each and every time a new contagion swept through the school. Her delicate constitution made her particularly susceptible, and the sight of her pale face and weakened state had become an increasingly common, and concerning, occurrence for those who paid close enough attention.

Deciding to change the topic, or at least move it along, Harry said, “I understand.  I am grateful the three of you would be willing to speak with your families about housing me for the Summer, but it would be best if I simply go where Dumbledore wants me.  I would not want any of your families to be in trouble, when I venture off on my own.”

The trio all looked floored by Harry’s words, and Blaise asked uncertainly, “You’re not planning to stay wherever Dumbledore puts you?”

“Of course not.” Harry said with a chuckle, “I doubt I would even be allowed to.”

Harry wasn’t sure why he said it, but he couldn’t take it back.  All three were taken by his words, none able to keep the curiosity out of their expressions.  The teen never spoke of his mentor.  The occasional slip like this was all they ever pulled out of him.

Tracey whispered, as if there were people within earshot that might overhear, “Will your mentor take you in?”

Swallowing hard, his eyes shifted around the area, it was a paranoid thing to do.  The village was bustling, but still no one was near enough to possibly eavesdrop, “It would be a waste of my entire Summer if we did not get to work together.  I will go wherever Dumbledore sends me, but I will apparate away within the day.  You will all be able to write to me, and even visit my home in Islington.  I could even visit your homes over the Summer if your families allow it.  Or we can meet in the alley under disguise like we did last Summer.”

The three were stunned by his audacity, but finally Blaise’s face split into a grin, “You know Harry, you’re crazy, and I like that.”

Daphne was shaking her head, but a small smile graced her lips, “Dumbledore is going to expel you one of these days.”

Shrugging, Harry threw an arm around Tracey, “I have prepared you all well.  If the worst were to happen and I am expelled, you are all more than capable of leading together.  By the end of the Summer you will each be more than capable of taking down the NEWT students.  I will ensure it, in fact I think Tracey could take most of them right now.”

Tracey just beamed under his praise and kissed him on the cheek, careful not to remove his arm from her side, and instead held it in place with one of her free hands.  Harry didn’t miss the scowl that crossed Daphne’s face, but it was fast, and had he not been looking at the girl he might’ve missed it, but deciding to ignore for the time being he followed his friends into Hogsmeade, and enjoyed their final day at the village.

.o.

As twilight deepened over the Scottish Highlands, Harry and Tracey had long since bid farewell to Daphne and Blaise. Their conversations had tittered a way to a comfortable silence, a comforting echo of the day's events, slowly faded into memory as the two chose the quieter solace of a walk on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. The vibrant hues of the setting sun painted the sky in shades of fiery orange and soft violet, casting long, dancing shadows across the ancient stone buildings of the old wizarding village.

The summer evening, which had begun with a gentle warmth, now cooled to a more bearable temperature. A soft, whispering breeze rustled through the leaves of the oak trees that lined their path by the Forbidden Forest. Sounds of the village, once a lively hum, were now subdued, replaced by the chirping of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl, adding to the tranquil atmosphere. They walked in comfortable silence, their footsteps soft on the worn path, each lost in their own thoughts yet keenly aware of the other's presence.

“I’ll miss you over the Summer.  I know I will be able to write, but it won’t be the same as getting to see you everyday.” Tracey said with a small smile.

“I promise I will try and visit.” Harry said easily, feeling a small bit of nerves as the girl took his hand in her own, “I suppose it will be disappointing to not train together on Saturdays anymore.

“That’s a pretty lame way of saying you will miss me too.” Tracey said with a soft laugh.

"I don't think I've ever missed anyone from Hogwarts," Harry admitted, his voice a low rumble. His gaze drifted, tracing the familiar path of trees that led into the depths of the Forbidden Forest, a silent testament to countless adventures and hidden secrets. He swallowed, the movement a palpable struggle, before his eyes, filled with a newfound vulnerability, found Tracey's dark brown ones. "But I think I will miss you." The unspoken weight of their shared experiences, of the quiet camaraderie that had blossomed between them, hung heavy in the air, a bittersweet farewell already lingering on the horizon.

“It has been quite the adventure.  I feel like I have grown a lot this year.” Tracey said softly.

“You have.  Remarkably so.” Harry assured, squeezing her hand in his own, “You have impressed me at every step of the way this year. You proved your loyalty to me, and I am grateful.  I have never been able to trust someone as easily as I have come to trust you.”

Tracey beamed at his words, “That means a lot, Harry.”

“Well,” Harry said, swallowing hard, “You have come to mean a lot to me.”

Her eyes widened at the young man’s words, “You mean that, don’t you?”

Offering a grin to the girl, “I try not to say things I don’t mean.  I’m a man of my word.  Or I try to be.”

Stepping in front of him, Tracey offered him a shy grin, her eyes flitting from his lips to his eyes, “Can I ask you something?”

Harry stared at the girl carefully, before nodding his head, feeling butterflies erupt in his stomach. Naturally he couldn’t answer some questions, but in the privacy of their evening walk, he could explain his need for secrecy, without lying to her,  “Of course.”

Biting her lip now, Tracey said, with nervousness clear in her voice, “If I have proven my loyalty to you, and shown you that I am a witch capable of standing beside you.  Why have you not asked me to be your girlfriend?”

Harry’s jaw fell a little at the bluntness of the question, and he stammered, several times trying to find the right words immediately, but none came to him.  Instead he took a breath and released it, while finding her eyes, and thinking of the safest way to tell the truth, “I have thought about it.  Several times, and I can’t thank you enough for not pushing me to it.  You have been really patient about this, but…”

“I knew there would be a but.” Tracey said sadly, talking over him as he trailed off.

Harry stepped closer to the girl, unsure of what to say, but was close enough that she could undoubtedly feel his uneven breath on her face, “Tracey…I’m dangerous.”

Snorting, the girl took a small step back putting a hand on his chest, “I think that was obvious from the moment you took down all those seventh year students last year, Harry.  I watched you kill a werewolf.  Obviously you are dangerous.”

“That’s not necessarily what I meant.” Harry said softly, “Being around me, being a part of my life, it’s dangerous.  Here at Hogwarts is one thing, and even in your homes and mine is another, but if you were my girlfriend then…I don’t know if my mentor would allow it.”

This last part was said with a whisper, but Tracey’s eyes widened, before they narrowed in determination, “I proved myself to you, I can prove myself to him too.”

The chuckle that escaped his lips wasn’t warm or genuine, it was cold, and dismissive, “I am still working on that myself.  You have seen what I can do, but still…”

“So you will hide behind the excuse?  That your mentor won’t allow it.” Tracey said bitterly.

“I’m not hiding from anything,” Harry said testily, “I am trying to keep you safe.  I have not had a very good track record of keeping people I care about alive.”

Tracey recoiled at his words, but knew he spoke true.  She paused for a long moment, looking into his eyes, searching for an answer, before she sighed, “I understand…but can’t we at least, try?”

Harry grabbed the hand that was on his chest, and held it firmly in his own, “What do you think I’ve been doing?  I have been seen with you, and couldn’t make it more clear that I want to be with you.  I can promise you are the only one.”

It was true.  Harry had hardly even glanced at the others now, except Daphne, but she was a part of their group, a part of the Slytherin leadership.  Tracey had a sad look on her countenance now, saying, “Then what difference would it make?  Would the title really change so much between us?”

She was right.  It wouldn't, Harry thought.  He didn’t know what Tom would think, or if the man would even allow it, but she was right.  Unless expressly forbidden he wouldn’t continue his sneaking around with Tracey.  Enjoying a few stolen moments here and there, and the others weren’t blind, they all knew her place was at his side.  

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” Harry said softly.

Tracey offered him a tentative, nervous smile, her hand reaching out to his face. But before she could close the distance, her eyes widened in a mixture of terror and pain, and she tumbled forward with a choked scream. Harry's own eyes widened in horror as he watched her crumple into his arms, a sudden, inexplicable agony radiating from her. He struggled to fathom what was happening, his mind racing to comprehend the abrupt shift from cautious optimism to a nightmare unfolding in his grasp.

Before he could even voice a question or attempt to help, a sound ripped through the otherwise silent clearing – a loud, booming voice. It erupted from the treeline, a sound that carried a chillingly familiar malice, cutting through the air with a single, resonant word: “POTTER!”

Harry’s eyes darted in the direction of his name, a jolt of recognition shooting through him. Stalking towards them with an unnerving gait was a man in dark robes. His skin was strikingly pale, almost luminous in the dim light, and a long, sharply pointed goatee descended from his chin, giving him a sinister, almost Mephistophelian air. Harry recognized the man at once, it was Igor Karkaroff. A wave of unease washed over Harry as he observed the man with his wand in hand, allowing his own to fall into slip between down his wrist.

Quickly Harry moved Tracey to the ground behind him and he growled towards the bearded man, “Bold of you to approach me out here alone Karkaroff.  You must have a death wish for attacking the daughter of an Auror.”

“Insolent boy, AVADA KEDAVRA!” The man roared.

Harry’s eyes, usually sharp and quick, widened in a primal, instinctual fear as he saw the deathly green curse erupt from the assailant's wand. It was a flash of lethal light, a harbinger of instant oblivion that he alone had survived in their world. Without a second's hesitation, pure adrenaline coursing through his veins, he threw himself backward, shielding Tracey on the ground with a force that knocked the wind out of both of them. They hit the unforgiving dirt hard, the impact jarring their bones and sending a cloud of dust billowing around them. The sound of their bodies hitting the earth was a muffled thud against the sudden, shocking silence that seemed to have fallen over the immediate area, a silence that only heightened the frantic beat of Harry's heart.

But there was no time for lingering on the pain or the shock. The very next instant, Harry was popping back up, a low, guttural growl rumbling in his chest. It was a sound born of rage, of a primal need to survive, to protect. His eyes, no longer wide with fear, narrowed into slits of fierce fury. He didn't hesitate, didn't falter. He immediately beset himself on the man who had cast the lethal spell, a blur of motion driven by an overwhelming sense of urgency.

If Karkaroff was surprised to see the teen fighting back so well, he didn’t show it.  The man was mechanical and methodical in his attacks.  His curses that came towards Harry were dark, and came at him with reckless abandon.  In the initial exchange Harry had caught the man twice, with dark cutting spells that would make the man bleed exponentially, but still the Headmaster didn’t stop.  Harry had never seen a dueling style like this before.

A curse flew over his shoulder, and he knew Tracey had broken through her pain and entered the frey.  The spell was something he had recently taught her, a low grade spell in the dark arts that would cause the bones to shrivel away in its immediate target, and it struck the man in his non-dominate arm, but in his state it didn’t even slow him down, and in turn she began transfiguring nearby rocks into animate little creatures that began charging towards the dark haired man.

Harry wanted to just keep the girl behind him, but another killing curse made him summon the creation she hurled at the man in the path of the spell to protect them both.  The rock exploded causing the debris to cut through Harry’s face, and he recoiled from the pain.

Karkaroff laughed maniacally, and sent a large barrel of fire in his direction, causing Harry’s eyes to widen, and swish his wand in an upward direction of desperation.  The fire coalesced around them, and Harry knew this was the fire he had once seen Tom wield.  Fiendfyre.

The demonic fire took the shape of a large raven, and attempted to swoop towards Harry, but with a flick of his wand, the bird recoiled, creating a loud caw that deafeningly pierced his ears.  Tracey screamed behind him, and he couldn’t tell if it was pain or fear.  He didn’t even have time to check. 

The man marched closer to them, and Harry’s eyes widened as the former Death Eater began to close in on them.  This wasn't a duel; it was a desperate, no-holds-barred fight for his existence along with Tracey’s. Every move Harry made was fueled by the stark reality of the situation: it was them or Karkaroff. Harry didn’t know what he had done to the man to push him to this point, but there was no room for error, no chance for retreat. 

“Water charms, now!” Harry yelled, and luckily Tracey obeyed immediately, causing steam to fill the air as jets of water collided with Karkaroffs conjured flames. Harry also attempted to smother the flames with a massive mound of dirt he ripped from the earth with a mighty yell of effort, and with their combined efforts they managed to smother the flame with more steam rising in the air.

Before Harry could begin to launch a counter attack a spell slipped through the stream and caught him directly in the arm, causing him to hiss with pain.  He nearly dropped his wand, as his arm began to blacken slowly from the point of impact.  Another bellyful laugh came from Karkaroff as he emerged from the steam, and the look in the man’s eyes told a new story.

The man's eyes were completely glazed over, a chilling, vacant stare that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. It was a look Harry had come to recognize with a sickening dread: the unmistakable sign that the person staring back was no longer themselves. He was under the Imperious Curse, Harry realized with a jolt, or perhaps some other insidious mind-altering substance had been forced upon him. That was how they had disrupted fiendfyre so easily, it was easy to win a battle of wills when someone was blindfolded.

The specifics, however, were secondary to the undeniable and terrifying truth: this man, stripped of his own will, was unequivocally set on killing Harry, and quite possibly Tracey as well. That simply could not be allowed to happen. 

Harry's deteriorating hand gripped his wand tighter than ever, and he knew it was time for something desperate, with a hiss, Harry jabbed his wand, and began delving into his knowledge of the Dark Arts.  He would do what Tom taught him to do, survive, win.

As Parselmagic began to weave its way into Harry's curses, Karkaroff's formidable presence started to crumble. The aura of mindless aggression and power that had defined his advance now flickered, replaced by a horrifying vulnerability. He was no longer the relentless pursuer, but a man in rapid, agonizing decline. A ghastly crimson began to seep from every orifice—his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth—a stark, visceral testament to the insidious power that was tearing him apart from within. His once proud frame spasmed, a grotesque dance of a body succumbing to an unseen, internal assault. The air around him, once charged with his animosity, now carried the metallic scent of fresh blood, mingling with the acrid tang of magic gone awry. Each tremor that wracked Karkaroff's body seemed to echo the subtle, serpentine hiss that accompanied Harry's increasingly potent spells, a chilling symphony of his undoing.

At long last, Harry reared back, his wand a conduit for the tempest raging within him. With a surge of raw power, he unleashed the same searing orange spell that had decimated the werewolf weeks prior, a potent symbol of his burgeoning, terrifying capabilities. Unlike the magically enhanced beast, however, Igor Karkaroff offered no such resilience. He crumbled, his once imposing figure immediately shrivelling as he plummeted to the cold, unforgiving ground. The stench of burnt flesh, acrid and sickening, seared the air, a grotesque testament to the finality of the act. Harry, his own breath ragged and heaving in his chest, watched, transfixed, as the man who had once betrayed his master, the man who had been a specter of the past, took his final, agonizing breaths.

His shoulders sagged, and Harry gasped for breath as he hunched over.  It was an exhausting burst of a duel.  It happened so fast.  Running over to Tracey who had once more fallen to the ground, he asked, “Trace, are you okay?”

“I think he hit me with the cruciatas curse.” Tracey heaved, sitting down on the ground, tears in her eyes.

As Harry waved his wand over the girl and detected no magical damage, he agreed with her guess.  His mind bubbled with fury that this happened on his watch, but before he could say anything he could hear the call of others in the distance.

Clearly, their desperate fight had reverberated throughout the tranquil village, a jarring disruption that had undoubtedly drawn the attention of its inhabitants. The arrival of the Aurors was imminent. Representatives from the school, too, would be descending upon them, their faces a mixture of concern and stern inquiry, eager to understand the chaos that had erupted on their doorstep.

With a swift, instinctive movement, he pulled Tracey into the secure circle of his embrace, his arm a shield around her trembling form. Her face, tear-streaked and pale, buried itself into his shoulder, and he felt the dampness of her anguish soak through his robe. It wasn't a loud, heart-wrenching sob, but rather a series of choked, silent tears, each one a testament to the raw, visceral horror they had just barely survived. The tremors that wracked her small frame spoke volumes of the lingering terror, the near-fatal dance with darkness that had left them both shaken. He held her tighter, a silent promise to protect her from any further harm, his own heart still hammering against his ribs from the adrenaline and the chilling proximity of true evil.

Harry wasn’t sure who had put Karkaroff under the Imperious curse, but what he knew for sure was that someone was going to pay for endangering him and Tracey…with their lives.

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 56

Chapter 56

They flew for miles, but as another howl ripped across the night sky, they began to slow realizing they were much closer to their intended target.  Harry said nothing as he dipped his broom to be just above the treeline.  His eyes darted across the forest floor, searching for signs of a magical beast.

“You know this would be really romantic if we weren’t hunting a monster.” Tracey said cheerfully.

Knowing the girl was just nervous he attempted to ease her with words, but kept his eyes searching the grounds below, “If you will let me, I can be a little more romantic for you in Hogsmeade this weekend.  Assuming we survive this.”

“You’re not funny.” Tracey said, squeezing his midsection hard.

“I really did think we could go to Hogsmeade this weekend!” Harry defended, with a smirk crossing his features, “But we can talk about that on the way back.  Let’s stay focused.”

The girl said nothing for a moment, and the two continued to hover several meters above the ground.  Before long Tracey pointed sharply to their left, “Look at that.”

His eyes quickly followed the direction of her pointing and saw a disturbing sight. The carcass of a small hippogriff lay below, its once majestic feathers matted with dark, congealed blood, and one wing was bent at an unnatural angle. Harry swallowed hard, a metallic taste rising in his mouth, as he guided his broom towards the ground. The landing was soft, almost reverent, as if even the broom recognized the somber gravity of the scene.

The two teens dismounted, their movements slow and deliberate, their wands firmly grasped in hand, the familiar weight a small comfort against the unsettling silence of the clearing. They approached the fallen creature cautiously, each step taken with a mix of dread and morbid curiosity. Harry knelt beside it, his gaze sweeping over the mauled form. The gash across its chest was deep, revealing bone and torn muscle, and claw marks raked down its side, suggesting a powerful struggle. A low growl rumbled in the distance, but Harry seemed oblivious, his focus entirely on the tragic scene before him.

A disturbed expression creased his face, and he shook his head slowly, a grim realization dawning. "This poor bastard didn’t stand a chance," he murmured, his voice hoarse with a mixture of pity and a burgeoning sense of fury. The air hung heavy with the scent of pine and something else, something primal and unsettling, a scent that hinted at a predator far more formidable than the average beast in the forest. 

“I wonder where its herd is?” Tracey asked leaning over the creature with a sad expression on her face, “Didn’t Professor Hagrid tell us they always wander in herds?"

Before Harry could answer, a sharp crack echoed through the dense undergrowth, the unmistakable sound of a branch snapping underfoot. Harry, his senses on high alert, reacted instantly. He shot to his feet, pulling Tracey protectively behind him, his eyes scanning the inky blackness that surrounded them. The silence that followed the snap was even more unsettling, a pregnant pause that seemed to hum with unseen tension.

With a swift, decisive flick of his wand, a brilliant burst of golden light erupted from its tip, banishing the oppressive darkness. The powerful lumos charm illuminated the ancient trees, their gnarled branches casting grotesque shadows, and revealed the creature they had been seeking. It was a massive, hulking beast, covered in shaggy, matted fur, its powerful body resting on four sturdy legs. Its face, eerily canine in its general structure, was contorted into a fearsome snarl, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. But the sheer ferocity in its eyes, the unnatural glint within their depths, hinted at something far more sinister, something that transcended the natural world and delved into the realm of the supernatural. The air around it seemed to thrum with a primal energy, a silent testament to its raw power and dangerous nature.

