AFiF 4, Chapter 37: Sapphire Tears

Note that this is only the first part of this the second task. I wanted to make sure I had something out but seeing that I have a CS and Calculus Final this week, I didn't have much time to write. As such, this chapter has been broken into several parts. I hope you enjoy it all the same.

Also note that an additional scene has been added since the original posting of this chapter.

Bright lights poured through the little slit by the side of his carriage. Though he tried his hardest, Harry couldn’t ignore it.

BANG!

He jumped. A flurry of colours shot into the air just outside his window. Somewhere below, an endless sea of witches and wizards roared, each clambering to get closer to the overly-ornate carriage.

Thousands . . . I didn’t think there were this many witches and wizards in the whole world.

Harry carefully inched towards his miniscule window. Dirt tucked into his fingernails as he pressed them against the sill, his glasses pressed tight upon the bridge of his nose as he leaned into the glass -

It was pandemonium. Silver-robed aurors walked beside him, each with wands pointed at the roiling crowd. Fireworks exploded, paint flew, and food soared through the sky as the people that flooded Place Cachee reached towards him, screaming as one:

“POTTER, POTTER, POTTER -”

Harry hurriedly sank back into his seat.

The Future Festival, Harry imagined, was quite the sight to behold. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was like - he recalled hearing of festival of colours way back in primary school. But Holi was a muggle’s holiday, and muggles certainly didn’t have fireworks with teeth nor paint that turned you pink for a week.

And, most importantly to Harry, there wasn’t a single muggle holiday that revolved around dragging Harry through magical Paris for all to see.

“Pointless,” Harry murmured to himself, his mind whirling as the soft satin of his seat pressed against his back, “Completely, utterly, pointless -”

He glanced outside the window again. The crowd practically exploded as he did, the roaring of his name growing louder and louder.

And they said they soundproofed the carriage.

Gritting his teeth, Harry turned in the direction of where another champion’s carriage would no doubt be.

“She wouldn’t mind at all . . .”

And she should probably know, anyway.

Nodding to himself, Harry straightened up, twisting on the spot.

Crack.

There was a loud yelp. Harry fell into a cramped carriage of silver and baby blue, landing onto a coarse duvet with a thud. A whirl of silver hair caught his eyes as a familiar wand was shoved between his eyes.

“Absolute idiot,” Gabrielle snapped after a long moment, staring at him, “Do you have any idea what I would’ve done -”

“It’s not like you let anyone else into your carriage’s wards,” Harry frowned, pushing himself up to his feet, “I can’t help but feel like you wanted to attack me.”

Gabrielle scoffed.

“I let my family in too, you know.”

“And you thought one of them was going to attack you?”

He leaned back as the girl stepped toward him. Gabrielle sat to his left, pulling him closer as she gently massaged the point where his back had hit the silky duvet.

“I’m surprised you decided to visit,” she noted, pulling him closer, “Of all the time you could’ve come to see me, ten minutes before the second task was the last thing I would’ve expected.”

Harry shrugged.

“I haven’t seen much of you lately -”

“- thanks to my parents, no doubt -”

“- and besides, I had a few things I wanted to tell you.”

Gabrielle pulled her palms away, eyeing him carefully.

“I do, too,” she admitted thoughtfully. Her fingers reached for something buried within her robes, “Do you have your feather?”

“I - yeah,” Harry frowned, pulling it out. It glinted golden in the light from the window, “I don’t know how to work it, though.”

“You’re lucky I’m here, aren’t you?” Gabrielle smirked, “You have to suck the luck out of the feathers. You know you’ve done it right if the feather turns an ashy white.”

Harry pocketed his feather with a slow nod.

“Right,” he said slowly, “I suppose that’ll be useful, what with . . . with the task.”

His lips fell into a thin line. The silver-hair girl stared at him expectantly.

“You’ve decided, then.”

“I have,” Harry agreed, “I . . . I’m not going for it.”

