AFiF 4, Chapter 34: Reincarnation

XXXIV. Reincarnation

“Nice hand,” a gruff voice mumbled. Harry stared blankly at the altar some eighty feet away, unable to keep his jaw from clenching.

It was a bleak Monday morning, one clothed in weather more often worn by Britain than France. A moody wind blew by, and the clouds above were strung together in one never-ending mass. Closer to home, a little less than a hundred witches and wizards stood opposite a silver altar. Each was dressed in robes black as night.

“It’s a good thing witches and wizards wear black to funerals, too,” Harry mumbled under his breath, “I’ve never been to a magical funeral before.”

Theo scoffed.

“Have you ever been to a muggle one?”

Harry frowned, slowly shaking his head.

It was hard to hear exactly what was said from where they stood. Nott, having never known Garnier, had not been allowed onto the funeral grounds.

All it takes is a few deaths to get proper security, huh.

To his side, Theodore leaned closer, cupping a hand against his ears.

“Can you hear him?” he muttered, nodding at a bald man standing at the altar’s side, “Because I can’t.”

Harry strained his ears.

“Er - something about light, I think,” he grimaced, “Although I suppose it could’ve been might, too . . .”

Nott nodded along blankly, still eying Harry’s left hand. The boy’s lips thinned.

“That’s not a very good glamour,” he warned, “Normal hands aren’t meant to glisten like that -”

“Shut up,” Harry hissed faintly, waving his wand. His dimly glowing hand resumed its usual flesh-like appearance, “I hadn’t used a glamour on it in days.”

“That’s far too long,” Theo said warningly, “A blind guy could’ve seen that.”

Harry snorted.

“Clearly not,” he muttered, tapping the rim of his glasses, “They looked fine to me.”

A loud noise came from the funeral pyre. Harry and Nott glanced up, watching briefly as a group of wizards hoisted Inspector Garnier’s limp body into the air, guiding it towards the gentle flames.

“Daphne’s worried sick, by the way,” Nott whispered as Garnier’s body was lowered into the fire, “She’s been practically living in the library. I think she’s taking after Granger.”

Harry grimaced. Pulling his eyes from the funeral, he turned to Nott.

“What’s she been reading up on?”

Nott stared at him.

“Hand regrowth, mainly. Something about Blood Curses, too.”

There was a knowing glint in Theodore’s eyes. Sighing, Harry turned back to the funeral.

“I told her,” he whispered.

“About?”

“Helping Astoria, obviously,” Harry muttered. He paused, “Well, I told her about everything, actually -”

“Even Delacour?” Nott asked warily.

“Yeah, Even Dela - Gabby.”

He watched, confused, as Nott’s brows furrowed together.

“That’s odd,” the pale boy mumbled, “She’s been in a significantly better mood than she was before you talked to her -”

“Of course she is, you muppet,” Harry rolled his eyes, “You’d be a bit cheery if you found out there was hope for your terminally ill sister, wouldn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, asshat,” Nott snapped, “Although, for what it’s worth, I doubt she believes Astoria can be saved -”

“What?” if Harry sounded exasperated, it was quite simply because he was, “Theo, she knows how long we’ve been at this. She has faith -”

“In you,” Nott said seriously, “Not in the possibility that Astoria can be cured.”

Harry groaned. Across the field, a great plume of smoke rose into the air.

“What does that even mean?”

To his great annoyance, Nott shrugged.

“Fuck if I know. But those Greengrasses worship you, I’ll tell you that much.”

A pool of uncertainty welled up in Harry’s chest. He watched within his skull as a tanned woman leaned closer, her nude skin glistening from sweat and grime as it glowed beneath the divine light of the golden flames. Her lips parted to reveal perfect white teeth as she spoke:

“. . . you don’t love her . . . you love the idea of her . . .”

She laughed knowingly. Harry flinched, struggling to meet Nott’s gaze.

“You know what happened that night, right?”

Theodore frowned.

“What, when you lost your arm?” he asked, “I - well, Skeeter wrote a piece about it.”

