AFiF 4, Chapter 27: The Acolytes

XXVII. The Acolytes

A golden fire flickered beneath the mantle of his room. It was a rather cozy place now; Harry had long since forgone the stone serpent aesthetic, replacing it with something more . . . elegant. Marble stretched across the room, reflecting the golden lights that emanated from ivory lanterns. Harry pulled his gaze from the mirror, his eyes slipping across the walls of his room.

I did a good job.

Nodding, Harry returned to his reflection.

“You’d better fix your dress robes.”

Harry’s eyes flicked to the top corner of his not-so-magical mirror. The bright blue eyes of Gabrielle Delacour bore into his own.

Harry turned. Gabrielle slowly rose to her feet, the silver fabric of her dress rippling beneath the light. She elegantly reached for his collar, her thin fingers weaving it more tightly around his neck.

“There you are,” the girl finished, “Much better.”

She pulled her eyes away from his collar and up toward him. There was little more than a few inches between them.

Ahem.

Harry grimaced. The miniscule form of Astoria Greengrass appeared somewhere above Gabrielle's shoulder. She wore simple black night robes and a disapproving expression.

“You’re supposed to be changing,” Astoria reminded him. Harry blushed faintly.

“Right,” he whispered, his eyes sliding back to Delacour. The silver-haired girl stepped back. Her eyes never left his, “Thanks Astoria.”

He heard the younger girl pout from somewhere in the corner. Gabrielle shifted.

“I should probably get going,” she whispered, “My mother will not let me anywhere near the gala looking like this.”

She motioned towards herself. Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

“Funny woman, she is,” Harry smiled, “I’ll meet you at the Gala, then.”

Gabrielle nodded, smiling.

“Not just me,” she reminded him, her voice little more than a whisper, “He’ll be there, too.”

Harry nodded stiffly.

“Do you really think he’ll tell me?” he asked aloud. The girl paused.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “If we’re lucky, it won’t matter.”

Harry stared at her in disbelief.

“Gabby, he’s bound to know something about the mind arts -” 

“I know,” Gabby whispered morosely, “I know.”

A grim silence fell upon them. Gabrielle leaned forward, her lips brushing against Harry’s cheek.

“Don’t forget to be on your best behavior once you get there,” she reminded him. Her cheeks were a pale pink, “Everyone’s eyes will be on you, my parents especially.”

“I know,” Harry murmured. His fingers combed nervously through his hair, “I’ll do my best not to disappoint them.”

Gabrielle smiled.

“I should go,” her head tilted as she looked up at him, “Do you still plan on meeting Nott?”

Harry nodded. Gabrielle frowned.

“I need to make sure,” Harry whispered, “And I’d better fill him in, too.”

Gabrielle nodded, pressing her lips against the underside of his jaw one last time. With a final nod, the girl turned around, heading for the door. She sent a brief smile in Astoria’s direction.

“It’s nice to meet you, Astoria,” she smiled kindly, “I’ve heard many good things about you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” said Astoria quickly. She waited for Gabrielle to depart Harry’s room before rounding on him.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Harry frowned. Astoria stared at him.

“What’s going on with you and her?” she snapped, “You’re clearly not friends -”

“We are,” Harry defended. He paused for a moment, “We’re . . .”

His mind produced a myriad of images. Many of them pictured him and Gabrielle back at the field down the grounds. Harry fought to keep the blush from his face.

“Nevermind.”

“Nevermind,” Astoria repeated, unimpressed, “Nevermind . . .”

She paced back and forth along the edge of his room. Her miniscule head snapped toward him.

“Does Daphne know?”

Harry frowned.

“No,” he said slowly, “Neither does Nott. Not that it’s either of their business.”

Astoria stared at him for a long moment.

“It’s Daphne’s business. At least a little bit.”

“And why’s that?”

Astoria shifted. Harry watched as the girl nervously toyed with her fingers.

“I think she thought you and her would be a thing, at least for a while,” the girl admitted eventually, “At least, that’s what I always thought.”

Harry blinked. His stomach swirled uncomfortably.

“I - she did?”

“I didn’t say that,” Astoria sighed. Harry watched as she fell onto his bed, “I said I thought she did. There’s a difference.”

