A Promise kept - Chapter 29 - Just Another Scar

Just Another Scar

“Ladies and Gentlemen, having conferred with the other judges, we have reached a decision. Due to the outside interference of a non-competitor, Miss Delacour has been disqualified from the second task of the tournament,” Dumbledore announced, shooting a glare towards Igor Karkaroff.

She’d barely paid any heed to the man’s words, nor did she care for the outcome.

Fleur had been too preoccupied with readying to depart Hogwarts with her mother, Gabrielle, and the Healers that would be overseeing her care until they arrived back in France.

Even now, after a few days had gone by, she’d not thought about the tournament beyond what it done to her sister.

Gabrielle was yet to wake.

Her breathing was still shallow, and her magic was still unsettled. She was receiving the very best care from the Veela at the hospital but showed no signs of waking up.

She was stable, at least, and that was the one thing that kept Fleur from losing her composure as she sat vigil by Gabrielle’s bedside along with her mother, father, and grandmother, who had joined them shortly after arriving.

What damage had been done to her from her time in the lake would not be known until she woke, whenever that might be.

A few more minutes…

Only a few more minutes within the depths would’ve been enough for her to have perhaps been killed, and had Harry not intervened…

Fleur did not wish to think of what would likely have happened.

There were still ten minutes left until the task was due to end when he’d emerged from the lake carrying her, and though there had been no explanation as to why he’d been there, it didn’t matter.

He’d done what he believed was right, what had been right, despite the inevitable fallout his actions would cause.

Not that any had reason or even capability to hold it against him.

He had saved Gabrielle’s life, had been the only one to do so when she’d needed him most, much to Fleur’s shame.

Upon struggling back to the shore, she’d been fed a cocktail of potions that had left her weaker than when she’d been in the water, unable to do anything even if she wished to.

Her gaze flitted towards her mother.

None of them had been aware of Gabrielle’s participation until she was already in the water, and when the Delacours knew that she would be well, Fleur did not doubt that there would be quite the fallout to follow.

Her father had remained mostly silent, only leaving for brief moments to either compose himself, or make enquiries with the Healers.

His silence was never a good thing, and his unreadable expression made it impossible to even guess at what he might be thinking.

Her mother was beside herself.

In some moments, she appeared to be coping well enough, clinging to the optimism of the Healers that Gabrielle would be fine when she woke, and in others, she would simply cry silently, holding onto the hand of her youngest daughter.

“She’s still cold.”

Fleur nodded, flinching as Gabrielle’s magic flared once more before settling.

“She will be okay,” she tried, her tone not as reassuring as she’d hoped.

Her mother nodded but said nothing else, unable to believe it until Gabrielle was back with them, exactly as she had been before; a sentiment Fleur shared wholeheartedly.

(Break)

He watched as the rest of the judges filed into the room, each of them as tired as the other, evidently having been hounded by the marauding members of the media that were determined to get yet another headline pertaining to the debacle that had been the second task of the tournament.

The fallout itself was already proving to be nothing short of a catastrophe, with each of them under fire for their part in placing others not involved in the tournament in such danger.

What had happened to Gabrielle Delacour was entirely unforgiveable, and Albus would hold his hands up to his own failings on the matter.

The girl should simply have never been used in such a way, and the revival of the tournament had certainly been tarnished because of the oversight.

Olympe was the one receiving the most criticism.

Just about every newspaper outlet was pinning the blame solely on her. Even if they learned of her protestations to the task in its entirety, it would make no difference.

No, like all involved, she would need to weather the storm.

Igor, as was in his nature, appeared to be rather enjoying seeing the names of his colleagues being dragged through the mud, and the furore created by what had occurred.

As ever, he proved to be a rather disagreeable and even repulsive man that Albus would rather do without being involved. As the headmaster of Durmstrang however, he had just as much say as him and the others.

Both Barty and Ludo had received their share of negative press in the past, so this was nothing new to either.