“What did it say?”

“Not much. Mostly about the French Ministry nearly falling, only to be saved by some second-coming of Merlin that the French are calling the ‘Golden Knight.’”

He paused, snickering.

“You should really try not to get caught in a photo that easily, by the way,” Nott added, “If it weren’t for the lighting and those cheekbones, everyone would know it was you.”

Harry grimaced.

“The lack of glasses probably helped, too,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” agreed Theo thoughtfully, “But only because the golden flames made your eyes look different. If they still looked green you’d be fucked.”

Right.

Harry shook his head, straightening up.

“Nevermind that,” he muttered hurriedly, “What’s important is that the French Ministry was being attacked by insiders. Someone convinced about half of the French Aurors to attack their own country.”

“Someone,” Nott repeated dubiously, “You say that like you know who that someone is.”

Harry gave him a pointed look.

“Well?” snapped Theo impatiently, “Go on, then.”

“The Witch in Violet,” Harry whispered, “It was her.”

A prickly silence enveloped them. In the corner of his vision, Nott’s pale fingers fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Right,” the boy breathed, “So you think it was Bella, then?”

Harry frowned.

“No,” he whispered, “I saw her face -”

I saw a lot more than her face, actually.

“- and it’s not her,” Harry finished, blushing furiously.

“I figured,” Nott admitted slowly, “I - she didn’t exactly seem the type.”

Harry paused, glancing at him.

“What do you mean?”

Nott shrugged.

“I dunno,” he muttered, “Everything this witch in Violet’s done involves Grindelwald’s stuff, though. It was always going to be someone close to him.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

“It was someone high up in the French Ministry,” he whispered, “Whoever she was, she had sway over a chunk of the Aurors. She had a medallion, too.”

“A medallion?”

“Personal portkeys made by Nicolas Flamel,” Harry explained, “Only the most powerful people in the French Ministry have them. Gabby said there’s only about a half dozen of them.”

This seemed to get Nott’s attention.

“You’d better look into that, then,” Nott murmured hurriedly, “That’s probably the quickest way to find out who she is.”

But Harry could only shrug.

“I dunno. I’m fairly certain she changed her appearance. Stealing or borrowing the medallion isn’t out of the question, either.”

“Can’t hurt to check though, can it?”

“I suppose not,” Harry nodded blankly. Thoughts of the Violet One stabbed at his insides all the while, “Anyway, there’s another reason why I brought her up.”

“Oh? Go on.”

A nervous flicker of emotion swam beneath his skin. Harry straightened up.

“She said something to me, while we were fighting,” he admitted, “Something about Astoria.”

He eyed Nott, who was watching him impatiently.

“I - she said I don’t actually care about Astoria,” Harry whispered after a long moment. He fought the urge to flinch as the words left his lips, “She said that I’m so hell bent on saving her because I couldn’t save my parents. That in my eyes, it might redeem me.”

He glanced up, desperately searching for some sort of reassuring smile upon Nott’s features. He found none.

“I don’t know,” the paler boy muttered, eyeing the funeral pyre at the base of the hill, “I - I don’t know.”

A cold block of suppressed emotions froze somewhere within Harry’s heart.

“While we’re still talking about her, though,” he heard Nott breath from his left, “What’s the plan now that Garnier’s dead? I’m assuming he didn’t tell you -”

“He didn’t,” Harry grimaced, “All those wartime secrets died with him.”

“Of course they did,” Nott grumbled, “I suppose that’s what he wanted.”

He turned, his beady brown eyes boring into Harry’s.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but this does mean the stone is the only real option left, doesn’t it?”

Harry nodded slowly.

“Not unless I return the diary, which obviously isn’t happening -”

Nott gave him a pointed look. Harry glared back.

“I said it isn’t happening. What more could you possibly want?”

Nott sighed.

“Nothing,” he muttered, “Just - this whole thing is sketchy. I’m almost certain Grindelwald’s lackeys are trying to direct you toward the stone, you know -”

Harry snorted.