“Oh,” Harry frowned, “I suppose there is.”

I haven’t talked to Daphne in a while. I should probably change that.

“Anyway,” Astoria said loudly, reaching for a box of chocolate frogs Harry had stashed under his bed, “What’s this gala thing you’re going to? It’s all anyone’s been talking about.”

Harry yawned, turning back to inspect himself in the mirror.

“The Rosier Gala,” he said clearly, “I think it’s a celebration of the winter solstice, or something like that. It happens every year.”

“And it’s only for the elite, right?”

Harry paused. His mind shifted to the Toussaint twins, Adeline Bardot, and Cerise Rosier herself.

“Definitely,” he breathed, pulling his glasses from his face. The world suddenly blurred, “I’d be more than a little surprised if that weren’t the case.”

He held his arm out, his palm reaching in the direction of a capsule sitting atop his desk. Harry nodded with satisfaction as it zoomed across the room.

Now this ought to be interesting.

Harry popped it open. Two circular lenses sat within.

“What is that?”

“They’re called contacts,” Harry explained, holding one up to his eyes, “Little glasses muggles put in their eyes.”

He carefully lowered the lens onto his pupil. It felt strangely hot.

One done. And the other . . .

Harry blinked wildly a few moments later as the world slowly returned to view. For what felt like the hundredth time, his gaze returned to the mirror.

Weird.

He looked just as he had years ago in the Mirror of Erised. A bit shorter perhaps, and not nearly as intimidating, but Harry felt he looked good.

“Who was Delacour talking about earlier?” Astoria asked from his bed. Harry turned.

“Hmm?”

“She said someone would be there,” Astoria explained, “Remember? When she was saying that she wasn’t the only person you’d be meeting there.”

“Oh,” Harry frowned for a moment, “She’s talking about Garnier.”

Astoria’s head rose slightly from the bed.

“Garnier? You mean like your friend Oliver?”

Harry nodded.

“He’s Oliver’s grandfather,”’ he explained, “A war hero from the fight against Grindelwald.”

“Why do you want to meet him?”

The lights in the room dimmed slightly. Harry turned, his fingers combing over the hem of his dress robes.

“He knows about blood magic.”

“Blood magic?” Astoria’s brows furrowed in confusion, “Why would you care about blood . . .”

She trailed off, her lips quivering. Harry felt uncomfortable. He stepped toward his desk, removing the card Cerise had given him many days ago.

I still have a few hours.

Harry shifted as a muffled - yet still audible - cry of emotion slipped from Astoria’s lips. He spun around.

“I’d better get going,” he explained, heading for the door, “Have a good night, Tori.”

“I will,” the girl’s voice came out in little more than a whisper, “I love you, Harry.”

Harry stopped at the edge of his room.

“I - I love you too.”

-(xXx)-

Lightning crackled overhead. Harry swore as he tossed the hood of his conjured robe over his head, moving beneath the overhang of a nearby shop. Beside him, Nott coughed hoarsely.

“Stop being so loud,” Harry hissed. His eyes traced the dark, shifty figures that surrounded them, “We’re in Knockturn Alley for Merlin’s sake.”

“You’re telling me that,” Nott glared, “You look like a posh little prefect.”

Harry frowned, eyeing his reflection in a puddle by his feet. He wore a face that was now becoming familiar. Slightly higher cheekbones, hazel eyes, and straightened black hair - all befitting the supposed grandson of Lady Voldemort.

Tom Riddle. I called myself Tom Riddle last time.

Harry frowned.

That’s her father’s name, isn’t it?

“At least you’ve covered your dress robes,” Nott said eventually, snapping Harry out of his thoughts, “That’s something.”

“If anything, the robes would make me look more like the quintessential pureblood.”

Nott snorted.

“Pureblood, my ass,” he snapped, “People will think you’re a waiter.”

The two of them made their way down the long, sickly road, careful to weave between the falling rain and the throng of questionable characters. Harry’s gaze lingered on Nott’s face as they walked, his eyes narrowed.

“You know, you’re still terrible at transfiguring your features.”

Walking beside him was the same blonde-haired black boy he’d snuck into the Cellar alongside a week or two prior. Just as he had then, Theodore Nott looked particularly odd.

