AFiF 4, Chapter 40: All That Glimmers

End of hiatus and back to regular posting! I hope the wait was worth it.

XXXIX. All That Glimmers

Bang!

The hairs that lined Harry’s arm singed as a brilliant glow of magic flew past his shoulder. A cacophony of shouts tore through the Silver Spire.

“Fucking idiot!” one man (almost definitely drunk, if Harry had to guess) roared, his mug shaking angrily in the frigid air, “Kill the cunt on stage, not us!”

Angry barks of agreement accompanied him. Harry moaned, burying his face in his hands.

I can’t believe I thought this place would be calming.

It felt like ages since he’d been here. The Silver Spire was as horrid as Harry remembered, from the peeling paint down to the battered wooden walls. Still, a sort of serene air seemed to hang about the place - not that Harry could necessarily explain why.

“Not that it matters, either,” he mumbled to himself. His eyes glazed as his fingers dipped into the pocket of his robes, wrapping tight around something sharp and small.

Several days had passed since Harry had procured the stone. To both his great relief and chagrin, it worked. The discovery of this little fact, however, had also pointed Harry in the direction of a startlingly new realisation.

This thing is 100% meant to manipulate me.

“Which I knew, of course,” Harry whispered, “I’m not daft . . .”

Maybe a little daft.

He groaned, dropping the sapphire back into his pocket once more. If there had been any doubt - which, truth be told, there really hadn’t been - that the whole thing was an elaborate Acolyte plot, the little “the stone only summons Grindelwald” caveat had made it abundantly clear. Harry hummed to himself as he thought, his fingers tapping along the table’s edge.

I wish Nagel was still alive. The git could’ve at least led me in the right direction.

Crash!

A wave of screams flew through the Inn, and Harry was forced to duck as dozens of glass shards flew about the place. He hastily spun around to find a bulky man with jet black hair holding two men by the scruffs, bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“YOU FUCKING RETARDS!” he roared. Harry winced. He imagined he could almost see the sound waves blaring from the man’s mouth, “HAVE YOU ANY IDEA WHAT YOU’VE DONE?”

Harry frowned. He glanced back at the glass that littered the floor, plucking up a single shard. His eyes widened as he inspected it.

“No shot -”

“OUT!” the black-haired Innkeeper bellowed. He flung the two duelists in the direction of the entrance, shattering a window as he did, “YOU COME ‘ROUND HERE EVER AGAIN, I’LL RING YOUR FUCKING NECKS -”

The men hardly waited for an answer, scampering off before the Innkeeper had the chance to finish talking. Harry watched as their hoods flitted in the wind, quickly turning white beneath the torrential snowfall.

“This place is really entertaining, isn’t it?”

Harry yelped. Blood coated his fingers, and he dropped his shard of the Looking Glass, clutching his aching palm.

“You!” he hissed, staring wide-eyed at the girl now seated opposite him “What the - how the - what?”

A younger, more wide-eyed Cerise Rosier yawned at him, a mischievous smile etched across her lips.

“You’re not the only one who sneaks around, you know!” Belle Rosier grinned, her rich purple robes draped tightly around her minute form, “I found this place years ago.”

Harry stared at her.

“Aren’t you seven?”

“Nine!” Belle snapped irritably. “You’re dumber than I remember.”

Harry snorted.

“I’d say the same about you, but I hardly remember you at all.” he lied.

“Mean,” the little girl huffed. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment before falling to the glass shard he’d dropped. “I can’t believe those idiots broke a Looking Glass.”

“It was bound to happen eventually,” Harry said decidedly, shrugging, “That’s what happens when you steal a valuable artifact and house it in a place like the Silver Spire.”

“I suppose so,” Belle puffed. She reached for Harry's Butterbeer, glaring when he slapped her hand away, “They stole it from me, you know.”

Harry’s brows furrowed.

“From you?”

“Well, from Auntie,” Belle explained. She took advantage of Harry’s surprise by pulling the Butterbeer from before him, taking a giant swig, “She owns the Cellar. That’s the fancy dueling club my cousin takes you to with her friends, by the way.”

“I remember,” Harry frowned, “None of those twats seem to know much about actual combat, if I remember right."

A glint of approval flickered in Belle’s wide eyes. It was a strange sight to see in a supposed seven year-old.

Or nine. Whatever.

“Mummy calls them dancers,” Belle giggled, “She used to have Auntie get them to perform at my birthdays. It got boring after a few years.”

“You’re not even ten,” Harry scoffed, “You’re barely alive. Pulling a rabbit out of a hat ought to impress you.”