As a Quidditch player, particularly towards the end of his career, Bagman had been criticised heavily for his lacklustre performances on the pitch.

Barty’s plight could not have been any different.

His own experience had come courtesy of his own son having been revealed as a staunch supporter of the Dark Lord, and he’d resigned in disgrace from his former position as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Needless to say, each of them found themselves under the cosh of public opinion, and rightly so, with only one person emerging from what had happened positively.

Harry Potter.

Igor and Barty especially had been furious that the boy had dared intervened and barely placated by the revelation that Gabrielle Delacour had been only perhaps moments from death.

Albus would never forget the vision of the whirlpool, the angry magic that had caused it, nor the sight of Harry carrying the girl from the lake after the enormous wave had crashed over them.

Harry’s fury had been palpable, yet somehow, he had maintained his composure, tended to his own wounds, and vanished before any could reprimand or question him.

Not that Albus needed to, not after having spoken with Mercus as to what had transpired upon the boys’ arrival to the merepeople village.

“I have made a decision,” Olympe declared, having cleared her throat to garner the attention of those gathered. “This will be my final year as the headmistress of Beauxbatons. I will see the tournament through and will vacate the post the moment it is concluded. My errors are unforgiveable, and it is the right thing to do given the outcome of the second task. I have already submitted the necessary paperwork.”

She was not one to do such a thing for the sake of sympathy or attention, and certainly not in the hope that someone would try to talk her out of it.

No, Olympe had made her decision, and to her, it was final.

Albus nodded is understanding.

“Has there been any word on Miss Delacour’s condition?”

Olympe shook her head.

“Nothing yet, and I suspect that when it does come, it will not be delivered with the kindly nature I would hope. Sebastien Delacour will not take what happened well.”

“What of the Potter boy? Is he to be punished for what he did?”

“For saving someone’s life?” Olympe scoffed.

Igor bared his teeth in response, evidently having expected a different answer to his question.

“Well, Igor,” Albus broke in before any other could. “If you wish to provoke the ire of Ilvermorny, the American and French governments, along with Sirius Black, and several others, you can push for a punishment for Mr Potter. I would personally advise against it. The boy is the only one who did the right thing in all of this, and the media certainly will be most unforgiving for any that would attempt to skew that narrative. Besides, to what end would you see him punished? Viktor’s efforts were not affected by his intervention.”

“We cannot be seen to allow outside interference!”

Albus shook his head, but it was Olympe that spoke on his behalf.

“Just, shut up, Igor,” she huffed.

The Durmstrang headmaster was no fool, and he would not wish to find himself provoking the ire of Olympe Maxime. For as large as she was in stature, her ability with magic matched it.

Oh, Igor certainly knew his way around a wand in his own right, and was a gifted wizard, but he could not hold a candle to his French counterpart.

Wisely, he chose to remain silent on the matter but raised the very thing that all of them had undoubtedly been thinking about.

“What of the third task?”

“It goes ahead,” Barty said sharply. “Yes, there have been some unexpected developments along the way of the tournament, but it must be completed in full. The rules are clear, as is the magic that governs it.”

He was right.

Both the rules and magic of the tournament would not be satisfied until a winner was declared, and for that to be, the final task must take place. Whether or not Miss Delacour would truly participate was another matter that would need to be addressed.

That was without the ongoing backlash the judges, and the tournament itself was receiving from all angles.

Albus could only shake his head.

Thus far, reintroducing it had not gone as intended, nor as Albus had hoped. Already, a young girl had almost been killed by their lack of preparation and knowledge, and the Headmaster of Hogwarts dreaded what could come in the third and final task.

(Break)

It was not often that the Great Hall at Ilvermorny fell silent during a mealtime. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were usually rather lively affairs as the students and staff chatted openly and animatedly, but as the post arrived, Wendell frowned as it descended upon them.

Every other student in the school had a subscription to an outlet of sorts, and as his gaze drifted around the room, he could see the various newspapers being read before the whispering started.

