Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 2: Terror

Their journey to the top box of the stadium was marred by only one thing: the presence of Draco, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Daphne and the Malfoy patriarch sneered at one another as they passed, their past conflicts clearly not forgotten. Draco avoided Harry’s eyes, though he did make a comment about Ron’s Chudley Canons jersey, to which the Gryffindor responded with a rather rude comment about his family’s genetic makeup. Lucius had held his son back with his cane while Bill restrained Ron.

Harry sat next to Hermione and two seats away from Ginny, with Daphne sitting the closest to the Malfoys, her wand clearly visible, lying in her lap, as if daring anyone to make trouble. Andromeda sat next to her. The Weasleys were scattered up and down the box, though Bill, Charlie, Fred and George sat together. Tonks, interestingly, seated herself next to Charlie rather than Harry and Hermione. It occurred to Harry that anything as docile as even a Striking Curse could send the victim plunging to their death. Daphne most likely knew that too. Ludo Bagman, whom Daphne thought foolish and incompetent, was sitting a bit farther away, near the Malfoys, carrying on an awkward conversation with a Bulgarian diplomat. The language difficulties were obvious.

Something vaguely familiar caught Harry’s eye from a row above him, the very last row of the stadium. A pink-skinned house-elf sat there, hands covering its eyes, quaking with fright. Hermione noticed Harry’s distraction and glanced behind her as well. “Are you alright?” she asked softly, in a sympathetic voice.

The elf removed its hands, and stared at her in confusion. Any question Harry had had about its gender was answered by her high-pitched response, “Why is the girl asking about Winky?” she asked, more to herself than to Hermione.

“Because you look frightened,” Hermione told her. “Are you waiting for someone? Whose seat is that next to you?”

Winky started as though shocked. “’Tis….’tis Mr. Crouch’s seat, Miss,” she said shakily.

Percy’s head whipped around. “You are Mr. Crouch’s elf?” he demanded. “Where is your master?”

“Who is you?” Winky asked.

Percy stuck out his chest, even though still seated. “I am Mr. Crouch’s personal assistant.”

“You is Weatherby?” Winky asked. Ginny snorted.

Percy’s cheeks reddened a bit, but he continued. “Where is your master?” he asked again.

Winky shook her head. “I is not knowing,” she insisted. “Master is saying to Winky that Winky should come to the top box and save a seat for master. So that is what Winky is doing…Winky scared of heights, sir, but Winky is doing what her master told her to do.”

Harry could feel Hermione’s indignation growing. He’d explained quite clearly why house-elves were bound the way they were, and that they could not survive without being bound to a house. They also gained personal satisfaction through serving their masters. It still didn’t stop Hermione from protesting what she considered unfair treatment. “Why doesn’t he come himself?” she demanded. “He knows you don’t like heights, and he still sends you out here. The game is going to start in ten minutes, and at this rate, he won’t show up at all.”

As Harry watched Winky, he saw a strange flicker of motion in the empty seat next to her. He focused on the spot where he’d seen the disruption, reaching out slightly with his magic. But he found nothing. Blinking, he returned to the conversation. Percy was now berating Hermione, telling her that she was an “ignorant, naïve little girl” and that “Mr. Crouch was a very busy man and sometimes had to designate minor tasks to his servants when he could not take care of them himself.” Fred made a crack that his uptight brother should have been used instead of the elf, which Percy either ignored or didn’t hear.

Hermione’s cheeks were flushed now, and her brown eyes blazed with indignation and fury. If she wasn’t careful, she might whip out her wand and reduce Percy to a pile of flaming ashes. Ginny laid a hand on her shoulder, whispering something. She relaxed slightly, and her right hand came out onto her lap. Harry would bet a thousand galleons that it had been tightly gripping her wand seconds earlier.

Winky had basically tried to keep out of the entire conversation, staring straight ahead. Harry decidedly to leave it be. He absently glanced over at the Malfoys, and found that Lucius was staring straight at him. Daphne had noticed, and Lucius turned away as she picked up her wand from her lap and twirled it around for a second. Harry wasn’t sure what to make of that.