“Forgive me for the inexperience,” Theo yawed, “Unlike you, I’m not sneaking about to commit crimes every other evening -”

The boy glared at a short, disgruntled-looking man who’d bumped into him.

“Which reminds me,” Nott continued, “You haven’t yet explained why we’re doing this. I already told you, he doesn’t have it -”

“I know, I believe you,” Harry whispered. Nott frowned.

“But?”

“But,” Harry continued, his voice low, “That doesn’t mean I can’t learn a bit about who bought it.”

Nott frowned.

“I don’t understand,” he murmured, “I thought you were going to ask Dumbledore?”

Harry’s expression darkened.

“He didn’t know,” he said simply. Nott gawked at him.

“Dumbledore didn’t know -”

The black boy flinched as a Silent Stinging Hex hit him in the shin. His nose scrunched up with pain.

“Sorry,” he said hastily, “But . .  what?”

“I know,” Harry said moodily as the pair slid between a pair of nasty, hag-like witches queuing outside an abnormally smelly shop, “He says he was obliviated.”

Nott’s brow rose.

“Surely he’s lying?”

Harry frowned.

“I dunno,” he muttered, “I don’t think he is.”

It matches what he told me a year and a half ago.

“He hasn’t really got a reason to lie,” Harry explained slowly, “I imagine he’d much rather I be obsessed with blood magic than the resurrection stone.”

“I suppose so,” Nott agreed, “Odd. I can’t imagine being obsessed with either can do anyone any good.”

Harry shook his head.

“Blood magic is useful,” he defended half-heartedly, “The way Dumbledore described it, it can accomplish just about anything -”

“-  provided the sacrifice is great enough, yeah,” Nott finished for him, “There’s only so many things one can sacrifice, Harry.”

The black-haired boy gritted his teeth.

“Would you prefer I went after the stone?”

“Merlin, no,” Nott snorted, “Last thing we need is for you to get wrapped up with Grindelwald.”

Harry shrugged.

“Like it matters. Chasing after the blood magic means dealing with Voldemort, anyway.”

“Eh, they’re both acting indirectly,” Nott yawned, waving him off, “I suppose Voldemort’s using Lestrange?”

Harry nodded. A string of memories fluttered through his mind. Harry turned to Nott.

“That reminds me, actually” he said gruffly, “I think Bella’s trying to kill someone important . . .”

They hurried down the alley, Harry explaining his fight with Gabrielle from a few nights ago in full detail. By the end of it, Theo was staring at him, a speculative frown coating his features.

“Garnier . . . he’s the guy you’re going to try to use Legilimency on tonight?”

Harry nodded.

“You know that’s a terrible idea, right?”

“Obviously,” Harry sighed, “That’s why I’m here in the first place. I’m really hoping there’s a better option -”

“Aside from one that involves you returning the diary, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And you think Bellatrix was the one who knocked Delacour unconscious?”

Harry shrugged.

“I dunno,” he admitted, “But it makes sense.”

Nott’s brow rose in subtle disagreement.

“Does it?”

“I think so,” Harry argued, “By knocking Gabby out, she reminded me just how dangerous the diary is. If I felt uncomfortable having it around before, I really do now.”

“Maybe,” Nott frowned, “But let’s not rule out anyone else just yet. I could name more than a few people who’d like to mess with your life.”

Harry nodded slowly. From his side, Nott’s eyes lingered.

“What’s going on with you and Delacour, anyway?”

Harry felt his chest tighten. He held his head up high, his eyes falling upon a familiar banner off in the distance.

“I’m not quite sure,” he said, pausing, “But it’s probably exactly what you’re thinking.”

Nott nodded. His lips thinned.

“You should tell Daphne.”

Harry turned to him, his fingers suddenly feeling abnormally jittery.

“Astoria said that, too,” Harry muttered, “I - there wasn’t anything between her and I, was there?”

“Not that I know,” Nott shrugged, unconcerned, “But I always thought there was some sort of tension.”

He paused, straightening up.

“Either way, I say she deserves to hear about it,” Nott said seriously, “From you. Imagine if she found out from the Daily Prophet -”

“I thought she already would have,” Harry frowned, “There was some gibberish about Gabby and I in the French tabloids the other day.”

Nott shrugged.