Harry hissed behind him, “Throw your strongest severing charm at it.  Its hide will protect it, but you have to draw blood with your own magic, or the ritual won’t work.”

“You can stop this thing right?” Tracey asked with worry in her voice.

“Never killed one before.” Harry said, eying the beast as it stalked towards them, “I guess it’s time to change that.”

The air vibrated with a roar as the hulking creature, a grotesque hybrid of beast and nightmare, challenged Harry. It rose on two powerful legs, a grotesque parody of human locomotion, and bounded forward with surprising speed. Its massive limbs, thick with knotted muscle and razor-sharp claws, reared back, poised to strike as it closed the distance between them at a terrifying speed. But Harry was ready. With a flick of his wrist, his wand became an extension of his will, a conduit for raw magical power. He unleashed a blasting charm, not merely powerful, but a force of nature that tore through the very ground beneath the beast feet. The earth erupted in a geyser of pulverized rock and dust, a testament to the charm's devastating force. The creature, caught in the unexpected maelstrom, was sent reeling backward, its initial bravado replaced by a flicker of bewildered surprise in its angry eyes.

Tracey for her part spurred into action, while the beast tried to stumble back its feet.  Stepping to Harry’s side, Tracey yelled out, “Diffindo!”

A slicing red charm flew from her wand, and struck the beast, but barely left a scratch on it, causing the girl’s eyes to widen in fear.  The werewolf, not remaining idle, barked angrily, and charged forward once again, with murder shining in its amber eyes.  Harry stepped forward to meet the creature, and sent his own slashing spell at the beast, but was surprised to see it dodge the curse with relative ease.  With no other choice, but to shield, Harry conjured a large metal slab that the beast ran right into with a gong-like sound.

Instead of waiting around to see what happened, Harry pulled Tracey into an embrace, and apparated immediately to put some distance between himself and the creature.

Re-appearing several meters away, Harry glanced at the monstrous beast, its multi-faceted eyes still locked onto their previous position, clearly disoriented by their sudden disappearance. A guttural snarl ripped from its throat, a sound that vibrated through the very ground beneath them, but Harry barely registered it. His attention was solely on Tracey, who was now trembling violently, her eyes wide and unfocused with terror. He could feel her fear, a cold dread that threatened to consume her.

With a small but firm amount of force, he shook her, not harshly, but enough to jostle her out of her catatonic state. "Hey, focus," he urged, his voice low and steady, cutting through the din of her panic. "Tracey, look at me." Slowly, her eyes, glazed with fright, began to register his presence. "You can do this. I know you can." He squeezed her arm reassuringly, though the tension in his own shoulders was palpable. "I can end this, I swear I can. But you have to do your part first. We’re in this together." 

The girl glanced from Harry to the werewolf before nodding rapidly.  Harry for his part just twirled his wand in his hand one time saying, “There are lots of ways to make a creature bleed.  Play to your strengths.  Treat it like a duel for your life, and you can do it.”

Before Tracey could utter a word in response to the tense revelation, the monstrous creature, a blur of dark fur and power, launched itself forward. Its roar ripped through the air, silencing any further conversation as Harry was forced to snap his full attention back to the imminent threat.

A flicker of grim determination crossed Harry’s face. He knew he couldn't afford to merely defend; he had to inflict damage, to show this beast that it wouldn't have an easy victory. Deciding on a tactic of disruption and pain, Harry’s lips twisted into a snarl, and he hissed a curse, its syllables sharp and sinister, a relic from the darker corners of Tom Riddle's formidable repertoire. With a violent thrust of his wand, an orange rope-like spell, crackling with raw magical energy, sizzled through the space between them.

It struck the beast with a sickening thud, not exploding or tearing, but seeming to melt into its tough hide. The creature recoiled, a shriek of pure agony erupting from its throat. Steam rose from where the spell had impacted, and the air filled with the acrid smell of burnt flesh. The beast staggered, momentarily thrown off balance, its eyes, now blazing with a mixture of rage and unexpected pain, fixed on Harry. The wound, though not immediately fatal, was clearly deep, a searing brand on its dark fur, and the creature’s movements became noticeably less fluid, a testament to the corrosive power of Harry’s dark magic.

Before Harry or the enraged creature could retaliate, a surge of magic erupted from Tracey. It wasn't a raw, unfocused burst, but a precise, controlled torrent that tore past Harry with a whistling sound. From the damp earth beneath the werewolf gnarled roots, thick as a man's arm, erupted from the ground snaking upwards, coiling around the beast's powerful limbs and torso, attempting to ensnare it in a verdant, living cage.

Harry's eyes, wide with a surprised, fixed on Tracey. Her usually calm demeanor was replaced by an intense focus as she swirled her wand in intricate, whip-like motions. Her lips moved silently, muttering a rapid-fire succession of incantations, spells she had undoubtedly absorbed during countless hours in Transfiguration lessons or duels with Harry. For the first time Harry could feel Tracey’s potential tangibly.  

The roots and thorny vines from the surrounding brush seemed to obey her silent command, twisting and tightening their grip around the struggling werewolf. It thrashed and writhed, a guttural snarl ripping from its throat as it fought desperately against its botanical bonds. Its powerful muscles bunched and released, as it tore its way out..

But Tracey was not finished. Before the beast could break free, her gaze swept to a nearby fallen branch, thick and sturdy. With a fluid, almost imperceptible flick of her wrist, the branch levitated, hovering momentarily in the air. Then, with another swift, decisive motion of her wand, she configured it. The rough bark smoothed, the end sharpened into a sharp point, transforming it into a spear-like object as she spat out, “Opugno!”

With a final thrust of her wand, she launched the makeshift weapon. It whistled through the air, a blur of wood and magic, striking the werewolf with brutal force. It impaled the beast in the upper torso, just below the shoulder, and nearly knocked it entirely off its feet.

Not another second passed before the beast let out another guttural roar, a sound that vibrated through the trees as it ripped apart its confinements. Rage, raw and unbridled, was now feeding the creature's strength, indicating that it was far from defeated. Its eyes, previously dulled by pain, now burned with a malevolent amber glow, fixed on Tracey. 

Regardless of the beast display, Harry could see the blood, pouring in a steady stream from its wound, where Tracey’s spear had impaled the beast. Her job was finished, a crucial strike that would complete her requirements from the ritual.  It was his turn now.

To Tracey’s credit she continued her attempts to contain the beast, but it was unnecessary.  Harry reared back with his wand, and thrusted forward a powerful gouging spell whistling across the area and striking the beast in the chest.  The spell on impact did its damage, but it would take more than that to kill a werewolf.  With another slash of his wand Harry sent a spell he had learned from Barty over the summer.  Initially the creature froze as Harry lowered his wand, but kept his eyes on the beast as its hands scratched at its throat.  The suffocation spell was brutal, but it was only part one, as Harry realized his spell was taking hold, and he snapped his wand forward one last time, snapping the creature's neck with a brutal crunch.

Tracey yelped at the aftermath of the spell, and watched as the werewolf crumbled to the ground lifelessly.  Harry for his part continued to stare at the creature, half expecting it to get back up, or reverse its transformation, but instead it just laid motionless on the ground.

“You made it look so easy.” Tracey whispered.

“I have dueled with things much scarier than a werewolf,” Harry said ominously, his voice low. He approached the fallen creature, its form grotesque and twisted by the brutal magic they had unleashed. The damage they had inflicted was stomach-turning, a testament to the raw power of their assault.  Harry’s face remained impassive, betraying none of the revulsion that might have been expected. His focus was solely on ensuring the beast was truly dead.

It should have been obvious, Harry thought morbidly, a cold, hard certainty settling in his gut. Nothing could survive that spell, not even a creature of such ferocity. The air around them still hummed with residual magic, a testament to the devastating force that had been unleashed. Still, a lifetime of dealing with impossible odds had instilled in him a cautious pragmatism. He nudged the werewolf’s foot with the toe of his shoe, a silent challenge, as if he half-expected it to twitch back to life. When it remained inert, a faint sigh escaped his lips, barely audible above the rustling leaves.

Reaching into the depths of his cloak, Harry’s fingers closed around a small, stoppered vial. Its glass was thick, designed to contain volatile substances, and it glinted faintly in the dim light. He bent over the grotesque form, the scent of blood and damp earth filling his nostrils. Without hesitation, he pressed his hand firmly onto the gaping wound Tracey had carved into the creature’s shoulder. With a sickening gurgle, a fresh torrent of dark blood welled up, pouring directly into the waiting vial. He worked swiftly, efficiently, the practiced movements of someone accustomed to the macabre. The liquid filled the vial with surprising speed, a dark, viscous trophy of their victory.

Nodding in satisfaction, Harry stood to his feet, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor running through his muscles – a residue of the magic he had just wielded. His eyes, usually intense and focused, softened as they landed on Tracey, who stood a few feet away, her expression a mix of trepidation and curiosity. She looked incredibly uncertain of what should happen next, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her gaze darting between Harry and the dead werewolf beside him.

Offering her a reassuring smile Harry gestured for her to come closer with a gentle sweep of his hand, not a demand, but an invitation.  Tracey did so tentatively, her steps small and hesitant, as if she were walking on fragile ground. Each footfall was light, almost soundless, and her eyes remained fixed on him, searching for reassurance. As she neared, he extended his clean hand, the one not currently stained with blood, a silent promise of support.

When her fingertips finally brushed against his, a spark, not of magic but of understanding, seemed to pass between them. He gently pulled her to his side, speaking with a soft murmur, “You don’t have to do this, but you did your part admirably. You should reap the benefits of it.” The weight of his words settled upon her, not as a burden, but as an acknowledgment of her contribution, a validation of her efforts.

“What do I have to do?” She whispered back, clearly still shaken from the encounter.

His gaze, intense and unyielding, fixed on Tracey's trembling form. The air was thick with the coppery scent of fresh blood, a grim testament to the battle they had just entered. With his left hand, still slick and crimson from the recent struggle, he delved into the depths of his cloak pocket. His fingers, practiced and swift, retrieved another small, glass vial and extended it towards her, his voice remaining soft, "Do as I did. Press down on the wound you created with your spear." He gestured subtly to the gash on the fallen creature, the source of the recent bloodshed. "Fill the vial." His voice hardened slightly, the urgency in his tone palpable. "And we can do the rest…away from here." The implication hung heavy in the air – the need for secrecy, for a swift departure from the ravaged battlefield. The forest, though quiet now, held countless unseen threats, and the lingering scent of blood was an invitation to other predators both mundane and monstrous. They had what they needed.  The rest could be done in the Undercroft.

Nodding Tracey took the vial from his grasp, and repeated the same process he did, albeit, a little more shaky than his demonstration.  When she came back to her feet, she seemed a little steadier, and pocketed the vial into her cloak, before asking, “What else do we need?”

Harry pondered the question as he surveyed the body of the beast, before saying, “A few finger nails, some teeth, and a little fur should do.  It would’ve been different for every beast, but I think that will suffice for the sacrifice.”

Tracey nodded, but before she could begin retrieving her ingredients, Harry put a hand on her wrist, to stop her from doing it by hand, “I can do this part.”

With a few quick flicks of his wrist, Harry removed the parts they could need for Tracey’s ritual, and he stored it in a conjured container that he sealed with ease.  Next he waved his wand around his dirty hands, and removed the drying blood from his skin, before doing the same for his shaken friend.

When it was done, Harry offered his hand to the girl, and guided her away from the fallen beast, “We can fly back, and do the ritual in the Undercroft.  You did great, Trace.”

Offering a forced smile that barely masked her disturbed expression, Tracey followed Harry to a clearing, where the Nimbus 2000 awaited them. With a practiced grace, Harry mounted the broom, and Tracey settled in behind him, her arms wrapping tentatively around his waist. As they lifted off, the ground receded below, the towering trees shrinking into a verdant carpet.

The couple still had hours until sunrise, the first sliver of dawn a distant promise. To ease the girls' lingering nerves, Harry took the ride at a much slower, more leisurely pace than before. The rush of wind that had once been exhilarating was now a gentle caress, allowing Tracey to truly appreciate the silent, ethereal beauty of their ascent. They soared slowly, deliberately, over the dense canopy of trees, the leaves rustling softly below them as if whispering the secrets of their night together. The wind, no longer a forceful push, gently nudged them along, a subtle encouragement in the vast expanse of the night sky.

As they reached the far end of the sprawling Black Lake, its surface a mirror reflecting the nascent stars, Harry subtly detoured. With a practiced maneuver, he positioned the Nimbus 2000 directly above the water, its dark surface shimmering under the soft moonlight. The silence was profound, broken only by the faint lapping of the lake against its unseen banks. It was a moment suspended in time, a tranquil interlude that would precede their dive into ritualistic magic.

Tracey eased her embrace into him, and leaned her head against his shoulder.  Harry wasn’t sure what he should say to the girl.  If it were Tom, the man would scold him for being emotional, but congratulate him on a job well done.  He had already praised her success, and did not feel his scolding would be a welcome one.  Instead he just allowed the serene moment to ease the girl, and hoped she was not going to let their adventure be for nothing.

Arriving back at Hogwarts, the two snuck back onto the grounds in silence.  Under the guise of the cloak the two made their way back to the Undercroft without words.  Once they arrived in the Gaunts old sanctuary, Harry immediately went about setting up the rune work for Tracey’s ritual, and to her credit she watched with a silent attentive gaze.

Once he was complete he eyed the girl and spoke for the first time, “You handled yourself well out there, Trace.  Where others would have run, you stood at my side, and fought.  You trusted that I could keep you safe, and you drew the blood you needed.  If you still want to do this, it’s your victory for the taking.”

The girl looked uncertain, and Harry once again thought of what Tom would do.  In times of Harry’s doubts, the man pushed him with words.  Maybe they were slightly manipulative in nature, but they always gave him the push.  Perhaps it was time to pull a piece from the heir of Slytherin's book.

“You once said that you didn’t want to be overlooked anymore.” Harry said, suddenly causing the girl's eyes to shoot up to meet his own.  He paused for a moment before continuing while holding her gaze, “You told me you didn’t want to just be the half blood from Slytherin, or plain old Davis.  Tonight, you gave the world a reason to look at you differently.  Where others would have cowered you fought.  You earned this.  You wanted to be more like me, Tracey, and this is your chance.”

Offering the vial of shimmering, crimson blood and the container that held the piece of the werewolf, Tracey stared at them, her eyes wide with uncertainty. This was it, Harry thought, observing her every subtle hesitation. The final, crucial push. His voice, a low, resonant whisper began. "You can be great. Greater than any of them." His gaze sharpened, piercing through her doubt. "Better than Draco, with his inherited arrogance and fragile ego. Better than Blaise, with his calculated indifference and hidden fears. Better than Daphne, with her icy control and stifling expectations of what a Pureblood is supposed to be."

At the mention of her best friend's name, her eyes narrowed slightly at him, and Harry leaned in slightly. "This is your moment, Tracey, to carve your own destiny. They will try to hold you back, to define you by their standards. But you are more than a shadow in their wake.  His words were a carefully crafted intoxicant, designed to dismantle her inhibitions and fan the smoldering embers of her desires. "Seize your moment, Tracey. Take what is offered, and transcend the limitations they have imposed upon you. Embrace the power that awaits, and let it redefine who you truly are."

The air crackled with unspoken tension, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic drip of water deeper within the cavern. Tracey's gaze shifted from the blood to the remains, then back to Harry's unwavering eyes. She saw not just the grotesque remnants of a beast, but the potential for transformation, for a strength that would make her better. The fear was still there, a cold knot in her stomach, but it was slowly, inexorably, being overshadowed by a burgeoning, intoxicating hunger.

Reaching out to take the ingredients, Tracey didn’t hesitate any longer.  She uncorked the vial and began spreading the blood across the runes as she had been previously taught.  With no hesitation she cut her own hand, and followed the creature's blood with some of her own, before throwing the ingredients all together.  Breathlessly the girl drew her wand and pointed it at the basin.  A brief moment of hesitation before she spoke the word, “Incendio.”

Unlike the last time, there were no screams of pain or anguish. Instead, a profound stillness descended, broken only by a low, guttural growl that seemed to vibrate from deep within her chest. A grimace contorted her features, a battle against an unseen force, her brow furrowed in clear discomfort. Then, a transformation began in her eyes. The familiar dark shade of brown deepened, swirling like ink in water, until they became pits of absolute jet black, reflecting no light, absorbing everything around them. It was as if the very essence of her being had been consumed, leaving behind only an unsettling void. A faint, acrid scent, like ozone after a lightning strike, permeated the air, hinting at the raw power that was now coursing through her. The shift was complete, and with it, a tangible chill settled in the room, a silent testament to the darkness that had taken root within.

Harry eyed the girl in anticipation, “How do you feel?”

Tracey’s eyes darted towards him, and an insidious smile crossed her face as her features began to return to normal, “Powerful.”

Harry returned the smile with a little uncertainty, but was glad to see the change in her mood.  Tracey moved towards him, and for a moment he almost considered the need to defend himself, not knowing what the ritual might have done, but before he could make a decision the girl grabbed him by the front of the shirt, and kissed him soundly.

Her aggression surprised him, but he did nothing to stop her.  When the two separated he offered her a questioning smile, “Duel tomorrow to see how it went?”

“Why wait?”  Before Harry could utter a single word of protest, Tracey’s eyes, still shimmering with hints of that unsettling, inky blackness, blazed with a fierce intensity. Another rough kiss followed by a soft push from Tracey separated the two, and an unsettling feeling began to fall over him, as she moved across the room with her wand now in hand, prepared to duel.

A flicker of a smile, cold and predatory, touched her lips when she reached the proper distance away from him. It was so unlike the girl he had come to know, but he didn’t comment on it, as she pointed her wand at him, "Let’s see if I can make you work for a win."

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 55

Chapter 55

Following Tom's directive to observe Barty more closely for any unusual behavior, Harry's perception sharpened, and he noticed peculiarities almost immediately. Barty's already present nervousness had intensified palpably, an almost frantic energy radiating from him. More concerning were the increasingly frequent inquiries about their shared master, questions that probed deeper than simple curiosity and often ventured into territory that made Harry deeply uneasy.

Each time Barty's questioning edged towards sensitive or uncomfortable subjects regarding Voldemort, the seasoned Death Eater displayed a disconcerting awareness of Harry's discomfort. He would abruptly pivot the conversation, steering it towards safer topics, or simply disengage entirely, offering a hasty excuse before retreating. These abrupt shifts and avoidances only served to amplify Harry's growing unease and suspicion. The very act of deflecting suggested that Barty was aware of the delicate nature of his inquiries and perhaps even testing Harry's loyalties or knowledge in some clandestine manner. The subtle dance of question and evasion created an atmosphere of tension and unspoken scrutiny between them, further solidifying Harry's resolve to remain vigilant and report any truly significant discoveries to Tom.

Beyond these observations, Harry had also begun to distance himself from his friends.  Before he had done so however, he had told them that he was really going to get serious about preparing for the third task, and told them he had to do more than win the tournament, but didn’t go into details.  

Tracey had seemed hurt by this decision, initially, but Harry promised that in his studies he would find another ritual for her, and continue to point her in the direction that would optimize her growth.  The disappointment from the girl was still felt, but Harry hoped she would forgive him.  The last thing he wanted was for her to catch Tom’s ire.

As March led into April and Harry’s training intensified.  His proficiency in the Dark Arts was becoming absolute, and his teachers were truly starting to realize just how gifted he was in his core wand subjects.  Between McGonagall, Flitwick, Vector, and Babbling, they were all quizzing him on NEWT level parts of their curriculum instead of assigning him the usual homework.  This led to some interesting studies, but nothing that truly challenged the young man.