Shock sparked in Gabrielle’s brilliant blue eyes. Harry watched as she reached towards him.

“I - I don’t understand,” she whispered, sounding confused, “Why?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

Everything. Lose everything . . . what does that even mean?

His gaze fell upon the young woman pressed upon his lap. Harry’s heart surged.

There it is.

“I can’t,” he reached for his girlfriend’s arm, holding it in his, “I - Dumbledore was right. Some things just aren’t worth it.”

He waited for disapproval to pool in her eyes, watching in with bated breath as her lips thinned. The words he expected never came.

“Alright,” the girl whispered, leaning closer, “If you’re sure.”

Her lips brushed gently against his. A deafening roar boomed from outside the window.

“Idiots,” Gabrielle snapped, waving her wand. Silver curtains appeared along her window, blocking out the sunlight, “No sense of privacy.”

Harry laughed, leaning back into the duvet. He gently tucked his fingers between Gabrielle’s, pulling her closer. Her body gently pressed atop his.

“I talked to Luna,” Harry whispered. He was unable to hide the steel in his voice.

“You’re still mad at her,” Gabby noted softly.

Harry shrugged.

“Why?” he asked, frowning, “Should I not be?”

“That’s up to you, I suppose,” Gabrielle told him. Her thin fingers gently combed through his hair, “But she’s of use. You know that as well as I do.”

I do.

“She’s the reason I decided not to go after the stone, you know,” Harry admitted, “Even though she said that if I did . . . she said I’d be happy in the end.”

He paused, glancing up at Gabrielle. The silver-haired girl frowned at him, brows raised.

“You want to add the bits you’ve left out?”

Harry’s jaw clenched.

“Not really.”

“Harry -”

“She said I’d lose everything.”

A stark silence fell over them. The weight in Harry’s lap shifted as Gabby repositioned herself upon him, wrapping her palms along either side of his neck.

“Does that scare you?” she asked softly. Harry stared at her.

“Does it scare me? Does it scare me -”

He fell silent as Gabrielle brushed her lips upon his. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, refusing to pull back, “I am. But I think you should do it.”

“Do . . . the stone?”

Gabrielle nodded.

“There’s a price to pay for everything, Harry,” she whispered, “Happiness was always going to cost a high price -”

“- but not everything,” Harry hissed desperately, “I can’t do everything, you’re -”

You’re everything.

A knowing smile stretched across Gabby’s lips. Harry glared at her.

“And Tori, and Daphne, and Nott, and even Luna, too -”

“Stop talking,” Gabby laughed, kissing him again, “You’re ruining the moment.”

Her body felt hot against his own. Harry twisted as her fingers combed through his hair, her soft lips kissing every part of his face.

“I’m being serious,” Harry snapped, glaring at her. Gabrielle pouted, “You’d be in danger. I can’t allow that -”

“Allow it,” Gabby scoffed, “It’s my decision, not yours -”

“Is it?” Harry snapped, “Either way, it hardly matters . . . I’m not tossing you aside for something so insignificant -”

“You aren’t insignificant, scarhead,” Gabrielle reminded him, flicking him atop the head, “Neither is your happiness. You deserve this.”

“I’m not risking you -”

“Again, not your choice to make,” the silver-haired girl glared at him before kissing him again, “Besides, you’ve made me happy. Why can’t I do the same for you?”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“You’re just saying that because you like me.”

Gabrielle laughed.

“A little,” she conceded, “But it’s more than that.”

She leaned closer.

“You inspired me. Gave me the courage to be myself, to be who I want to be. To chase what I want. To prioritize my happiness.”

She eyed him seriously.

“I wasn’t nearly as brave before you were in the picture, Harry.”

The love that laced her words was overbearing. Harry felt his heart lurch.

“That’s how I feel, you know,” he told her, “That’s exactly why I can’t do this.”

“And why’s that?”

“I don’t want -”

“Why’s that, Harry?”

