Chapter 9. Strangers
Today felt like a fever dream. He and Lily had gotten away with murder and were now making their way back to their tent. Minister Bones had actually thanked him for killing those three men, saying he'd be awarded the Order of Merlin, Third Class for saving the girls and preventing an international scandal. Even that pretty auror whose hair changed with her mood had given him a pat on the back and a lovely smile, calling him a hero.
He still couldn't believe he wasn't getting jailed for what he did. His intentions weren't heroic. Killing them wasn't motivated by an altruistic desire to save some strangers. It was all for Rose. He wondered if he'd have saved those poor girls if Rose and Hermione weren't involved. He liked to think he would, but one never knew unless they were thrust in that sort of situation. And so he felt like a fraud being heralded as a hero when he hadn't even done it intentionally.
Throughout the way, from that pink tent on the edge of the woods to his own in the centre of the campsite, people gawked and muttered. The news had travelled faster than his own feet. And people cheered and clapped for them. Lily basked in the awe and gratitude, but Harry shrivelled under their collective attention, tightening his grip on his sister's hand.
Rose walked with her head held high, their fingers intertwined. And behind them trailed the dazed pair: Daphne and Hermione.
He sympathised with them. They were already in shock after seeing his vicious handiwork, and then they had to witness a massacre too. In a single day, they went from never seeing death to seeing too much of it.
As they entered the tent, Lily turned around and examined them. Her eyes shone with pride when they landed on him, on his bruised face, and he stood up straighter. Then her gaze passed over to Rose and lingered on her friends.
"Girls," Lily began, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "Do you want me to apparate you home? I understand you must be… shaken after what just happened. It would be entirely reasonable to skip the game and go home instead?"
Daphne and Hermione shared a meaningful look before shaking their heads.
"At this point, I'd feel cheated for not attending the match after all that we've been through." Daphne attempted to sound wry but the humour didn't quite reach her eyes.
"I see. You two are brave."
They stood a little taller at the compliment. Lily had that effect. Plus, they'd just seen her kill dozens of people with a snap of her fingers and walk away without any consequences. Receiving a good word from someone that impressive and terrifying was bound to lift their morale.
"We'll be in our sleeping quarters. Call us when you leave for the match," Hermione said with a polite nod, tugging Daphne after her. They threw an expectant glance over their shoulders, at Rose.
But Rose remained steadfast on his side, unwilling to let go of his hand.
"I'll be fine now. Go make up with them." He leaned in and muttered in her ear. "You've been an arse twice today. Don't hesitate to apologise."
She looked reluctant to part with him, to 'leave' him to his own thoughts. So he gave her a little shove towards them. "Stop mothering me. I already have one standing right there."
"Prat," she grumbled, giving him a tight hug and kiss on the cheek. "You did nothing wrong, okay? Don't feel too bad for them."
That was the problem: he did not feel bad at all for what he had done to those blue-haired creeps. There was guilt, of course, but not for killing them, only for traumatising Daphne, for ruining their budding friendship.
He held Rose for a second longer. "I won't. Anyone that dares to harm you stops being human in my eyes."
The words felt right on his tongue, giving form to the intangible thoughts swirling in his head. He really hadn't done anything wrong, had he? He hadn't killed people but scums who didn't deserve to be called humans. It was right; his decision to kill them wasn't excessive. Anyone that intentionally harmed Rose lost their right to live. It was not Harry who killed them. It was them. He was forced to do that when those men decided to lay hands on his sister.
"Good." She patted his cheek and was gone the next second, the flap to the girls' sleeping quarter shutting close, leaving only him and Lily in the living room.
He slowly turned around, facing his mother.
"You were brilliant." She closed the space between them and held him by the shoulders, her lips stretched wide. "You were marvellous, my boy. You did not hesitate. You protected your sister. You saved so many other girls. You're a true hero."
The word 'hero' prickled at his conscience again, and she must've noticed because she squeezed his shoulders and guided him to the black sofas. She sat him on one and perched at his side, her arm wrapped around him. "What is it? It's not pesky guilt for killing those animals, I know that. So what else is troubling you?"