“Must’ve not crossed waters just yet.”

They came to an abrupt stop just outside the entrance to Borgin and Burke’s. Harry paused for a moment before turning to Nott.

“How many times have you talked to Borgin, anyway?”

Nott frowned.

“Only a few,” he muttered, “Except for last time, I only ever came with my father, and he never used to let me speak.”

Harry nodded, satisfied.

Borgin shouldn’t recognize him then. Especially not with his disguise.

His eyes slid across Nott’s newly darkened skin.

As terrible of a disguise as it is.

Something flickered just above Nott’s shoulder. Familiarity sparked deep within Harry’s chest, though Harry couldn’t quite place why. His eyes traced the pale outline of a black-haired girl bound in a scanty corset.

Nott flicked the side of his head.

“Pay attention, poshy. We’ve got a job to do.”

Harry frowned, nodding curtly. He shook his head.

He’s right. Focus up.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Harry’s fingers wrapped tightly around the handle to the shop, pulling it open with a powerful tug. A loud chime rang through the shop as they entered.

“Welcome to Borgin and Burke’s,” a gruff voice came from beyond the counter, “Is there anything I . . .”

Harry turned. Mr. Borgin was staring at him, the bald spots of his head glistening beneath the glowing lanterns that hung overhead. The man smiled.

“Tom!” he clapped his hands together excitably, “I was wondering if you were still alive.”

Harry snorted.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Borgin shrugged.

“Oh, you know, that murderer of a grandmother you’ve got,” the man drawled. He paused, “Don’t tell her I said that.”

Harry yawned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Harry stepped toward the counter. His eyes slipped past Borgin’s face, falling upon where a large, withered book had once been chained. It was now gone.

“Who’s your friend?” Borgin barked, eying Nott. Theodore straightened up.

“That’s no concern of yours.”

“Ah,” Borgin cracked a smile, “Always nice to meet another Slytherin.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“You remember that book you used to have chained up behind you?” he asked inquisitively, “The one you told me wasn’t for sale?”

“I do,” Borgin yawned, “What about it?”

“Well, you clearly sold it, didn’t you?”  Harry frowned, “How’d they convince you to sell?”

“Same as always, really. Money.”

Harry scoffed.

“They had enough to buy that?” he said in an almost exaggerated manner, “From the way you were acting, I’d have thought it was priceless.”

“Yes, well, they changed my mind, didn’t they?” Borgin snapped irritably, “Any other stupid questions?”

“Sure. What were they like?”

He dipped into Borgin’s mind as the words left his mouth. In a split second, Harry found the world spinning around, replaced by a nearly identical shop. The midnight sky hung outside the window, and a large, black book sat atop Borgin’s counter.

“Seven-hundred thousand galleons, so you know,” Borgin was saying. There was a smug smile coating his face, “I won’t part with it for any less -”

“Yes, you’ve made that quite clear,” a high voice murmured. A witch in violet robes pulled a miniscule bag from the insides of her dress, placing it carefully atop the counter, “Here you are.”

Borgin stared at her with disbelief.

“That’s seven, dear, not seven-hundred thousand.”

Though Harry couldn’t see the woman’s face from beneath the hood, he was almost certain she was unimpressed.

“What are you, a muggle?” she snapped, “Use your brain.”

She pushed the bag closer to Borgin.

“There’s a million galleons in there,” she hissed, “I’d be grateful of my generosity, were I you.”

Borgin’s eyes widened. He quickly snatched the bag from the countertop, waving his wand over its opening. He smiled smugly.

“Grateful indeed,” the man smirked, “I look forward to our continued business, Miss -”

The door slid shut, the woman having left long before Borgin could finish asking her name.

-(xXx)-

Harry stormed out of the shop. Raindrops slipped from the crying clouds that hung above, transforming his neatly-combed hair into a sort of diamond-studded laurel. His brow furrowed with distaste.

The witch in violet.

He and Nott made their way down the steps of Borgin’s shop, ducking into the nearest alleyway. Nott watched the opening all the while, his beady black eyes tracing the dozens of vague characters that slid past them.

“It was Bellatrix.”

Nott’s eyes widened for just a moment. The boy made a point to keep his gaze directed at the ground.

“You’re sure?”

