Chapter Sixty-Six of 'Feather and Glass'- Preparations

[lomonaaeren]

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Chapter Sixty-Six—Preparations

“What did you think you were doing?”

“Having fun. Which I don’t think you have any comprehension of.”

Neville shudders and buries his face in his book. The Gryffindor common room has been more chaotic than ever since the Yule Ball. Ron yells and storms at Ginny all the time for going with Nott, and at Hermione for going with Krum. He doesn’t seem to know who he’s angrier at on any given day.

Neville just wishes that things would calm down and Ron could make up his mind to stop losing his temper.

Then again, that’s something his friend has never been very good at.

“Leave her alone.”

And now Hermione’s stepping into the middle of the fight between Ron and Ginny. Neville winces even as he looks up, thinking he might need to intervene. Both of the siblings will probably get angry at her for interfering.

Ginny, though, only smirks and tosses her hair back over her shoulder. “You heard her, Ron. Boys should stop trying to control the women in their lives.”

“I’m more a man than you are a woman!”

Ginny’s gaze rakes over Ron. She really has grown some sharp edges, Neville thinks, and wonders how. He knew she came back this year changed, but last year, she still wanted protection from the Heir of Slytherin trauma and huddled close to Neville’s side when he tried to protect her.

Now, Ginny doesn’t look like she needs anyone to protect her, even though she nods at Hermione as if recognizing her attempt to try.

“I don’t think you are, Ron,” Ginny says softly. The noise in the common room has died down as everyone turns or cranes their necks to watch the confrontation, so Neville can hear her clearly. “I think you’re a weak, crass, immature boy who thinks that what he wants should be important to everyone.”

“You take that back!”’

“Or you’ll do what?”

“Tell Mum that you want to the Ball with a Slytherin!”

Fred and George sound like they’ve taken huge breaths simultaneously. Neville supposes that they haven’t actually written to Mrs. Weasley with the news yet, which makes sense if they knew how upset Ginny would be.

“Go ahead.”

“W-what?” Ron is actually spluttering, his face turned so red that Neville wonders for a second if he needs a potion to calm down before his heart explodes or something.

“I said, go ahead. Do it. Tell her. I can survive Mum’s wrath.” Ginny raises her eyebrows when Ron continues to stare at her and not say anything. “Been there before. Done that. Got the Howler.”

Hermione chokes as if she understands what Ginny’s saying, which is more than Neville does. He reckons that it’s some Muggle reference, but that just deepens the mystery. He didn’t think Ginny had any contact with the Muggle world, other than the artifacts that her dead sometimes works on.

Ginny sweeps the common room with a look that makes Fred and George pay attention and a few gits take a step back. “I’d just like to say that I’ll be very disappointed in anyone who chooses to make a huge fuss because I’m dating a Slytherin. I might do something that would cost Gryffindor record numbers of points. You know. Just as a warning.” She turns around and flounces up the staircase in the silence.

Ron takes a deep breath. Neville assumes that he’s about to explode over Ginny and hides his face in his book again.

But instead, Ron bellows at Hermione, “And you? Dating a Dark wizard from Durmstrang? How could you do that?”

Hermione’s eyes darken with temper, and more than one person ducks out of sight. Neville doesn’t blame them. He’d like to leave, too, except people would pay attention to him doing that because of his stupid fame, and it would probably make both his friends angry at him.

“You don’t have any right to dictate who I go to dances with, Ron Weasley,” Hermione snaps, and marches straight up to Ron, who looks like he’s so surprised that he doesn’t know what to do next. “Ginny’s right. You’re a pathetic little boy who thinks he can control the women around him. Shut up.”

And she turns and marches away in Ginny’s wake.

There’s a long moment when Neville doesn’t know what’s going to happen next. It’s broken by Fred and Goerge’s laughter, so loud that it sounds like a pair of seals have started barking.

Ron looks from face to face and doesn’t find any sympathy there, maybe because he’s never had any close friends aside from Neville and Hermione and maybe his siblings. He turns and flees up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory, himself.

Neville swallows. Both Ginny and Hermione had the right to say what they did, but still.

Ron is going to be hell to deal with.

*

“Will creatures made out of water help you in the Second Task?”