"I think the 'hero' is unearned." He exhaled, leaning against her, relaxing as her familiar warmth and scent cocooned him, as she healed his bruises. "I don't know if I'd have stepped in and saved those girls if Rose wasn't with—"
"You would." She cut him off, framing his now unblemished face between her palms, smiling that rare gentle smile. "Harry, you are kind, naive still. Despite my efforts to harden you, to turn you into a cold cynic, you still retain your inherent compassion. You would absolutely save those girls even if your sister wasn't involved. Believe me if you can't believe yourself. You're too bloody noble for your own good."
…
"Thanks."
"Of course, I'd prefer if you become selfish and cunning." She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling his face against her chest, resting her chin atop his head. "But I do not dislike the present you either. As long as your bleeding heart doesn't hurt you, I'm fine with it."
Harry was barely listening, soothed by her cosy embrace. Her chest was soft and pillowy beneath his face, and his heartbeat matched hers, the slow, uniform beat calming his turbulent mind. Her familiar perfume took him back home, where there were no headless bodies, where everything was right and untainted. And her warmth lulled him into quiet peace. Tranquil; that was the word that came to his mind as she cradled his head on her bosom, as she scratched his scalp and combed his hair.
His eyes fluttered close.
It felt like only moments had passed when she shook him awake and told him to fetch his sister and her friends for the match.
~xXxXx~
Draco stood behind Phineas Nott, who was seated at the head of the council. A long oak table stretched before them, lined with the entire Inner Circle, their faces grim.
"We should postpone our first attack," warned Corban Yaxley. "Not only is she here, she's already tasted blood. The entire delegation of Weep was killed in broad daylight in front of the Ministry and the ICW. And yet she wasn't arrested. Bones pardoned her. Do you hear me? Bones bloody pardoned her. Do you think she will even lift a finger when Lily Potter butchers us tonight? Of course not! Bones is on her side. She will protect her again!"
Draco had some choice words for the pathetic craven. The fool was worse than his own father. At least Lucius Malfoy had a reason to be a coward; he was actively hunted by her. But Corban Yaxley? He was nothing. Draco didn't think she even knew his name.
"Careful, Yaxley, don't piss your pants now." One of the Carrow twins snickered.
"I'd like to see your bravado when she buries you in a swamp and plucks your eyes with a giggle! You're a young fool. You haven't seen what I've seen. Listen to me Phineas, this is a bad idea. Not only that woman is here, the aurors will be on alert after what happened with Weep. Do we have the numbers to take on the combined force of the Ministry as well as the ICW aurors?"
Draco would give him that. He was right. The aurors would be vigilant. And that could prove troublesome.
"We're not here to best them." Nott answered in his usual commanding voice, silencing everyone. "We're here to show them that the Death Eaters still live. Our aim is to kill and instill terror that has been absent since sixteen years. So when the next time we attack, our work is half done; everyone is already hysterical. The plan will go forward. Tonight, we will attack the campsite and kill as many as we can before fleeing. If you kill foreigners, even better. Bones' authority and competency will be trampled. And that's good for us in the long run."
Draco stifled an eager smile. He'd been worried the old man would falter and retreat.
"One more thing. Whoever manages to kill Lily Potter and her spawns will inherit my lands and fortune. I have no family left to bequeath, so I'll give it all away to anyone who has the daring to take down that animal."
The tent filled with excited whispers. Even those who were reluctant before now plotted ways to kill her.
Lily Potter had made many enemies in the last war. It would be the reason for her downfall.
Draco imagined killing the bitch himself. The mudblood whore had terrified his father since his earliest memories. There had been numerous attacks, and almost all of them left scars, if not physical than mental.
He still remembered his eighth birthday. His mother had managed to convince his father for an outing in the muggle London. It was supposed to be a special day for him, to celebrate his birthday. Then she came and ruined everything. She and Sirius Black had collapsed the whole ceiling of the bakery, burying them and many others. It was fortunate that aurors arrived within minutes, saving their lives.
But the sensation of his crushed lungs still haunted him. Breathlessness struck him in middle of nights and startled him awake. And every time he assuaged his mind and took deep breathes, he imagined killing the whore that turned them prisoners in their own homes, in their own minds.