“I’m not even almost certain anymore, I know for a fact,” he muttered darkly, “She showed me exactly where the stone is.”

Nott’s head swirled at breakneck speeds, a look of horrified surprise etched across his features.

“What? Where?”

“Hidden in one of the Triwizard Tasks. The second one, realistically.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw it,” Harry said simply, “I saw it when I touched the Midnight Rose.”

“You WHAT?”

Harry jumped frantically. A few heads turned from the closest of the funeral procession, each eyeing them disapproving.

“Not so loud, you idiot -”

But Nott rounded on him.

“You mean to tell me,” he began furiously, “That you finally fucking found the thing we’ve been looking for for the past month -”

“‘We’,” Harry repeated indignantly, “Who is this ‘we’?”

“Don’t you realise how useful it could’ve been?” Nott sputtered, “We could’ve traded it to the Truest, or - or used it to see the future -”

“Neither of which are guaranteed to be more useful than the stone,” Harry snorted. His mind slowly conjured an image of one Luna Lovegood, “Besides, I’m sick and tired of people trying to read the future.”

“So you just left it there, then?”

Harry shook his head.

“No,” he muttered, “The witch in violet snatched it away before she left.”

He watched as Nott groaned in annoyance.

“Fine,” the boy grimaced, “Fine, fine, fine . . .”

Harry allowed his eyes to roam as his friend rambled quietly to himself. Down by the hill’s base, the witches and wizards had begun to rise.

“Your girlfriend’s staring at us, by the way.”

Harry perked up, glancing at the leftmost side of the procession. Sure enough, a pair of beautiful blue eyes bore into his own, longing flickering violently from within. Harry pushed past them, falling into her mind as easily as an anchor through water.

Are you alright?

Gabrielle nodded slowly. Behind her, Lady Delacour watched disapprovingly, her eyes switching between Harry and her youngest daughter.

Your mother’s watching, by the way.

Gabby’s mind focused upon a single coherent thought. Harry could practically hear it spoken in the girl’s soft voice:

‘And?’

Harry rolled his eyes, laughing.

Just thought I’d mention it. I won’t be free tonight, by the way. I have someone else I need to meet tonight.

‘Until tomorrow, then,’ Gabby blew him a kiss from down the hill. Her mother grimaced, ‘Which, of course, you’ll be spending entirely with me.’

Naturally.

‘Naturally. If you’re nice enough, I’ve got a little surprise for you, too.’

Her fingers pressed tight against her left hand. Harry stared.

It’s ready already?

‘Almost. I’ve got a few more things I need to do, but I should have it done by tomorrow.’

“Can you not have a mental conversation with your girlfriend when I’m right next to you?” Nott asked irritably, “It’s the oddest thing.”

“Not a chance,” Harry snorted, “If anything, I’m going to do this more often.”

He glanced back at the base of the hill. To his annoyance, Lady Delacour was dragging Gabrielle away.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.’

I love you too.

He watched as the silver-haired girl grew smaller, following her parents and sister across the field and out of sight. To his side, Nott sniffled loudly.

“I looked into the diary, by the way,” the boy said seriously, “More specifically, whether or not it’ll have any long-term impacts on Delacour.”

“And?” asked Harry worriedly.

“And you’re very lucky,” Nott noted, “Now that she’s been separated from it, she should be perfectly fine.”

Harry couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. To his annoyance, Nott kept going.

“I wouldn’t be all too relieved, mind you,” he said warningly, “Whatever the Witch in Violet did that night really softened her mind -”

“What?” Harry snapped. He rounded on Nott, “What do you mean, softened?”

“I was getting to that -” Nott hissed irritably, “Be patient, will you -”

“Nott!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” the boy muttered, “When objects like that diary possess people, they normally soften them up for possession over a longer time. Whatever happened to Gabrielle was too rushed.”

“And that means?”