“I don’t really know,” Harry leans back on his stool in the forest clearing that he and Steel occupy for most of their lessons now, glad for the chance to rest. He’s been working on continuing the lessons in flame that helped him get past the Horntail, but it’s still not the most natural kind of magic for him. His chest aches, and his arms, and his face, which doesn’t make sense, but there it is. “Blaise and I have been talking about the best kinds of charms that would let me breathe underwater.”

“And illusions wouldn’t be able to help you or distract the merfolk the way you claim they did with the dragon.”

“Exactly.”

Steel leans back and stares off into the Forest. Harry waits. When they get like this, the best thing is to wait for them to return to the present moment and offer whatever thoughts they’ve come up with in the meantime.

“Weaving creatures of water could still be helpful,” Steel murmurs at last. “No one human could see them in the lake, and you would be surrounded by a continual source of the material necessary for their creation. At the same time, you’d need to be careful that the merfolk didn’t notice them.”

“Yeah. Is it worth taking the risk?”

“You took a risk with revealing your Parseltongue.”

Harry nods and casts another Warming Charm to combat the one that’s already faded. He’s loads better with wanded magic than he was in his first year, but it’s still a lot weaker for him than it is for other people. Artemis, who’s resting on the stool next to him, cuddles closer to the warmth. “Yeah. And Aradia wasn’t happy about it. But she would be livid if I revealed this ability.”

“Dumbledore speaks Mermish.”

“So he could speak to them and find out what happened if I used creatures made of water.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. At the same time, most of the charms that would allow you to breathe underwater are above your current ability.”

Harry sighs and nods. That’s the problem with all the ones that he and Blaise have discussed. The charms themselves are fifth-year magic at lowest—and those wouldn’t really last long—and he has the weakness of his wanded magic to contend with.

“I wonder if you could do something similar…”

“Similar to what?”

“Similar to what you did during the First Task, but without revealing that the creature is made of water or calling it an illusion. Or only referring to it as an illusion, because you could create a mask of water on top of it to disguise its true nature.”

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

“I don’t do it often.” Steel moves their hand, their eyes glinting for a second like the metal behind their name. “I don’t usually need to do it with the blood that I drink or weave.”

“All right.”

“But I can show you what it would look like.” Steel rises to their feet, and Harry does the same thing, old snow and leaves crunching beneath his boots. Steel moves silently, as always. They reach down and tear a small portion of their skin on their right wrist open with a claw. Blood wells up, slow and sluggish.

Steel weaves it into a small dragon, so like the one that Harry made for the First Task that he smiles in spite of himself. Steel nods to him and gathers more blood into the air in whirling droplets.

As Harry watches in fascination, the second set of blood drops crawls onto the small dragon, and reforms around it like a sheath around a blade. Now the dragon has feathery wings, or appears to, and a sharp beak instead of a snout lined with sharp teeth. As Harry watches, the extra blood settles further into its original body, and it comes to resemble a predatory bird.

“Wow. That’s brilliant.”

“Yes, I rather think so.”

“So I would create a creature of water, and weave more water on top of it to make it look like an illusion?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm.”

Harry sits back and closes his eyes to think how he would do that. Artemis climbs to his shoulder to hiss suggestions into his ear. “You could create a dragon like the one that we faced and make it look like a kelpie.”

“I don’t know if kelpies live in the lake.”

“It could be an unknown kelpie.”

Harry laughs a little and opens his eyes to look at Steel, who’s leaning forwards. “I think I’m ready, but I need your help to decide what I’m going to create in the first place and what kind of illusion I’m going to hide it under.”

“Anything for my most gifted student.”

*

“It’s not just me.”

Blaise keeps his eyes down, ignoring Faustina Bulstrode entirely as he works on an essay for Charms. Theo is darting his eyes back and forth between Blaise and Bulstrode, and Blaise can feel that. But he ignores that, too. It isn’t his problem, and eventually, Theo will realize that more can be done by ignoring Bulstrode.

“Are you listening to me?”

Blaise keeps working.

A hand darts out from the side and tries to snatch his parchment, but Blaise calmly shoots a Stinging Hex at her wrist and snatches his homework back. There are a few stifled snickers. Blaise finally looks up and shakes his head. “You think that this should make me want to marry you, Bulstrode?”