The crowd was growing progressively louder as they awaited the opening whistle. Harry saw Ludo Bagman pull his wand from his robes and whisper a spell. He knew it was a Voice Magnifying Spell as Bagman’s voice boomed, “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the 131st Quidditch World Cup Final! As you know, for only the 18th time in history, the finalists are tied in points for the tournament, with 700 each!”

The crowd roared lustily in response. The noise was deafening, and red and green towels, banners, and flags twirled around in a blur of color. Ron Weasley screamed something incomprehensible. “C’mon, get this thing started,” Ginny growled, just loud enough for Harry to hear her. She wore a green Harpies jersey over her robes. The colors of her favorite team just happened to be the same as the colors of the Irish, which worked quite well. Hermione had a green hat and mittens on this chilly night, and Harry wore the Krum jersey he’d purchased earlier. He also dug his Omnoculars out of his robes. The wonderful little device would allow him to break down particularly special plays in slow motion. Daphne had purchased it for him as a late birthday gift, adding it to the rare collection of dueling manuals she’d paid a near-fortune for at a second-hand book store. Harry figured that Daphne might have bought them for herself anyway, but he also appreciated the gesture. They contained different tactics and approaches than those taught in the more modern manuals or the ones that Daphne used and taught to him. Obviously, she realized that her style of dueling, which involved a great deal of rapid physical movement and agility, the second of which Harry wasn’t that gifted with when he wasn’t on a broom, might not work so well for him.

“And now…..THE IRISH NATIONAL TEAM!” Bagman cried. The noise level, if it was possible, increased. Seven emerald-green-robed figures burst out of an opening in the north side of the stadium. Bagman cried each of their names. “Chaser Troy! Chaser Moran! Chaser Mullet! Keeper Ryan! Beater Connolly! Beater Quigley! Aaaaaaand…SEEKER LYNCH!!!!!!!”

The Irish fans in the crowd (which Harry judged to be about two-thirds of the people present) roared with each name, but they yelled, clapped, and whistled the loudest when the Seeker’s name was announced. Harry turned to Ginny, seeking an explanation. “He pulled out a last second win against Luxembourg by tricking their other Seeker. Considering that the Luxembourg National Team beat both England and Scotland, and you get this reaction,” she said, trying to be heard over the roar of the crowd. Harry nodded, indicating he’d heard her.

There were no reserves in World Cup Quidditch. If a player could not be attended to and put back in the game by the team’s mediwizards, you had to play down one man. If you lost your Seeker, the impetus was on the Chasers to score as much as they could, hoping to build up a lead greater than 150 points. If both Seekers went down, the game went down as a tie. But that rarely happened.

Behind the starters were the Irish mascots. Sixteen leprechauns, arranged in formations of four, flew into the stadium, trailing colorful and dazzling rainbows. The extremely rare creatures flew around and then in a burst of gold, began showering what appeared to be actual gold coins on the spectators. Harry and Daphne both knew better. Leprechaun gold vanished after just a few hours. He yelled to Ginny, who was gathering some of it. “It’s not real! It won’t last!”

Ginny looked up at him, blushed, and pushed the coins she’d already collected onto the ground. Ron apparently didn’t know, as he was stuffing fistfuls of gold into his robes. Arthur watched the shower wistfully. He obviously wished that it was real.

Once the cheering had returned to merely near-deafening levels, Bagman introduced the Bulgarian team. But unlike the Irish, the first out of the tunnel on the opposite side of the field were the mascots…mascots that appeared to be breathtakingly beautiful women. In his mind, breaking through the daze he was experiencing as the women began to dance, he heard a series of sharp words. Veela. Fingers in ears. NOW! It was Daphne’s voice, and he obeyed instantly.

The haze faded, and though the Veela still appeared quite attractive, he was no longer under their spell. Ginny was laughing at Ron who was straining against his father as he tried to reach the dancing Veela. Slightly more alarming was the fact that the Weasley twins had maniacal grins on their faces and both had drawn their wands. Bill and Charlie both had their fingers stuffed into their ears, and Charlie was trying to kick one or both of his brothers in the head. Hermione looked indignant, and had her arms crossed over her chest. She knew what Veela were, yet she found the men’s reaction to them disgusting. It was rather typical of her.