No more. She would die tonight.
~xXxXx~
The last time Harry attended the world cup, he was too young to truly appreciate how much work it must've taken to organise such an event.
The stadium was gigantic. It had to be to seat a hundred thousand people. Rows and columns and tiers were endless. Some seats were so far away from the pitch that they had to use omnioculars to catch a glimpse of the zooming figures. Thankfully, a large screen hovered high up in the air, replaying key moments for those far in the back and without omnioculars.
The loud cheers had already deafened him, and he sat in trance… transfixed. There was so much stimulus: constant clamour of the crowd, flashing spotlight chasing the seekers, children quarrelling in the back. He was thrust in the sea of noise. He'd stopped being a singular being and merged with everyone. So many people were boxed in the stadium, and being part of a crowd was spiritual.
Even though he was a squib, he'd always loved Quidditch. He once dreamed of becoming a pro. Alas, he could never fly a broom by himself. He always had to sit behind Rose. And he'd learned to accept his lot in life. But his love for the sport was reignited as he watched how skillfully the players weaved and dodged at such deadly speed. The chasers used so many deceptive manoeuvres that he couldn't keep up with them. And as Ireland scored again, he cheered with the crowd.
"Did you see how long and accurate her pass was!?" He swivelled to his side.
Unlike him, Rose sat still, her face blank and emotionless, her arms folded at her chest. But her eyes were wide and observing. They flitted from chaser to chaser, dancing over the keepers, tracking everything.
"It's no use. She gets like this when she sees players more amazing than her. You should've seen how she stared at Cedric during the games. People joked she was head over heels for him." Daphne sighed fondly, waving her hand in front of Rose, who snarled and slapped her hand away.
Daphne grinned and looked at him as if to say 'see what I mean?'.
Whatever talk the three girls had earlier, there was a dramatic shift. Daphne was treating him like a friend again, as if she hadn't seen him kill before.
"Cho was so jealous and worried," chuckled Hermione. "But we realised soon that Rose just gets intense when analysing better Quidditch players. There was never any romantic interest."
"I've never seen someone so relieved and insulted when Cedric and Cho confronted her about her 'feelings'." Daphne pressed her lips to contain her mirth. "It was hysterical."
Hermione hid her smile behind her hand. "I mean anyone would have a similar reaction to 'ew, no, I don't like you at all'."
Daphne burst out laughing. Hermione joined in, clutching her sides.
Harry would think Rose wasn't aware of their conversation if not for the blush on her cheeks. Before he could tease her too, she sprang away from the seat and grabbed the railing, leaning forward to watch the game.
Krum was on the move, tearing through the sky, spiralling downwards like a meteor. Jonas, the other Seeker, was hot on his heels, but as they charged at the ground like suicidal maniacs, only one followed through.
The entire stadium shook with cheers as Krum changed his trajectory last second, shooting upwards with the golden snitch in his hand.
Bulgaria won. And while there were a few grumbles, most were good sports, exasperated and amazed by Krum's ridiculous skills. Everyone knew if the rest of the Bulgarian team held their own, Krum would take them to victory. And that was what happened. Jonas was great, but Viktor Krum was a generational talent, a prodigy.
Rose returned to her seat, slumping into it. "That man is a monster."
"There, there, you'll get there someday." He patted her back, amused by her competitiveness. She had not even left school and already she was comparing herself to the top player.
"I'll try." Rose blew a breath, still glaring at the superstar flying circles on the pitch. "I'd love to play against him. Hmm, maybe in a few years."
As the crowd got up and trickled out of the stadium, they fell in with them.
The game proved to be a wonderful distraction. It was as if the cursed morning hadn't happened. Daphne and Hermione were teasing Rose, playing up her obsession with Krum, while she rolled her eyes and shot back, reminding Hermione that her crush was just behind them.
Harry just smiled at the way Hermione shut up and blabbered defensively. She was cute, and her crush on him was flattering. But of course he didn't like her that way. The one he liked seemed to be forever out of reach.
Daphne must've noticed his wistful stare, because she looked over her shoulder and smiled back at him.