“I said, it’s not just me.”

“Oh, I’m sure that I have admirers of all kinds,” Blaise says lightly. “But the rest of them are wise enough to admire me from a distance and wait to see if I break up with Harry.”

Not that Blaise can ever envision that happening. But Mother would say that he should keep his options open and not get too attached too young, and Blaise will at least pretend to listen to that advice.

“How close are you to breaking up with him?”

“In your case, it doesn’t matter, Bulstrode, since under no circumstances would I ever marry you.”

Bulstrode’s face twists into an ugly mask of frustration. More people are watching them now. “You ought to be begging for his life.”

“For Harry’s? Are you threatening him?”

“Yes, of course I am! I want to marry you, and he’s standing in the way!”

“He’s not the only one.”

“What do you mean? Do you have someone else you’re dating, and you just don’t brag about them in front of Potter?” Bulstrode actually leans back and looks around the common room as though she thinks his hidden boyfriend is crouching in a corner.

Blaise smiles at her and draws his wand. “I didn’t mean anyone else who was dating me. I mean me.”

Bulstrode stares at him, blinking rapidly. Then her eyes narrow with determination. “My mother won my father by defeating him in a duel. By the time we’re done, you’ll admire my strength and speed.”

No mention of her casting skill, Blaise thinks snidely. He watches as people scatter, and one of the seventh-years stands up to draw a ward around them with an easy gesture of her wand. At least spells won’t fly out beyond the confines of the ward and hit any of the spectators.

Blaise does catch Theo’s eye as he steps lightly into the center of the circle. Theo couldn’t give him a clearer look saying Be careful if the words were written on his forehead.

Blaise nods and then faces Bulstrode. He can already hear murmurs about how unequal the contest is. Bulstrode is two years older than Blaise and almost seven inches taller. She has a reputation as someone who can duel well.

No one really knows Blaise’s reputation, which is why they’re muttering about him.

But in this case, that’s more than an advantage.

Blaise drops into a crouch. For a moment, uncertainty flickers across Bulstrode’s face, as if she doesn’t know why he’s doing that, and Blaise wonders if he’ll get to duel her after all.

But luckily for him, she shakes her head and resumes her stance. “I’ll teach you some things,” she says.

Blaise doesn’t respond, because he doesn’t make the same kind of empty threats. Mother taught him all about threats long ago, and how they should never be empty. He just moves a short pace to the left, with Bulstrode echoing him, while he considers what kinds of spells Bathsheda has shown him he can use on her in public. Bulstrode follows him, growling under her breath, as if she thinks that’ll frighten him.

“You don’t actually care about yourself or your boyfriend, do you?”

Blaise looks at her with blank eyes. Bulstrode lifts her wand in response. “Ignis oppugno!”

Fireballs appear in midair and streak towards Blaise. He lifts a shield almost without thinking. This is the kind of thing that Bathsheda has drilled him on again and again, since he can’t count on a skilled wizard or witch being wandless at all times when he goes up against them.

The fireballs slam into the shield and vanish. Someone says something. Blaise honestly doesn’t hear it. His whole being is focused on Bulstrode, and her widening eyes, and the bob in her throat.

She’s nervous. I should attack.

Blaise wraps shields around himself that are invisible except for a shimmer in the air, casting aloud—he hasn’t mastered silent magic for all these spells yet—but so quietly that Bulstrode won’t stand a chance of hearing him. Then he prowls towards her. He feels alive in a way that he almost never does.

It’s good that Mother apprenticed me to Bathsheda. I’m meant to be a killer.

Bulstrode falls back a step, and then seems to decide that she can’t let that stand, not when she’s older than Blaise and supposed to know a lot more spells. She casts at him again, this time a spell that streaks across the air like lightning.

It slams into his shields and dissipates.

Bulstrode retreats around the circle formed by the ward the seventh-year cast, shouting spells all the while. Many of them are curses. Blaise can hear some shrieks from the observers who probably don’t trust the ward to hold.

He disregards all of them. Bulstrode is in front of him, and he’s going to attack her.

He’ll have a hard time not killing her, but he knows that he and Harry sacrificed their chance to do that, even accidentally or in a duel where people might think he didn’t mean to. He’ll just have to accept that he can punish her but not kill her.