Each day Harry seemed to catch the long looks from Dumbledore, and wondered what the man was thinking.  Perhaps he was comparing him to another student that had walked the halls before him.  One that had risen to become the most powerful Dark Lord of the 20th century.  Tom Riddle.

The comparison was fair, but unlike the young Tom Riddle, Harry had a guide.  A mentor that was willing to push him, yet make sure he didn’t fall into temptation and lose himself in the pursuit of power, but was still willing to push him as far as he was capable of going.  A capability Harry was determined to push the bounds of.

The weight of his burgeoning magical abilities and the intoxicating allure of greater power consumed Harry's thoughts. He was on the cusp of proving he was among the most powerful wizards of his generation, and he wished to cement this beyond doubt in the final task.  Tom had been right when he scolded Harry for merely trying to win the tournament.  There was more to this than winning, and Harry understood that more and more as he delved into the history of other great wizards throughout history.

To further enhance his chances, his focus narrowed to the intricate and perilous ritual he was meticulously planning, an undertaking still several weeks away but looming large in his mind. Each component of this dark rite was a weight on his mind.  A labyrinth of thoughts circled in his head constantly as he attempted to strategize each component.

The acquisition of this profound power Tom spoke of had become his singular obsession, coloring his every waking thought and shaping his interactions with the world around him. The coming weeks would be a period of intense preparation, a clandestine gathering of the necessary elements, and a final mental rehearsal of the ritual's steps. The air around him seemed to hum with the unspoken anticipation of the transformative and potentially dangerous act he was about to commit.

The most straightforward method for obtaining the necessary ingredient would be to procure the blood of an enemy. Fleur Delacour, in particular, had emerged as a persistent and irksome obstacle throughout his endeavors, thwarting his plans and presenting unforeseen annoyance on numerous occasions. Her continued presence in the tournament was an undeniable irritation.  With the precise application of a finely tuned tracking rune, he would embark on a relentless pursuit of the young woman at the start of the 3rd task, following her every move until the opportune moment arose. His objective would be clear: to eliminate her from the competition at the earliest possible juncture, thereby neutralizing her and securing a significant advantage. Upon her demise, he would claim her blood not merely as a consequence of their conflict, but as a potent trophy that would benefit his magic forever. 

The Blood of the Dead, a potent and rare ingredient that Harry was lucky enough to already possess. He had meticulously collected it in the aftermath of his previous ritual that ended Peter Pettigrew's miserable existence.  It had been a grim souvenir of a pivotal moment. His magical studies, particularly those under the tutelage of Tom, had unveiled the myriad values of Dead Man's blood. It was not merely a macabre relic, but a substance imbued with latent power and even capable of harming vampires. Tom, ever the pragmatist and master manipulator, had been the one to insist Harry preserve it. "One never knows, Harry," he had purred, his voice a silken thread of menace and wisdom, "when such a... unique resource might prove invaluable."

The task of gathering the blood of a champion and a mentor, while seemingly gruesome, presented a surprisingly straightforward path for the ritual. Harry, a Tri-Wizard champion, naturally fit the first requirement. His very participation, let alone his ultimate victory in the demanding tournament, marked him as a figure of remarkable prowess and resilience. The potent magic that coursed through him, honed by perilous trials and triumphs, would undoubtedly be an invaluable ingredient, imbuing the ritual with a profound connection to his already powerful magic.

As for the blood of a mentor, Tom's inclusion was equally, if not more, crucial. He wasn't merely a teacher in the conventional sense, but a guiding hand through the labyrinthine corridors of dark arts and intricate magical theory. His extensive knowledge and the profound influence he wielded over the very trajectory of Harry’s endeavors positioned him unequivocally as the mentor whose essence was required. The symbiotic relationship between his vast wisdom and Harry's burgeoning power formed the very bedrock of their grand design, making their combined contributions not just easy to acquire, but absolutely indispensable for the ritual's success.

Then there was the blood of a virgin.  An ingredient that he had only mildly entertained thoughts of and when he did, he thought of Tracey.  Despite distancing himself from the girl, he knew she still cared for him, and desired to be at his side.  He would only need to ask, and he had little doubt he would receive what he needed, but still he hesitated.  The young woman had done well in her initial dives into the Dark Arts, but this was a big step.  She would undoubtedly ask many questions, and while mostly he could deflect, it was a well known fact that most things to do with blood magic were very dark. And then there was the even more delicate, almost painfully awkward, aspect of the conversation. How would he articulate the necessity of her virginity? How would he explain that her untainted state was not merely a preference, but a vital component, a magical prerequisite for the ritual's success? The very thought of broaching such a sensitive, intimate subject with her, the potential for misunderstanding, the inevitable blush that would undoubtedly color her cheeks – it was enough to make Harry distinctly uncomfortable.

The blood of an innocent, a morally compromising task, a chilling ingredient that weighed heavily on Harry's conscience, more so than any other component. His immediate, almost visceral thought, was to return to Mrs. Pettigrew. In a twisted sense, she was an innocent, an unwitting victim of her son's depravity. The idea flickered through his mind that taking her blood would be a pragmatic solution, a means to an end. He wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over it; the woman had, after all, birthed a monster, a creature of betrayal and evil. However, a deeper, unsettling intuition gnawed at him. He knew, with a certainty that transcended logic, that the very motive behind such an act would be irrevocably tainted, corrupting the ritual and potentially, himself. In the truest, most profound sense of the word, Mrs. Pettigrew was not truly innocent in his heart. This stark realization forced him to abandon the easy, yet ethically compromised path, compelling him to delve into the treacherous landscape of other, far more complex, and potentially dangerous options. The quest for true innocence, untainted by even the faintest shadow of complicity still rattled around in his brain daily.

On the waning days of April, Harry had noted the night before in Astronomy that a full moon was upon them at Hogwarts.  It was on this warm spring day that he began to consider the final ingredient, the blood of a beast.  There were no shortages of monsters he could go hunt in the Forbidden Forest, but a different piece of text caused him pause. 

In a book written by the Gaunts that had many sinister rituals available for studying, he discovered something less horrific than the normal.  A ritual that he would not consider for himself, but his companion that was fascinated to take the next step in her journey of ritualistic magic.

It had been a quiet afternoon in charms, and the day was coming to a close.  Professor Flitwick's class was the last of the day for the fourth year Slytherins, and Harry half interestedly listened to the man’s lesson about the severing charm.  This was a charm Harry had been taught by Tom their first Summer together, and had even taught the charm to Blaise, Daphne, and Tracey during one of their many lessons together.  It was no surprise that his allies looked bored during the lesson, but when Flitwick suggested they begin cutting the fabric he conjured for each of them, Harry took his opportunity to speak to Tracey under a quiet breath.

“Want to have some fun tonight?” Harry asked under his breath, as he pointed his wand at the fabric and non-verbally sliced it in two.

Tracey raised her eyebrows at her friend, and her cheeks colored slightly, before her eyebrows furrowed, and she pointed her own wand at the fabric, “We haven’t had much time together recently, and now you want to just sneak off to snog?”

With a slight hiss and a thrust of her wand, Tracey muttered the Diffindo charm, and sliced her fabric in half, while also creating a decent sized gash in their table.  Professor Flitwick’s eyes shot towards them and he called across the room, “A little more control next time Ms. Davis.”

“Sorry Professor.” Tracey muttered, not catching that Harry himself was now blushing at the misunderstanding, and was thankful the girl was not looking him in the eye.

“A different kind of fun to what you’re thinking.  It would be just the two of us.  After curfew.  It would also need to be a secret.” Harry said evenly, trying to keep the stammer out of his tone from the embarrassment of the misunderstanding.

Tracey looked at him in surprise now, as he slashed his fabric neatly into fourths, not leaving a trace of his own magic past the thin pieces, “Just the two of us?”

Nodding Harry said nothing, while Tracey, with much better control cut the yellow square fabric into a separate piece, with a soft incantation.  This time the fabric cut much smoother than before, and though there was a small scratch on the table it was better than most of the rooms. “What did you have in mind?”

Harry glanced around to see that most of the class was focused on their own work, except Daphne, who had her eyes on the pair with a suspicious look on her countenance.  Ignoring the girl he had not had many meaningful conversations with since the Yule Ball, he turned back to Tracey saying, “I may have a possible answer to your next step in our favorite subject, and it happens to coincide with a different project I am working on.  I thought this would be a good chance to kill two birds with one stone.”

At the casual mention of their “favorite subject”, Tracey’s eyes lit up with excitement, as she whispered, “Really?”

Nodding Harry shrugged, “It’ll be mildly dangerous, but it will be a cool story we won’t ever be able to tell anyone.”

Tracey grinned at this, and nodded enthusiastically in return, “I’m in.  After midnight?”

“It’s a date.” Harry promised quietly, and those words seemed to cement the joy in Tracey’s eyes as she visibly became more upbeat, and changed the subject to the other uses of the charm they were working on to make sure they avoided the suspicion of their professor who was coming around the room.

Flitwick had praised both of them for their charm work, and to no surprise Daphne and Blaise received similar praises.  They had, after all, been taught this particular charm by Harry.

When the lesson ended, Harry and his friends gathered their bags, and began making their way back to the Common Room with mild conversation about the upcoming weekend.  Harry wasn’t as interested in the conversation as they talked about Hogsmeade, but as the two girls began exchanging hushed whispers, Blaise bumped Harry easily with his elbow, “Did you promise to pull Tracey into a broom closet?  She looks like she won a prize, and I haven’t seen her this excited since before the second task.”

“Nothing like that.” Harry said, fighting the smirk that threatened to cross his face.  Ever since Tracey and Harry had gone to the ball together, Blaise had been dropping hints about coming to him for advice about girls.  While he assured Harry that his magical knowledge may be superior to Blaise’s, witches were his speciality, “But I am planning to spend some time at Hogsmeade with her this weekend.  I have been training diligently, and could use a break.”

It was as good of a cover as he could think of on the fly, but knew Tracey would be ecstatic to have that time with him.  It was true too, Harry had been very diligent the last two plus months.  While he wouldn’t throw the whole day away for a Hogsmeade visit, a few hours with his friends, and a few more in private with Tracey wouldn’t hurt.

“That’s the spirit.” Blaise said, clapping him on the shoulder, a huge smile on his face, “Maybe we can share some of that fire whiskey that Pucey gave you at the end of the night.  You can tell me all about it.”

“I could be convinced.” Harry said with a grin, trying to act more his age, and enjoy the high spirits of Blaise and Tracey.

At the corner of his eye he caught Daphne holding a glance perhaps longer than he would’ve thought normal.  Somehow the girl seemed suspicious of him, and he wasn’t surprised.  Daphne was incredibly observant, and he schooled his features to his normal impassive countenance.  

He had often thought about their conversation at Yule, and had even wanted to bring the matter up with her again in private.  Each time he had thought to do so, things tended to get in the way.  It seemed like it just wasn’t yet time to address that particular problem, but he hoped that next year, the two could delve into the problem together.  He had little time to study parselmagic in its healing nature, and was very curious to do so, when he had more time to peruse the topic around Gaunt Manor.

The rest of the evening and dinner passed by normally, and no one was the wiser about what was coming.  Daphne’s suspicions had fallen away over the course of the evening as Harry returned to his studies, and didn’t engage much with the group beyond dinner time.  By the time curfew had rolled around, they had all gone their separate ways to bed, but not before Tracey had offered him a discreet wink, and wished him a goodnight.

Midnight had come faster than Harry had anticipated.  He had read over the steps to Tracey’s ritual in earnest to make sure there would be no surprises, and to ensure he accounted for every possibility.  This was likely the least amount of research he had done on a ritual, but the Gaunts made it seem simple, and while it was dark in nature due to needing the blood of a beast, there wasn’t much more beyond that.  A couple of facets he would explain to Tracey on the way, but nothing that he thought would put her off the idea.  With a deep breath he grabbed his fathers cloak and his rarely used Nimbus 2000.  With a swift wave of his wand he shrunk the broomstick down to miniature size and took a deep breath hoping the night would go off without a hitch.

Staring off into the impenetrable darkness of the Black Lake, Harry stood by the large, arching glass pane window, its surface cool beneath his fingertips. A profound stillness enveloped the Slytherin Common Room, broken only by the almost imperceptible lapping of the lake against the castle foundations far below. He waited patiently, a figure of quiet intensity silhouetted against the inky expanse, for his clandestine meeting with Tracey. The grand stone walls of the common room, usually bustling with late-night conversations and the murmur of studying students, were now silent, amplifying the solitude of the moment. It was only a minute past midnight, the castle clock having just chimed its mournful, echoing tones through the ancient corridors, when the softest of footsteps began to echo across the polished flagstones. The sound, almost a whisper against the pervasive quiet, grew steadily closer, indicating the imminent arrival of his companion.

He remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the darkness of the lake in front of him, even as her light footsteps drew near. He didn’t need to turn to know it was her; a familiar piece of magic, a subtle shift in the air, always announced her presence. As she reached him, her hand slipped through the crook of his arm, a silent anchor in his tumultuous thoughts. Then came the gentle brush of her lips against his cheek, a fleeting, tender caress that sent a comforting ripple through him.

Even without meeting her gaze, he could feel it – the vibrant hum of her excitement, a tangible force radiating from her very magic. When he finally turned his head, his eyes meeting hers, he found himself entirely unsurprised. 

Tracey was dressed in a cloak he had gifted her after the Yule Ball for Christmas.  It was the same he had gifted Daphne and Blaise, but she seemed to enjoy wearing the dark robes the most.  They covered her small frame well, and her brunette hair, usually a cascade of unruly waves, was pulled back into a neat, elegant bun, framing a face that was soft and unmarred by the day's demands. A radiant smile graced her lips, a smile that held no hint of the exhaustion that surely should have followed a long day filled with classes and studies. Instead, it was a pure, unblemished expression of eager anticipation, her eyes sparkling with an inner light that spoke volumes of the adventure she clearly foresaw.

“Ready?” Harry asked softly.

He expected the girl to bombard him with questions, but instead she surprised him by nodding excitedly, “Lead the way.”

Her faith in him was moving.  She didn’t ask how they would escape undetected, or what they would be doing.  She didn’t even ask about the large piece of fabric he was carrying in his hands.  She merely trusted him to guide and instruct her along the way.  He had rarely appreciated his friend more than he did in that moment, and just returned the grin for the first time that evening, and indicated with a jerk of his head to follow her.

They made their way up the staircase that would lead them out of the Slytherin Common Room and into the dungeons, but before they reached the serpentine archway, Harry held a finger to his lips, and began unfolding the soft velvety material that he knew Tracey had not recognized.

In a swift motion he swirled the cloak over his shoulders, and disappeared from the sight of his friend who gasped.  Before she could ask where he had gone, he flipped a piece over his head, so she could once again see him.  Harry grinned at the girl, holding a finger to his lips, and offered a portion of the invisibility cloak to her, indicating she should join him.

Nodding her head, Tracey did as suggested, and came in close to him, as the two slid under the cloak.  Her grin was even wider than before now, and Harry couldn’t help but share the infectious smile as the two began to creep out of the Common Room, and through the dungeons.

It wasn’t a long walk before they reached the grounds. He knew every shortcut, every hidden passageway, every nook and cranny that would get them out of the immediate vicinity of the castle the fastest.  Yet still being this close to a girl this age did play a certain number on his insides.  Tracey seemed amazed by the magic of his fathers cloak, but just watched in wonder as they moved throughout the castle undetected.

At last, with a soft rustle, he pulled the cloak from their shoulders, the sudden exposure to the cool night air a welcome shock after the stifling closeness beneath the enchanted fabric. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the moonlit landscape, searching for any sign of movement or disturbance. The expansive grounds lay quiet and still, bathed in the silver glow of the rising moon.

"Okay," he whispered, his voice low but firm, a hint of the usual determination returning to his tone. "We should be safe to walk and talk from here." His gaze lingered for a moment longer, a flicker of residual caution in his eyes, before he finally relaxed, a subtle shift in his posture.

The stars were out in force that evening, and Harry glanced at Tracey who took a deep breath, looked up at the sky, and let out a big exhale, “You picked a good night to do this.”

Harry nodded, the weather was cool, but not uncomfortable for the time of year.  In their current attire they would be comfortable.  Walking towards the forest, Tracey followed confidently beside him as he took a moment to arrange his thoughts before saying, “Our task tonight will have its dangers, but I promise I will keep you safe, if you promise in return to watch my back.”

“Of course.” The girl said without hesitation, “I trust you.”

Swallowing thickly Harry didn’t know what to say to that, but took her head appreciatively and offered it a squeeze, before releasing it, saying, “Tonight, we are both after the blood of a beast.  I am working on a much larger ritual, and this is merely one of seven components, but for you, a few pieces of your beast will be needed as well as the blood.  The more dangerous the beast, the more benefits you will reap from the ritual.  For your part you will only need to draw blood from our target while it lives.  I believe I will be able to do the rest..”

“What is it we are after?” Tracey asked with a hint of nervousness in her voice for the first time.

Shrugging, Harry shook his head, “I am told there are both vampires and werewolves that have been known to take refuge in the Forbidden Forest.  I think either would be beneficial to our ritual, but I won’t limit our options.”

Tracey seemed to consider his words for a moment before sighing, “I’ve heard there are acromantulas in there too.  An entire colony.  I’d rather not run into those.”

“I would rather not run into a beast that has that many numbers either.  Preferably we find a solitary magical creature.” Harry agreed.

“Shouldn’t we be worried about running into them?” Tracey asked concern still laced in her tone.

Offering a reassuring smile Harry shook his head, “The colony has been…let’s say relocated.”

Raising her eyes in surprise Tracey asked, “By you?”

Nodding his eyes darted around the grounds searching for anything out of ordinary while he said, “And an ally.”

“Your teacher?” Tracey asked with excitement.

“Not exactly.” Harry chuckled, “But a good friend of my teachers.  She has become a good friend of mine too.”

Tracey frowned at this and her eyebrows creased, and Harry chuckled, realizing her line of thought at once, “Don’t worry, she’s not my type.”

Thinking of Sesha, Harry knew it would be impossible to explain the basilisk to his friend, so did not even attempt to do so, “Regardless, we don’t have to worry about giant spiders tonight.  For your ritual a Dugbog or Mongrel would work, but I would prefer something a little more exciting for both of our sakes.”

Nodding in understanding Tracey followed Harry into the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, noticeably getting closer to him than before.  The teen didn’t comment on it, but she decided to continue speaking to likely keep her nerves clear, “What else should I know about my ritual?”

“It will help you grow into your magic faster.” Harry offered his eyes searching the distance for anything out of the ordinary, “The last ritual enhanced your magical abilities, this one will help you reach maturity faster.  It won’t help you outstrip your current projected potential, but it will help you get there faster.  According to my book, it will also give you a better sense for hostile magic aimed at you.  A lot of the people who underwent this ritual reported heightened reflexes in duels, and faster retaliation in spellcasting.”

“Sounds useful.” Tracey said, the excitement returning in her voice.

“For how little you have to do, I agree.” Harry said, “A little of your blood, the right runes, and the blood of the beast, and boom, ritual over.  One woman reported that it stung, but everyone else has said it was just a little discomforting.”

“Much better than last time then.” Tracey responded brightly.

“Much.” Harry agreed.

“What about your ritual?” Tracey asked.

