Chapter Text
The day before the second task arrived in a flurry of snow storms. The Hogwarts Express rocked gently, buffeted by the persistent winter gales. The sun hung low in the sky, appearing just over the mountainside to reveal a fresh layer of snowfall.
Harry lay on his four poster bed, good eye burning as he stared blankly at the sleet covered window.
Lyra shifted beside him, tucked herself deeper in amongst the covers to stay off the lingering chill.
Harry watched her for a moment, his breathing calm and shallow despite the growing bitter taste in his mouth.
He should savour the moment of relative peace and quiet. It should have been easy to just sink back into the pillows and forget about the outside world. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that Tom was there, lying by his side and fingers teasing into his shirt to hold him close.
Their connection remained solid, offered flickers of what should have been. The Yule Ball had only been a cruel reminder. The extreme emotions they shared made him feel so alive and human...now it was hard to feel anything substantial, where he'd been left with only the normality of having his own soul.
He should have taken Tom and fled.
Harry pressed his face into the pillow, a wave of sadness coursing through him. It just wasn't fair.
Would it ever be the three of them, together and alone. Without having to navigate the complexity of Voldemort, the Order or the Ministry.
It felt impossible.
There was a knock on the compartment door.
Harry rolled over, his dead eye narrowing at the familiar dust like light.
Adara.
With immense effort, he forced himself up. Careful not to disturb Lyra, he swung his legs off the bed and tiptoed across the creaky floorboards. Lyra yawned and stretched, repositioning herself in amongst the covers.
The door slid open.
Draco wore a thick winter coat. His shoulders were covered in snow, and he'd left a trail of wet footprints through the corridor as he stood in a newly formed puddle. Adara's fur stuck up, wet and uneven, but she must have been under a warming charm.
Draco frowned, his brow knitting together.
“Are you okay, Harry? You look awful.”
“Didn't sleep,” Harry mumbled. Not that he slept much anyway. He ran his hand over his face. “Isn't it a bit early for a trek in the snow?”
Draco responded by unbuttoning his thick robes, revealing a thick leather book, embossed with golden lettering. He held it out.
“This is for you.”
Harry took it and turned it over slowly, felt a prickle on the back of his neck as he read the title. Curses and Unbreakable Curses.
His voice became strangely quiet.
“It's the day before the task.”
Draco didn't meet his eye, as Adara squeaked and ducked behind his legs.
“Better start now then.”
Harry nearly threw it back at him. Instead, his withered fingers curled tight around the book. Why had Tom waited until the last minute to give him this, when he'd had days, weeks even to pass on this information.
“Thanks, I guess.”
Draco gave a weak smile.
“You won the first task easy, I'm sure this one will be the same.”
Harry nodded, his stomach churning.
“This one feels different.” Harry could still remember Tom's desperate, uncompromising fear. The only warning that something terrible was waiting for him. “He's had weeks to reach out, tell me literally anything...and now all I get is a book.”
Draco ran his hand through his hair.
“I'm sorry. I wish I could help, but I know as much as you.”
Harry nodded, struggled to say anything further.
Draco pulled his robes tight back around himself, threw up his hood and turned to leave. He paused, and looked back.
“I'll grab you some breakfast.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Harry shuffled back to his bed, sank onto it slowly. Lyra yawned but otherwise stayed perfectly still and asleep. The tome was heavy. He set it precariously on his knees, flicked it open to reveal five hundred pages of neat calligraphy, intricate diagrams and miniscule runes. He sighed, and closed it again.
He needed Hermione.
The day passed painfully quickly, leaving Harry's room littered with dozen of additional library books spread out and stacked in neat piles on the bed. Hermione hunched over the desk, reading through Curses and Unbreakable Curses at a feverish pace.
It had already grown dark by the time she sat back, a deep frown crossing her face as she tapped her wand against the page.
“Okay, I think I understand the basics. Looks like there's limited ways to break a curse...one is to find the exact conditions that have been cast and fulfil them, the other is to attempt a counter curse...but that in itself takes time, and is so dangerous. If it goes wrong the consequences can be devastating.”
Harry sat up, chucked the book he'd been reading onto the floor to join the heap of others.
“What do you mean, find the exact conditions?”
Hermione flicked a few pages in and read another passage under her breath.
“Essentially, you've got to find the right payment...sort of like Sleeping Beauty where she only wakes to her true loves kiss. Without the kiss, the spell wouldn't break and she keeps on sleeping.”