Belle laughed.

“You’re very funny, you know.” 

“Thanks,” said Harry plainly, “I don’t imagine very many people would agree with you.”

With an exaggerated yawn, Harry rose to his feet, pushing in his chair. Belle scampered after him.

“What!?” she yelped, “Where are you going?”

“Back to France, obviously,” Harry told her, “I only came here to do some thinking.”

“You wanted to think here?” Belle said, bewildered. As if to prove her point, a chair exploded somewhere across the tavern.

“Yes, Belle, here. And seeing as I can’t do that anymore -”

“Who says you can’t?” Belle snapped, “I can help you!”

“No, you can’t, you’re -”

“A Rosier, easily the most powerful family in France.”

Harry stared at her, unimpressed.

“The Delacours are more powerful.”

Belle’s nose shrivelled with disgust.

“I like you less already,” she huffed, “But since you’re dating one of them, I’ll let you be wrong without a fuss,” she paused for a moment before pulling a devilish grin across her features, “I did read the tabloids, by the way.”

She closed her eyes, miming some feeble, childish imitation of what Harry could only imagine was him and Gabrielle making out. He couldn’t help but groan in disgust.

“All right, that’s enough!” he snapped, gently pushing the girl back into her seat, “I’m not leaving, alright?”

“Okay!” the little girl chirped, “So, what ails you!”

Harry paused.

Could be smart. See if she tells her family.

“You wouldn’t tell anyone, would you?”

The girl shook her head frantically.

If they don’t act based on what I tell her, I reckon it means they have another source of counsel …

The faded visage of a withered man with heterochromatic eyes flitted through Harry’s mind.

Him.

“You remember our little talk at your Auntie’s Gala?” He began slowly. Belle nodded.

“What about it?”

“Remember my adventures?” Harry asked, “With the snake, and Bellatrix, and all that?”

Belle nodded eagerly.

“Well, I’m in another one of those,” he paused, trying to think up the words, “I think someone’s trying to control me. I don’t like that, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Right,” Harry frowned, “Well, say that certain someone gave me something useful. Something really, really useful.”

“If you’re asking if I’m against looking a gift horse in the eye -”

“It’s not that,” Harry interrupted, pausing, “Though I’m a bit surprised you’ve heard the phrase gift horse.”

Belle snorted.

“What, you think magicals know nothing about history?”

Harry shrugged.

“The British ones certainly don’t. Not anything about muggle history, anyway.”

And besides, you’re like seven.

“Muggle history is our history,” Belle spoke with a sort of faux-conviction that only came with having heard something about a hundred times, “Mother says so, anyway. Most people just like to stick their heads in the sand and pretend those non-magicals don’t exist.”

“Maybe,” Harry sighed, “To be honest, I think the British have too much fun shitting on muggles to forget they exist.”

Or at the very least the Slytherins do.

“Anyway,” Harry continued, shaking his head, “That thing I was given might be a means of controlling me.”

Belle frowned.

“Is that necessarily a bad thing?”

“What the fuck - er, I mean, what in Merlin’s name is that supposed to mean?” Harry said, bewildered.

“Well, we do that a lot, you know,” said the little Rosier, “I mean, Auntie’s got half of France wrapped around her finger. But that’s for the best, really.”

Harry sighed.

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?”

A cold-hearted Matriarch in the making. Cerise ought to be worried.

“But it’s true!” Belle insisted. She leaned her little body forward, “By doing what Auntie wants, they get all sorts of things! It’s a mutual relationship, really.”

Harry squinted at her, mulling over her words.

“You’re an odd seven year old.”

“Nine!”

“I still remember when I met the other Slytherins, you know,” Harry continued, ignoring her, “They were all Heirs and Heiresses like you. They were mostly duffers, though.”

Belle beamed at him.

“You think I’m smart?”

“You’re no Daphne, that’s for sure,” the older boy noted. The girl pouted, “But you’ve got four more years, I suppose …”

“I’ve enough brains to know you ought to have an Ace up your sleeve.”

Harry blinked.

“Another phrase I’m surprised you know.”

“Card games are universal,” said the girl indifferently, “There’s hardly anything wrong with mutualism, but you’d best have something to make sure that relationship doesn’t change.”

Harry’s fingers pattered atop the wooden table, his mind whirling.

What leverage could I possibly have on Gellert fucking Grindelwald?

And it appeared. Wilting dark petals, black as the night sky. They wafted gently through the air, falling to a satin base sitting beneath an elegant glass cloche.