“It has to be -”

“Did you actually see her?” Nott hissed, now sounding irritable, “Or is this another one of your theories?”

Harry glared at him.

“It was the witch in violet. That much I know for certain.”

Nott mulled over his words. Harry could almost see the invisible cogs that cranked behind his skull.

“The woman who knocked out Delacour,” Nott said. He paused, “The one who  . . . what exactly did she do to the diary, again?”

Harry frowned.

“She reminded me how dangerous it was.”

Theodore stared at him, looking wholly unimpressed.

“What specifically did she do?” the boy asked irritably, “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Harry’s brows furrowed as a sliver of irritation blanketed him.

“She knocked out Gabrielle to give the diary even more sentience.”

Nott frowned.

“Even more,” he murmured, “You used to write to it, didn’t you?”

Harry nodded.

“How could it be even more sentient than that?”

Harry gritted his teeth.

“It drew upon Gabby’s life force for a bit,” he explained morosely, “For a few minutes, Emily had a semi-physical form, sort of like a ghost.”

Nott’s eyes bulged.

“What?”

Snap.

Theo swore silently as a scarlet curse hit him square in the chest. He glared daggers at Harry as he rubbed at his stomach, straightening up.

“You mean to tell me that the witch in violet -”

“Bellatrix.”

“- the witch in violet,” Nott repeated, “She resurrected Voldemort?”

“Not really,” Harry frowned, “It’s more like what happened in the chamber. A ghost-like form. But it doesn’t matter. She’s gone.”

He glanced up. Nott was watching him with disbelief.

“How do you know she’s gone?” the boy inquired seriously. Harry shrugged.

“Gabrielle’s alive and well,” he explained simply, “Emily needs a sacrifice to return to life. Back in the chamber, she used Ginny -”

“I thought you said you beat her by destroying the diary?”

Harry blinked.

“I did.”

Nott stared at him expectantly.

“Well? Did you destroy it again?”

Harry pursed his lips.

“No.”

He watched as a dark expression settled atop Nott’s features.

“No,” the boy nodded. His voice was curt, “No, of course you didn’t . . .”

He trailed off. Harry turned away, struggling to keep his frustration at bay. Thin beads of irritation flickered through his nerves like lightning. His eyes lingered along the people situated just outside the alleyway.

After some time, Nott spoke.

“I think you’d better give up the diary.”

Harry blinked in surprise.

“To Bella?”

Nott shook his head.

“To me. Or Daphne. Or even Dumbledore. Anyone but you.”

The irritation grew within Harry. His palms slowly curled into tight fists.

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’re not acting rationally,” Theo supplied easily, “You’re trusting Emily - Voldemort - far too much. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.”

Harry glared at him, his eyes flickering a sickly green.

“You’re wrong -”

“No, I’m not,” said Nott stubbornly, “But we can play this game.”

He turned around, facing Harry.

“How’d you beat the diary this time, huh?” he asked irritably, “You can’t have actually done anything meaningful if the diary’s still intact. Let me guess - Voldemort said she’d just go, didn’t she?”

Harry gritted his teeth.

“And if she did? Why does it matter?”

“Because you believed her, you fucking idiot!” Nott hissed, “For all we know, there’s still a connection between her and Gabrielle. That’s on you.”

The dark-skinned boy took a heavy step back. Harry felt as though he’d been punched in the gut.

Gabby . . .

Ice crept into his veins, freezing his insides into something utterly unbearable. Harry steeled himself.

“Fine,” he murmured worriedly, “You’re - you’re right. I’ll deal with the diary -”

“How, exactly?” Nott asked seriously, “I can’t imagine you’ll destroy it.”

“I’ll give it to someone trustworthy. Someone at Hogwarts.”

Nott nodded slowly, his mind whirling.

“That’d probably shatter any lingering connection it might have to Delacour,” the boy admitted, “Magical objects struggle to influence targets if there’s too much time and space separating them.”

“The diary’s like that, too,” Harry noted, “Emily told me so in my second year. Said the diary was - was stronger around me.”

Nott glared at him. Harry had the decency to lower his head.

“I - I’ll hand over the diary soon. By the week’s end at latest.”

“To Daphne, I imagine?”

Harry nodded.