“And counter curses?” Harry asked.
Hermione frowned, scratched Ramiron absently behind his ears.
“Ron's brother works as a curse-breaker, and he's spent years learning and mastering the skill. I wouldn't like to think you'd be capable of solving anything like that for a task...it would be near impossible. Plus, if you had to learn how to break a curse, Tom wouldn't have left it last minute to send you this book.”
“Right...” Harry said, a sinking feeling in his chest. This was beginning to sound more and more impossible. “So the second task has a curse, and I've got to work out and pay its cost to win.”
Hermione nodded, drew Ramiron closer. He fidgeted, restless as his attempted and failed to wiggle himself free.
“I don't like this, Harry. If you believe Tom is worried-”
The candle light flickered and died. A chill clung in the air from Harry's will alone. A hundred ideas came rushing to his head, each more disturbing and problematic than the last.
“It's because Tom knows what the curse is,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” Hermione said. “I think so too-”
There was a tap on the window.
A large barn owl perched on an overhanging branch, his yellow eyes staring at them as he pecked sharply on the glass.
Harry rushed over, slid open the compartment window. Half the blizzard followed, snow rushing inside as the owl flew in, landed on the table and ruffled its feathers. Harry tore the thin roll of parchment from its leg and unravelled it.
Mr Potter & Lyra
As Decadæmon champions, you are both required to attend an engagement this evening. Please make your way to the vault at 9 pm.
Madam Isberg & Bulmmot
“That's in half an hour!” Hermione said, peering over his shoulder. “The second task is tomorrow. What could they possible want?”
There was a horrible sinking feeling in Harry's stomach. He suddenly felt very unprepared, the seconds were ticking down and there was nothing he could do.
He forced a smile on his face, as Lyra clawed her way up his arm to perch on his shoulder.
“I'll be back soon.”
“Yeah, I'll keep reading. Maybe Tom left you a hidden message or a hint or something-”
Harry slipped out the compartment, had barely made it ten paces when there was a creak on the floorboards behind him.
“Potter!”
Harry winced, turned reluctantly to find Snape marching towards him.
“Sir,” Harry said tightly, taking an automatic step back. “I'm expected elsewhere-” he gestured vaguely in the direction of the castle.
Snape's lips curled into an unpleasant smile. He reached forwards, seized Harry's shoulder and twisted on his heel with a crack.
Harry's feet were ripped from the ground as they hurtled away from the Hogwarts Express. They were being squeezed through something small, leaving no air in his lungs...Lyra's claws scratched into his shoulder, would have drawn blood if he had any.
They landed hard.
Harry stumbled, knees slammed against rock as Lyra tumbled from his shoulder. She rolled over, spitting and squeaking, light bursting in fury.
The mountainside covered in snow topped trees had disappeared. The wind that had been so fierce and persistent had stopped. Instead, only an eeriness remained, with the sound of distance waves crashing against rock far below.
Harry scrambled up, tentatively peered down the perilous, craggy landscape. They were at the edge of a impossibly high cliff, the sea stretching away for miles and miles.
“Where are we?”
“Outside of the castle boundaries,” Snape said. “Now, drink this.”
From his robes he withdrew a single potion bottle.
Harry sucked in an instant breath, dead eye dilating. The golden flecks danced and glowed, offering a hint of the thing he craved above all else.
Snape had decreased his dose weeks ago, and the fact that the main ingredient was insufficient when taken inside the castle grounds-
Without hesitation, Harry reached out and pressed the bottle to his ashen lips.
The liquid was hot and fresh, rushed down his throat. He closed his eyes, relished in the instant peace that filled his soul.
It was like the first time.
The forbidden potion in its purest form, made from the one thing he should never have. A dæmon.
Snape seized him, nails pinching into his arm, would have drawn blood if he had any-
“You need to concentrate,” he hissed. “Now, clear your mind.”
Harry swayed, almost delirious as he savoured the potion.
“How did you apparate from the castle? It didn't work when I tried.”
But the more important question was why? The dose had been strong, must have contained more than the remnants of a dæmon. If they'd left Durmstrang where the magic of the place was incompatible with the potion, then there had to be only one reason-
Snape's eyes narrowed, his lips pressing thinly together. For whatever reason he didn't press further. Instead, he jabbed his wand at Lyra, while simultaneously twisting sharply. Harry was pulled away, squeezed through thin air.
They appeared exactly from the location they had left. The dark corridor of the Hogwarts Express, lit only by a few lanterns. Lyra was dropped unceremoniously on the floor.