“Nothing, really,” Nott yawned, “It’d probably be real fucking easy for Voldemort to take control of her mind again, but other than that -”

“The diary’s at Hogwarts,” said Harry worriedly, “Will that be a problem when we go back to school for the third task?”

“Not unless she’s right next to it,” Nott frowned, “It’s not a distance thing. It’s like - uh - you know, like bluetooth. Easier to connect to a device you’ve already paired to.”

Harry blinked wildly at him.

“What?”

“I - that’s right, isn’t it?” Theo blushed furiously, “I dunno - it was in one of those muggle books you let me read ages ago -”

“I - yeah, alright,” Harry stammered, “So . . . so the diary’s already paired to her, then? That - that doesn’t sound too bad.”

“That’s because it isn’t,” Nott said, now soundinging thoroughly annoyed, “As I said many times now -”

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry and Nott both jumped. Standing across from them was a couple Harry had seen only a few times before.

“Mr. and Mrs. Rosier,” said Harry quickly, focussing his mind, “I’d hoped to meet you at a less macabre time.”

“As did I,” the woman smiled. Her dark brown hair seemed to glow despite the lack of sunlight, “And please, call me Aveline.”

Harry nodded, watching as the couples’ inquisitive eyes flicked towards Nott.

“This is my best friend, Theodore Nott,” Harry added leisurely, “He’s visiting from Hogwarts to pay his respect.”

“How kind of you,” Aveline Rosier awarded softly, “I sometimes forget how wide-reaching Inspector Garnier’s influence was.”

“I - yes,” said Nott awkwardly. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“I never got the chance to thank you for befriending my daughter during the gala,” Mrs. Rosier noted thoughtfully, “I had been looking forward to it.”

“It’s understandable, really,” Harry waved her off, “I can’t begin to imagine how many people you had to greet. Besides, I had Belle to keep me company.”

He watched as Aveline Rosier’s nose scrunched up with distaste.

“That - that girl will no doubt be the death of me,” the woman grimaced, “Far too much trouble.”

“She’s alright,” Harry laughed, “Just a bit excitable.”

Something glimmered in Aveline’s eyes. Harry frowned as she leaned closer, her husband carefully glancing around.

“There’s another reason why I’m here, of course,” she whispered earnestly, “My husband was one of the many officials present during the attack on the Ministry this Christmas.”

Harry’s stomach churned. Beside him, Nott shifted uncomfortably.

“I . . . I don’t understand.”

Aveline smiled softly.

“Oh, you don’t have to say anything,” she assured him, “I just wanted to thank you in person. My husband does mean a great deal to me, after all. It’d be a poor showing to not thank the person responsible for his continued health.”

She straightened up.

“Cerise has always spoken well of you, dear. I’m pleased to see how right she was.”

And with that, she made her way down the hill, her husband in tow.

-(xXx)-

Harry wadded through the snow, shoving the door to the Shrieking Shack open. A woman with curly black hair awaited him, lying leisurely upon a ratty couch in the corner.

“You’re late,” Bella pouted, inspecting him carefully, “And lacking a certain diary.”

Harry shrugged.

“What can I say? Guess I didn’t feel like bringing it.”

The two stared at each other for a long, tense moment. For a second, Harry was sure Bellatrix was going to start shouting - yet to his immense surprise, she simply strode across the room, enveloping Harry in a loving hug.

“I missed you,” she whispered, pressing her lips against his forehead. She now had to stand on her tippy-toes to do so, “It’s been so long -”

Harry snorted.

“It’s hardly been a month.”

But Bellatrix only frowned.

“That’s a while, really,” she said seriously, “I used to see you almost every day last year.”

Harry paused, dragging up memories from what felt like forever ago.

Huh. I suppose she did.

He could only shrug in response.

“Things change, don’t they?” he muttered, “I had to grow up eventually.”

Bellatrix nodded slowly.

“She’s not going to be pleased, you know,” she warned him, “About the diary, of course.”

“I know,” Harry nodded. He paused, “She won’t punish you for it, will she?”

Bella smiled, shaking her head.