“Keep an eye on her,” he pleaded, eyeing Nott, “If you see her acting oddly, intervene and let me know.”

“I know,” Nott nodded tiredly, “I’ll look into the whole diary and Gabrielle thing, too. Just to be safe.”

Harry smiled gratefully.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Nott whispered. His wrist snaked its way upwards, coming to stop just before his eyes, “We should both probably get going.”

Harry nodded.

“Right. Keep an eye out for the witch in violet, won’t you?”

“‘Course. You do the same.”

“I will.”

The dark-skinned boy granted him a hurried wave before toying with the black ring he wore. Theodore Nott vanished in a brief flash of light.

Time to get going.

Harry straightened up, pulling his wand out from his robes. He gently waved away the water droplets that were now strewn all over him.

“Much better,” Harry nodded, satisfied, “At least I look presentable -”

Something stirred. Harry watched as the dark-haired woman from earlier sat on the curb opposite the alley way. She tucked her long, straight hair over her ear, revealing sharp scarlet eyes and quite a bit of skin.

You . . . I know you -

Harry straightened up.

“The vampire from after the Quidditch World Cup. She -”

She knows about blood magic.

Excitement flooded his very being. Harry hurried out of the alley way, shoving past throngs of people as he made his way to the woman.

“Hey!” he called, weaving his way toward her, “Over here!”

The vampire looked up, frowning. Harry watched with satisfaction as her eyes locked onto his. Her eyes widened with recognition at once.

Yes. Yes -

Harry paused. He watched as the vampire scrambled to her feet, her expression panicked.

No -

“Wait, just a second,” Harry yelled, “Please!”

But the vampire spun on her heel, sprinting down the opposite alley. Harry desperately chased after her, pointing his wand at her back.

Impedimenta!

A bead of scarlet magic slammed into the vampire’s back. Harry tore after her. Even in her newly-slowed state, the woman was very fast.

“Stop. Fucking. Running,” Harry panted. He slashed his wand through the air, sending the woman flying, “I just want to talk!”

Accio!

The woman’s twisting form spun through the air, landing just at his feet. Harry watched as she crawled away from him, fear pulsing in her eyes.

“Please,” she pleaded, her voice hoarse, “Don’t -”

“I won’t hurt you,” Harry promised earnestly, “We’ve met before, remember? You told me to go to Borgin’s to buy books on -”

“I know,” the woman whispered, “I was there, Harry Potter.”

Harry froze. His grasp around his wand tightened.

“How do you know my name?”

But the woman wasn’t listening. Harry watched as she clambered to her feet, pressing her body against his. The vampire pressed her lips against his ear, forcing Harry to look down the opening of her corset.

“They are ever-watching,” she whispered desperately, “They control everything. Not a single instance in your life can be chalked up to coincidence, Harry Potter . . .”

“What are you talking about?” Harry whispered frantically, “Who are they?”

The woman violently shook her head.

“You already know. Think.”

Harry struggled, wracking his mind. Nothing came to him. The woman pressed her chest more tightly against his.

“They seek to lead you astray,” she murmured, “Don’t let them drag you down the wrong path -”

“What path?” Harry hissed frantically, “Listen, I just want to know about -”

The woman clasped her palm over his lips.

“Don’t!” she spat vehemently, “Don’t say it. They’re listening -”

Crash.

She cut off. Harry felt something rough and coarse pressing against his stomach. Together, he and the woman looked down.

Holy fuck -

A blood-covered stake protruded from the vampire’s lower body. Harry felt her grasp around him lessen.

“Hey,” Harry said hurriedly. The woman began to fall, “Hey, stay with me. Please!”

Her head fell atop the cobblestone path. Harry watched as a pool of blood coated the floor, bits of splintered wood swimming within it.

Fuck.

Harry took a step back. Above him, something flickered along the rooftops.

Crack.

The figure disappeared. Harry felt his heart beating violently in his chase, the ghost of the man’s pale blue robes replaying in his head.

One of the French Aurors.

“They’re listening. They’re listening . . .”

Harry threw his hood over his head, his eyes lingering along the vampire’s limp body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered earnestly, transfiguring her body into a bone before shoving it into his pocket, “This is my fault.”

And he closed his eyes, disappearing with a loud crack.