Wondering what had caught the attention of the others, he peered over the shoulder of the boy sitting next to him.

“Son of a bitch!” he whispered in disbelief as he took in the photo on the front page, shaking his head as he read the accompanying title.

Potter Averts Disaster During Triwizard Debacle!

He couldn’t quite read the article in full from his angle, but the picture told him enough.

Harry was emerging from a swirling body of water carrying a familiar blonde in his arms. He was bleeding from a terrible wound in his shoulder, and his body was littered with other, less severe ones.

What caught Wendell’s attention, however, was the boys’ stony expression.

He’d seen Harry become irritated with others from time to time, but he could almost feel the anger of his friend radiating from the newspaper itself. What had happened to elicit such a reaction, Wendell did not know, but Gabrielle certainly looked worse for her.

“She’s lucky he was there.”

He’d not seen Olivia, Maggie, or Marisa approach, and he nodded his agreement before chuckling humourlessly.

“She is. What the hell happened?”

Before any of the girls could give him an answer, the Great Hall fell silent once more as Harry entered, a deep frown marring his features, not so dissimilar to the one in the photo.

It was a sudden clap from a single person that broke the silence as Professor Fontaine stood to offer his opinion on what he had learned. The rest of those gathered within the room followed his lead, but he said nothing as the applause abated, offering Harry only a nod of approval before retaking his seat.

Harry was visibly relieved by the headmaster not making a show of him, and he took a seat next to Wendell as though it were any other day, helped himself to some eggs and toast, and tucked into it as the others looked at him as though he’d grown a second head.

“How is she?” Olivia asked.

Harry shook his head.

“Not well. Not well at all.”

He’d said nothing else on the matter, but the articles had continued in the days since with each criticising the judges and tournament itself, along with the pleas for Harry to agree to an interview.

According to the rumours, some eager journalists had even been spotted at the foot of the mountain below them, but had since left after Professor Fontaine had spoken with them.

Still, they’d received no word on Gabrielle, and Harry was as aloof as they had all become accustomed to, but there was an undeniable tension about the boy as he too waited for news about their friend.

For Wendell, he was worried about Harry.

As good as he was at being there for the others when they needed it, he was not the best at allowing others to do the same for him. No, Harry tended to bottle everything up and keep it to himself, which only meant that one day, it would undoubtedly all come spilling out.

It had happened to Wendell’s great-uncle Willy.

The man had been affable, always smiling, always happy, until one day, the man had almost completely snapped at a family gathering.

Wendell did not remember much as his mother had covered his ears so that he wouldn’t hear the expletives being unleashed upon them all. Uncle Willy had been admitted to a hospital, and Wendell had not seen him since.

According to his father, he’d gone quite mad and wasn’t allowed visitors.

His mother had not mentioned the man or the incident and would become rather tense whenever he was mentioned.

Wendell shook his head.

He could not see Harry going quite the same way as Willy, but trying to cope with everything himself was not a good thing, not a good thing at all.

(Break)

Over the years, she had learned to read Sirius Black like a book, and as he entered the kitchen clutching a newspaper, almost appearing as though he was a dog that had been caught chewing a shoe, Lily held her hand out expectantly.

“Before you say anything, he is fine.”

She immediately felt her heart sink into her stomach, and even more so as she took in the image of her son walking out of the lake with Gabrielle in his arms.

Lily could only shake her head in disbelief as she read the article applauding Harry for what he had done, and though she was of course proud of him for doing the right thing, she was still a mother, and one that was struggling with a myriad of emotions.

“Silly boy,” she sighed, unable to settle on only a single feeling on the matter.

What she did know, however, was that she needed to see him for herself, see that he was as well as he could be.

“I’m going to the school,” she declared, summoning her coat.

Sirius did not try to dissuade her from doing so, and did not even offer to join her.

In truth, she was grateful for being able to leave unhindered and alone.

She needed the next moments to compose and gather herself before she was to see Harry, and only then would she decide what it was she was feeling.