Snape seized Harry's robes, shoved him into the carriage wall. The whites of his eyes glowing intensely.
“Listen, Potter. You need to concentrate. This task is going to test you, and if you are not prepared-”
Harry pushed himself away, hurried to grab Lyra. She suddenly felt so small and frail.
“Why does everyone think I'm going to fail?” Harry snapped. “I'm stronger than I've ever been, have more control than I've ever had. This is just a stupid task-”
Snape stepped back, expression curling into something fierce.
“You are a fool, Potter. Do not under estimate the magic of this tournament. These tasks are designed to be cruel, will tear your fragile soul ruthlessly apart until there is nothing of you left.”
Harry glared at him, cradled Lyra to his chest. He almost laughed from the absurdity of it.
“Is that what everyone is so afraid of?”
Now Tom's fear made perfect sense. But that only made him feel worse. Did no one believe in him any more, that his only path was an inevitable fall into shadow.
Harry gritted his teeth, resisted the urge to draw a rattling breath.
“I will not fall.”
Snape's eyes flashed black, his nostrils flaring.
“Then prove it. Master yourself, show everyone you are capable of being so much more.”
Fifteen minutes later, Harry descended the steep set of stairs into the vault. The forbidden potion thrummed through his veins, the darkness satiated and suppressed, holding him in a sense of calm he'd not felt for months.
Just like for the weighing of the dæmons, the chamber had been emptied. The ceiling hung precariously over the expanse, unsupported by physical pillars and pressing down ominously from the weight of the castle.
The room glowed in a cold, disturbing light. Torches illuminated a circle of chairs spread evenly around a giant rug. It appeared to be decorated in the most intricate of silver runes, just like those from Curses and Unbreakable Curses.
Harry took several steady steps into the vault, passed Will who gave the briefest of nods in acknowledgement.
Lyra clung to Harry's ankles, her dust like light unsettled, but she wasn't the only one. The other dæmons lingered in the semi darkness. Adèle Boisclair and Edouard Dubois' dæmons, Velue and Parandrus huddled together whispering quietly in French.
Harad circled above, flying just beneath the low hanging ceiling. He flapped his wings twice, soared down and landed on Cho's arm, letting out a painful screech. Cho offered Harry the smallest of smiles, but her attention flicked back to the odd circle of chairs and the decorated rug.
She wasn't the only one.
Maleina stood next to the circle of chairs, muttering under her breath while she examined the strange silver runes. Her dæmon, Edimmu draped across her shoulders as the burns from the first task, although dull, still lingered on his damaged scales. He hissed, yellow eyes unblinking as they settled on Lyra.
“Potter,” Maleina said tightly, she pushed her long frizzy hair away from her face.
Lyra froze, bristling at the memory of Edimmu's fangs, plunging straight into her fur, drawing blood-
“We never had a chance to discuss what happened in the first task,” Harry said. He could still remember her memories, the fact that he'd taken the most precious moments from her, left her only in the pits of despair.
Maleina's gaze looked onto him. She clenched her fist to stop it from shaking. Edimmu hissed, coiled tighter around her neck.
“I should never have summoned your dæmon during the first task,” Maleina said tersely. “It was disrespectful and wrong.”
“You don't believe that,” Harry said. He crossed his arms, cautiously watching Lyra's light which rippled wildly. “It was a fair duel.”
Maleina jerked her chin up, eyes narrowing.
“It was hardly fair,” she said bitterly. “What you did to me was so much worse, but no one cares because you didn't break a taboo. You shouldn't have left your dæmon unprotected...but I guess that was deliberate on your part.”
Harry didn't say anything. He'd not paid much attention to the papers, but he knew they'd been ruthless about Maleina, criticising her for something that didn't even matter.
“I was so confident I could beat you,” Maleina said stiffly. “The fact I could summon a patronus...I didn't even think you could fight it, but then Lyra...I wasn't expecting her. She's like nothing I've ever seen.”
Jorn Norberg had said the same thing at the Yule Ball.
“I genuinely don't know how anyone is supposed to beat her,” Maleina continued. “This tournament is as good as won.”
There was a laugh just behind them. Felix Kandil appeared with a coy smile on his lips. His coyote dæmon growled, prowled forwards with her teeth bared.
“Now, I know Potter is good,” Felix said. “But I'm sure there's still some hope for the rest of us, Maleina. It's not like you to give up.”
Maleina gave a sharp laugh, but her eyes were dull.