Before Harry could contemplate the lie he was going to feed her, but before he could ponder it a howl split the air.  Both teens froze in place before glancing at each other, Tracey looking much more nervous now than before.  Harry comfortingly offered, “Stay with me, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Tracey nodded, but her unease was palpable. The howl, a chilling lament that seemed to vibrate in the very air around them, was distant, perhaps even miles away, yet it carried an undeniable sense of foreboding. Harry, ever practical, reached into his pocket. With a familiar flick of his wrist and a whispered incantation, he withdrew his broomstick, a sleek Nimbus 2000, and with another wave of his wand, restored it to its full size.

Tracey’s eyes widened, a mixture of awe and concern clouding their depths. Her voice, when she spoke, was barely a whisper, as if sharing a profound secret. "I forgot you had such a nice broom," she murmured, a hint of reverence in her tone. "You know you could damage it by shrinking it like this? The enchantments, the balance of the wood and the magic… it’s a wonder it hasn’t warped already." She gestured towards the shimmering bristles and the polished handle, her concern evident.

Snorting Harry shook his head, “It hardly matters now.  After my stunt this year I am sure Snape will keep my ban intact from the team, but if not, I will get a new one to play, besides this is more important than my non-existent future playing quidditch.”

Mounting the broom, Harry jerked his head to his friend, indicating she should mount the back behind him, and tentatively, with a blush on her cheeks, she did so. The polished wood felt smooth beneath his grasp, familiar and reassuring, a stark contrast to the thrumming anticipation in his chest. He could feel the slight tremor in Tracey’s arms as she settled in behind him, her touch light at first, then firming as she secured her grip.

Harry, with his wand still firmly clutched in his hand, its holly and phoenix feather core a comforting weight, then hissed, “Point me,” the words a low, sibilant whisper that seemed to ripple with parselmagic. He extended his arm, the wand held steady before him, and waited for his magic to infuse the intent behind his words. A subtle hum began to emanate from the wand, a low vibration that resonated through his fingertips and up his arm, spreading a warmth that chased away the lingering chill of the night. The air around them seemed to shimmer, the invisible currents of magic responding to his command. For a breathless moment, the wand seemed to vibrate intensely in his hands, a conduit between his will and the unseen forces of the world, before it spun gracefully in his palm, its tip aligning with an unseen magnetic pull. It pointed due south of their location, a clear, unmistakable direction.

Harry nodded, a grim determination setting his jaw. With a powerful kick off the ground, the broom surged upward, a rush of wind tearing at their cloaks. He felt the arms of Tracey wrap around him tightly, her fingers digging into his robes, a silent testament to her trust and her own apprehension. The ground beneath them rapidly receded, lights blurring into streaks as they ascended into the darkening sky. The stars, previously faint, now glittered with sharper clarity above them, and the distant sounds of the castle faded into a soft murmur carried on the wind. He could feel the steady beat of Tracey’s heart against his back, a rhythm that was both comforting and a stark reminder of the danger they were flying towards. "Hold on," he said, his voice a low command, barely audible over the rush of the wind, but infused with an unspoken promise of their return.

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 54

Chapter 54

When Tracey’s family offered to buy Harry and his friends lunch in Hogsmeade, he didn’t feel like he was much in a position to refuse.  The offer had come from Tracey’s mother in gratitude for saving her daughter so quickly, but the look on Auror Davis’ face indicated to Harry that this wouldn’t be the pleasant celebration he was hoping for.

When he had made it back to the dock with his friends at his side, Harry saw Barty in his usual disguise waiting off to the side.  Promising to catch up with his friends in a moment, the teen separated himself from the group and approached the man, who had a scarred grin on his face.

“He wants to see you tonight.” Barty said right away, leaning against the tall walking stick of Alastor Moody.

“The usual place?” Harry asked softly, as people called out their congratulations from nearby.

Barty merely nodded his head and then mumbled, “You did well, lad.  It was lucky that Krum’s got more of a conscience then his Headmaster though.  Things are changing quickly out there, and you need to be ready.”

In understanding trepidation, Harry merely nodded, saying nothing further, and separating himself from the disguised Death Eater, and going after his friends who were walking the path to the Hogsmeade carriages.

.o.

At the Three Broomsticks, Harry retold the mostly true story of what had occurred down in the Black Lake.  He admitted that after he cracked the clue of the task he had begun scouting the lake, and even sent many serpents through the water to ensure he could find Tracey as fast as possible.

He spared a few details about the basilisk scaring off the merpeople, and instead explained that the fighting sent them cowering into the depths of the underwater village.  It was clear that while his friends were interested in his tale, Tracey’s parents were fixated on the details, particularly her father, as if he were trying to detect any wrong doing on his part.

“Fleur hit me pretty hard with the opening spell, I didn’t even see her coming.  I was so focused on getting Tracey out, that I am lucky she decided to try and hurt me instead of incapacitate me.  When I regained my senses the fight kicked off.” Harry explained.

“Idiots.” Blaise scoffed, “Krum has to have had at least heard what you could do in a duel, and Delacour attacking you in an environment that she is naturally weaker in was foolish.”

“Regardless,” Mr. Davis interjected, “He defeated two other champions in magical combat.  An impressive feat for one so young.”

“I warned them not to get in my way before we dived in.” Harry offered with a shrug.

Blaise snorted, “Probably hurt their pride when you threw that kind of challenge down.”

Daphne agreed at once, “I would’ve sought you out just because you said it, if I was Delacour.”

“We will see if they learned their lesson.  I may be in first now, but it is my understanding that the winner of the 3rd task usually takes all.  I will be playing for keeps in the last task.” Harry promised.

“Even if it means seriously hurting one of them?” Auror Davis asked.

“Daddy!” Tracey exclaimed.

“What?” The man defended, “It’s a fair question.  The French Champion was in shambles, and appeared to have only made it out because Krum helped her.”

“The truth is Mr. Davis,” Harry began, his eyes meeting the Aurors' unflinchingly, “Since I have stepped out of the shadows at the end of my 3rd year, my life has been full of challengers.  My strength seems to incite these challenges.  Challenges that incite conflict, and those conflicts breed catastrophe.”

The man seemed to think over his words, the entire group did, but Harry wasn’t done, “Is it wrong that I have chosen to defend myself in ways that I have hoped would dissuade others from trying to hurt me or my friends?”

Before the Auror could answer, a soft hand went on his arm, and to his surprise it was Tracey’s mother, “Of course it's not, Harry.  Powerful wizards have often attracted trouble throughout our history.  Look no further than your own headmaster. Dumbledore is not a man of conflict, war or violence, but when the Wizarding World has needed him the most against You-Know-Who, or Grindelwald, he rose to the occasion.  I only see a young man that is rising to his own occasions and still trying to find his way.”

Harry was surprised by the woman's words, and even more surprisingly he was warmed by them.  He may not have liked the comparison to Dumbledore, but the fact that the woman acknowledged that he was a powerful young wizard just trying to find his way was more understanding then he imagined he would get from any other adults.

“You could say you have sought out so many of these conflicts by putting yourself in the middle of this tournament though.” Roland Davis interjected.

Blaise and Daphne both seemed uncomfortable by the discussion, but Violetta Davis was having none of it, “He helped our son and I at the World Cup, putting himself in danger to do so.  If not for him and his friends, who knows what would’ve happened.”

This seemed to quiet Mr. Davis, and he searched for a counter-argument, but seemed to find none, “What about the tournament?  It was very dangerous, and maybe even illegal for you to enter it.”

Harry couldn’t prevent the scoff that escaped his mouth, “Illegal?  This is the first tournament in the history of its existence to have an age limit.  Any student could enter their name into the Goblet, and it was left to the ancient Magical Artefact to deem who was worthy.”

“The Ministry said no one under the age of 17!” The man said thunderously, “You flaunted the rules, and put Dumbledore and the Ministry in a bad light.”

Instead of thundering back and allowing his temper to get the better of him, he just shook his head, getting quiet for a long moment.  He wanted to draw his wand and make the Auror shut up, an unnatural rage coursed through him as eyes from around the Three Broomsticks fell upon him.  If his rage was not the dominating feeling, perhaps he would’ve been embarrassed, but he knew there was no reason to be.  He had made the Ministry and Dumbledore look foolish, but Hogwarts was on top, with a wizard three years younger than the other schools chosen champion.  That was something worth celebrating, not chastising.

“What I did today, Mr. Davis,” Harry said quietly, "Was save your daughter.  I fought for her with everything I had, because I was not going to let anyone put her in danger.”  His eyes then shifted to both Blaise and Daphne as he said, “And I would’ve done the same for either of them.  My only real friends in the world.”

Harry's eyes narrowed towards the man as he felt his magic begin to rise in pressure as his irritation mounted, “Let me tell you something else, sir, I don’t give a damn about the Ministry.  They have never done a thing for me except let my parents get killed, and allow me to be raised by Muggles who hated magic.  Your precious Ministry and Dumbledore can share the blame for that in my eyes, I don’t really care.  My only care in this world is to be strong enough to make sure no other wizard is strong enough to mark me the way the Dark Lord did.  To make sure no other wizard can take from me the way Peter Pettigrew did.  Any that stand in my way, now, tomorrow, or in the future, are going to regret it.”

The man looked surprised by Harry’s rage, and leaned back in his chair slowly, while the rest of the table seemed to hold their breath.  Finally the man exhaled saying, “I believe you.”

Tossing a few coins on the table, he rose to his feet, and gestured with his head to follow, “Let’s take a walk, son.”

Harry’s eyes furrowed in confusion, not understanding the man.  Tracey shook her head immediately telling Harry, “Maybe we should just go back to the castle.”

“I’m not gonna hurt the lad.” The man protested. While Violetta Davis interjected, “Is that really necessary Roland?”

“I’ve clearly upset the lad, let me make it right.”

The two women both looked at Harry, but he shrugged, figuring he would rather be anywhere than in this crowded bar while he was in a disagreement with his best friend's dad, “It’s alright.  I could use the fresh air.”

Roland nodded his head, offering him a clearly forced smile, “Clearly me too.  Let’s go lad.”

.o.

As soon as the two men exited the bar Tracey buried her face on the table, “He’s never going to speak to me again.”

“Don’t be dramatic dear.  It's a difference of opinions.  Besides, your father doesn’t know the whole story.” Her mother comforted, “I think they will sort it out.”

Blaise looked uneasy as he leaned back in his chair with his butterbeer, “I wouldn’t count on that. Harry can be scary when he gets riled up.  He has no love for the Ministry or Dumbledore.  Defending either one, will only end in a bigger argument.”

The woman looked concerned by Blaise’s words, while Tracey just nodded, “My father has been a career Ministry employee.  He doesn’t want to see the bad side of it, that Harry has seen.”

“What do you know?” Violetta asked in concern.

“Nothing.” Daphne said, speaking for the first time, “We’ve made a lot of assumptions though, with the bread crumbs he’s left us.  You also don’t become as reclusive or anti-social as he was when we first started becoming close without an unpleasant upbringing.”

“Harry’s a dangerous wizard.” Tracey said softly, alarming her mother, but finished the thought with, “To any that try to hurt him.  In all our time together, I have never seen him attack or have a go with anyone with anything besides words, but Merlin help any that have tried to target him.”

Blaise and Daphne both nodded confirming they shared a similar opinion, while Violetta said softly, “You care for the boy?  Beyond what you’ve put in your letters.”

Tracey blushed deeply at being asked that in front of her friends, but she swallowed, and nodded, “He pushes us all to be better.  Studying with him has made us all better witches and wizards.”

“We all respect him.” Blaise said, trying to help Tracey out of her discomfort, “Ever since we allied with him, he has been nothing but kind to us.”

“He’s not the most empathetic person,” Daphne added, “And we often have to explain things to him in ways he can understand.”

“But despite his past, he still has a heart.  He’s still a good person.  He may go looking for the fight sometimes, but he never starts it.  He just wants to be challenged, to be pushed.  He doesn’t care about the glory of the TriWizard tournament, he just wanted to test himself against the best of our generation.” Tracey said with a sigh.

“Hell of a job he is doing there.” Blaise mumbled as he took a long swig of his butterbeer, leaving the rest of the table to contemplate Tracey’s words.

.o.

The biting wind whipped through the deserted cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade as Harry Potter and Auror Roland Davis exited The Three Broomsticks, the heavy wooden door creaking shut behind them. A thick, uneasy silence descended between them, heavy and palpable in the crisp afternoon air. They walked side-by-side, their footsteps lost in the sounds of the bustling wizarding village. 

The late afternoon hour cast long, stark shadows from the snow-dusted rooftops and quaint shop fronts, painting the scene in hues of grey and deepening blue. Despite the constant rambles of those around them, an undercurrent of hushed excitement permeated the atmosphere. The whispers followed Harry like a persistent draft, and furtive glances were cast in his direction from those still out and about. The second task of the Triwizard Tournament was clearly the primary topic of conversation, and Harry, as the winner of today's task, found himself the center of attention. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, a familiar gesture of discomfort and a desire to become invisible amidst the scrutiny. The weight of the final task, coupled with the unresolved tension with the Auror beside him, made the silence all the more oppressive.

As the two reached the end of the village, and neither had spoken, Harry was tempted to make excuses and find his way to Tom.  Harry could sense that the man was near, as he always could, and had the suspicion that his mentor was already in the Shrieking Shack, waiting for his arrival.

Before he could make such excuses to disappear, Tracey’s father began to say, “I don’t know much about you, Harry Potter, but an idiot can see that you are a capable young man.  A true Triwizard champion.”

Outside of a few members of the press that had sucked up to Harry, this was the first adult that had ever openly admitted his worthiness.  It was strange to come from an Auror, Tracey’s father, and one who had seemed to be so vehemently against him just minutes ago.  Not knowing quite what to say, he tried to think of what Tom would do, and played the innocent charming young man, “Thank you, sir.”

The man grunted, and waited a long moment, stopping in his tracks, looking at the young man before him saying, “And you’re right about what you said back there, if the Ministry did put you with people who disliked magic, and mistreated you… then they did fail you.  Fallen Aurors' children are treated very well in our society.  There are good Ministry sponsored programs out there to ensure things like this don’t happen.”

“Considering I didn’t even know what the Ministry of Magic was until I discovered it in a book in my first year, I think we can consider that point nil, sir.” Harry countered with a bit of heat.

The man looked peeved for a moment, before his shoulder deflated, and the fire in his eyes seemed to fall, “Then I failed you as well.  All the Aurors did.  We were in the middle of a war, and our own were getting killed on a near-daily basis.  Their children were being well taken care of though, even when the Ministry coffers were plunging.  The fact that your mother and father paid the ultimate price to end the war, and then their child fell through the cracks, is unforgivable.”

Harry pushed his Occlumency to the forefront of his mind to keep the rage from coming out at his man's words.  His image of Hogwarts, the grounds, and the Black Lake, kept him feeling serene and unshaken by the emotional words of the man beside him.  Unsure of what to say this time, Harry remained silent, and kept his gaze locked onto the man before him, who shook his head before saying, “I will look into this matter myself, and if you do not wish to ever go back to your muggle relatives, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you don’t.  You have my word.”

“My muggle relatives,” Harry began, “Are no longer a problem.  I put some distance between them and myself last Summer.  Dumbledore didn’t like it, so he will be moving me to live with another Wizarding family.  Somewhere he can keep a better eye on me.”

The teen could hardly keep the bitterness out of his tone, and this made the Auror laugh, “Ha! A teenager who wants his freedom.  Maybe you aren’t so different.  You are certainly not what I imagined for my daughter, but you have brought out a different side to her.  A more confident one, that shows me a glimpse of the young woman she will become.”

The man seemed to hold the thought for a long moment, before his eyes hardened, “I imagine you have a lot to do with that.  You are dangerous for one so young.  When I joked about you wanting to date my daughter over the Summer, I never would’ve expected it to be true.”

Feeling distinctly uncomfortable over the topic, Harry just shrugged, “At the time I wouldn’t have either.  She’s grown into my closest friend at Hogwarts this year.  I trust her even above the others.  I under-estimated her, and I am glad for it.  She has surprised me a lot in these past few months.  She is as Slytherin as Blaise or Daphne.  It’s her faith in me though, that has really put her past the others.”

“Faith and loyalty.” The man said with another chuckle, but this one seemed more forced, “The qualities of a Hufflepuff, which both her mother and I were.  I suppose she took those traits from us.”

“In a world full of ambitious and cutthroat people, your daughter is a breath of fresh air, sir.  Those qualities are rare, particularly in Slytherin.” Harry said admiringly.

“You care for her then?” The man asked in a tone that had more than a hint of steel in it.

“More than I would like to admit.” Harry said softly as his eyes drifted back towards the Three Broomsticks on the opposite side of the village..

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Harry's eyes returned to the father of his friend, who said, “I believe you.  Something tells me we won't agree on the Ministry, the law, or Dumbledore, but we can both agree that my daughter is pretty special.  Would you say so?”

Instead of using his words he offered the man a nod of his head, and Roland clapped him on the shoulder, “For now that will have to be enough.  I would love for you to come visit over the Summer, so we can get to know each other more.  You are both very young, too young to be in a relationship, but if that is where the tide flows down the road, I’d like to have a good measure of the man you are, Harry Potter.”

Offering his hand to the man, Harry channeled his mentor's charisma with a smile, “I would be honored sir.”

.o.

When the two returned to the Three Broomsticks, Tracey looked so relieved she might fall over.  Harry could tell it was taking all of the girl's willpower not to demand to know what they talked about, but Roland put her mind at ease, “A little rough patch, but I think we understand each other more now.”

Harry offered Tracey a light smile, trying to ease his friend's worries, “We do.  Just don’t expect me to be wearing any junior Ministry shirts.”

“Cheeky little bugger, aren’t you.” The man said as he kissed his wife on the cheek, taking his seat.

This caused the group to laugh, and Harry made polite conversation, and re-entered conversations like there had been no annoying disruptions.  Despite this false bravado, Harry still felt a lingering irritation to the man that thought so highly of this corrupt Ministry that was running the country.  He had no idea that they had sentenced Sirius, an innocent man to die, and that it had happened on Dumbledore’s watch.  He had no idea that Dumbledore had likely committed numerous crimes to keep him out of the reach of the friends of Lily and James Potter, to Harry these were all unforgivable acts.  Something he would make them all pay for one day.

Before long, Harry was making excuses for an early departure.  The Davis’ tried to protest to keep his company longer, but he said he had studies to attend too, and a personal matter he needed to finish before the day was over.  His friends looked curious by his words, but all knew better than to question him in front of an Auror, even if it was Tracey’s dad.

On his own, Harry departed the The Three Broomsticks, after promising to catch up with his friends in the Common Room.  This time when he reached the streets of Hogsmeade the sun had almost set in the distance.  It was always dark early this time of year, but twilight seemed to have fallen even earlier than usual as Harry broke off the normal beaten path of Hogsmeade, and began making his way to The Shrieking Shack.

As soon as crossed the ward line he turned and swiftly apparted to where he knew Tom would be waiting for him.  When he arrived his mentor stood peering over an old book, shaking his head, and clearly frustrated by whatever he was seeing on the pages.