Agilbert Fontaine had not been surprised to see her and had been willing to accommodate her in a room set aside for parents to meet with their children if and when needed throughout the year.

Here, she waited, and it was only around ten minutes after she’d been shown inside that the door opened, and Harry entered.

Lily immediately knew he did not need a lecture, or to be given a difficult time over what he had done.

It was not something he would’ve taken lightly under any circumstances, and she knew the boy better than any.

Harry had stepped up when he was needed; just as his father would’ve done.

She said nothing as she simply pulled him into her arms, and he immediately relaxed into her embrace.

“Sorry, Mum,” he murmured.

Lily shook her head.

“You should never apologise for being yourself,” she sighed. “I’m not angry or disappointed in you, Harry. I’m proud, but I needed to see you. I needed to see that you’re okay.”

He nodded his understanding.

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Just another scar to add to the others, but it was worth it.”

“You saved her life.”

“Maybe. She’s not out of it yet.”

“No, but you gave her the best chance. I have no idea what Dumbledore was thinking…”

“He wasn’t. I’m not going to defend his ignorance, but only someone who knew Veela well would understand just how dangerous and stupid putting her in that situation was. I wouldn’t have considered it if she’d not told me about it when we were by the lake back home. I suppose it’s not something they advertise openly. It’s a weakness, isn’t it.”

Lily smiled.

“I’m proud of you, Harry.”

“Won’t I be in trouble? I can’t imagine Dumbledore and the others are so happy with me.”

“I’d like to see them bloody well try,” Lily grumbled. “If anyone has anything to say about it, they can say it to me. I’ll put them right.”

Harry chuckled amusedly.

“You know, everyone is always quick to point out how similar I am to Dad, but I think I’m a lot more like you than most people know.”

“You’re my son too, Harry. You got my eyes, my stubbornness, and even thirst for knowledge. Your father never needed that, not like the rest of us. He was just annoyingly good at everything he did, just like you.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

“No, Harry, I would not, even if I am convinced you will see me grey before my time. I like my red hair, so, for a little while at least, can you try to not get into any more trouble.”

“You know I can’t promise that. Trouble always seems to find me.”

“Yes, it does,” Lily huffed. “How is your shoulder?”

“Sore. Very sore.”

(Break)

“How do you know Harry Potter?”

“Why didn’t you tell us you knew him?”

“What’s he like? Is it true he was taken away to live in a castle and trained to kill dragons?”

They were not the only questions Hermione had been asked, and the last had not been the most ridiculous.

Not having grown up with the stories of her friend, she did not see him the same way others seemed to. Harry was brilliant, he was bright, funny, and would be a great wizard, but to her, she was just Harry.

To the rest of her fellow students, however, he was almost this mythical being they’d only heard whispers of, almost something of a British legend.

The very thought made Hermione chuckled to herself.

Harry was just another boy, exceptional in his own ways, of course, but not so different from them all.

Not that he made it any easier to defend that stance, not when hundreds of people had seen him do what he had during the second task. Well, they had not even truly seen what had happened in the depths of the lake, but the image of him returning Gabrielle to shore was more than enough for the speculation that followed.

She shook her head as she pondered the past days since.

Hogwarts had been inundated with journalists speaking with any that would give them the time of day for their take on what had happened. Of course, there were those more than willing to accommodate it, but Dumbledore had soon put an end to it when Malfoy had been quoted spouting off some nonsense about blood purity, heavily insinuating that neither Hary nor Gabrielle were worthy of such attention.

That had not ended well for the blond.

The very next morning, he’d been unceremoniously hurled from his seat at the Slytherin table, and into a vat of cleverly disguised Hippogriff dung.

The Weasley twins had been accused of the deed, but there had been no proof of their involvement, and Hermione suspected they might have just had a little help from a certain Professor or two in covering their tracks.

Even so, although there were still discussions and speculation of what had happened, the chatter finally seemed to be slowly ebbing away.