It was a false smile. A plastic smile.
He had no doubt she was trying to act normal at the behest of Rose. But it was an act in the end. He resented that their easy friendship had become so complicated. He had hoped to impress her during her brief stay at Potter Manor. Unfortunately, he was forced to show what hid under the pleasant exterior. And she did not like that.
"Don't make that sad face." Lily slung her arm around his neck as they exited the stadium and flowed with the chattering crowd. "There are plenty of fish in the sea, you know. And I think she's more interested in your sister."
Harry blinked at her comment, his arm curling around her waist. "What?"
She shook her head and gave him a squeeze. "You never noticed, did you, my darling boy? Look at them now. Look closely."
He did.
It was obvious now that his mother mentioned it. Rose had just said something and Daphne laughed so… truly, her eyes shining with warmth and love. She bumped her hip against Rose and dodged a playful swipe, patting her butt with a mischievous grin. Then they were chasing each other like cat and mouse, Rose, fond and annoyed, while Daphne looked… lively, exhilarated. He'd never seen her look like that when she was with him. Hermione yelled and ran after them, weaving through the crowd, muttering sorries and excuse-mes.
Harry allowed a rueful smile. "This has to be the most pathetic moment in my life. I didn't even notice she liked Rose."
If it were someone else, they'd have consoled him, but Lily just chuckled and nodded. "It was. I found it hilarious. It was entertaining if nothing else."
"You're welcome. I'm glad you had fun."
"Don't pout now."
"I'm not."
He didn't even feel like getting mad at her. He was just tired of this day. Home was all he wanted right now.
"Shall we head home?" He couldn't hide his desperation. He wanted to lie in his own bed and wake up to a new fresh day.
Her face softened, and she ruffled his hair. "In the morning, I promise. The game wasn't the only reason people were here. There are celebrations to attend, old friends to gossip and drink with. The night is still young. This is practically a festival."
He shot her an unimpressed look. "Can't you just apparate me home? I don't feel very festive right now."
"Then Rose would want to go as well," she noted as they reached their tent, gently rubbing his shoulder. "And you don't want to ruin her night, do you?"
Now that was an effective attack. Of course he didn't want to spoil her fun. He was not that selfish.
"Chin up, Harry." She slapped his back. "You can always tag along with me and Sirius if Daphne's presence bothers you. There'll be Alice, too."
"I'd rather be with the girls than have another stiff talk with Sirius."
"Of course you would like to be with girls."
"Not that way." He was too exhausted to show much reaction. "You can go and have fun with your friends now. I'll just tuck in early."
"If that's what you want." She stepped away, fixing her dress. "But I'd suggest you do go out and mingle with strangers. I'm sure you'll find someone to keep you company. Why, there might be many witches eager to thank the hero personally."
He closed the tent flap on her face.
~xXxXx~
Hermione and Daphne did their best to appear normal, and Rose kept roping him into their conversations, but it was clear his presence made the tent feel cramped. Plus, she had to keep giving him context for their inner jokes. He didn't know Hogwarts, or the students and professors who resided there, after all.
The entire thing was a pain.
"I think I'll take a walk." He slid off the sofa, exaggeratedly jerking his feet. "My legs have fallen asleep."
Rose seemed aware of the awkward air and kept quiet, not begging him to stay, knowing this was for the better. Daphne and Hermione wilted a little, looking guilty. But it wasn't really their fault. He didn't blame them. And, honestly, he just didn't want to be the thorn in their sides. Let them enjoy the night.
Smiling and giving them a wave, he stepped outside, greeted by a cool breeze. He closed his eyes and dropped the smile. Then he walked.
Even though it was night, the campsite was abundantly lit. Lily was right. It really was a festival.
Harry wandered aimlessly, just watching people. There were hundreds of campfires, and each one seemed like its own world.
His mood improved the further he went from his tent, as he stopped and watched a group of old men drink and bellow stories. The language was unknown to him. Something eastern. But it sounded so rich and expressive, and the way they spoke over each other and guffawed, it must be an exaggerated and fun tale. He wished he could understand them.