Harry approached cautiously, aware that his mentor was likely aware of his presence. He paused a respectful distance away, observing Tom's appearance while he waited for the other man to acknowledge him. In the span of their last two years together, Tom's youthful features had undergone a remarkable transformation. He now appeared closer to thirty years of age, a stark contrast to how he had looked before. Harry often pondered the reasons behind this accelerated aging. He speculated whether the process of absorbing the fragments of his former soul had taken a toll, or if the constant wielding of potent dark magic was the primary cause. Whatever the reason, the changes were undeniable. Tom's once lighter brown hair had deepened to a richer, darker shade, and the lines of his face had become more defined, lending him a sharper, more severe countenance. The passage of time, accelerated or otherwise, had etched itself visibly upon his mentor.

“Your performance today was uninspiring.” Tom said softly.

Harry’s eyes widened as his brain faltered at the accusing words.  For Tom’s part, the man didn’t take his eyes off the text as he spoke the dagger like words, and Harry was grateful, because he was sure the look on his own face was unpleasant, “I don’t understand, master,” The teen said trying to play the part of a respectful apprentice, “I won the task.  I defeated both champions in combat.”

“You looked like a dolphin flopping in the water,” the man chastised, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate the very air around them, indicating how displeased the man was.. “And you needed Sesha to aid you against imbeciles and creatures barely approaching what could be considered intelligence. A few commoners and some overgrown lizards, and you were floundering for ideas like a beached fish. I had expected more. Far more, considering the resources poured into your training. This performance... fell short of the expectations I have for my Apprentice.”

Bowing his head, Harry felt a stab of disappointment.  The man had been so pleased with his performance in the first task, and in this one he had won even more decisively.  The message however was clear now, winning wasn’t the only task he had to accomplish.

“What should I have done?” Harry asked.

“The most pliable, impressive piece of magic, would’ve been runic.” Tom countered as he slammed the book shut, and placed both hands on the table as he leaned over it, “I would never have even entered the water, to place myself in danger for another.  You knew the girl was going to be taken, and had even a pretty general idea of where she would be.  A broomstick, a tracking rune, and a little showmanship would’ve been a much better approach.”

Harry’s brain wandered to all the runes he knew, and began puzzling the thought together.  When it came to a conclusion his head sagged, realizing he had likely missed out on a better solution, “I failed you, and put myself in unnecessary danger.  I am sorry, master.”

“Sorry?” Tom asked dangerously, turning to face him for the first time now, “Don’t be sorry, be better.  You may have won the task, but after seeing what happened to you through Sesha it was only because that idiotic French girl didn’t stun you, and decided to curse you instead.  You won by the arrogance of a teenage girl.”

Harry fought the stab of embarrassment that went through him, and didn’t look up to see Tom as the man moved to stand before him, “That girl is a distraction to you.  I would advise you to proceed very carefully.  I will not allow my apprentice to fall to a pretty face before he even reaches a third of his potential.”

“I understand, master.” Harry said softly, as his mind whirled with thoughts of distancing himself from the brunette girl, and likely hurting her in the process.

"You do not have to turn your back on your ally completely."  Tom said with annoyance clear in his voice. "There is a balance in all things, but I will have little patience when it comes to distractions that will temper your growth.”

Tom paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing, "I can remember that you only started forming alliances on my orders.  I trust you can see the wisdom in my advice now, but even the purest intentions can become a snare if not handled correctly. If you allow her presence, her needs, her very existence, to become a distraction from your primary purpose – your studies, your growth, your mastery of the magical arts– then we will face a problem. If her influence derails your mind, pulls you from the disciplined path you have chosen, clouds your judgment or dilutes your focus, then I will be left with no other recourse."

Harry felt his stomach drop as Tom’s expression hardened, though his tone remained calm, the teen could feel the man’s displeasure. "Understand this clearly: I will take steps to see the girl removed from the equation. My commitment is to your development, to ensuring you reach your full potential unhindered. Don't make it come to that. Choose wisely, and maintain the necessary discipline, for the sake of both your progress and her continued existence."

Harry’s eyes darted upwards meeting Tom’s that may have naturally been brown, but were currently holding an undercurrent of red.  Swallowing hard, Harry bowed, “It won’t come to that.”

“Good.” Tom said, “See to it that it doesn’t.  Now I have questions, unrelated to the tournament.”

Harry said nothing as the man strided away from his apprentice, and began pacing the room.  There was an unsettling feeling about the man tonight.  Harry could tell Tom was very disturbed by something, and he remained silent waiting for the man to speak.

“Have you noticed anything off…about Barty?” Tom asked, in a tone that was cautious.

“Barty?” Harry asked, completely caught off guard, “I mean the man is half of a lunatic at the best of times, but it’s nothing different than what I am used to.”

Tom hummed with uncertainty, as he continued pacing, “What about his magical abilities?”

Thinking about the duel the two had shared a little over a week ago, Harry could not think of anything irregular in the encounter, and shrugged, “He is as talented as he always is, master.  We duel viciously in the Defense Classroom after hours, but if something was off, I would have noticed…can you tell me what this is about?”

Tom paused, staring at the dilapidated wall in front of him, as if his eyes could see through it.  The man's mind seemed to swirl in thought, before his left hand ran through his hair, and combed past it one time before saying, “Very well.  I would like you to watch the man.  Closely.  While you are in his class, and on the Marauder's Map from time to time.  I want you to report anything out of the ordinary to me immediately.”

Frowning at the request Harry nodded in understanding before asking, “Of course, master, but what can you tell me?  Perhaps if I knew what I was looking for then-”

“If something is out of the ordinary you will know it immediately.” The man said dismissively, “I want this to be your sole focus beyond the third task.  You have done well winning each of the tasks, but it will all be for nothing if another is crowned champion.  I also expect you to finish acquiring all the ingredients required for the ritual before the end of term.  Do you understand?”

A long moment passed, before Harry offered a final bow, “Yes, master.”

“Good,” The man said, shaking his head, and moving towards the door, “Do not let me down.”

With that the man apparated away with a soft pop, leaving a very confused young man in his wake.

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 53

Chapter 53 A strangled gasp tore from Tracey's throat as her head broke the surface of the Black Lake. For what felt like an eternity, the i

Chapter 53

A strangled gasp tore from Tracey's throat as her head broke the surface of the Black Lake. For what felt like an eternity, the icy grip of the water had stolen her breath, a suffocating pressure that threatened to consume her entirely. Now, with a desperate lurch, her lungs finally began to draw in the frigid air. The shock of the lake's temperature was visceral; it was a physical assault, each molecule of water a tiny, biting assailant against her skin. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the already distorted world around her as the relentless cold seeped into her very bones.

Panic threatened to overwhelm her, the primal instinct to survive clashing with the lingering terror of her underwater struggle. Every nerve ending screamed in protest against the icy immersion, and the urge to flail and succumb to the cold was almost unbearable. But then, cutting through the haze of fear and physical agony, a voice reached her. The words, though simple, resonated with a strength and reassurance that instantly began to thaw the icy grip of her panic. "Don't worry," the voice said, clear and unwavering, "I’ve got you." The simple declaration was a lifeline, a beacon of warmth in the overwhelming cold, promising safety and support in the terrifying vastness of the Black Lake.

The sound of Harry’s voice acted as an anchor, gently pulling her back from the swirling vortex of fear and disorientation. His familiar tone, laced with concern and determination, resonated through the oppressive atmosphere, gradually reasserting the boundaries of reality within her mind. The fragmented images and terrifying sensations that had threatened to overwhelm her began to recede, replaced by the concrete awareness of their present circumstances. They were in the midst of the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, and amidst the chaos and uncertainty, Harry had remained true to his word, fulfilling his promise to rescue her.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins, as her friend's strong hand clasped hers, pulling her relentlessly through the churning water. Each stroke he took was powerful and assured, a stark contrast to her own weakening efforts. Though her body screamed in protest, heavy with waterlogged clothing and exhaustion, she focused every ounce of her remaining strength on making herself as buoyant and streamlined as possible, desperate not to become dead weight and hinder his progress. The icy grip of the water slowly began to numb her senses, but the unwavering determination in his pull was a lifeline, a tangible connection to safety.

Then, just as her vision began to blur at the edges and a crushing despair threatened to engulf her, she felt a sudden lightness as familiar strong arms lifted her from the frigid depths. Rough but warm fabric enveloped her trembling form as heated blankets were wrapped tightly around her, a comforting cocoon against the biting air. A cacophony of sound washed over her, a roaring tide that overwhelmed her senses. It took a moment for her to realize that the ringing in her ears was not from the water pressure, but the thunderous applause and jubilant shouts of the crowd that had gathered, their cheers a wave of elation washing over the scene.

“That was some performance by your boyfriend.” A familiar voice behind her said.

Turning towards the voice she realized at once why she recognized the familiar strength that had pulled her from the water.  Her father, in his Auror uniform, stood over her, looking down with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Dad!”

Embracing the chuckling man he put his hand behind her head, pulling her as close as possible, “I about killed Dumbledore when he asked if you could be used as part of the tournament.  His personal assurances that you were safe was not quite enough for me, but your mother made me allow it.”

“Mum?  Is she here?” Tracey asked, glancing around, having missed her family at Christmas.

To her immediate right, Blaise was thumping Harry on the chest with his open hand in excitement, while the teen cheered, clearly excited by his performance.  Harry was then embraced by Daphne, who was clearly enthralled by whatever he had done, but when the two separated with wide smiles, a small form of irritation rose in her stomach.

Before she could go to Harry’s side, her eyes found her mum, as her arms were thrown around her, “I’m here, Tracey!  You should’ve seen Harry.  He was very impressive out there.”

As if his name had beckoned him forward, Harry was right back at her side, pulling her into a hug, “I’m glad you’re okay.  I made it to you as fast as I could.”

Melting into the young man’s arms, Tracey allowed herself to be embraced, not even caring that her parents were so close.  She was desperate to know how he completed the task, and how he had done overall, but as her eyes searched the area over his shoulder the realization that the other two champions were nowhere in sight began to set in.  The fact that the foreign contingents looked put out cemented her belief, “We won?”

Chants of Potter were beginning to break out on the platform, and the smile that crossed his face was bigger than she had ever seen as he nodded, “We were the first back.  Only took-”

“Thirty one minutes.” Blaise supplied helpfully.

Tracey knew from Harry’s explanation that he had an hour to retrieve his hostage, and the fact that he had done it with so much time spare made this a decisive victory.  Particularly considering they were already getting comfortable on the docks, while the other champions were nowhere to be seen.

“How did you do it?”

.o.

Under the cloak of invisibility, Harry’s gaze remained fixed on the intricate lines of the Marauder’s Map. It was shortly after curfew, and as anticipated, Tracey dot was being escorted to the Headmaster’s office with Professor Snape. Harry had harbored a suspicion that the tournament organizers would resort to such a maneuver and had been vigilantly tracking her whereabouts.

For hours Harry stood vigil over the map wondering when they would begin to move the hostages to the Black Lake.  It seemed that a Gabrielle Delacour and a Alexi Krum had been brought into the school at some point, but by the lack of movement in the Headmasters Office, Harry had to guess they had already been put under.

It was just before dawn that the names began to move, with Dumbledore, and a gaggle of other foreign names following his lead, each hostage in tow.  Knowing there was nothing left to be done as the names disappeared off the map, he returned to the Common Room, and thought over his plans carefully, before drifting off to sleep.

.o.

As Harry stood on the large platform beside his fellow champions he stared at the water with cold eyes.  He knew this next part would be unpleasant even with his magic.  Nothing would stave off a cold this frigid, and any attempts made could interfere with his ability to complete the task.

His eyes twisted across the platforms seeing the hundreds of spectators gather across the multi-leveled floating towers.  Posters in French, Bulgarian, and English indicated a show of support for each prospective champion of their school.  The chatter and excitement for the second task was palpable, and Harry hoped they were ready for a show.

“You know what you are doing, lad?” Barty asked quietly to his right.

The Death Eater in disguise had pestered Harry about his plans for the task, and had all but forced gillyweed into his hand that morning as a last resort, but the teen remained resolute in keeping his plan to himself.  He had told none, and wanted to impress Tom if he were here today. 

“Of course.” Harry muttered back, trying to keep all the nerves away.

Grunting the man hobbled away from the teen, and Harry’s eyes continued to survey the water.  He had already summoned several sea snakes to scout the water the day before, and should have no issue in locating his hostage.

Many well wishers passed him by, but he half heartedly engaged with all of them, until a strong hand landed on his shoulder, “We meet again, I think I owe you serious conversation after you rescue my daughter.”

Harry’s eyes turned to see a sterned faced man, with broad shoulders, and an intimidating build.  His moustache was trimmed down, and he looked like a young soldier, but Harry recognized him as Tracey’s father, “Mr. Davis, it seems a lot has changed since we last saw each other.”

“I’ll say.” The man said sternly, “You know, I always heard your father was a rule breaker, and I guess that apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

Not sure what the man’s intentions were, Harry shrugged, ignoring the sternness of his voice, “It must be in my blood sir.”

“You're lucky that every letter I have received since Christmas tells me that my little girl is a very happy young woman right now, so I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt here.” The man said severely, “I trust you will bring her back in one piece?”

“Without a doubt, sir.” Harry assured the man, “Today, I will prove to the world that I am the rightful Hogwarts Champion.”

“Big words, from one so young.”

Bowing his head slightly, but feeling his irritation rising, Harry shook his head, drew his wand, and held firmly in hand, “Just watch me.  I will be holding nothing back, with your daughter's safety on the line.  She is my friend, and I will not let anything happen to her today.”

The man grunted, and stepped away, giving Harry time to shake away the discomfort from the confrontation.  His eyes scanned the surface of the water, and prepared for what was to come.  The announcer went through the introductions, but Harry had already tuned Ludo Bagman out as he explained exactly what was about to happen.

As Krum and Delacour approached the edge of the Platform preparing for the countdown to dive in, Harry mumbled out, “Don’t get in my way.  I won’t hurt you unless I am provoked.”

It was clear that both Champions had heard his words, but both offered him puzzled looks.  Fleur went as far to scoff in his direction, but Krum seemed to take his words more seriously as he nodded slowly.

At the sound of the canon Harry watched as his two rivals jumped into the water, but instead he just waited.  The cheers that started the task turned to mumbles after a minute passed of Harry just standing on the edge of the platform.

It wasn’t long before jeers started from the foreign contingent, but Harry ignored them in favor of crouching down, touching the water with the tip of his wand, and casting a dark green light from the tip.   In front of him he could see Delacour and Krum swimming away in an attempt to search for their hostage, but Harry just waited patiently.

.o.

In the early hours of the morning, before the second task, Harry found himself entering the Chamber of Secrets.  It didn’t take him long to navigate the tunnels, and when he entered the infamous Chamber, he resolutely approached the statue, calling out, “Speak to me Salazar Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts founding 4.”  As the hole in the statue parted ways, Harry immediately called out to the ancient creature, “Sesha, I need your help.”

A brief silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the rustling of unseen creatures in the undergrowth. Then, after what felt like an eternity, a soft, almost imperceptible hiss echoed from the depths of the pit. It was a sound that sent a shiver down his spine, a sound that spoke of ancient power. Slowly, majestically, a colossal form materialized at the base of the dark opening. The creature's scales shimmered faintly in the dim light, and its eyes, twin pools of molten gold, fixed upon the speaker with unnerving intensity.  A voice, low and guttural, resonated from the massive figure. "Descendent. What is it?"

“It was as I predicted.  My friend has been taken hostage in the Black Lake, can you help me find her?” Harry asked politely.

“Descendant, I would be pleased to help you, but I must feast soon.  My hunger rises.” Sesha hissed.

In understanding Harry offered a bow, “Of course, help me today, and tomorrow, we enter the forest to feast on the great spiders within.  Meals fit for a queen.”

“Very well descendent.  Will you join me now?”

“I cannot enter the water, yet.  I will send messengers, smaller disciples of yours my lady, to gather the information and return it to me.” Harry assured.

With that promise, Sesha didn’t hesitate to plunge her ways into the tunnels that would lead her out of the Chamber of Secrets and into the Black Lake.  With that part taken care of, Harry immediately returned to the surface, and made it back to the Common Room, before any were the wiser.

.o.

No more than a few minutes had passed since the cannon had rung, and the whispers about Harry not jumping into the water were becoming louder and louder.  The jeers from the foreign contingent had begun, and no one from the Hogwarts group were cheering anymore as they began to doubt Harry’s plan.

Keeping his outward demeanor serene, Harry maintained a steady gaze, scanning the placid surface of the Black Lake for the slightest indication of movement. The early morning sun was blocked off by low hanging clouds, but despite the cold he refused to be deterred. He was searching for a sign, a subtle ripple, perhaps, or a flash of something beneath the surface that would indicate his plan was successful. He trusted his intuition, a quiet certainty that had been building within him for days. He had meticulously crafted this plan, anticipating every potential obstacle and contingency.

No stone had been left unturned when working through the golden eggs hint to the second task. In his mind, every detail was accounted for, every variable considered. He was confident, not in an arrogant way, but with a quiet resolve born of careful preparation. The plan would work, of that he had little doubt. There was too much at stake to allow failure. 

The tranquility of the lake belied the tension coiling within him, a knot of anticipation that grew tighter with each passing second. He knew that time was of the essence, that he couldn't afford to linger indefinitely. But he also understood the importance of remaining calm, of not allowing his anxiety to cloud his judgment. He took a deep breath, the cool air filling his lungs and steadying his nerves. He would wait. He would observe. He would be ready.

A small smile graced the young man’s lips as a ripple in the water indicated the arrival of his plan, as a small water snake came speeding across the top of the water.  Bending down to stick his hand out to the water, the snake quickly slid up his wrist from the water, and onto his shoulders.  When the snake was close to his ears it hissed quietly as if it were afraid of being overheard, “The Great One, has conveyed to me that your companion is situated several hundred meters from this point, residing near the Merpeople village. She remains vigilant and positioned at the outskirts, prepared to lend her aid should you have need of it. I am a loyal subject, at your disposal, young speaker. I shall stand alongside you and engage in battle if you require it."

The snake couldn’t have been more than a meter long, and was very thin.  Harry couldn’t imagine the snake would be of much use in battle, but did not wish to offend his informant, “Thank you brave one.  I need your sssspeed over your ssstrength.  Can you take me to my friend?”

“Tossss me towardsss the hidden ssssun, Ssspeaker.  I will take you above water.  From there you mussst dive.  Keep up if you can.”

Harry acknowledged with a slight incline of his head, the expression on his face one of focused intent. With a subtle, almost effortless flick of his wrist, a gesture that spoke of practiced control and inherent magical ability, the small snake was lifted from his shoulders, hovering in the air as if weightless. It writhed slightly, but it did not resist, as if attuned to Harry's will. Without any lingering hesitation or doubt, he directed the floating creature towards the expansive surface of the lake, another deft movement sending it gliding smoothly through the air. Upon reaching the water, the snake wasted no time, its instincts immediately taking over as it plunged into the depths, its small form quickly disappearing briefly beneath the dark surface. In seconds it broke the surface again however and  surged across the water, propelling itself with rapid, sinuous movements, leaving only a faint ripple in its wake as it made its way towards the middle of the lake.

Cracking his neck from side to side, Harry inhaled deeply, the cool air filling his lungs.  He retreated slightly to give himself room to launch, adopting the stance of a sprinter poised at the starting line.  With a burst of speed, he charged forward, feet pounding against the platform.  Leaping with all his might, he launched himself into the inky expanse of the Black Lake, a silent incantation escaping his lips. The magical propulsion charm took hold, surging him through the air.