Still, there was the third and final task yet to take place, and Hermione did not doubt that there would be much focus on it.

The journalists would swarm once more hoping for a story, and there would not be an empty seat in the crowd hoping for a show to remember.

For Hermione, besides meeting Viktor, the tournament held little appeal to her, and even less now seeing that two of her friends had been harmed during the course of it.

“Do you have any idea what the third task will be?”

Viktor looked up from the book he was poring over and shook his head.

“No, we know nothing yet. We did not get a clue.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Only an idiot would not be. It will likely come down to me and Diggory, even if Delacour does compete.”

Hermione nodded.

After the first two tasks, Viktor was ahead by quite a wide margin in points, and Fleur was not even close to Cedric’s total. Going into the third, Durmstrang would have the advantage, but Hermione suspected it would not be as straight forward as who had performed the best thus far.

(Break)

The song he heard only became more eerie the closer the voices came, and by the time he reached the outskirts of the odd, underwater village built from stone, Harry could not deny that he was rather unsettled.

Here, he was out of his element; slower, hindered by the thickness of the water, and his vision was quite compromised.

Although there was light of sorts emanating from the dwelling, it was not near enough for him to feel any sense of confidence, but the sight of Gabrielle tied to a statue of a human-like creature clutching a trident emboldened him to press on.

Merepeople.

They had not been covered during his lessons at Ilvermorny, and he’d certainly not expected to find a tribe of them within the lake of Hogwarts.

He hoped given their almost human nature that he would be able to somehow explain the situation to them. Conflict would certainly not be to his advantage.

Approaching cautiously, he kept his wand at the ready, though not held in a threatening manner.

He did not wish to spook the creatures, or for them to think he was a threat to them.

Harry kept his gaze fixed on Gabrielle, watching as he head lolled from side to side, her silvery-blonde hair and pale skin a stark contrast to the dark water she was being held in.

Raising a placating hand towards the merepeople as he continued approaching, he did not miss the way they postured, nor the sharp, lethal weapons they carried.

Tridents, swords, spears, barbed whips, and long knives were not something he wished to face, but the creatures themselves were strongly built, and could likely snap him in half if they so wished.

It was quite daunting being in front of them, and as more gathered, Harry quickly realised they were not doing so in a friendly greeting. No, they were going to defend their prisoner from him, as they had likely been instructed to from anyone not involved in the tournament.

Even before he could ponder a way to explain to them that he meant no harm, the first trident as hurled towards him.

It came at an impossible speed, and though he managed to deflect it with a wave of his wand, it was only the first of several projectiles.

Whipping his wand upwards, Harry managed to displace enough water around him to generate enough force to repel them, but that did not prevent the merepeople from swarming.

Before he even realised he was surrounded, he felt several sharp cracks of the whips lashing against him, tearing through his flesh, but it was the sudden pain in his shoulder that distracted him, and Harry found himself face to face with a leering merman who’d driven his dagger into Harry’s shoulder.

The scream of pain and frustrating that escaped him was lost in the abyss, but with it, came his flaring temper.

There would be no negotiation, and for Harry, no mercy given. These creatures were trying to kill him, and he was going to return the favour.

With a flurry of wand movements, he unleashed a plethora of spells at the merepeople surrounding him, sending them fleeing into the depths, but they were not done.

They returned in formation with the front-line carrying shields, and the second a dozen spears pointed towards him.

For his part, Harry did not falter. If anything, he could feel the blood pumping in his veins just as much as it was the wound in his shoulder, and he’d never felt more alive.

Bringing his wand to bear once more, he unleashed another onslaught of spells, leaving no doubt that he was willing to fight to the death, before propelling himself towards the charging merepeople.

They too were willing to give no quarter, but it was Harry with the wand, and he put it to use once more, blasting through the bronze row of shields before him.

Without them, he was able to relieve his enemies of their weapons with a summoning charm, and though they snatched at the handles desperately, their efforts were for nothing.