Shaking his head, he kept wandering, enjoying the cool wind of the night and the toasty fire of the campsite. He halted to a stop when he saw a group of French boys and girls dancing in a circle around the billowing blue fire. Their moves were so synchronised, he couldn't help but gawp at the mesmerising sight. Then they noticed him and beckoned him to join them. He fled.
Looking at dancers was fun, doing it was embarrassing. And he didn't even know the steps. He'd rather not ruin their fun.
Sometimes he wondered how obsessed he was with not ruining other people's fun. Was it really selflessness or the fear of rejection? All his life he had watched from the outside, like a nameless spectator awed by talented artists. Often he desired to be with them, to be by their side, to be in the spotlight. Most of the time he found reasons not to.
Not today. Today, he saved Rose and Hermione. Today, he stepped into the spotlight and killed people. Today, he took the centre stage while everyone watched him.
It was not fun. Being the 'hero' was not as fulfilling as he had thought. Or maybe it was the act that put him in the light that bothered him. He wasn't admired for dancing so beautifully that a passerby stopped and gawped. No, he was getting famous for killing people barehanded. What an achievement.
"Are you 'Arry Potter?"
He stopped short, almost colliding into the person in front of him.
"Uh, yes," he answered, trying not to stare. "Can I help you?"
It was a girl, and she seemed slightly older than him. Her hair was the colour of molten silver; it fell to her waist like flowing moonlight and framed her stunning face. Ocean blue eyes regarded him curiously, and soft pink lips curved in a polite smile. Harry had never seen someone so pretty before. She was drop dead gorgeous, like some international model, and the casual blue jeans and jumper didn't detract from her beauty one bit.
"I know you must 'ave gotten this a lot, but thank you for what you did today." She shook his hand, her tone sombre. "I 'eard there was a young Veela hurt by them as well. Absolutely 'orrible, those men. But thanks to you she can go 'ome."
"I only hope I could've done more, that I could've saved her before she had to go through that." He drew his hand back after a perfunctory shake.
The girl gave him a sad smile. "There will always be bad people doing bad things. Getting consumed by what-ifs is pointless, 'Arry Potter. As long as there is free will, bad things will happen. All we can do is try to save the ones we can and 'ope there is justice still in the world."
"I guess." He shrugged, not wanting to have a philosophical discussion. He didn't have any mental energy left for that.
"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Fleur Delacour."
"Nice to meet you, Fleur. You already know my name."
"Yes. I saw you walk past three times." She pointed at the campfire, and he realised where he was. It was the same place those French people were dancing. He had circled back to them. "I decided to personally invite you."
He gulped, looking over at the group, at their enthusiastic waves and welcoming smiles. Half of them had the same silver-blonde hair and blue eyes as her.
"I don't know how to dance."
She took that as permission and guided him towards the group. "It is easy. I will teach you. Come on. Put your 'ands on my waist."
It was easy. Minutes later, he wasn't watching from the outside; he was dancing with them. A twirl, a step to the side, changing of partner, and repeat. He danced with strangers for the next hour, with Veelas and normal witches. Their ages ranged from prepubescent to all the way to sweet grandmas. And he'd never felt such joy before.
The kids were eager and chatty about the randomest things, uncaring if they stepped on his toes. The teenagers his age were flirty and inquisitive, asking him how he saved the girls from Weep. Harry didn't mind answering them in those moments, too happy and ecstatic. The old grandmas were the gentlest, slowing down a notch and complimenting him for the most mundane things. He wasn't aware he had perfect eyebrows. He heard that five times that night.
In a brief twirl and change of partners, he talked like never before. There were nineteen people, and he somehow kept up with nineteen different conversations without mixing them up. From the childish discussion of what was his favourite candy to the difficult question of what he wanted to become, he got all sorts of conversations.
And Harry felt free and light, dancing around the campfire, holding giggling new friends.
He would've kept dancing all night if not for the Death Eater attack.
Fleur had just slipped into his arms with a soft smile, picking up their conversation from where they had left when screams pierced the air.
The assailants didn't come from the woods. No, they emptied out of a tent, garbed in black robes and silver masks.