“No, she won’t. It’s hardly my fault, even if I was certain you’d return it -”

“You really thought so?” Harry laughed, unable to hide surprise, “Why in Merlin’s name would I give it back?”

“To save Ophelia’s sister!” Bellatrix almost shouted, “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“It is,” Harry nodded slowly, “But I’ve found another way.”

A better way.

“Oh?” Bellatrix eyed him carefully, “Do tell.”

Harry snorted.

“Nice try,” he grinned, “Although for what it’s worth, this method also involves playing into the hands of a Dark Lord.”

He pried himself free from Bella’s grasp, moving to sit atop a dingy wooden chair in the shack’s corner. Bellatris eyed him carefully all the while.

“I wondered what your plan was, what with Garnier being dead.”

Harry frowned.

“You heard about that?”

“Read about it,” Bellatrix corrected. She smiled wickedly, “You looked like an angel, by the way. Gold really is your color.”

Harry suppressed a groan, rolling his eyes as Bellatrix giggled from across the room.

“Make sure to tell Emily - or Voldemort or whatever - that I’m not keeping the diary on me, either.”

A flicker of outrage shone in Bella’s gaze. Harry watched as she rose to her full height.

“What?” she snapped indignantly, “Why?”

“Loads of reasons,” Harry yawned, “First and foremost, I’m not a big fan of how it possessed my girlfriend the other day -”

“Your WHAT?”

Harry watched with alarm as Bellatrix sprinted towards him, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“What? You haven’t read the tabloids?” 

“I have!” said Bellatrix indignantly, “Skeeter didn’t mention anything about a - a girlfriend!”

“Oh,” said Harry lamely, “Well, I have one. Her name’s Gabrielle, and that stupid diary possessed her.”

“Gabrielle . . .” Bellatrix thought for a long moment. A second later, her eyes were as wide as galleons, “THE FRENCH CHAMPION?”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry muttered nervously, “She’s wonderful.”

“Wonderful,” Bellatrix rambled to herself, stalking off, “Just wonderful . . .”

“She really is,” Harry agreed loudly, calling after her, “Which is why I’d really appreciate it if your Master’s diary stopped trying to take over her mind!”

Bellatrix spun around.

“Took over her mind?” she frowned, “Why would you let her keep the diary for so long?”

“I didn’t,” said Harry indignantly, “It - someone did something to it and her. It made it so the diary was able to take over her mind in an instant.”

“Someone,” Bellatrix repeated distastefully, “Someone . . . who, exactly, is this someone?”

Harry shrugged.

“Beats me. But if you find out, feel free to clue me in.”

The dark-haired closed her eyes, simply sinking into the dingy sofa once more.

“It was Master’s birthday, by the way,” she said after a long moment, “You didn’t wish her.”

Harry snorted.

“Why would I wish Voldemort a happy birthday?”

Bellatrix frowned.

“She wished you one, remember?”

“I do, actually,” said Harry pointedly, “I specifically recall the fact that you wrote that letter. Only you.”

There was a hint of accusation in his tone, one Bellatrix surprisingly caught.

“She wished you, she did,” said Bella seriously, “She just wouldn’t write it.”

“Bella, I honestly don’t care -”

“I do,” said the curly-haired witch, “She wished you. She did.”

The familiar flickering of honesty coated her words. Harry frowned.

Odd.

“I - you can wish her for me too, then.”

“Alright,” Bellatrix smiled softly, “I will.”

Harry nodded slowly.

“Oh, and Bella?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks,” said Harry slowly, “For taking the Cruciatus Curse for me.”

Bellatrix frowned at him. Harry straightened up.

“For telling me the first two Truisms. You didn’t have to do that, but you did anyway. I - it means a lot to me.”

Bellatrix stared blankly at him.

“I - I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” Harry smiled. He leaned closer, wrapping his arms around the older witch, “Thank you, Bell.”

Dainty arms wrapped around his waist as Bella pressed her face against his.

“You’re - you’re welcome.”