With the weapons hurtling towards him, Harry used the water itself to redirect them so that they spun menacingly around him in something resembling a defence.

The merepeople now eyed him cautiously, and Harry took the opportunity to begin freeing Gabrielle from the statue, but the merepeople were not done.

Upon removing the ropes binding her, Harry knew that his retreat would not be without issue. Once more, the merepeople had mustered a force to confront him, only now, there as much more at stake.

With Gabrielle held to his chest, he knew he could take no unnecessary risks, and the loss of blood was already making him feel rather woozy. With a shake of his head, he raised his wand.

“MOVE!” he commanded, though only a stream of bubbles escaped him, and of course, the merepeople did not heed his words, the brandishing of their weapons making it clear they did not care for what he was trying to say. “Fine,” Harry murmured to himself, swinging his wand around his head as though it was a lasso.

Throughout his life, he’d seen muggle farmers in Texas do the same with a rope, but Harry was not attempting to catch a bull by its haunches. No, his intention was something much useful to him in this moment, and as he continued to manipulate the magic within the water, he could feel the force building around him.

The powerful current formed quite suddenly, and not even the merepeople could swim against it. Beating their tails as they were, it was no good, and Harry took what little advantage he had managed to create for himself and shot towards the surface at an angle that would lead him towards the shallows with the Veela still held tightly against his chest.

“Have a biscuit, Potter.”

He accepted the confection readily, having grown rather fond of the ginger newts Professor McGonagall kept handy.

“Where do you get these from?”

The corner of her lips quirked in amusement.

“I make them.”

Harry nodded appreciatively.

“Well, when you decide to give this teaching lark up, you should try your hand at owning a bakery.”

She laughed as she shook her head.

“When I do decide to retire, it will be to a quiet retreat where none can bother me. I certainly have no intention of opening a bakery.”

“And the world will be worse off without it.”

“I do hope you’re not mocking me, Mr Potter. I’ll have you know that Professor Dumbledore himself once dreamed of opening a sweet shop. His dream was to travel the muggle world in search of the very best treats and put a magical spin on them. We all have other paths we could have walked. I expect even you have a dream that others would not expect.”

Harry was rather amused by the image of Dumbledore standing behind the counter of a small establishment, surrounded by various confections.

“Well, I certainly don’t want to be a deep-sea explorer.”

Professor McGonagall quirked an eyebrow at him.

“I should think not.”

“Maybe I’d like to be a cattle farmer.”

“A cattle farmer?”

Harry shrugged.

“I can’t say for certain. I’ve not spent enough time around cattle.”

“What about Quodpot? I hear that you are exceedingly talented.”

“Maybe I would like to play beyond school, or maybe I would prefer to play Quidditch. I might even play chess.”

“Are you any good?”

“Terrible, according to Sirius, but that says more about his teaching than my playing. No, I’m not so fond of it.”

“Well, you could always do what everyone expects of you.”

“What’s that?”

“That depends on who you ask. If you were to speak to someone who knows of you but doesn’t know you, they would probably expect you to travel the world, saving all the people that need it. I’m sure Filius would have his own answer to give.”

“What about you?”

“All I expect from you, Mr Potter, is that whatever you choose to do, you give it your all. Now, I won’t pretend that it would be a terrible waste if you did not pursue your talent in Transfiguration, but that is my bias. No, I am a firm believer in pursuing your passion. If you love what you do, you will never work a day in your life.”

“Like you?”

Professor McGonagall nodded.

“Like me. Now, Professor Dumbledore will be joining us for our next session…”

She broke off as a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” she called. “Ah, Albus, I thought you would be joining us next time.”

“That is my intention, and you have my apologies for the disruption, but it is Mr potter I must speak with. I just received this and thought it best I inform you before you receive the official document.”

He handed Harry a roll of parchment, who opened it with a frown before chuckling.

“I have been warned by the Ministry of Magic not to take it upon myself to interfere in the final task of the tournament or face severe penalties,” he explained. “Signed by the Minister himself. I think I’ll frame this.”