Arcing downwards, he executed a clean dive, slicing through the air before plunging into the frigid depths of the lake. The shock of the icy water was immediate, a biting embrace that threatened to steal his breath. But Harry was prepared.  He refused to succumb to the chill's numbing grip. Channeling his magic with focused intent, he generated a powerful burst of force beneath him. The water churned and frothed as he was propelled upwards, launching back into the air with the grace and speed of a breaching dolphin, droplets of frozen water shimmering like scattered diamonds in his wake.

It took him only two consecutive dives to catch up with his reptilian friend, and the applause and cheers that had followed him were all but mute at this point as he remained focused on the task ahead.  The pain of the frigid water was immense, but the thought of winning the task, and getting ahead of Krum and Delacour kept him spurring forward.  Thoughts of how miserable his friend must be at the bottom of the lake, lingered in the back of his mind as well, propelling his magic to push even harder than before.

It wasn’t long before his guide began to slow down, and Harry followed the lead, for the first time allowing the pain of the icy water begin to set in.  His companion hissed to him, “The girl is directly below.  As is the Great One.”

“Passss on my thanksss.  You have my gratitude.”  Harry offered sincerely, before taking another breath, and submerged under the water. 

Gathering himself with a resolute breath, Harry steeled his nerves and avoided the temptation to plunge further into the murky depths. Instead, he raised his wand, and focused his magical intent. With a sharp, unwavering point towards the water's surface, he channeled his energy, issuing a silent but powerful command. His magic responded instantly, surging through him like a river breaking its banks, coalescing at the tip of his wand. An invisible force enveloped him, a potent bubble of pure magical energy, and then it propelled him. The acceleration was immediate and astonishing. He shot upward, leaving a trail of disturbed water in his wake. 

With inhuman speed, a velocity far exceeding the capabilities of any ordinary swimmer, he burst through the surface. He soared into the air, propelled by the last vestiges of his upward momentum, rising several meters above the water. For a fleeting moment, he hung suspended against the backdrop of the sky, the wind whipping at his soaked clothing. Then, pivoting with a grace and precision that defied the raw power of his ascent, he altered his trajectory. He transformed his upward flight into a controlled dive, bending his body and using the residual momentum to begin his descent. Simultaneously, he reignited the flow of magic, directing it with calculated intent. The magical force acted as a booster, a jet of energy that sent him shooting back towards the water, a sleek, dark missile plunging into the waves once more.

This time Harry descended fast.  A spike of adrenaline coursed through his veins as the dark water of the Black Lake obscured his vision, but his wand guided his way, and offered a small light that would ensure he did not hit anything hard.  As he began to lose momentum, he turned to the bubble head charm, and used his strength to continue to propel him through the water.

He navigated through the initial haze, the water gradually losing its murky quality as if a magical filter had been activated, revealing an astonishing sight. Before him lay a miniature underwater civilization, a community bustling with aquatic beings. The dwellings, constructed from luminous coral and smooth, iridescent shells, glowed softly, casting an ethereal light in the deep. As Harry swam closer, he observed the villagers going about their daily routines, some tending to gardens of swaying kelp, others engaged in intricate weaving with strands of shimmering seaweed. A palpable sense of order and tranquility pervaded the air, yet Harry felt a flicker of apprehension. His arrival would likely disrupt this peaceful existence, and the uncertainty of whether these beings would perceive him as a threat weighed heavily on him. He cautiously advanced, his senses alert for any signs of hostility or aggression, ready to defend himself if necessary, but hoping to find understanding with the Merpeople.

Harry didn’t have to get far before he spotted the three hostages, ropes tied around their ankles, and anchored by large rocks.  Around them a squad of merpeople were also assembled with pointed weapons that resembled crude tridents.  Frowning, Harry realized all the eyes of the villagers were on him, but none attempted to advance.

Approaching the armed magical creatures, Harry greeted them in plain English, hoping they would understand, “My friend was taken from me.  I would like her back.”

The silence of the underwater realm was suddenly broken by a chorus of murmurs amongst the gathered merpeople. Their iridescent tails flickered with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity as they regarded the figure swimming before them. However, a ripple of movement drew their attention to one merperson in particular. Adorning its head was an intricately crafted crown of shimmering coral, marking it as a leader among them. With a fluid motion, this crowned individual swam forward, parting the assembled crowd. It halted a mere five meters from Harry, its eyes gleaming with ancient wisdom. A moment of tense stillness hung in the water, then a sharp, piercing screech echoed through the depths. The sound, though high-pitched, held an undeniable authority. "Take her champion," the crowned merperson declared, its voice resonating with an otherworldly quality. "We are not your task. Our presence here serves but one purpose: to ensure the safety and well-being of the children." The pronouncement was clear and resolute, leaving no room for argument or misunderstanding. The rest of the merpeople shifted slightly, their expressions a mix of relief and lingering unease.

Harry nodded and slowly raised his wand, as if to demonstrate his peaceful intentions, before pointing it towards the rope that bound Tracey to the rock, and severed it with an easy flick.  Slowly the brunette began to rise through the water, and Harry offered a nod to the Chief of the Merpeople, but before he could speak, a surge of water came towards him, and before he could react the force struck him, propelling him backwards.

It felt like he had been hit by a bludger at first, but as he shook the pain away, he saw the outlines of Krum and Delacour approaching the village with unnatural speed.  Growling in fury, Harry prepared to launch an offensive, but the Mer Chieftain swam over to him, “Leave my people, and take your hostage.”

“Tell them that.” Harry spat.

The warrior looked visibly upset, and the other merpeople were raising their weapons and protesting, but clearly Krum saw this as a threat, and began casting on the magical creatures that were closest to his hostage.

Deciding that peace was no longer an option, Harry summoned several rocks from the nearby lake floor, and began hurling them at his assailants.  Before he could continue this line of attack he felt a sharp object touch his throat, and the mer chieftain screeched, “No, take this violence away from my people.”

Suddenly, before Harry could even form a word of protest, a deafening hiss ripped through the area, reverberating across the vast expanse of the lake.  The sound was primal, filled with an ancient power that sent shivers down Harry's spine.  A slow, knowing smirk crept across his face as he remembered who had been lingering in the shadows.

There was absolutely no need for him to resort to any spells or curses against the formidable leader of the Merpeople as fate had seemingly intervened.  Instead, the imposing figure of the Merpeople, who had moments before appeared ready for a fierce confrontation, was now seized by a sudden, palpable terror.  Its eyes widened in sheer fright, reflecting the dark pools of water, and a desperate scramble ensued.  The Merperson dropped its intricately carved weapon, the sound almost lost amidst the continuing echoes of the hiss.  It turned abruptly, its once proud posture replaced with one of panicked flight, and began to swim away with an astonishing, almost unbelievable speed, disappearing into the dark depths of the underwater civilization faster than Harry could have possibly imagined.  The water churned in its wake, a testament to its hasty retreat, leaving Harry swimming in place bewildered.

A cruel smile crossed Harry’s lips as the other champions looked around in panic wondering what Titanic beast might have made that sound, believing it to be a part of the task.  He took this moment to jump them both.  His wand cut through the water sending cutting, and blasting spells at his opponents with ease.

The initial onslaught caught them both off guard as they seemed to search for an underwater creature that stalked them on the bed of the lake, but Harry knew Sesha would not interfere now that he had things in hand.  Her mere voice terrified the merpeople into leaving them without a fight, and now Harry had his fellow champions where he wanted them, with no witnesses.

The magical underwater duel raged on in earnest, a whirlwind of spells and transfigurations tearing through the water. Viktor Krum, having shifted into a creature of formidable defense, a hulking, shark-like beast, met Harry's furious offensive with unexpected resilience. His monstrous form, and thick hide, proved far more adept at absorbing the brunt of Harry’s attacks, deflecting and dissipating spells that would have otherwise struck true. .

Unlike Krum, Fleur Delacour was far less prepared for the brutal onslaught. The moment the duel commenced, she found herself vulnerable. A crimson streak bloomed across her side as the first of Harry's spells, sharp and unforgiving, tore through her defenses, leaving a gash that instantly began to bleed. The initial exchange clearly demonstrated a significant disparity in the combatants’ ability to defend themselves underwater. 

Krum, a seasoned athlete and a naturally powerful wizard, had adapted to his transfigured state with impressive speed, turning it into a bulwark against Harry's attack. Delacour, while undoubtedly a skilled witch, appeared caught off guard and struggled to mount an effective defense in an environment that went against her natural Veela form. The tide of the duel, which once favored the two opposing champions when they had the drop on Harry, was quickly beginning to shift.

Harry’s grin widened as he was forced to shield a nasty crackling purple hex sent from Krum, his shield taking the impact, but the force sent him a few feet backwards.  This was why he entered the tournament.  To be tested.  Finally the moment had arrived to see how these two champions stacked against him, and he wouldn’t be reporting a failure to his mentor later.

Delving into his strengths, Harry sent a searing orange spell at Krum, whose eyes widened at the younger wizard's use of the Dark Arts.  Clearly the pro Quidditch player was familiar with the spell, and Harry just languished in Krum’s surprise, pressing him backwards, as he watched Fleur make a desperate play for her hostage.

He moved with predatory speed, not even allowing the girl to react. A swift flick of his wrist unleashed a potent banishing charm, a wave of raw magical force that slammed into her. She was thrown back violently, flying several meters through the murky water, the impact jarring her bones. Before she could regain her footing or raise a defense, another spell, a stinging bolt of pure, incapacitating energy, struck her squarely. The stunning curse hit with pinpoint accuracy, overwhelming her senses and shutting down her motor functions. Her eyes rolled back, and her body went limp, sagging heavily, her unconscious form sinking slowly beneath the surface.

Krum’s eyes widened in surprise, but did not let up in his offensive against Harry.  Furiously the two exchanged spells that exploded in the middle of the water, but without the two on one advantage Harry used his unnatural strength and abilities to his advantage, causing the Durmstrang champion to flee with a speed that was clearly enhanced in his transfigured form.

Surveying the area Harry knew victory was upon him as Tracey floated towards the surface high above him now.  Swimming up to meet the girl he prepared to be attacked from behind, but no such attack ever came.

.o.

Before Harry could delve into the story of the task, Krum broke the surface of the water with Fleur Delacour on his shoulder.  Shouts for help were heard, and Harry watched as two other heads were peaking out of the water shortly after.  All were struggling in the icy cold water, and Harry shook his head, scoffing at the motley crew, hoping they would drown.

Instead they were each lifted out of the water by a phantom force, and dumped onto the dock gently.  Harry’s eyes searched the crowd to see Dumbledore’s wand in hand, clearly responsible for assisting the two champions and hostages.  

It was immediately clear that Fleur was in bad shape, as Krum began shouting for a healer, while Dumbledore fell to a knee, above the young woman pointing his wand at her chest.  In an instant the girl began coughing up water, as two medics rushed the young woman, casting diagnostics, and attempting to seal the wound on her side.

Madame Maxime was above her Champion asking questions in rapid fire French clearly trying to ascertain what happened, but the young woman didn’t speak as she stared at the ceiling of the platform either feeling lucky to be alive, or in a deep state of shock,

When the questions turned to Krum from Dumbledore the Quidditch champion had a severe expression on his face, “Potter cursed her.”

All the heads of the school and the judges turned their eyes to him, but the smirk that had once been on his features had schooled to a neutral expression.  Dumbledore left the healers to work on the French Champion as he stormed towards his student, “Mr. Potter, Mr. Krum states you attacked Ms. Delacour.  Is this true?”

Shaking his head, Harry shrugged, “Why don’t you ask the Merpeople what really happened?  I can tell you my version of events until I am blue in the face, but you won’t believe me anyways.”

“The Chieftain was supposed to report to me as soon as the last hostage was taken.” The man whispered clearly unsettled by the turn of events.

“I was the first to arrive to my hostage.” Harry said evenly, “I made contact with the merpeople, thinking they were a part of my tasks, and that I might have to defeat them, but the leader told me they were merely there as safeguards for the hostages.  I cut Tracey loose, but before I could start my ascent I was attacked by Krum and Delacour.”

“Liar!” Karkaroff roared.

“The boy is a cheat!” Madame Maxime seethed, “He must be punished.”

Cheers of agreement came from the foreign contingents.  Harry’s eyes shifted through the crowd as he saw most of the Hogwarts students were silent, likely embarrassed by what had occurred, but his eyes shifted to Tracey, who watched him like a hawk.  Clearly she was trying to ascertain the truth through his expression, but he kept his features schooled.

“He must be arrested!” Umbridge, the Ministry official demanded, “Auror Davis, take Mr. Potter into Ministry custody.”

Harry’s eyes snapped to the Auror, who looked uncomfortable by the thought, and his eyes drifted to Dumbledore who had his gaze straight on Harry, clearly trying to read the truth for himself on his expression.  Before anyone else could move however, another voice broke through the crowd.

“Non.” The soft voice of Krum cut through the protests.

All three heads of the school turned to face Viktor who was helped to his feet shakily by some of his classmates, “Potter is honest.  She attacked first.  He may have defended himself viciously, but outnumbered two to von, I vould have done the same.”

The eruptions of outrage erupted across the platform as seemingly most of the Hogwarts students roared their disapproval.  Calls for Fleur to be arrested, and Krum to be disqualified were heard, but Dumbledore shook his head as he held a wand to his throat, “SILENCE!”

The magically amplified voice echoed across the water, and Harry reached for his ears in surprise as the rest of the dock fell quiet at the legendary wizard's demand.

Dumbledore looked troubled, while he paused to stare at his school's champion, before calling out, “The winner is, HARRY POTTER!”

This clearly satisfied the Hogwarts students as eruptions of cheers continued from before, and his friends around him whistled and cheered.  The chants of Potter had resumed from before, and Harry held up a fist in the air.  

Hands began thudding him on the back, but his eyes continuously shifted to the foreign contingent who once again looked embarrassed by what had occurred.  Dumbledore was on the receiving end of furious words from the Ministry witch, while Karkaroff spat on the ground towards Harry, and led Viktor towards the boats that would take them back.

His eyes then shifted to Tracey’s father who looked greatly troubled as his daughter threw her arms around Harry embracing him tightly, and a photo was taken as Harry took her in with one arm.  He had the most itching feeling that this was not over.

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 52

Chapter 52 Almost two months passed in a blur at Hogwarts and the second task of the tournament was nearly upon them.  The preparation for t

Chapter 52

Almost two months passed in a blur at Hogwarts and the second task of the tournament was nearly upon them.  The preparation for the task had been all too easy for Harry after he cracked the clue.  The options to breathe underwater for an hour were practically endless, and diving into human transfiguration was an interesting rabbit hole for him to dive down in, along with simpler options like the Bubble Head charm.  Barty had even suggested a less common magical herb called Gillyweed, but Harry had side-stepped it due to the debates of its effect in salt water vs fresh water.

The second part was a little more difficult in deciphering what exactly the Tournament officials might take from him.  Knowing that most of his things were protected by Parselmagic, and that it would take more than a small piece of magic, that would certainly notify him, if any attempted to break in, he ultimately settled on the idea that they may take a person.

The number of people at Hogwarts that he would sorely miss were very few, but Harry suspected his date to Yule Ball would be the likely target.  Of course, when Harry had mentioned this to Tracey, to warn her, she had the most amused grin, and had harassed him endlessly about the matter, to the point he threatened to let her drown.

When the amusement died down, she simply asked him if he had a plan, and he assured her that he had many.  The tasks would be more about speed than magical capabilities.  He had even gone diving with Sesha in the early hours of the morning.  They had avoided the Merfolk, due to rumors of Dumbledore being able to speak the language, but regardless Harry had mentally mapped a large portion of the lake, and could easily find Tracey when the time came.

Following the completion of the intricate ritual performed by Harry's closest friends, a noticeable acceleration in their magical development became apparent. Recognizing the amount of magic they had channeled, the young wizard wisely allowed his friends a three-day period of recuperation to fully absorb the residual magical effects and restore their personal reserves. Subsequently, demonstrating a thoughtful and individualized approach to their continued instruction, Harry commenced intensive one-on-one training sessions, meticulously tailoring each encounter to capitalize on their respective areas of magical aptitude and inherent strengths. This focused strategy aimed to refine their existing skills and propel them towards greater skills in their best magical subjects.

For Blaise, this was the Mind Art.  While nowhere nearly as gifted as Harry, the dark skinned teen was now able to resist his friend a little better with Occlumency. These defenses, while not impenetrable, now offered a measure of resistance against intrusions into his thoughts. Blaise harbored a growing confidence that he could effectively ward off the mental probes of less skilled individuals. 

Beyond the development of his Occlumency, Blaise had also experienced a notable enhancement in his reflexes. This newfound agility was increasingly evident in his practice duels with Tracey and Daphne, transforming their sparring sessions into more exciting encounters for Harry to observe. The dynamic of these duels had shifted, reflecting Blaise's burgeoning abilities and hinting at the further development of his magical prowess.  Harry had even noted that Blaise’s curses were becoming more effective, and seemed to take less energy to cast than before.

Daphne had demonstrably elevated her command over elemental spells. The subtle nuances and raw power she now wielded were a stark contrast to their earlier sparring sessions. During their more recent practice duels, Harry found himself increasingly challenged by her enhanced abilities. Daphne's fire spells, once easily countered or deflected, now blazed with an intensity that necessitated the deployment of some of Harry's more potent protective enchantments to avoid being severely burned. Similarly, her ice magic had reached a formidable level. Harry could no longer afford any lapse in concentration, as the Ice Queen's most powerful conjurations threatened to impale him with razor-sharp projectiles of frozen water, a truly unwelcome prospect. These intensified elemental attacks forced Harry to delve deeper into his own magical reserves, compelling him to utilize spells he might otherwise have reserved for more serious confrontations. The shift in Daphne's magical strength had transformed their practice duels from relatively straightforward exercises into demanding and engaging tests of skill for both of them.  Something Harry was very pleased about.

Above them both however, was Tracey.  Harry couldn't help but reflect on the remarkable transformation she had undergone since the ritual. While Tracey had never been particularly reserved, the change in her went far beyond mere extroversion. Her burgeoning talent in Transfiguration had blossomed into a truly formidable skill, a fact her peers were increasingly discovering in duels. But the transformation was more profound than just magical prowess.

Tracey now carried herself with a noticeable confidence, her head held high, and a distinct sparkle in her eyes. The once unassuming girl Harry had befriended just a year prior was evolving into someone altogether more compelling. There was an undeniable aura of self-assuredness that radiated from her, a quiet strength that hinted at the inner growth she had experienced. It was as though the ritual had not only amplified her magical abilities but had also unlocked a deeper sense of self, allowing her inherent potential to finally shine through. 

It was in these strengths that Harry’s attraction to the girl grew.  She pushed herself harder than the others.  From practically day one, Tracey had committed herself to learning as much as Harry could teach her.  Each adjustment she made, only made her more hungry to be that much better.  

The transformation in Tracey had not gone unnoticed by her fellow Slytherins. Previously, she had been a peripheral figure within the house, largely ignored or dismissed due to her half-blood status. However, her burgeoning confidence had thrust her into a new light. This newfound confidence was intrinsically linked to her constant presence beside Harry. She would often engage him in fervent discussions, relentlessly posing insightful questions about magical concepts that stretched far beyond the understanding of most of their housemates. Her eagerness to learn and her intellectual curiosity was palpable, and her persistent inquiries of Harry revealed a sharp mind previously underestimated by her peers. This close association with Harry, coupled with her intellectual vibrancy, had begun to shift the perceptions of Tracey within Slytherin house, prompting a reevaluation of the girl who had once merely fished for house gossip.