The black-haired boy glared at her.

“Because I might lose you.”

He watched, almost frustrated, as the girl rolled her eyes fondly.

“It’s the Resurrection Stone, scarhead -”

“ - a prototype of the Resurrection Stone,” Harry corrected very seriously. He glared at Gabrielle as she only smiled, “It’s not the real deal -”

“It is when it’s in your hands,” Gabby said softly. There was a strange, almost primal look in her eyes, “I believe in you, Harry. It’s high time you did the same.”

Harry’s jaw clenched.

“And if you die?”

Gabrielle leaned closer. Her nails pressed against the underside of his jaw.

“Bring me back,” she shrugged, “Isn’t that what this whole thing’s been about?”

Harry stared at her, transfixed.

“You’re off your rocker today -”

“No,” Gabby frowned, “I’m just not going to let you throw this away -”

“You’re the one who said it was a trap!”

“And it is,” Gabrielle nodded, “But if Grindelwald and Voldemort want to control you, they’ll find a way regardless. At least this trap comes with a pretty little bow you can make use of.”

Silence stretched for ages. Harry’s eyes nervously slipped to the windows, which remained blocked by silver curtains. He eventually mustered the courage to look Gabrielle in the eyes.

“And if I don’t go after the stone?” he asked seriously.

The girl stared at him.

“Then I will.”

“Why?”

Gabrielle stared at him, her fingers sliding down the insides of his shirt.

“Because I love you,” she whispered, kissing him deeply, “What more of a reason do I need?”

-(xXx)-

“Fix your hair!” Mr. Crouch snapped, bustling forward, “It’s messier than a bird’s nest!”

“My hair’s always been messy,” Harry frowned, hastily attempting to smother it. Though he couldn’t see himself, he imagined he was doing a rather poor job.

He was standing at the center of a rather large circle, surrounded on all sides by a roaring crowd. In the corner of his eyes, Harry watched the French aurors struggle to control the lively crowd. Food that flew over the barrier was blasted out of the air. What few scraps made it through were disintegrated by the wards.

Useful. I should probably learn that.

Harry drew his gaze from the crowd, returning to the gaping hole in the ground. He eyed it rather dubiously.

“The second task’s in there, is it?”

Mr. Crouch glared at him before hurrying off without a word.

Wonder what’s lodged up his arse.

Harry shifted uncertainty, watching as the dozens of surrounding witches and wizards bustled about. Fortunately for him, he didn’t have to wait for long.

“There you are!” a lively Ludo Bagman shouted, clambering over. He suddenly went a brilliant red, “Blimey - you're all sticky and - and -”

Harry blushed furiously. He watched as Professor Dumbledore glided over, a curious look in his ever-twinkling eyes.

“Lavamundare,” he said clearly, his wand held aloft. Harry felt the sweat and grime vacate his body as Dumbledore leaned closer, whispering, “I can only hope Minister Laurent will not have to do that to his own daughter.”

Harry blushed again, ignoring as Bagman sputtered, eyes wide.

“In broad daylight! Barty’s going to lose his mind -”

“He’s not going to lose anything, Ludo,” Dumbledore frowned, “This is a private matter. I expect you to treat it as such.”

Harry’s eyes flicked from the frowning headmaster to the ex-beater. Ludo Bagman nodded hurriedly, his chest heaving back and forth.

“I - of course, Headmaster.”

“Thank you,” Professor Dumbledore smiled politely, “Now, if you’d please find Madame Estelle for me. We’d best get our Looking Glass set up.”

“Right away, sir!”

And Ludo Bagman hurried off, his bright yellow robes billowing behind him as he practically sprinted away. Harry, suddenly feeling very nervous, turned to Dumbledore.

“Professor, I -”

“Not now, Harry,” the Headmaster frowned, “Forgive me for being so callous, but I currently find myself dealing with a great many things. I’ve little interest in adding your . . . carnal proclivities to the list.”