“An Ace up my sleeve?” Harry murmured. He grinned, leaning over the table and clumsily patting Belle on the head. She glared at him, “I suppose you do have half a brain, huh?”

“Clearly,” the girl snapped, ducking out of his grasp, “I must be smarter than you, seeing as I’ve clearly thought of something you haven’t.”

Harry snorted.

“You’re not. You did remind me of something, though.”

Something in a rather hard to access place, unfortunately. There’s no way they haven’t multiplied the wards a hundred fold.

His fingers tapped at the table's edge. Harry’s thoughts shifted rather carefully.

But there are other ways. Smarter ways.

“Say Belle,” Harry yawned, “You know anything about those medallions your families got?”

The girl froze. A second later, her lips curved into a mischievous smile.

“Maybe,” she snickered, “Why ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” Harry waved her off. He hastily clambered to his feet, “Just a thought. Stay out of trouble, won’t you? I don’t want to rat you out to Cerise.”

And he strode off without another word, leaving a possibly nine-year-old (but more likely seven, in Harry’s opinion) in his wake.

-(xXx)-

Light danced along the silver prongs of Harry’s fork. He squinted as he lowered it, gently prying at his french toast.

And that’s the food called French Toast, not just toast from France.

Harry laughed at the thought. Across from him, Gabrielle watched him meticulously, her eyes unreadable.

“Yes?” Harry asked, leaning closer. Gabby pouted.

“You’re off,” she whispered, “You’ve been off for the last few days.”

Harry said nothing, choosing to busy himself with his toast. The girl continued.

“I didn’t think the Owlery was that bad -”

Harry laughed. A flicker of hurt spasmed across Gabrielle’s features.

“It wasn’t,” Harry laughed, “Honestly, it makes the one at Hogwarts look like an oversized avian toilet.”

But I suppose it’s cute that you think you’re doing something wrong.

“Then what?” Gabrielle paused for a moment before leaning closer, “I - you -”

She trailed off as Harry bore his eyes into hers, his thoughts echoing in her skull.

It’s the stone. I figured it out.

The color drained from Gabrielle’s face.

“You didn’t mention that,” she whispered, “You - why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

Harry shrugged.

“It hardly made a difference,” he muttered, “I only said a word to him, and I don’t intend on changing that anytime soon.”

“Him?”

Harry stared at her. He didn’t have to project his thoughts this time.

Grindelwald.

“What did he say?” Gabrielle’s voice was unnaturally soft.

Harry shrugged. 

“No idea.” he said, “I stopped listening after the first sentence.”

A disapproving frown made its way across Gabby’s lips. Harry eyed it with amusement.

“What?” he laughed, poking at his toast, “Weren’t you the one preaching about how I needed to be more careful?”

Although I suppose that’s all anyone’s been telling me lately.

Gabby stared at him.

“You can be careful while also being clever.” she reprimanded gently, “He could’ve granted you a wealth of information regarding his goals.”

“And he could’ve learned a lot about mine.”

Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

“I hate to be the one to tell you Harry, but it seems like he already knows all about you.”

And with that, Harry’s appetite faded.

“Buzzkill,” he pouted, “I figured out the stone’s gimmick, anyway.”

“Oh?”

“It only summons him,” Harry noted, “Makes sense, I guess. It was made by him, after all.”

“Interesting,” Gabrielle sounded lost in thought, “I suppose that means the stone’s a waste, seeing as you’re not interested in talking to Grindelwald.”

Harry frowned.

“I didn’t say that,” he mumbled, “You all keep talking about being cautious. I thought it’d be smart to have an Ace up my sleeve.”

Gabby stared blankly at him. Harry sighed.

“Muggle saying,” he grimaced, “Of course I’d end up dating one of the only Purebloods left in France.”

“Pureblood isn’t the word most would use, but we digress,” Gabrielle nodded with a frown. “Tell me about this Ace.”

Harry edged closer.

“Remember what the Truest said about Grindelwald? How he could see into the future?”

“No.”

Harry sighed.

“You might not have been with me that time,” he conceded, “Whatever. She told me that his sight is second only to the flower.”

“And you want to get it?”

Harry smiled a guilty grin.

To think, Nott’s been begging me to chase after the flower for ages. He might actually hang me.

“I didn’t think the stone would be limited to just him,” Harry frowned, “It’d be a bit reckless not to have something in mind, what with that being the case.”

“Perhaps. But if you’ve thought of that, he’ll definitely have thought of it too,” Gabrielle whispered, “I can’t see him letting you get close to the rose if there’s actually a chance you can use it against him.”