Harry was now quite grateful for Daphne. In an effort to impress the Veela, he might have blown up half of the stadium. Bagman had somehow broken free of the spell and began loudly barking out the names of the Bulgarian National Players. The Veela stopped dancing to mass boos. The twins and Ron both looked quite embarrassed. Arthur had an exasperated look on his face. “Damn those Bulgarians, bringing Veela to an even like this. I realize that they are native to that country, but it’s still unnecessary,” he grumbled.

The Bulgarian National team followed. The applause was the loudest for Viktor Krum, as it should have been. The Irish supporters were as anxious to see him play as the Bulgarian fans. The teams flew around for several more minutes as the referees met and took to the skies. The Head Referee was the mustachioed Hassan Mostafa, a veteran official of the Arab Quidditch League. With the mascots no longer commanding the attention of the crowd, Mostafa pointed towards the sideline, at a junior official carrying an ornate wooden box. He looked at his watch, and then nodded. The younger referee released the Golden Snitch. Ten seconds later, Mostafa drifted to the center of the field, the red Quaffle in his right hand. The Chasers waited opposing each other. Troy, Mullet, and Moran on one side, Ivanova, Levski, and Dimitrov on the other. The Beaters waited in the wings; the Bludgers were released as soon as play began. The Irish team’s Connolly and Quigley stared down the Bulgarian’s Volkov and Vulcanov. The Keepers, Zograf for Bulgaria and Ryan for Ireland, circled their hoops impatiently.

Mostafa blew his whistle, hurled the Quaffle skyward, and the 131st Quidditch World Cup began.

The Irish immediately showed off excellent teamwork. Moran seized the Quaffle and fired it to Mullet as two Bulgarian Chasers tried to strip him of the red ball. The Beaters began hammering the two Bludgers everywhere, their strokes short and precise, their aim perfect. Almost by instinct, the Chasers and two Seekers evaded the blows. The Irish Chasers were moving almost too fast to be seen, and Harry was having trouble keeping up with Bagman’s commentary. Troy to Mullet to Moran. Back to Troy, who did a spiraling dive to avoid a pair of well-struck Bludgers, before performing a behind the back pass to Mullet, cutting in from the right. He drove towards the goal, with Zograf rising to meet him, then flipped back to Troy. Zograf was not fooled when Troy immediately flipped it to Moran. But he didn’t see Mullet, and the feint worked perfectly as Mullet hurled it through the right goalpost to give Ireland a 10-0 lead.

The Leprechauns danced, performing a number of acrobatic jumps and riling the Irish supporters into a frenzy. Even Ginny was screaming. Harry was doing his best to keep neutral, to watch the game objectively, but that was becoming difficult.

The crowd was silenced however, when in a four second period, Moran was stripped of the Quaffle and Ivanova hurled it past the dazed Irish Keeper to even the score. The game was on.

Ireland scored four more times, taking a 50-10 lead. But it was clear from the beginning that Ireland had an enormous advantage in Chasers. The score reflected that, and even the skill of the Bulgarian Beaters couldn’t keep Troy, Mullet, and Moran from scoring constantly. No, in Harry’s eyes, the battle to watch was between the veteran Seeker Lynch and his young opponent Krum. Currently, both were searching for the Snitch, but neither one had spotted it, or attempted any kind of deceptive maneuver. But as a Seeker himself, Harry could see the strategy involved in both Seeker’s seemingly aimless drifting. They drifted slowly, away from the action, but were covering precise patterns that minimized the amount of space they could see. Lynch put on a burst of speed at one point, but before the rest of the crowd even noticed, he stopped, having either lost the Snitch or realizing he’d never seen it in the first place. Harry noted that Krum never moved to follow him. He was obviously extremely confident in his own abilities, so much that he decided that if he hadn’t seen it, then it wasn’t there.

It was a wise tactic. Doubt led to indecision. Indecision led to mistakes. Mistakes could cost you the contest.