Even Harry, who possessed a keen understanding of magical talent and a history of surprising his own teachers, found himself impressed by Tracey’s rapid progress. Standing in the dimly lit Undercroft, he watched her duel with Blaise, a subtle grin of appreciation forming on his lips. It was only a matter of days prior that he had begun to impart the foundational principles of conjuration to her, patiently explaining the delicate balance of intent and willpower required to bring forth something from nothing. Now, witnessing her apply these nascent skills in a live duel was remarkable.

Tracey’s approach was not merely rote application; she demonstrated a creative and intuitive understanding of the magic. She conjured various forms with a flick of her wand, and then, with equally swift and precise transfigurations, she adapted these conjurations on the fly, keeping Blaise constantly on the defensive. A conjured shield would morph into a restraining vine, a simple orb of light would become a distracting flurry of sparks. Blaise, a capable duelist in his own right, found himself continually reacting to Tracey’s unpredictable and imaginative offense, struggling to gain the upper hand against her unexpected versatility. Harry observed the flow of the duel with a critical eye, noting Tracey’s confident stance, the focused determination in her eyes, and the fluid movements of her wand. Her creativity, combined with an almost voracious appetite for learning, was clearly manifesting in her magical development at an astonishing rate. The duel served as a tangible testament to her dedication and her natural aptitude for magic, exceeding even Harry's initial optimistic expectations.

Daphne at his side muttered, “She’s going to beat him.  I can’t believe it.”

Harry perceived the profound disbelief etched on her face, a reaction that transcended mere surprise at the impending defeat of Blaise by her best friend. What truly resonated in her gaze was the dawning realization that the established hierarchy between her and Tracey was rapidly eroding with each passing day. The dynamic between Blaise and Daphne had always been one of competitive parity, a nuanced rivalry where both acknowledged Daphne's superior skill, yet the margins remained slim. Tracey's potential victory over Blaise signaled a seismic shift, implying that it was no longer a question of if, but when, Tracey would surpass Daphne as well. This looming prospect hung heavy in the air, a tangible testament to Tracey's accelerating progress and the narrowing gap in their magical abilities.

Before Harry could add his thoughts, Tracey summoned one of her conjurations from behind Blaise knocking him forward, and slightly off balance, while simultaneously tagging him with the binding curse.  A disarming spell followed quickly, and Tracey screamed with excitement.

Harry and Daphne immediately began applauding the girl, but Harry was much more enthusiastic.  As he approached the girl, before he could offer his congratulations she had grabbed him by the front of his robes, and placed a fast kiss on his lips.  Temporarily stunned, Harry blinked a few times, while Daphne walked past them grunting, “Get a room!”

Tracey laughed and immediately apologized, “Sorry, Daph.  It’s just nice to finally beat one of you!”

Harry grinned at the girl, but peered over her shoulder, as Daphne approached their fallen, disarmed friend, and revived him with two easy non-verbal flicks of her wand.  Blaise groaned as he took Daphne’s offered hand to help him up, and Harry turned his attention back to Tracey, “I can’t believe you managed to get the conjurations down so fast.  That was really well done.  I definitely wasn’t expecting to see that, and I don’t think Blaise was either.”

“It caught me off guard right out of the gate.” Blaise offered as he approached the two.

“Daphne you wanna go?” Tracey asked excitedly.

“I don’t think my pride can take it today.” Daphne countered with a forced smile.

Harry snorted at this, but said nothing, as Tracey turned to him, “How about you, Harry?”

Blaise rolled his eyes, “She gets one victory and thinks she is ready to take on the world.”

“He could use a good warmup before the task tomorrow!” Tracey defended, her cheeks reddening slightly.

“I promised Astoria I would have lunch with her in a bit.  I shouldn’t linger.” Daphne said dismissively, “But you two knock yourselves out.”

Blaise agreed, “I think I need some lunch and a nap after that too.  We can all catch up in the common room tonight.”

Harry shrugged, looking at Tracey’s hopeful eyes, before giving in easily, “Okay, you’re right.  A little warmup and some practice wouldn’t hurt.”

Tracey squealed as she surged across the room, with her wand in hand.  Harry turned to face his two friends, Blaise who was offering him a subtle grin, while Daphne offered him a blank look.  Shrugging he said, “Catch up with you lot later.”

Daphne looked like she wanted to say something, but Blaise beat her to it, “Enjoy getting all hot and heavy with your girlfriend, Harry.”

The green-eyed both felt warmth rise up to his cheeks rapidly, and muttered, ‘Piss off’, as he turned back to face Tracey.

Since the Ball, Harry and Tracey had navigated the territory of their burgeoning connection without explicitly defining it. Their interactions, however, spoke volumes. Stolen moments blossomed into shared laughter and lingering gazes. A considerable number of kisses had been exchanged, each one a silent affirmation of their growing affection. It became a familiar sight within the dungeons to see them together. When Harry wasn't engrossed in the demand of his advanced studies, he was invariably in Tracey's company.

The unspoken nature of their relationship hadn't prevented their peers from drawing their own conclusions. The general consensus amongst their classmates and acquaintances was that Harry and Tracey were, in all but official terms, a couple. This assumption permeated the social fabric of their school life. Whenever a curious or perhaps merely gossipy student broached the subject, inquiring about the status of their relationship, neither Harry nor Tracey offered a direct answer.

Harry didn’t know what was stopping him from asking Tracey to be his girlfriend, but he was grateful the girl had not pressured him. He was about as inexperienced as they came in matters such as this, and he appreciated her allowing their connection to unfold at its own pace, unburdened by labels of outside pressure. Their shared moments and quiet understanding seemed to speak a language more profound than any formal declaration.

There was also the matter of Tom.  Harry knew his mentor would give him a hard time about the girl, but as she grew more and more talented the teen hoped Tom might approve or at least, not protest.

A subtle undercurrent of anxiety persisted, a nagging worry that Tom might object to any romantic entanglements Harry might form during his time at Hogwarts. The most concerning scenario was the possibility of an outright prohibition, Tom potentially forbidding Harry from pursuing any such relationships. His reasoning, Harry feared, would center on the belief that romantic involvement would inevitably serve as a distraction, diverting Harry's focus and hindering his progress toward achieving his full potential. This apprehension cast a shadow over the prospect of forming a defined connection, a concern that Tom's ambition for Harry's magical development would overshadow any personal happiness or growth derived from these relationships.

Harry knew that Tom had given him many chances to just be a teenager and enjoy the magical world, but the teen also realized that his mentor's patience had a thin limit, and he may be approaching it.

Shaking these thoughts away he drew his wand, and stood across from Tracey who was bouncing on the balls of her feet in preparation.  Enjoying the moment that was soon to come, Harry offered the girl a smile, “I’ll give you three spells to take me down, and I won’t use my wand.  Then I will allow you three more spells where I can only defend.  After that…I’m coming for you.”

Tracey didn’t bat an eyelash as she said with a wicked smile, “That’s my favorite part.”

Harry blinked, and felt his brain short circuit, and in this time Tracey snapped her wand forward sending a stunning spell right at his chest.  He was so caught off guard, she almost took him out with the first spell, but after dancing with Tom in the dueling world for so long, he managed to shift his body just enough for the spell to go past him.  The next two spells followed just as quickly, but Harry wandlessly summoned two of Tracey’s rock conurations from the earlier duel to deflect both spells.

Tracey, however, pressed her advantage. Her wand moved with a practiced flourish, tracing a rapid, intricate pattern in the air. A faint tingling sensation prickled at the back of Harry's neck, a familiar feeling honed by the magic of previous rituals. This nascent sixth sense flared, warning him of an imminent magical effect. Reacting instinctively to the subtle shift in the atmosphere, Harry executed a swift jump, narrowly clearing a length of thick rope that had materialized seemingly from thin air behind him, expertly conjured and flicked towards his ankles by Tracey's precise transfiguration.  

Unfortunately for Tracey the next two spells were designed to incapacitate him, and he absorbed them both with a simple shield, before shaking his head and taunted the girl, “Now, now, that wasn’t very nice.”

“It almost worked.” Tracey grunted, and widened her stance in preparation for what was to come.

“Nearly.” Harry agreed, “Now prep-”

Before he could finish his words, Tracey transfigured pieces of debris in front of her, and sent them hurling towards Harry in the form of rocks.  With ease however, Harry pointed his wand forward and dissolved the magic, before he began peppering the girl with a few incapacitating charms at a time.  

The rhythm he created did not allow her to launch even a bit of offensive magic in return.  Instead he gradually picked up the pace of his spells as he walked towards her.  To her credit she held for nearly a dozen spells, before his speed overwhelmed her.  Her wand went flying, but for Harry that wasn’t the end.  Using a spell straight from Tom’s personal notes, he surged forward with supernatural speed, and placed a gentle hand on her throat.

Tracey’s eyes widened, as she realized Harry had covered 20 feet in less than a second, and had literally blurred before her eyes, before she was disarmed, and now being held by the throat.  Even with no pressure behind the grip, Tracey was dumbfounded.

“My mentor did this to me once. Last summer.” Harry said with a grin, “Terrifying isn’t it?”

“Not quite the word I would use.” Tracey said with a tone Harry didn’t quite recognize..

Releasing her, Harry took a step back from the girl's personal space, and summoned her wand.  The wand was mahogany, sleek and right at eleven inches.  It felt perfectly balanced in his hand, but the magic felt temperamental in his own hand.  Offering it to the girl he offered a smile, avoiding the previous topic, “You are doing really well.  A lot has changed since we did the ritual.”

Tracey nodded, clearly not at all deterred by her defeat, “It’s like something inside me that has always been there is awake.  I feel it all the time, and I have like…an understanding of it now. I don’t know how to really explain it.”

“You don’t need to.” Harry assured her, “I understand.  It was the same for me.  The ritual changed me, and I think for the better.”

Tracey offered Harry a soft smile, her eyes conveying a silent appreciation of the complex emotions swirling within them. With a gentle movement, she wrapped her arm through his, her touch a comforting anchor in the echoing silence of the Undercroft. Together, they began their slow, deliberate progress towards the hidden exit. The necessity for caution weighed on them, a familiar constraint in their unconventional training area. Each footfall was measured, each shadow scrutinized, yet despite the inherent risk, Harry felt a measure of confidence that they would slip away unnoticed by the rest of the students.

The preceding two months had fostered a deeper connection between them. The initial awkwardness and lingering tensions had gradually dissipated, replaced by an unspoken camaraderie and a comfortable familiarity. However, the tranquility of this particular silence, imbued with the quiet intimacy of their shared moment, was destined to be fleeting, a brief respite.

Before they exited the Undercroft, the grip Tracey had on Harry’s arm tightened, and he glanced at his companion silently, who now had a nervous expression on her face.  Deciding to take the initiative he nervously asked, “What’s on your mind, Trace?”

The softly spoken  nickname he rarely used on the girl, seemed to give her the strength she needed to pose the question, “I’ve been thinking a lot about this over the last few weeks, but I didn’t really know how to go about it.”

Harry felt his stomach churn slightly, as butterflies appeared in his stomach.  The distinct feeling that she was about to ask about their budding relationship formed, and instead of making a fool of himself, he merely said, “We’ve become more than just simple friends or allies in the last few months.  You don’t need to walk on eggshells.  Ask me what you need too.”

“It’s just that…” She paused, trailing off with uncertainty, biting her lip, looking more nervous than he had ever seen her.  Before he could offer any more words of encouragement however, she managed to get it out, “I was wondering if you would teach me another ritual?”

Harry’s eyes widened at the unexpected question.  Of all the possible things he thought she might ask, this was definitely not it.  Instead of frowning however, he furrowed his eyebrows in thought contemplating the consequences of such an action, “You want to do another one?”

“One that will continue to help me grow.” Tracey said with a bit of excitement, or maybe reverence in her voice, “The last one helped me so much, and I think more would just make me even better.”

Harry thought over the question and her answer.  On one hand he was excited by the prospect of another his age delving into similar magic that he had.  It would be a way to test just how much of an effect it had on his magic vs others.  In a way it would tell him if he was truly special, or if it was only the effects of the ritual that was making him so formidable.  On the other he knew that the next few rituals he had either conducted, or the one he was currently learning was incredibly dark magic.

Seeming to sense his hesitance she asked softly, “I just want to be more like you, Harry.”

Taking a deep breath, Harry released a sigh, “I respect that.  My mentor wanted the same for me, and he pushed me…I wish I had an easy answer for you, but…”

Not knowing what to say, Harry trailed off, but Tracey seemed to sense the unspoken words, and asked quietly, as if she was afraid to be overheard, “But, it's’ dark magic isn’t it?”

Their eyes met, and Harry stared deeply into her chocolate brown eyes, that seemed to hold a soft glow ever since the ritual.  Knowing she would not judge him for this, not after everything she had seen from him, he offered her the slightest nod confirming her words.

Tracey seemed to visibly swallow hard, and hesitated before asking in a voice so quiet, he barely heard her, “What did you have to do?”

Shaking his head, Harry broke their eye contact, “Something I couldn’t ask you to do.  Something I wouldn’t want to teach you to do.  Trace, I know you want to be stronger, and I am not saying no, but the ritual I did, after the coming of age ritual, was…I was in a dark place.  Driven by the loss of my godfather.  Maybe, I can find you a different one.”

Stepping closer to him, where they were nearly nose to nose, Tracey spoke, “My whole life I have been overlooked by our world.  My parents are great, I love my family, but the rest of the Wizarding World didn’t even give me a second glance until I met you.  Until I allied with you.  Until I did the ritual with you.  Call it selfish, call it vain, but I like it, Harry.  I don’t want to be boring old Tracey, or plain old Davis.”

Her hand was on the front of his shirt now, just laying against him, as she spoke, “I am not afraid of the Dark Arts, not if I have a good teacher to guide me.  Like you did.”

Swallowing hard as he looked deeper into her eyes than he ever had before he offered her a nod, “I will do some inquiring. Our paths are different, but if you are serious about getting stronger…I think I can help you.”

Instead of a verbal answer he was rewarded with a kiss.

.o.

Blaise and Daphne walked together back to the Common Room, as the blonde witch thought about their progress over the last two months.  Truly the three allies had grown under Harry’s tutelage over the last two months.

Even with her considerable progress in her own magical development, a familiar pang of jealousy would occasionally surface as she observed Tracey's burgeoning skills under Harry's direct tutelage. While Harry had been careful to avoid any overt displays of favoritism, Tracey had, since the Ball, become almost inseparable from him, consistently positioning herself near him during lessons, breaks, and even mealtimes. This close proximity allowed Tracey unparalleled access to Harry's guidance, enabling her to ask questions, seek clarification, and absorb his knowledge in a way that she could only observe with varying degrees of envy. Tracey seemed utterly unfazed by the subtle glances and occasional hushed whispers from their classmates, displaying a single-minded focus on learning from Harry and showing no indication that she intended to relinquish her coveted position by his side anytime soon. This constant visual reminder of Tracey's privileged learning environment served as a persistent, if minor, source of frustration.

“She’s really coming into her own.” Blaise said mildly as they exited the Undercroft and made their way towards the Dungeons.

Daphne hummed at his words, not giving a committed answer, something Blaise clearly caught onto, “I’m happy for her.  She’s really dedicated herself to being better after Christmas.  Harry seems to be in a better mood, and he shows more face around the Common Room, which is good.  If we can keep pace, then if Harry does get expelled, we should be able to stand on our own.”

“Harry isn’t going to get expelled.” Daphne said through gritted teeth, ignoring his words about Tracey, “The British media would create a political firestorm that would seriously hurt the reputation of Hogwarts.  Unless he does something incredibly illegal and fails to win the tournament, there is no way Dumbledore expels him.”

Nodding his head, Blaise shrugged, “It’s a win, win, for us.  Harry was right, if he wins his influence as the youngest TriWizard Champion in history will be immense.  He will be more than King Snake at that point, and will have influence over the whole school.  Tracey was smart to make her move, they will be calling her Queen Snake if she keeps growing at this rate.”

“That would be a ridiculous nickname.” Daphne said snappishly.

Chuckling, Blaise shook his head, “And here I thought green was your color.”

“What?” Daphne asked, confused by his words.

Blaise rolled his eyes, before saying, “You need to be careful with Tracey.”

 “What do you mean?” Daphne asked, still puzzled.

Stopping and glancing around the mostly deserted halls, Blaise leaned in, speaking quieter than before, “Harry and Tracey are for all intents and purposes a couple now.  Her influence in the Common Room is beginning to grow whether you notice it or not.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Daphne said, gritting her teeth in irritation.

“It means, you have to stop giving her the cold shoulder.” Blaise said pointedly, “If she hasn’t noticed yet, she will eventually, and Harry does not strike me as the type to tolerate teenage girl drama.”

“There is no drama between Tracey or I.” Daphne denied coldly.

Folding his arms, Blaise just gave her a pointed look before saying, “Good, let's keep it that way, because I don’t know how Harry would react to it, and I am telling you as a friend, that is one game you don’t want to be a part of.  We know how dangerous he is, and I know he’s an attractive prospect in a lot of ways, but with Tracey’s dad being an Auror, I don’t say it ends well.”

Daphne hadn’t considered how Tracey’s family might react to Harry.  Of course to most of the world they had no idea what he was capable of, but she was also aware that at least in the eyes of the Ministry he was a persona non grata until he won the Tournament.

Having known Roland Davis as long as she had, Daphne doubted the man would be impressed with Harry’s penchant to bend the rules.  Add on to the fact that Tracey’s mother was a very simple woman, and would not approve of anything out of the ordinary going on with her daughter.

In contrast Daphne’s family could care less.  Until she was down the aisle, or prepared to take a husband, she would be left largely to her own business.  By the time they tried to wrangle her in, she would be well out of their grasps.  It was only now she thought about how much easier Harry could’ve made that though.

“You’re right.” Daphne said with a sigh, “It’s just a strange adjustment.  A lot has happened in the last two months.  I hardly recognize her sometimes.”

Blaise put a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder, “Like I said, she’s growing into her own.  For the sake of our friendship, this alliance, and the future that Harry is likely to bring, it’s a good thing.  We will all need our wits and strengths in the coming days.  More importantly than though, we will need each other.”

“You sound like a Hufflepuff.” Daphne grumbled as she walked past the protesting Blaise.

Despite the annoyance she held towards the topic, she couldn’t help, but accept the wisdom of Blaise's words.  Only bad things would come from any conflict with her best friend.  Taking an internal breath, Daphne continued towards the dungeons, her mind focused on the upcoming lunch with her sister.

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 51

(A/N) Sorry guys, I am really sucking on the double updates right now.  Good news, I have already wrote most of 52, and I am hoping to have

Chapter 51

Harry had to take calming breaths when he made it onto the snow covered grounds.  His instincts were flaring for him to attack, to make Delacour pay for attempting to curse him in the back, but he knew the price would be high.

His dress shoes broke the crisp silence of the courtyard, each footfall a sharp crunch against the fresh blanket of snow. A bitter wind whipped around him, mirroring the tempest raging within. The insult, the sheer audacity of the curse hurled his way, still burned like a brand. Tom would have incinerated anyone who dared such disrespect, their ashes would have been scattered across the snow in the aftermath. His mentor would be furious that even despite the reputation Harry was carving that some still dared to push him around this way.

Desperately the teen tried to think of what his mentor would do.  What decisive act would he take to make his enemies pay?  

Enemies.