“Get over yourself, Felix. I'm under no illusion whether Edimmu can beat a dragon. Or do you think Tesa can?”
Felix placed a hand dramatically over his heart.
“Not for one second, but you're forgetting the fundamental nature of this task. We won't be fighting each other this time.”
Maleina glanced at Harry, her mood suddenly lifting. For a moment she didn't speak, only glanced back to the intricate rug and the small silver runes that scattered across it.
“Well Potter, I don't envy you this time round. I guess we'll see if you live up to your dæmon.”
She turned, waved back at him as she fell into a fevered discussion with Felix. She pointed at the rug several more times as she did so, almost crouching down to inspect it.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, looked down at Lyra.
“Any ideas?” he whispered.
She squeaked, but it was not because she had any meaningful response.
He glanced around the rest of the room, started to make his way across to Will-
“Hey, Potter!”
Jorn Norberg strode over, an easy smile on his face. Unlike the Yule Ball, his hair had returned to its wild, untamed look, long blonde hair cascading from his shoulders. Nalusa trotted up beside him, shaking her mane and lowering her head in greeting.
“You sure make some interesting choices, Potter,” Jorn said, with a warm smile.
Harry didn't return it. Lyra scratched her claws into the stone floor, lowering herself as if preparing to pounce and transform.
Jorn continued despite the icy reception, his eyes alight in a mocking amusement.
“Although a complete waste of potential, given your circumstances, I can understand why you would chose the Dark Lord instead of your own path...but Will Parry, really?”
Harry crossed his arms, a sour taste in his mouth. He glanced across at Will, who stood apart from the other champions, his light ablaze with a potency that they could not match.
“What's your point?” he said.
A rather ugly look crossed Jorn's handsome face. His smile curled into a disgusted grimace.
“He's worthless, a complete nobody, you are only wasting your time.”
Harry's eyes narrowed, resisted the urge to look back to Will.
“Why do you care so much?”
Jorn drew his arms across himself, straightened. He really was very tall, matched the towering height of his dæmon.
“It would be a disgrace to this school and make a mockery of the whole tournament if Parry won. He's an insult to the very concept of dæmons, that are they only things that matter in this life. I'm sure you can understand my concerns?”
“If you care so much about who wins, then why don't you just beat him?” Harry said coolly. “Or are you that afraid of a little competition?”
Jorn's charming smile returned in a blink. It was disorientating how natural it came to him.
“Lyra is clearly the dæmon to beat, but she is worthy of a place in this competition. I'm just warning you to not give Parry any further attention, his status is being elevated by your association alone. He does not deserve it.”
Without waiting for a response, and unbothered by any watching eyes, Jorn pulled his shirt over his head to reveal the large tattoo of Nalusa which stretched between his shoulder blades to the small of his back.
Cho had said before it was an old pureblood tradition.
“You should get a tattoo of your dæmon,” Jorn said indifferently. “Lyra is worthy of all recognition. I can recommend the best artist. She does all the old pureblood families-”
Harry blinked, and for a moment was lost for words. It was as if Jorn had decided that the conversation about Will was finished, that Harry would simply listen, as if it had not occurred to him that what he had been doing was wrong.
“I'll pass.”
Jorn shrugged, pulled a dark red robe over his head. It was the same robes he'd been wearing for the first task, but surely the second task didn't start until tomorrow-
A flicker of light glistened above, and Harry looked up distracted.
The entourage of teachers had begun to descend down the steep steps to the vault. Bulmmot led the way, his wide antlers avoiding the narrowness of the entrance as the brickwork morphed around him. Karkaroff's wolf dæmon, Barghest, followed with Madam Maxime's giant boar. The two dæmons seemed to be in rapid conversation, their light disturbed in some fashion.
There was no Fawkes, but sure enough as the Professors entered the chamber, Dumbledore was among them.
Harry clenched his teeth, curled his fist tight. He'd not seen Dumbledore in the castle since his chat with Sirius and Remus.
Dumbledore was in deep conversation with Madam Isberg who wore the strangest set of robes Harry had ever seen. Hundreds of silver runes were sewn into a rich purple fabric that trailed along the floor in a long sweeping train. The sleeves ballooned at the cuffs, matching a oddly shaped hat topped with a silver star. The entire outfit was luminous, radiated with a magic that glowed softly in the dim light.
There were a couple of audible gasps as Hana Yamamoto and Kaori Kai hurried starting whispering to each other.