Harry finally tired of watching the Seekers and turned his attention back to the rest of the game. Just in time to watch the Bulgarians rally. They began to slowly chip away at the lead, their Beaters changing tactics, with one running interference and the other harassing the Irish Chasers, breaking their practiced formations and creating confusion. In ten minutes, a 60-10 lead became 60-50. Then 60-60. Then, shockingly, Volkov hammered a Bludger into the back of Troy. To the crowd’s disbelief, Levski literally powered his way past the Keeper, shoving him aside and hurling the Quaffle into the center hoop at point-blank range. Bulgaria took the lead, 70-60. The Veela danced, but most of the Irish fans were too shocked by the turn of events to be entranced. The Bulgarians hooted and cried loudly. Lynch called timeout to reorganize his team as a large contingent of Irish fans began to boo.

“Well, this is certainly unexpected,” Arthur said. “No one has come close to stopping those three. Much less tied the game. I’m pretty sure this is the first time they’ve been behind the entire tournament. They won every other match they played handily. I think they blew out the Japanese by something like 400-10.”

Ginny looked stunned. “Wow,” she said. Harry nodded.

Mostafa blew his whistle, and the timeout was ended. The teams rose back into the air, but not before Lynch had screamed something at his three Chasers.

Whatever it was, it worked, because in the next five minutes, the Irish dominated. They scored five successive goals, and then answered an Ivanova goal with four more. It was 150-80, and the game was rapidly getting out of hand. Harry watched, using his Omnoculars to break down the last scoring drive. The movement, called a ‘Spinning Top Formation’ was executed flawlessly. Moran now had a game high 60 points.

There was a roar of the crowd, and Harry pulled down the Omnoculars and turned his attention to the drama unfolding in the middle of the field. Krum dove straight at the ground, almost vertical. Yet as he watched through the Omnoculars once more, there was something about his eyes that told Harry that this was a trick. A second later, he was dead certain it was a deception. And sure enough, Krum pulled out of his near suicidal dive and rocketed across the field. Lynch, following closely, wasn’t so lucky. He slammed into the ground, catapulted off his broomstick and flung hard onto his back. He lay there, motionless. Hermione gasped in horror. He waved an arm, and the crowd cheered a bit. Lynch called time out, and a pair of mediwizards headed out to him. Miraculously, Lynch managed to get back on his broom and take off, though his flight was somewhat wobbly. The crowd roared with approval at the grit and toughness of the Irish captain. He waved weakly back.

Still, for all his heroics, it was only a minute and a half later that Krum tricked him again, and again he smashed headlong into the grass. This time, he managed to slow, for all the good it did. However, what was different was that although Lynch hadn’t realized it was a Wronski feint, Connolly had. And he crushed a Bludger sending it hurtling through the air at Krum’s head. He apparently didn’t hit it as well as Harry though initially, because the impact didn’t knock Krum unconscious. It did shatter his nose. Blood poured from the ruined proboscis, but Krum refused attention. He was focused on one thing: the Snitch. With the Bulgarians now trailing by 150 points, he was rapidly becoming their only hope to salvage a victory.

The Irish Chasers continued to pound the Quaffle deep into the Bulgarian’s side of the field, doing away entirely with intricate passes and instead going for strong, hard move. There were multiple collisions, two of which resulted in Bulgarian penalty shots. But even those 20 points meant little: the Irish lead grew to 220, and the game was rapidly becoming a blowout.

But once again, the Bulgarians refused to allow the game to slip out of reach. Incredibly, they made the adjustment, holding the rampaging trio of Troy, Mullet, and Moran to just 20 points as they in turn sent the Quaffle soaring past the outstretched arms of Ryan twelve times. A half-hour after the game had appeared to be over, it was suddenly 400-280. The game remained within reach. But Lynch called his final non-injury timeout, and the Chasers rallied. The thrilling game, just over an hour-and-a-half old, now saw the Irish leading 440-290. And then it came to a sudden and shocking end.

Harry attributed the fact that he spotted the flicker of gold that was the coveted Golden Snitch before Krum did to the fact that he was sitting, relatively comfortably, in the top box of the stands, whereas Krum was soaring high above a confused maelstrom of red and green blurs. He set off after it, but had to wait; if he caught it now, with the Bulgarians trailing by 150, it would be a tie. He wanted a win. And it seemed like he would get it when Dimitrov fired a shot that deflected off of Ryan’s right arm…right into the right hoop. The Bulgarians roared, the Veela danced, and Krum launched himself in pursuit of the Snitch.