Wound her.

Maim her?

Blaise smiles.

Bulstrode shouts another spell. This one, Blaise doesn’t know, and the incantation blurs into his ears behind the pounding of his heart. But the force of the magic that thickens in the air in the moment before the spell’s light appears warns him that his shields might not be able to handle this.

He spins and dives to the floor. For a moment, stone bruises his ribs, and he feels the crackle of the spell overhead.

His mind tracks it even as he springs back to his feet. The ward will deflect it back towards him, and with magic that powerful—

He lifts his wand and readies another shield, one that’s in place by the time the spell arrives. It’s a starburst of light with a crackling flame at its center. Blaise doesn’t recognize the particular appearance of it, but that doesn’t matter. It’s obviously a fire spell, and one that’s strong enough to start burning his shield away.

Blaise wraps another shield around it, and another. The fire continues to eat away at them.

He glances up. Bulstrode is watching with a sheen of sweat on her forehead, panting, but also with a little smile.

She cast it at me. She didn’t care about what would happen to me, or anything other than the fact that I was fighting her. She might do the same thing to Harry.

She deserves to suffer.

Blaise casts a spell that sheathes his arms in red light. Bathsheda taught it to him to handle poison. But it will do just as well to reach out as the fire spell eats the last shield and rumbles at him again, to—

To grab the magic from the air, and sling it back, and—

He feels the burn and the sting of flame against his fingers, but not as bad as it could have been, and—

The fire roars at Bulstrode and slams into her.

She screams and flails for a moment, before she manages to conjure water. Or someone beyond the ward does. Honestly, Blaise isn’t watching that closely. He just enjoys the sight of Bulstrode’s hair burning before the water washes over her and puts the fire out completely.

He sighs and shakes his head.

“I suppose that you know better than to challenge me now?” he asks Bulstrode softly. She’s making gulping little sobbing sounds, but she quiets to listen to him, which is the way it should be. “Not that I understand why you cast that kind of spell at me anyway, if you supposedly want to marry me.”

“I don’t think she does,” Theo murmurs. “Not anymore.”

But Bulstrode has a scowl on her face that Blaise thinks might mean bad things. All of the Bulstrodes are so stubborn. This one might continue trying to marry him just because people are telling her not to. Blaise stands back with a sigh.

“Go on, then,” he says.

The seventh-year who put up the ward to protect the audience lowers it. Bulstrode wipes hair and ash and water from her face. If there are tears mixed in there as well, Blaise knows he won’t see them.

“You’ll see,” Bulstrode whispers. “You’ll see what happens when I find you someday when you aren’t as well-protected.”

Blaise doesn’t get chills from her tone, but he is suddenly very glad that Harry made Ignis for him. He stands and watches as she leaves the common room, and then he turns and stares at the Bulstrode in his year.

Millicent promptly sinks low into her couch and shakes her head. Blaise is satisfied. Millicent is stubborn, too, but she doesn’t have any personal stake in her cousin’s attempts to marry him, then. Fine.

Blaise walks back to his couch and picks up his essay, examining it. There’s a long streak of ink on the bottom that he’ll need to Vanish, if he can do that without affecting the letters surrounding it. The spell is finicky, and sometimes it affects the rest of the essay and sometimes it doesn’t.

Ultimately, it’s probably better just to copy the essay to another piece of parchment. Blaise moves his wand to do so.

“Blaise!”

He whips around, but Theo moved first and fastest, raising a shield to cover his back. Blaise follows Theo’s line of sight to where it came from.

An empty corner of the common room, apparently.

Blaise covers his own adrenaline by turning to look at the audience. “You should know,” he says pleasantly, “that if I died here, and the culprit was clearly a Slytherin, my mother wouldn’t care about who was innocent and who wasn’t. She would just start reaping everyone who isn’t a friend of mine.”

“She couldn’t do that,” says Goyle. “She’d get caught.”

Malfoy, at least, leans forwards and starts educating Goyle in a low, quick whisper about Mother’s reputation and why she wouldn’t care about such a thing. Blaise goes on looking at the people around him. More than one pair of eyes drops away from his, but he still doesn’t know for sure who shot that curse.