“No,” Harry sighed, nervously running his fingers through his hair, “No, probably not.”

But it can hardly hurt to try.

Nodding at the thought, Harry pushed his plate aside, staring deep into Gabrielle’s eyes.

“Tell me about the medallions,” he said in a rather no-nonsense tone. Gabby blinked at him.

“What?”

“The medallions,” Harry repeated, “The ones you and the Rosiers have. Flamel made them, didn’t he?”

“He did, yes -”

“How many did he make? I think Cerise once said he only made two -”

“- Cerise is clearly a liar, then,” said Gabby pointedly. Harry stared curiously as the girl’s brows furrowed with disapproval, “Not that such a thing should even matter.”

“Oh?” Harry grinned, “When did you start caring about what Cerise did?”

The silver-haired girl went a bright pink. She continued to glare at him.

“I don’t,” she snapped, now blushing to her roots, “But we digress. My sister and I both have our own medallions, as do Cerise and her father. There aren’t any others.”

Harry stared at her.

“You seem certain,” he noted curiously, “Absolutely certain.”

“That’s because I am, Scarhead,” said Gabrielle pointedly, “There are four. No more, no less.”

Harry frowned.

“What, Flamel couldn’t have made another?”

The girl slowly shook her head.

“No, he wouldn’t have,” she whispered, “They weren’t made for us, you know.”

Harry felt curiosity slithering through his veins like a sort of parasitic snake.

“Go on.”

But Gabrielle’s lips thinned into an uninviting line, her eyes hovering on something just past Harry’s ear. He hurriedly spun to find the ever-growing form of Cerise Rosier edging closer to them.

“Does she know?” Harry whispered as the blue-eyed Rosier drew closer.

“Probably,” Gabby admitted, “Not that it matters. It’s not something I wish to discuss with her.”

She paused for a moment, her fingers slowly wrapping around Harry’s wrist. Something shimmered in Cerise’s gaze as she drew closer.

“Actually,” Gabby murmured, her lips barely moving, “Ask her. I wonder what she’ll say. I can tell you the truth afterwards.”

Harry nodded. Within a few moments, Cerise came to a stop in front of them.

“Hello Harry, Gabrielle,” Rosier began, gracing them with a flawless smile. Harry felt Gabby’s grasp on him tighten, “Enjoying the last few days at Beauxbatons?”

Gabby shrugged.

“It is hardly my last time here,” she said clearly, “But it has been fun showing Harry my favorite places.”

“I imagine,” said Cerise. Her words felt unusually sharp today, “That’s why I’m here, in a rather convoluted way.”

Her gaze flicked to Harry, her smile inexplicably relaxing.

“I’m headed to the Ministry,” she explained to him, “My mother’s leading the cleanup and repair effort. It's been going rather slowly, unfortunately. Many Ministry workers are feeling . . . demoralized.”

Gabrielle stared at the girl.

“No.”

“No?” Harry repeated, confused, “Gabby, you don’t even know what she -”

“She wants to parade you around for those idiots so they stop being depressed,” she snapped irritably. She turned to glare at Cerise, “Am I off?”

Cerise shrugged.

“In some ways. But not in any way that I imagine you’d care about.”

She turned to Harry again.

“I have a hard time believing you don’t want to go back,” she said simply, “I’m heading over right now. Meet me at Perenelle’s Bridge if you’re coming.”

Harry hastened to respond. By then, the girl had already spun on her heel, heading out of the dining hall and off into the grander circular one opposite them. Gabrielle instantly rounded on him.

“She wants you.”

“What?” Harry blinked more than a dozen times, “I - that has nothing to - what?”

“Nevermind that,” said Gabrielle hotly. Harry, who could now spot smoke wafting up from between the gaps in her fingers, decided he very much would mind that, thank you very much, “Be mindful of everything she tells you, okay? Read between the lines.”

Harry stared at her, unimpressed.

“Because she wants me?”

“Because she’s a Rosier,” Gabby corrected worriedly, “Don’t forget who Grindelwald’s favourites were, Harry. Be careful.”

He nodded slowly, rising from the table. He gave Gabrielle’s hand one last squeeze, kissed her gently, and hurried off.

Pernelle’s Bridge was very fortunately located just some forty metres across from the dining hall. The crowd (and a rather large one at that) parted as it always did for Harry, avoiding him as though he were a flame too hot to touch. Ignoring the slight distaste that welled in his stomach, Harry hurried through, making his way to the chamber’s insides. Cerise stood at the very end, whispering something to the professor whose name Harry never seemed to remember.