Harry nodded hastily, blushing. After a few long (and obscenely uncomfortable) moments, he followed Dumbledore closer to the hole at their feet.

“Is that . . .”

“Yes, Harry,” Professor Dumbledore nodded sagely, “One of three entrances into the catacombs of Paris - or, at the very least, the more magical parts of it.”

“The catacombs of Paris,” Harry repeated, frowning, “This was the battleground of the second world war, wasn’t it?”

“I suppose so. Although I know it by another name.”

World War II, the Global Wizarding War - it’s all the same.

Harry shuffled, peering into the darkness below.

“I can’t help but notice there isn’t a ladder.”

The headmaster chuckled.

“A leap of faith ought to do the trick,” he suggested thoughtfully, “I wish you the best of luck, Harry. I’m sure you’ll represent Hogwarts to the very best of your ability.”

And he strode off, falling into conversation with a number of French wizards at the other side of the circle.

First year all over again. Another plunge into nothing -

“Potter, over here, if you please!”

Harry spun around, his eyes combing over the thin form of a familiar French witch. His heartbeat quickened as he nervously hobbled towards her.

“I’m sure you’re aware of how this all works by now,” Madame Estelle whispered, fiddling with a small metallic sphere, “After all, this is the second task.”

“I think I know,” Harry nodded slowly, “But I thought the sphere was already set up? There was one during the - the -”

“The Gloire Parade, yes,” Madame Estelle agreed, “But there are three champions, no?”

She straightened up, tossing the sphere into the air. They watched as it hovered for a moment.

“The sphere you saw earlier will be broadcasting the judges and commentators. Much more interesting that way -”

“Ten seconds!” a French wizard called excitably from across the circle. The half-dozen nearby magicals all jumped as one, “Five -”

“Good luck, Mr. Potter!” Madame Estelle squeaked, bustling off, “May the best win -”

“- now!”

The sphere glimmered overhead. Harry’s jaw clenched as it turned towards him.

Lovely.

“Witches and wizards of the greater world!” Bagman’s voice boomed across Place Cachee, “Allow me to be the very first in welcoming you to the second task of the one hundred and seventy-ninth Triwizard Tournament!”

A deafening roar boomed from all sides. Harry fought the urge to swear.

That miserable Jarvey from the first task already got me fined enough.

“After that most magnificent showing of the Gloire Parade - brought to you by Gringotts Wizarding Bank - our champions will find themselves face-to-face with a much more daunting prospect,” Bagman’s voice continued, “It took the strength of the entire world to triumph during the Global Wizarding War. And yet, at this very moment, our three champions stand alone - each positioned at one of three entrances leading back into the very battlegrounds their ancestors once frequented!”

Tension diluted the excitement in the air. Harry stared at the glistening sphere, wondering if he should smile.

Let’s hope I don’t get recognized as my alter ego, either.

Harry subconsciously pressed his spectacles further upon the bridge of his nose, grimacing.

Getting caught as Tom is the last thing I need.

“But, before we begin, the feathers! Two of our champions possess a unique advantage going into this task. Miss Delacour, Mr. Potter, if you please!”

Harry frowned, reaching into his robes and pulling out a glowing golden feather. He imagined Gabrielle was doing the same somewhere across the city.

“Those, my dearest watchers, are the feathers of the Firebird - said to entrust its user with great fortune. Earned in the first task, our two youngest competitors will be able to use these feathers to their advantage - if they’re shrewd enough, of course!”

Harry actually rolled his eyes. A half dozen French wizards waved frantically at him from out of the floating sphere’s line of sight.

This is the stupidest thing ever.

The bizarre faces of the French ambassadors had him on the verge of laughter. Harry struggled to make out much of what Bagman was saying after that.

“. . . retrieve one of the three petals hidden within the Catacombs of Paris!” Ludo was saying, “Once obtained, the champions will of course have to make their way back to the surface.”