But all he saw was Lynch desperately flattening himself against his broom in an effort to keep up with him. He was using all of his focus in his pursuit of the tiny winged ball. And so he didn’t see Troy score his 12th goal of the game, making the lead 150. And as he put on a final burst of speed, he didn’t see a well-aimed Bludger from Connolly slam into the right arm of Ivanova, breaking it at the elbow and allowing Mullet to scoop up the loose Quaffle. And his certainly didn’t see Mullet fly straight at the Keeper, barreling into him, and, just before the moment of impact, throwing the Quaffle with incredible precision past the left ear of Zograf, giving the Irish a decisive 160 point lead seconds before Krum’s gloved hand closed around the struggling Snitch. The game was over.

But as the crowd exploded, Harry watched, still stunned by what he’d seen, as Krum’s grin of triumph turned to a look of pure horror.

“IRELAND WINS!!!!!!!” Bagman cried. The crowd erupted, shaking the very foundations of the stadium. The Weasleys cheered loudly, and Tonks began performing a rapid series of changes that appeared like a blue of color, Harry presumed in celebration. Fred and George high-fived one another as Arthur slapped Ron on the back. Ginny screamed, and Hermione laughed at her. On the field, the entire green-clad team barreled into the hero, Mullet, combining into a surging mass of celebrating green-robed figures.

But Harry’s attention was elsewhere. His eyes followed Viktor Krum as he dejectedly floated towards the ground, dismounting and slowly trudging back towards the Bulgarian locker room. A few players slapped him on the back as they left the field. Finally, his frustration boiled over, and he hurled the Snitch to the ground, stomping on it and crushing it to pieces. He spat on it, and stormed down the tunnel out of sight.

Harry was amazed. He’d just watched the greatest Seeker in the world lose a match for his country, and then lose his composure. The legend of Viktor Krum had, for now, been brutally torn down.

Harry and Daphne separated themselves from the throngs of people leaving the stadium, and without explaining what was happening to Hermione and Ginny, slipped into the dark night. They headed for the edge of the moor, far away from any of the tents. There were loud cries of glee and exaltation as the post-match parties got underway. There would be many hung-over wizards leaving the moor the next morning.

Harry stared into the darkness. He didn’t know where he was going, but he continued to follow Daphne. The confidence in her walk told him she knew exactly where they were going to meet the Greengrasses. And soon enough, out of the pitch darkness, the silhouettes of two people became visible. As they drew closer, he got his first look at Aiden Greengrass. To say the least, it was not what he had expected.

“Let’s get a little light, shall we?” he asked, in a jovial, relaxed tone. “Incendio!” A small jet of blue fire shot out of the end of his wand and onto a pile of sticks that had obviously been arranged; illuminating the woods they now stood in. Harry looked closely at the father and daughter. Daphne wore plain black robes, with her hair half-up, half-down. She wore a necklace that might possibly have been pearl, but she didn’t look that much different from how she looked everyday at school. On the other hand, as he took in the sight of Aiden Greengrass, there were quite a few surprises.

Aiden Greengrass was a tall man, just less than two meters, with a slim, athletic frame. He appeared quite young, maybe not even in his forties. He wore robes of a dark crimson, lined with gold. His dark blonde hair was wavy and worn long, and he had a neatly trimmed goatee. His blue eyes, less pale than his daughter’s, were curious and searching as they looked him over. But he seemed to be staring past Harry’s physical appearance, almost as if looking into his magical core. It was unnerving, but in a different way than Daphne’s universal apathy. What most surprised Harry was that he saw no trace of the pain that the man had suffered in losing his wife and elder daughter. His guardian wore her past like a colorful robe; beyond the disfiguring scars that marred her face, one could look into her eyes and see the agony she had been through. Aiden’s eyes betrayed none of that, but still showed emotion, unlike his daughter. He appeared almost childlike. It distantly reminded Harry of the pictures he’d seen of Edmond Dressler.

Daphne seemed slightly less taken aback, but he could feel her surprise. She recovered, of course. “Are you planning to stare at him for a few hours, Aiden? Or is there a point to this meeting?” she asked, her voice suspicious and cold. It became obvious to Harry that no matter what she said, she didn’t like the fact that her ward was rubbing shoulders with dangerous Purebloods.