It was indeed rather amusing, but the ulterior motive was not lost on him.

From what he knew of Cornelius Fudge, the man was not wont to come up with such ideas himself. No, this reeked of interference from others and Harry suspected he knew just who it was.

This wasn’t merely a formality, or a precaution against what could be deemed as cheating, this was political, an intention to put Harry in his place.

“You know, I think Sirius might quite enjoy this one,” he murmured, pocketing the scroll.

Dumbledore nodded almost approvingly, evidently pleased to see that Harry was astute enough to understand what this truly was.

(Break)

It felt as though she’d been drowning, though not in the literal sense, but in a way that was slower, more torturous, and that her suffering was purposely being prolonged.

She’d felt herself growing weaker and weaker, hoping that someone or something would pull her from the abyss.

Already, she’d exhausted herself trying, had fought and flailed with all she had, to no avail.

How long she remained enveloped by the cold darkness that continued to sap her, she didn’t know, but Gabrielle was roused by a sudden warmth, a glimmer of hope that she would be safe.

The ruckus had been quite spectacular, but through it, she grew warmer still, though remained gripped by what had taken her.

Still, she was taken further and further away from it, undoubtedly weakened, but there was life in her yet, something raw and feral readying to break free.

“I think she is waking up!”

She knew that voice.

“I’m not so sure…”

“I saw her eyelids twitching.”

She found herself looking up at a dim light before Fleur’s face replaced it, and Gabrielle remembered where she had been.

“You saved me,” she whispered.

Fleur shook her head apologetically, as Gabrielle felt the tears of her sister fall onto her chin.

“Non, Gabrielle, I did not.”

She was confused, but not so much that she did not realise that she was in a hospital of sorts, or that both her parents and grandmother were there too.

“What happened?” she asked.

(Break)

For days now he had perused the periodicals, reading and learning as much as he could about Harry Potter, though it appeared that even the world’s journalists were rather uninformed.

Despite their pleas, the boy had not surrendered himself to them to be interviewed, which meant that he was not hungry for fame nor in possession of an insatiable ego.

The newspapers and radio broadcasts may have been lacking in their knowledge, but Lord Voldemort could certainly make his own deductions about the man his foe was becoming.

Selfless.

What he had done had seen the boy put himself in grave danger, all in a bid to save the life of a half-breed creature that the world would not mourn. Oh, the French would’ve been upset, but they would’ve done nothing more than throw their toys out of their pram before moving onto the next thing they wished to complain about.

Even so, Potter had prevented that and had appeared to be the hero doing so.

It was quite the powerful image he portrayed in the several photos printed of him carrying the unconscious girl from the lake, but it was not that particular part of the photos he had paid attention to.

No, the Dark Lord was familiar with the lake, knew the magic within well enough to know that manipulating it in such a way was quite the feat for one so young.

There was undoubtedly more to Potter than any article could depict.

There was talent, and with it, significant power that could not be taken lightly.

For now, he may be just a boy, but one day, he would grow into an exceptional wizard, or so he thought.

The Dark Lord would not allow that to come to pass, not when he could save himself the bother of being faced with an enemy that could prove to be difficult.

He scratched his chin as he pondered a solution, something that would see him rid of the boy.

“My lord.”

Barty was looking better than he had the night they had liberated him, and he was no longer a drooling mess of confusion. Nonetheless, the years he’d spent under the Imperius Curse had left him volatile and his behaviour quite erratic, but his loyalty could certainly not be questioned.

He would be of much use yet, more than he could know, even more so than Wormtail, at least.

The thought of his already concocted plans before a smirk to the corner of his lips.

“How are you faring, Barty?”

“Well, my lord, and ready to serve you in any way you need.”

He nodded approvingly and continued to watch Barty for a moment. If he was indeed suffering mentally, which was inevitable, he hid it well enough to move onto the next phase of the plan he was intent on pursuing.

“Then you shall serve, Barty.”