I forgot about the flower.

Harry pictured the wilting petals of the Midnight Rose, unable to imagine it sitting within the French catacombs at this very moment.

It must be something else. But still . . .

“CHAMPIONS, ARE YOUR READY?”

Harry jumped. Across from him, the French ambassadors were waving at him frantically.

“Uh - sure,” Harry sighed, giving the floating sphere a thumbs up. One of the French wizards seemed on the verge of tears.

“Then let the second task begin!”

The sound of trumpets filled the air, confetti and paint flying high into the sky. Harry took a pitiful look into the hole at his feet.

“This is going to suck.”

And with a deep breath, he plunged into the endless darkness below.

-(xXx)-

“All of you, settle down, please!” Professor Sprout shouted down the length of the Great Hall. The loud babbling of the students practically drowned out her voice, “They’ll be off any minute now -”

“QUIET!”

Neville jumped as the hall fell silent. His eyes fell upon one Professor McGonagall. She looked positively furious.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered from his side, “Who pissed in her tea . . .”

They watched silently as the Scottish witch straightened her hat, glancing up at the ginormous mirror floating overhead. The image was split into four parts; three containing one of the champions, with the final housing the judges and their well-decorated podium.

“Look at Potter!” Lavender squeaked as the Looking Glass shimmered, “He doesn’t look happy about the task, does he?”

Neville frowned. Sure enough, Harry Potter was staring at the hole at his feet with a rather unimpressed haze in his eyes. Inspecting it carefully, Neville felt the same feeling build in his chest.

“Reminds me a bit of the Third Corridor,” Ron whispered, “First year, remember?”

Yeah.

Neville nodded slowly, pulling his eyes from the image of the black-haired boy.

“You didn’t catch what they said about the task instructions, did you?” he asked the other Gryffindors after some time. Those who were listening all shook their heads.

“Really makes you miss Hermione, doesn’t it?” Ron sighed, “Wonder where she’s seeing the task from . . .”

“The crowd, I imagine,” Seamus said excitedly. He leaned closer, his beady eyes zoomed in on the Looking Glass, “I reckon we’ll see her if we look closely enough -”

“Come off it, Seamus,” Dean scoffed, “There’s tens of thousands of people there -”

“Besides, Hermione’s not one for crowds,” Parvati finished, frowning.

No, she definitely isn’t.

Neville mulled the thought over, his eyes staring vaguely at the red-haired girl opposite him. Ginny Weasley’s mouth twitched as though she were itching to say something.

“Has she written to you lately?” Ron asked him, his eyes firmly latched on the corner of the Looking Glass that housed Gabrielle Delacour.

“Not much,” Neville admitted, “Just something about Potter and the French Ministry -”

“She thinks he’s involved.”

The fourth-year Gryffindors all turned to face one Ginny Weasley, who’d gone absolutely red in the face.

“She what?”

“Nothing,” Ginny said quickly, “At least, nothing any of you -” she eyed Seamus, Lavender, Dean, and Parvati in particular, “- need to concern yourselves with.”

The older Gryffindors huffed irritably before turning away (although Neville could still tell that Lavender and Parvati were listening in). Unconcerned, he leaned closer to Ron’s sister.

“Why’s she been writing to you?” asked Ron indignantly. Ginny glared at him.

“Because I listen -”

“We do too!”

“Later, please,” Neville groaned before turning to Ginny, “Go on.”

“I don’t know much,” the girl admitted, “She said something about him always being missing at key times, and the fact that he’s - you know, gifted. But she thinks it’s him.”

“Him?” Ron said with exasperation, “Gin, what’s him -”

“Chevalier D'Or,” Ginny hissed quietly. Neville felt his eyes bulge, “She thinks he’s their Golden Knight.”

Chevalier D’Or . . .

Neville stared at the screen with newfound interest, watching as Harry Potter took a deep breath before jumping into nothingness.