Cho looked over and caught Harry's eye. She shrugged, just as oblivious as Harry watched Bulmmot stride along behind Madam Isberg. He had a ribbon strung between his antlers, decorated in the same purple and silver runes.
“Champions,” Madam Isberg announced to the room. “Please take a seat with your dæmons in front of you.”
Harry took a steadying, rattling breath, trying desperately to remember which part of Curses and Unbreakable Curses had a section on how to cast curses while dressed in hundreds of tiny runes. Lyra squeaked as she moved to take her place. Harry started to follow only to stop mid-step.
Professor Dumbledore cut in front of him. He bowed his head, looking far more solemn than normal, with dull blue eyes peering over the top of his half moon spectacles.
“Harry, if you have a moment?” he gestured to the side.
Harry scowled, a rush of fury coiling from within, subdued only from the dose of forbidden potion. Around the room, the other champions were already sitting down, their dæmons standing nervously in the centre on the decorated rug.
“Excuse me, Sir.”
He made to slip past-
Dumbledore grabbed his shoulder, frail hands startling firm.
“Harry, you need to understand that this task will put you in immense danger,” he said quickly and quietly. “There is a real chance you will come to great harm.”
Harry ripped himself away, absent heart racing as the darkness lurched into life, craving to break free despite his absolute control.
“I'm just as capable as anyone else here,” he said tightly.
“And there is no debate in that,” Dumbledore said quickly, almost pleading. “However, I want you to remember that there is always the option to withdraw should you wish.”
“What?” Harry blinked, couldn't believe what he was hearing.
Dumbledore sighed deeply, pushed his half moon glasses up his crooked nose.
“I only ask that you remember that I stand by my previous promise...if you withdraw, Tom will not come to any harm.”
Harry stood deadly still, a cold dread rising, with every absent heart beat. First Tom, then Snape and now Dumbledore.
“What's Tom got to do with this?”
Dumbledore merely smiled and didn't answer. He lowered his head, still with that same solemn look.
A hundred questions were bursting on Harry's lips, but there was no time to interrogate further. Madam Isberg walked around the circle, hurrying the remaining champions to take their seats.
Harry stepped away, almost in a trance like state, as he took the final empty place between Hana Yamamoto and Edouard Dubois. Their dæmons shuffled, light agitated from his presence, as Lyra took her place in front of him.
Madam Isberg cleared her throat, and an immediate hush fell upon the room.
“You will all know, that the second task is notorious in the Decadæmon tournament. I therefore implore that you use utmost caution in how you proceed. For some of you, this task will challenge the relationship with your dæmon in a way that you have never experienced before-”
There was a nervous shuffling around the room. Harad ruffled his feathers and let out a soft hooting sound, while both Akabeko and Parandrus pawed nervously at the ground. The only dæmon that remained perfectly calm was Nalusa, she raised her head proudly, and flicked her mane as a confident smile flicked onto Jorn's face.
“For a select few,” Madam Isberg continued. “It may even be deemed as a positive experience, one that will only strengthen the bonds you have already established...but for others, this will highlight who you really are.”
Harry's throat had gone very dry. Lyra's light which had been so calm before, pulsed, shifted in a disorientated way. Her small claws dug into the rug, dark brown eyes widening with a terrifying alertness.
Madam Isberg pivoted in the centre, facing each champion one by one. She opened her arms wide, long extravagant sleeves draping down.
“Ask yourself this. Is winning this tournament the most important thing to you?”
There were a few murmurs and nods around the room.
Harry shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling very out of place. He wanted desperately to reach for Lyra and run...but something held him still. Dumbledore's words echoed in his head...what could he have possibly meant about Tom?
There was no time to think. Madam Isberg smiled, bought her hands back together and dipped her head in a bow.
“Good. Then let us proceed.”
She walked to the edge of the circle, began to pace slowly around the back of the chairs, her voice hypnotic, rhythmic, almost like a strange lullaby.
Harry's eyes drooped. He tried to blink back the oncoming exhaustion, but his arms were suddenly very heavy, like he was trying to move through treacle.
Lyra yawned, stretched and curled up on the floor. Her light glistened as she flicked her tail back and forth in a contented sort of manner.
The strange words continued to permeate through the room, interrupted only by a whisper.
“Champions, I wish you all the very best of luck.”
Harry's eyes closed, and he slumped forward in the chair. He could do nothing as Madam Isberg's footsteps grew fainter with every step, her voice barely audible as he slipped into sleep.