Aiden cleared his throat. “I apologize, Daphne,” he said, using her first name in kind. That was tradition among Purebloods; whatever name that a person addressed you by (assuming of course, that it was not an insult) was the name that both participants in a conversation would use, be it surname or given name. To do otherwise carried with it an implication of hostility. “I must admit, Mr. Potter, that I am somewhat surprised with the way you’ve turned out. I expected the unusual maturity and critical gaze, but I did not expect that you would end up in the same House as my daughter. I expected that you would join my House.”

Harry frowned. He was implying that he hadn’t been a Slytherin, quite unusual for a Pureblood patriarch. A Ravenclaw, perhaps? “And what House would that be, sir?” he asked quietly.

Aiden smiled. It was warm, but it also had an element of anticipation. He understood why as soon as he responded. “Why, Gryffindor, my dear boy. The House of your parents and their friends.”

That revelation hit Harry like the Hogwarts Express going at top speed. A Gryffindor? Aiden Greengrass, one of the most feared and respected men in the Pureblood community, an expert on Dark curses and how to defend against them had been a Gryffindor? Suddenly, the red robes with gold trim made sense. He’d been sending a hint. And Harry had completely missed it.

His guardian was growing impatient. “Enough, Aiden. You called us out here for a reason, did you not?”

The tall man nodded. “I assume,” he began, “that if you are here, that you received my letter. And that you know, from that letter and from what my daughter told you, that I have taken a great interest in your progress.”

“If I may ask, why?” Harry queried.

For reasons unknown to him, Aiden’s daughter had to hide a bit of a grimace. The fact that Harry noticed anything at all paid tribute to how much she disapproved. Aiden was pensive for a moment. “I assume you know what happened to my family. My wife, Lysa, and my eldest daughter, Margaret, were murdered by Voldemort’s Death Eaters. Daphne and I survived because we thought it best to separate, and make it more difficult for the Greengrass line to be exterminated, as was the Dark Lord’s goal. We were, in that way, successful. But the only reason that I survived was because the Dark Lord was defeated…by you,” he said slowly. “As you might think, I have a bit of a debt to you…at least, before I learned that I had misplaced my gratitude. That I really owned my life, and the life of my young daughter, to a common Muggleborn. That you did not possess any remarkable power as an infant, and that it was something as unremarkable as love that saved you.”

“I’d like to remind you that Aiden is an expert - if not the expert - on Dark Curses and their effects. It’s hardly surprising that he was able to put together what happened that night,” the Grey Maiden interjected. “He’s also one of the best duelists in Britain…after me and Bellatrix, of course.” Daphne was obviously trying to make a statement by bragging, something she rarely did. She was trying to establish some kind of superiority over Aiden.

Harry nodded. He knew all of this already, from his guardian and Daphne Greengrass. But hearing Aiden admit all of this was still meaningful. He listened politely as the Greengrass patriarch continued. “Still, though I eventually accepted that you had little or nothing to do with the fall of the Dark Lord, I refused to give up on you. You see, Harry, it was incomprehensible to me that you, of all the Wizarding children in the world, would have been specifically targeted by the Dark Lord. Because this was not a simply raid to eliminate two important members of the Order of the Phoenix. The death of your parents was collateral damage. The real target was you. And that is the question that has baffled and fascinated me for the last ten or so years. I have conducted extensive studies of Wizarding history, for history tends to repeat itself, for similar cases, where an infant was responsible for some kind of extraordinarily important historical event. And I found exactly one case. Do you know what it was?”

"Merlin," his guardian said. Then, he realized that it wasn't an exclamation. It was the answer to the question. Confirming his suspicions, Daphne continued. "During the first ten years of his life, Merlin, as an extremely powerful Wizarding child in a world where magical and Muggle were intermingled in a tenuous coexistence, was repeatedly targeted in his youth by enemies of his grandfather, a minor king of Demetia. He survived three separate assassination attempts on his own, and would eventually grow to become the greatest wizard in history." Harry suspected that Daphne had been doing similar reading, accounting for her detailed recollection.