“We’ll find them,” Theo says into his ear.

Blaise nods, and looks for a moment at the stirring in Theo’s robe pocket that’s Sidus, just as Theo watches for the stirring that comes from Ignis. They give each other sharp smiles.

And then Blaise really does turn back to his homework. Unlike Harry, he doesn’t have the luxury of exams being canceled at the end of the year because he’s in the Tournament.

*

“I don’t like this.”

Albus raises his eyebrows a little. It’s odd that Severus would voice such an opinion, especially since Harry isn’t in his House. Filius gave his permission without hesitating when Albus asked him. “You don’t have to like it, Severus. But we have to do it.”

“And if Mr. Potter isn’t capable of rescuing Mr. Zabini? What then?”

Albus nods a little. He sees now. Severus is afraid of Mrs. Zabini’s reaction. Well, Albus can calm and soothe her if need be. And the Task will be over too quickly for her to do anything about it before it happens. “I promise that Mr. Zabini will be perfectly safe, Severus. Even if Harry can’t rescue him, he’ll pop back to the surface when the Task is finished.”

“You swear? On your life?”

“Not my magic?” Albus says, keeping his tone light and teasing, while part of him thinks about Severus’s odd request. “I don’t think I’ve heard of someone swearing on their life before.”

“Goblins do.”

Albus blinks. “Well, do they? I didn’t know that.”

“They do.” Severus nods without his eyes leaving Albus. “Will you swear on your life?”

“It’s in the Tournament’s contract that everyone taken for the Second Task will be safe,” Albus says, feeling a spark of something deeper than annoyance and richer than unease thrum through him. “I don’t need to do that.”

“So you won’t?”

“Severus, I don’t need to. I told you that. The same enchantment that keeps Mr. Zabini asleep under the lake water will bring him back to the surface when Harry returns to shore, if Mr. Zabini isn’t with him.”

Severus just stands there, looking at him. Then he asks abruptly, “Why did you need Filius’s permission? Mr. Zabini is in my House, not his.”

“Well, of course I needed him to know that I was going to take someone precious to Harry, and he had to give his permission for that.”

“So Karkaroff and Maxime—”

“Yes, of course.” But Albus feels an uncomfortable little pinch of conscience. It’s true that he asked Minerva for permission to put Miss Granger at the bottom of the lake. He could have asked Severus about Mr. Zabini.

He just didn’t think of it.

“Be careful, Albus. You’re playing with forces that you don’t understand.”

“I hope that you’re not so frightened of Aradia you would change your behavior because of her, Severus,” Albus says in true distress. “I told you, we have an understanding. And there’s no way that her son would come to harm.”

“But you’re not asking her.”

“Of course not. Not any more than I am asking Miss Granger’s parents.”

“But you asked Miss Delacour’s?”

“Well, Gabrielle Delacour is a child. Not eleven yet.”

“And Mr. Zabini is fourteen.”

Albus shakes his head, irritated that he didn’t think of it, irritated by Severus’s persistence, a little ashamed. “I promise that I’ll bear all the consequences if she becomes upset, Severus. You needn’t worry about it.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, Albus.”

“It isn’t?”

Severus rolls his eyes, as if Albus is being the unreasonable one who isn’t taking part in a good-faith discussion. “It’s part of what I’m worried about. The rest is that you might be wrong about Mr. Zabini popping back to the surface if Potter doesn’t rescue him in time. And if you are? Aradia Zabini is already upset about her foster son being in this Tournament. If her blood son dies…”

“I said that I would handle it.” Albus keeps his voice firm. In truth, there’s little reason for Severus to stay at Hogwarts now that Tom is dead. But Albus would still like to keep an eye on him, to make sure his road to redemption stays straight.

“No matter what happens?”

“No matter what happens.”

Severus spends a long moment staring at him. Albus tries to project calm and confidence. It would help if he knew what Severus were so worried about, of course.

“On your head be it, then,” Severus says darkly, and turns away.

That rather ends the conversation. Albus sighs and sits back. He supposes dear Severus is still upset and paranoid from his years of spying, or thinking that he might have to take up the mantle of the spy again at any time.

I will make it up to you, Albus promises silently. You will see.