A grim satisfaction began to bloom in the dark corners of his mind. The next task. Yes, the next task would be their undoing. Both of them. They would learn the true meaning of crossing him, and as payment he would take drops of their blood, at least from one of them, for his ritual.  A payment for their transgression that he could carry with him forever. He would ensure their humiliation, their pain, would be a spectacle people long remembered after their pathetic triumphs were forgotten.

“That was probably one of the coolest bits of magic I have ever seen.” A voice from behind him called.

His head darted towards the familiar voice, and his eyes fell on his date who offered him a sad smile, “Stopping the spell in mid-air with your bare hand.  I have never seen anything like it.  It was hot…terrifying, but hot.”

The teen felt his cheeks color and she laughed, causing his anger to web away slightly, as he murmured, “I would really like to curse them both right about now.”

Tracey waved her hand dismissively, “She isn’t worth the trouble.  Delacour is nothing.  She only went with Krum on some false hope that it would piss you off.  Don’t let it get to you.  She already tried to ruin our evening.  Don’t let her get anything else out of it.”

Sighing, Harry clenched and unclenched his fist a few times, before nodding, “You’re right.  Besides, I have two more tasks to make them pay for it.”

“That’s the spirit.” Tracey said cheerfully, wrapping her hand through his arm, cautiously, as she led him forward.

Instantly Harry realized the girl was shivering, and he shook his head, “I’m sorry, you must be freezing.”

Removing the cloak he was wearing, he placed it around her shoulders, before pulling his wand out and whispering, “Caloris.”

The effects were clearly immediate judging by Tracey’s face, and she beamed at him, while pulling him along the path in a comfortable silence.  Harry could still feel his rage pulsing, but it seemed to be more of a dull drum at this point then the cascading firefight that was happening in his ears prior to Tracey’s arrival.  Between the cold, frigid air, and his date's presence he felt a sense of ease slowly creep back into him.

He could hardly believe he had nearly got into it with the Headmaster.  It was foolish, and he knew it in hindsight.  Tom would be ashamed that Harry had lost his cool, and nearly landed himself in so much trouble over nothing, but then again perhaps the man would be understanding.  His mentor had been known to curse the people that upset him.

“Is it going to hurt tomorrow?” Tracey asked quietly.

Harry’s brain stopped for a moment as he considered her words, and her meaning.  The ritual.  The big day was very close at hand, and he knew the girl must be feeling some sort of anxiety about it, so tried to assure her, “Don’t think about the pain.  It’s temporary.  The benefits you will reap are going to follow you forever.”

“I am nervous.” The girl admitted, “But then I think about how you endured it, and what good it did for you.  I want that.  The confidence, the power, watching you take it all, makes me think I can do the same.  Maybe not exactly like you, but-”

“You have a lot of potential, Tracey.” Harry promised, “I meant that when I said it to Krum and Delacour.  You just have to be brave enough to pursue it.”

Tracey looked flattered by the compliment, and her cheeks seemed to color, as she stopped, and moved to stand directly in front of him, “I trust you, Harry.”

Harry looked at the girl with  soft brown eyes, and felt a sense of anxiousness creep through him.  It wasn’t bad like the type he was used to growing up.  Instead it was like a butterfly was taking flight in his stomach.  There was a tension in the air that he couldn’t quite explain, but he realized that his date was suddenly standing much closer to him than many in his life ever had.

Before he could follow his instinct he felt a sense of magic nearby, and his head snapped in that direction.  The magic was familiar, and irritating to his senses, but before he could think rationally, he pulled Tracey into his arms, and moved them behind a nearby wall of the courtyard.  

Two distinct voices immediately followed and Harry wondered what Igor Karkaroff and Snape might be doing at this late hour.

“It’s happening again, like before, and soon neither you or anyone else will be able to deny it.” The Durmstrang Headmaster hissed.

Snape in his silky voice however seemed displeased by the line of conversation, “I already told you Igor, I see no reason to discuss it.”

Suddenly the man seemed to sense something similar to what Harry had and took long strides forward.  Harry at first thought the man had seen him, and was coming to chew him out, but instead he barked at two students that must’ve been hiding in one of the carriages.  The man immediately took points off both their houses and sent them scurrying away like rats.

Harry released a breath, but looked down to see he had a red faced Tracey pressed against the wall in a fashion that was not exactly appropriate.  His face felt hot suddenly, and before he could apologize his mouth snapped shut as he heard the voices again, “It’s a sign Severus, you know it is.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Snape said back passively.

“Really?” Karkaroff said with a scoff, “Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind rolling up your sleeve, huh?”  Snape jerked away from the man as he reached, making the man laugh in a tone that suggested many things, but humor was not one of them, “You don’t fool me, Severus.  You are scared.  Admit it.”

Death Eaters. The words echoed in the forefront of Harry's thoughts, as he considered the two men who had both been in his master's service. He knew, with a certainty that settled like a cold stone in his stomach, that Snape and Karkaroff both bore the mark of Voldemort's loyal servants. Yet, the information relayed by Barty and the stark reality witnessed within the man's courtroom memory, painted a less than flattering picture of these former devotees. They were not the unwavering pillars of Dark Lord's inner circle he might have imagined, but rather, in Barty's scathing assessment, and the evidence of their own pleas for leniency, cowardly deserters who had abandoned their master when the tides turned against him. This revelation added another layer of complexity to Harry's understanding of the intricate web of alliances and betrayals that defined the wizarding world at the end of the last war, especially concerning those who had once pledged allegiance to the Dark Lord.

It would make sense that their mark was becoming darker, Harry thought morbidly.  Tom’s power was increasing everyday, and soon the man would come out from the shadows and be as powerful as he was before his first downfall, and the whole country would likely fall before him.

“I have nothing to be scared of Igor.  Can you say the same?” Snape replied scathingly.

Karkaroff recoiled as if he had been slapped.  The man looked terrified by Snape's declaration, and all but ran from the man at his first possible chance.  Across the courtyard Harry spotted Barty in disguise looking quite pleased with what he just observed.  Harry for his part saw Snape begin to come their way, and he shot back behind the wall with wide eyes, “Snape’s coming.”

“What do we do?” Tracey asked in a worried tone.

Harry’s heart raced as the sound of Snape’s approaching footsteps echoed in the corridor, each step a warning against the consequences of eavesdropping on their Head of House. Despite knowing Barty was near, panic flared, sharp and immediate, urging him to action. His gaze darted around the small alcove, searching for an escape, anything to avoid the Potions Master’s inevitable scrutiny.

Harry locked his eyes with Tracey’s. In their depths, he saw a mixture of desperation and a tinge of what he thought might’ve been desire. A silent conversation passed between them, a shared acknowledgment of the precariousness of their situation and the desperate need for a distraction that might have indicated they hadn’t been listening in on the man. Without a word, Harry reached out, with his hand and he cupped her cheek. The softness of her skin under his fingertips sent a jolt through him, a stark contrast to the urgency of the moment.

He leaned in slowly, deliberately, closing the distance between them. His heart pounded against his ribs like a trapped bird. The air crackled with unspoken tension, thick with the risk of discovery and the undeniable pull he felt towards her. His lips met hers gently, a feather-light touch at first, a fleeting brush that was more than a desperate act of misdirection and more of an expression of the feelings swirling between them.

“Potter!”

The two jumped apart, playing the part well, and Harry eyed the man with wide eyes, “Professor Snape, we were just…”

“Heading back to the dungeons.” Tracey said helpfully.

The Head of Slytherin House glared at his two students for a long moment, before scoffing, “To bed, the both of you…Now!”

With a final, abrupt gesture, Snape pivoted sharply, his dark robes billowing and swirling around him as the man strode away with an agitated energy, his footsteps echoing slightly in the otherwise quiet space. He disappeared quickly around a corner, the darkness of his attire swallowing him whole, leaving Harry and Tracey alone.

Harry let out a sigh of relief, before turning back to Tracey, who had a strange look on her face.  A brief thought that the kiss might’ve been terrible crossed his mind, and he tentatively asked, “Are you alright?”

Suddenly the strange look vanished, and it was replaced by a sly smirk, “Not bad, you know I had really hoped you would kiss me, but I didn’t quite expect it to happen like this.”

Harry floundered a bit at her words, as he tried to fight the crimson that was undoubtedly erupting across his cheeks, “Sorry, this night has been full of surprises.”

“Then what's a few more going to hurt?”

Grabbing the young man by the front of his dress shirt, Tracey pulled him closely, and pressed her lips back to his. This kiss was different from the tentative touch they had shared moments before. It was much hungrier, more demanding, fueled by an evening neither would soon forget. 

Harry wrapped both hands around the girl's slim waist, and pressed her gently back against the wall, before separating from her lips, and breathing much heavier than before, “That was some kiss.”

Tracey’s eyes fluttered open looking up at him, looking prettier than he had ever seen her, “Yes, my first.”

“Mine too.” Harry admitted, glad there was no one else for her to compare him to for his first time.

“Then let’s do it again, and gain some experience.” Tracey said coyly, leaning back in.

“Maybe not right here.” Harry said with a slight grin, “Snape might come back.”

“Give the bastard a show, maybe he won’t be so grumpy.” She said back softly, and Harry felt a shiver go down on his spine at her words.

“Come on, let’s at least head in the direction of the Dungeons, or we will be in detention for a month.” Harry said as he stepped away from his date, but offered her a hand.

Sighing the girl straightened her dress briefly, before taking his hand, and following him down the hall, never once releasing his hand.  The two cleared the courtyard, and began descending the steps. Most of the student body must’ve still been in the Great Hall, because it was remarkably deserted the closer they came to the Common Room.

“Harry?” Tracey asked.

Stopping, he turned to face his date, and she looked from their conjoined hands, to his lips, before clearly coming to a decision on her next words, “I know part of me wants to ask about what the kiss and us attending the ball together means to you, but I can’t help but think we saw something important between Snape and Karkaroff.”

Glancing around the deserted corridor in the dungeon, Harry turned his attention back to his date, mumbling softly, “I think you are right.”

The young brunette bit her lip softly, as if that made ten more questions appear in her mind, before asking, “You know what they were talking about don’t you?  I could see it on your face.  It was the same look you had when Delacour cursed you in the back.”

“I have my theories, each as dangerous as the next.” Harry confirmed, “But the information is incredibly volatile, more than you realize.  I would suggest not mentioning it to anyone, even Blaise or Daphne.”

“You can trust me, Harry.” Tracey said, stepping closer to him, as she regripped the front of his shirt.

“I am starting to see that.” Harry whispered.

“Then let’s leave the rest of it for another day.  I may not have gotten as many dances as I wanted, but you can make it up to me now.” Tracey said leaning in, and their lips met again.

Breaking their kiss, Harry grinned with mischief as he scanned their surroundings. Finding a safe place with his eyes he gently took her hand, his fingers interlacing with hers, and tugged her along. He knew of a classroom down the deserted corridor, one that was almost always empty, a forgotten space amidst the bustling school. It wasn't just the promise of uninterrupted privacy that drew him there but the distinct possibility of avoiding any further encounters with a certain surly potions master was a considerable bonus in his mind.

The two didn’t discuss much else for the remainder of the night, but pursued a youthful experience that Harry was certain he would never forget.

.o.

“Try to remember why each of you are doing this.  Maybe it will help.” Harry tried to assure, as he guided his friends through the final steps of the ritual.  

In the Undercroft's shadowy embrace, Harry observed his companions steeling their nerves for their initial foray into the intricate world of ritualistic magic. Each rune etched into the waiting bowls bore the mark of painstaking precision, a testament to Harry's diligent oversight. The air hummed with a silent anticipation, the weight of the impending act palpable as the final component lay in wait: the crimson catalyst of blood. He scanned their faces – Tracey’s brow slightly furrowed in concentration, Daphne’s apprehension masked by a determined set to her jaw, and Blaise's wide eyes reflecting the torchlight, a mixture of fear and excitement swirling within him. 

This moment, Harry knew, was a pivotal juncture, a step into a realm where the very fabric of magic shifted and responded to intention and sacrifice. The ancient stones of the Undercroft seemed to absorb their nervous energy, the silence amplifying the significance of the task ahead. Each carefully carved symbol represented a desire, a conduit to forces beyond their everyday understanding, and the impending offering of blood was the key that would unlock those pathways. 

.

Harry felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle upon his shoulders; he was their guide in this territory, and the success and safety of this endeavor rested firmly upon his instruction and their unwavering focus. He offered a reassuring nod to each of them, his own anxieties carefully concealed beneath a veneer of confidence. This was the beginning of something profound, something that would irrevocably alter their understanding of magic and their place within its vast and mysterious landscape just like it had his own. The bowls, each a miniature vessel of potential power, sat ready, awaiting the final, vital ingredient that would bring the carefully constructed ritual to life.

“Does it look right, Harry?” Tracey asked.

Striding to look into Tracey’s bowl, Harry knew immediately the girl had done it as precisely as he once had.  She had done her due diligence, and extensively researched and asked similar questions to the ones Harry once voiced to Tom.  Despite this, Harry could tell by the way the girl bit her bottom lip, and the way her eyes flitted back and forth from the basin to his himself, that she was incredibly nervous.

The aftermath of the previous night hung in the air between them, an unspoken weight that neither seemed inclined to address. The intimate encounter, still fresh in their minds, remained a silent presence, a fragile thread neither dared to tug lest it unravel completely or transform into something they weren't ready to face. Tracey, usually so inquisitive and eager to dissect events, displayed a surprising reticence. She made no move to question Harry about the hushed exchange they had inadvertently witnessed between Snape and Karkaroff, a conversation that had hinted at secrets the teen did not wish to speak of. For his part, Harry found himself relieved by her silence. He wasn't sure he possessed the words or courage to articulate anything intelligent about their intimate moment, nor was he prepared to delve into the unsettling implications of Snape's clandestine meeting. 

Thoughts of that overheard dialogue, the subtle menace in Karkaroff's tone, and the carefully guarded responses of Snape lingered at the edges of his mind, a disquieting puzzle he wasn't yet ready to confront without speaking to Tom. 

He appreciated the unspoken truce, the shared decision to navigate the immediate present without the added burden of dissecting the delicate intricacies of their evolving relationship or the looming darkness hinted at in the shadows of the castle.

“It’s as good as it gets.” Harry assured.

When he moved on to Daphne’s, he recognized the hand of an artist.  Despite not having researched the runes as deeply as Tracey, Daphne had an innate talent for rune carving.  She may not have the same understanding, but both witches were incredibly bright in their own strong branches of the ancient art.

Offering the girl a nod of approval, he then moved on to Blaise, and noted his shaking hand.  He was as nervous as either of the girls, if not more.  His runes were not as precise, but Harry knew they were acceptable, and probably closer to his own attempt.

“Strength.  Resolve.  Youth.  Power.  Clarity.” Harry recited, recalling the runes in each of their basins, “Traits that people pursue their entire lives are going to be given to you…but it won’t be free.”

He felt the eyes of his friends on him as he paced in front of them hoping to offer words of encouragement.  They didn’t have Tom pushing them to be great, but each of them had proven their desire to be true Slytherins.  Each of them had shown a desire to be cunning, ambitious, great.

“The pain you are about to feel, embrace it.” Harry encouraged, “It is just an obstacle in your path.  Even if this is the last ritual you ever partake in, the benefits will be forever.”

Harry could see each of their jaws clench in preparation, and he gave his final words, “Cut your hands, let go of your conscious self, and act on instinct.  I know each of you have the potential in you, now just prove it to yourselves, and the rest of the world.”

The three seemed to exchange nervous looks, before Tracey pulled her wand from her cloak, and held it to her hand.  With a quick slice the girl grimaced, and hissed with a slight undercurrent of pain in her eyes, before she went to work in tracing the ruins.  Daphne and Blaise both stared at the girl for a long moment, before following her lead.

Blaise twitched and groaned slightly at the pain of the slash from his wand, but Daphne barely batted an eyelash at the sensation.  Harry watched as each of them conducted the final steps to the ritual, and when Tracey finished she looked resolved, as she bit her lip nervously, and observed what she had done.

The other two finished not long after her, and Tracey broke the extended silence, “Together?”

Harry watched with anticipation as Blaise and Daphne  muttered in agreement. In unison, their wands were drawn, the polished woods gleaming faintly in the dim light. Respectively, they raised their magical foci, the tips directed towards the waiting basins. Within each basin lay a carefully prepared mixture of their own blood, potent with inherent magical energy; intricately carved runes, each line and angle resonating with ancient power; and an assortment of other ingredients, meticulously gathered by Harry for this precise moment. The combination of these elements formed a nexus of potential, waiting to be unlocked by the final incantation.

Sensing their final hesitation Harry encouraged them, with a soft whisper, “You know the spell.  This is your time.”

All of them looked uncertain, and for a moment, Harry thought one of them would back out, but Daphne saved the moment, “On 3?”

The other two nodded, swallowing hard, while Daphne counted down.  Each number was spoken softly, but to Harry the words echoed loudly, his own excitement coalescing.  When the fire leapt from each of their wands their screams drowned the silence of the room.  The basins were each alight with flames as the magic burned away.

A wave of unseen force crashed over the three students, each reacting with immediate and visceral pain. Blaise crumpled instantly, his knees hitting the cold stone floor with a dull thud as an involuntary cry escaped his lips. His hands flew to his chest, fingers splayed as if trying to physically push away the agonizing pressure that seemed to crush his very being from the inside. His body convulsed, every muscle straining against the invisible assault.

Daphne, typically composed and graceful, was thrown off balance by the sudden onslaught. Her head snapped back as if struck, her usually cool demeanor shattered by a raw expression of distress. Her hands rose frantically, clawing at the front of her robes, her breath coming in ragged gasps. A silent scream contorted her face as she fought against the suffocating sensation that gripped her.

Tracey Davis, though visibly shaken, displayed a stubborn resilience. Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision, but she refused to fall. Her legs trembled, threatening to buckle beneath her, yet she fought with every fiber of her being to remain standing. Her hands, now behind her head, gripped tightly at the strands of her hair, pulling and twisting as if trying to physically release the torment that wracked her body. The scene was one of abrupt and inexplicable suffering, the once composed students now figures of raw agony.

As quickly as it had started however it ended, and all three were gasping for breath.  Blaise had rolled over onto his back and blankly stared up at the ceiling.  Daphne took a hard seat on the floor, and spread her legs apart, her body sagging in relief.  Tracey, to her credit, remained on her feet, but she was hunched over taking deep breaths.

Harry approached the brunette first and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Are you okay?”

The girl hesitated for a moment, before nodding, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“That bloody sucked, Harry.” Blaise moaned from the floor.

“It’s over now though.” Harry promised, “You all did well.  I remind you all that I passed out for nearly three days.”

“Don’t count the possibility out.” Blaise grumbled.

Patting Tracey on the shoulder, Harry went and kneeled beside Daphne, who looked blankly at the ground, “Daphne?”

Swallowing the girl wiped at a stray tear on her face, “I don’t feel that different.”

“Give it some time.  Heal.” Harry instructed.

“Then what?” She asked, finally moving her blue eyes to meet him.

Harry said nothing as he held eye contact with the girl for a long moment, and then a grinned crossed his face, “Then, we train.”

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 50

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 49

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 48

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 47

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 46

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 45

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 44

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 43

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 42

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 41

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 40

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 39

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 38

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 37

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 36

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 35

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 34

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 33

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 32

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 31

Dark Apprentice Chapter 30

Dark Apprentice Chapter 28

The Dark Apprentice Chapter 27