"Daphne omits the most intriguing parts of the stories," Aiden said. "Specifically, those that link one of those failed attempts to the fall of Vortigern, and the subsequent war with the Saxons, all of which, of course, lead to the establishment of a kingdom in the west of England, a kingdom that legend says was ruled by a king named Arthur. And at his side..."

"The wizard Merlin," Harry answered. He struggled to recall what he knew of the 'historical' Merlin - well, to the extent that such a person could be said with any certainty to have existed.

His guardian looked skeptical. "Aiden, even if you give credence to those legends - and that is what they are - you have to extrapolate a fair bit to reach that kind of conclusion."

Aiden smiled. "Do I? Was it not Vortigern who ordered the attempt on the infant Merlin, fearing that his royal blood combined with magical power might threaten what some saw as an illegitimate crown, after the mysterious death of his brother Constans?"

Harry was a bit lost now. And so, it seemed, was his guardian.

As far as Harry knew, the story of Merlin, though it shared a few similarities to the tale of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table told to young Muggle children, was in fact much different from that legend. Merlin was far more than simply an advisor to the Muggle King – he exercised power and even dominion, to some extent, from England to Japan. Only twenty years before his death, he acted as a private tutor for four of the most important wizards and witches in Wizarding history: Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff, and Rowena Ravenclaw. The founding of Hogwarts forever transformed Wizarding education, as it moved from private tutoring that few could afford to a large boarding school setup. The Beaxbatons Academy, Durmstrang, and around a dozen other magical schools were all established in the following one hundred years.

"Aiden, are you suggesting that the attempt on the infant Merlin led to the fall of Vortigern? And with him the native British to the Saxon settlers?"

"Quite possibly," he said, a certain deal of enthusiasm in his voice. "And I have uncovered possible evidence that makes me believe all the stronger that Merlin was, from his infancy to his death, a consummate King-Maker and King-Breaker. A power broker of untold influence and might within both the wizarding and Muggle worlds, even when the two were inseperable, as they once were. And as you could imagine, that fueled my desire to unravel the mystery. As my daughter can attest, I became almost obsessed. Not with you specifically, but with what you represented. I kept an eye on you, to be sure, but knew nothing of your whereabouts except that you were somewhere on the North American continent with Daphne Dressler. When you returned, I continued to follow your progress. I had faith that I would see evidence of your great destiny. And at the end of your second year, when my daughter described to me everything that the Daily Prophet omitted, I felt that something great had happened. My groundless speculation at last had firmer ground to stand upon."

“But you didn’t know what had happened,” his daughter said, speaking for the first time. “And you spent the entire summer trying to find out. And then you told me to contact him, and communicate your interest. I decided to find out if you were worthy of my father’s attentions,” She said to Harry. “I tested you on several occasions in several different ways. I remain skeptical. Though the events at the end of last year, specifically, the change you seemed to undergo, have done much to erase my doubt, at least in your magical potential.” Daphne’s voice, as usual, betrayed nothing, and Harry had to carefully listen to each word to determine how she felt. He thought she was being completely truthful.

“That change being?” Daphne asked.

The younger girl met her gaze, not showing the slightest reaction to her marred features and hard stare. “The massive increase in power that I’m sure you know the origin of. The fact that he now stood out from all of the other Wizarding children at Hogwarts, that he seemed to possess power of an amount that was unheard of for a young wizard. The fact that he became more confident in his stride, in the way he carried himself. All of these changed overnight,” she said in a level, matter-of-factly voice.

Harry’s guardian didn’t reply. She stared down the much younger woman, most likely stunned by the composure and maturity that she showed. She shook her head slightly, pulling herself out of her thoughts. She returned her gaze to Aiden. “What do you propose?” she asked, her voice hard, though not demanding.

Aiden spread his hands. “I propose nothing concrete. I am willing to continue communication between Harry and myself, but I am willing to commit to nothing at this time. I risk much by associating with you.”

“That is a given, Aiden,” Daphne told him. “I am not asking you to commit to an alliance or any kind of agreement set in stone. All I ask of you is that you tell me something that I didn’t already know.”

Aiden considered that. “I’m not sure I can do what you ask, Daphne,” he said quietly. “I am in a precarious position, but I promise you this: if either of you are in danger, in any way, I will come to your aid. But I will not acknowledge this agreement in public. I cannot risk that.”