“Yes,” the older witch was saying, “As long as everything is done with my supervision, of course.”

“As it always will be,” said Cerise carefully. Her bright blue eyes glanced up, immediately zeroing in on him, “Over here, Harry!”

Harry made his way over at once. The older witch looked him down before nodding at Cerise.

“Alright,” she said, more to herself than to anyone else, “You ready, Harry?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

The girl nodded. She gently reached for his shoulder, her thin fingers curving into his skin. Her other hand wrapped tight around a medallion pressed against her neck.

“Be strong!”

A blinding flash of scarlet light burned through Harry’s eyelids. He winced as the world around him vanished, only to be replaced with a floor that even through his thick shoes felt far colder.

“Be strong,” Harry whispered, opening his eyes. They were in the Atrium again, “That’s hardly a password I’d expect you to use.”

He surveyed the remnants of the Atrium. In truth, it was infinitely better than he remembered. No corpses could be seen, and what ample debris had been scattered about was now returned to its rightful place. In fact, Harry could now only describe the Atrium as grand. A beautiful statue sat in the center, surrounded by jeweled fountains and various pretty things.

Across from him, Cerise shrugged.

“That makes sense,” she agreed, “I didn’t choose the password. None of us did.”

“Oh?” asked Harry curiously, “Who did?”

Cerise eyed him curiously.

“You expect me to believe Gabrielle hasn’t told you?”

“Not really,” Harry yawned, “So, who did?”

Cerise shrugged again.

“Aberforth Dumbledore, I think,” she sighed, “I can’t imagine any of the others choosing such a stupid password.”

“Aberforth Dumbledore,” Harry repeated slowly, “Dumbledore’s brother . . .”

He racked his brains, but not much about Dumbledore’s younger brother came to light. Harry settled for staring at Cerise instead.

“Who were the others?”

“Dumbledore, obviously,” Cerise deadpanned. She began to walk. Harry hurried after her, “Arianna, his little sister. And him.”

“Him?” Harry frowned, “Who - oh.”

If that isn’t interesting.

“But why would Flamel make medallions for them?” he frowned, “And how the fuck would you end up with them?”

“I don’t know why he made them for Dumbledore’s siblings, but I know he made them for his two apprentices,” Cerise said simply, “To be honest, I think we got them directly from . . . from -”

“Him,” Harry finished for her, “I didn’t know Grindelwald was apprenticed by Flamel.”

“Most don’t,” Rosier whispered, “The connection was severed after he chose his path. It’s not like Flamel was screaming from the rooftops about it, either.”

“I suppose,” Harry nodded, “Then there’s only four.”

“Only four.”

Huh. That means . . .

They made their way through the atrium, heading towards a larger chamber near the end of the rightmost hall. A cacophony of voices rang from within. Harry’s fingers pattered restlessly along the side of his robes.

“Is there a reason you’ve invited me here?” he asked earnestly, listening as the voices grew louder.

“What, aside from the fact that you’re the reason all this happened?” Cerise said simply, “I thought you’d be curious about the damages.”

Harry snorted.

“There goes Gabby’s theory on you parading me around.”

“Not quite,” Cerise yawned, “You’re a symbol, Mr. Golden Knight. Don’t forget.”

Harry rounded on her. The girl looked up at him, her blue eyes flickering with amusement.

“That secret isn’t yours to tell,” Harry warned her seriously, “You will not out me just to get some brownie points from the public.”

Cerise scoffed.

“Please,” she snapped, “I would never sink so low.”

“Then?” Harry glared, “Want to explain the hundred or so people yapping away in that chamber that we were heading towards?”

The dark haired girl stared at him.

“You’re a leader,” she told him, “Golden Knight or Harry Potter, it hardly matters which. You need to start acting like one.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Cerise nodded towards the door.

“Go deal with the people. Just talk to them. It’ll go a long way.”

Harry’s jaw dropped.

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“No, I haven’t,” Cerise grinned. Her fingers toyed with the medallion wrapped around her neck, “Now hurry up. I’m not taking you back until you do.”

“I can just apparate back, you know -”

“Not without shattering all the new wards that have been constructed, which would get you in a boatload of trouble,” the girl grinned further, “Chop chop, Potter. I want to be home in time for dinner.”

She pulled herself out from underneath him, heading towards the door. Harry watched as her already petite form grew smaller and smaller.

Genuine con artist.

Sighing to himself, Harry hurried after her, his skin crawling with discomfort.