Daphne nodded. Harry spoke. “Thank you, Mr. Greengrass,” he said. “I will look forward to meeting with you again.”

“Please, Harry, call me Aiden in private. Assuming I may do the same, of course,” the man told him.

Harry nodded. “Very well. We should be leaving now.”

Daphne concurred. “We will retire for the night. I assume that you are departing.”

“You are correct,” Aiden told her. “I have business to attend to back at my Manor. It was good seeing you again, Daphne.”

Daphne didn’t respond verbally, merely nodding. As they turned to go, there were a series of loud explosions from the direction of the campsites. At first, Harry thought they might just be part of the celebration. Then he heard the screams.

Daphne cursed. “I knew they wouldn’t be able to resist,” she hissed. “Death Eaters,” she told all four of them. “I saw many of them today, and anticipated something like this. They’ve been restless. I feel the Dark Magic swirling in the air.” As she spoke, the field was illuminated by a red-orange glow. Someone had started a fire. “We must go,” she said quickly. Aiden nodded and he and his daughter disappeared into the darkness. Once they were gone, Daphne grabbed Harry’s hand, jerking him into motion. They ran alongside one another, wands drawn, and raced back over the moor towards the chaos surrounding what was left of the Wizarding dwellings. The screams were getting louder now, and not just because they were getting closer. When they reached the outskirts of the camp, they found numerous wizards in a panic, racing about with half-packed suitcases, fleeing the methodical devastation inflicted by the Death Eaters. Daphne and Harry head the opposite direction and ducked behind a few tents. They could hear Burning Curses being cast from up ahead. The area they were now in was completely deserted, or at least, it appeared that way. Harry saw a flash of blue hair. “Tonks,” he breathed. Daphne nodded.

“Andi,” she hissed. Andromeda and her daughter poked their heads out from behind a tent. “Did they teach you how to lay an ambush in Auror School?” she asked the young Auror graduate. Tonks nodded. “Then use those skills. I don’t intend to defeat them all, but we’ll be able to scatter them. They are most likely drunk and not expecting resistance. If we cut down a few, the rest will flee,” she whispered. “Wait for me, I’ll start it.”

They waited. The sound of marching feet and randomly thrown Burning Curses grew louder. Harry waited behind Daphne’s back, his wand clutched tightly in his right hand, trying to figure out what combination of spells he would use. His heart pounded in his ears, sweat dripping down his back. He was tired, and not in any shape for a prolonged duel. He could only hope that Daphne was right about the Death Eater’s cowardice. He peered through a small gap between the fabric of the tent they hid behind, and saw the column approaching. They were dressed in black, wearing white masks and chanting rhythmically. One of them randomly blew up a tent for no apparent reason other than a desire to cause destruction. They drew closer, and Harry’s heart began to race faster as he feared that they might torch the tents that the four of them were hiding behind. “Wait,” she whispered. “One…two…three!” She cried the last, and flung herself directly into the marching Death Eater’s path, dropping into a dueling stance. She allowed her cloak to fly off, exposing her scarred features.

The Death Eaters were stunned by her appearance, but instead of a Killing Curse, which Harry had feared his guardian would use, she used a Flinging Hex to launch the lead Death Eaters backwards into his compatriots, throwing all of them to the ground. Tonks and Andromeda leapt out of hiding, and the young Auror, displaying all of the grace that she never displayed in everyday situations, launched a barrage of Striking Curses and Bludgeoning Curses, hammering the Death Eaters to the ground. Daphne’s attack because more vicious, and a powerful Blasting Curse struck the ground in front of the formation, blowing surprised and disoriented Death Eaters into the air.

Harry, sensing his moment, emerged, and sent a bolt of pure magical energy into the center of the formation. The purple light struck the ground, causing a massive explosion. It didn’t kill any of the Death Eaters, but it was more than enough to cause them to turn and flee, most dragging with them broken bones and twisted ankles. Harry sagged, as if most of his energy had been poured into that burst. Several of them fired curses back at their attackers, which Daphne blocked with ease. With the Death Eaters in retreat, she grabbed Harry by the shoulder. “We’ve done our job; let’s get out of here!” she cried over the din. Tonks, Andromeda, and Harry ran away as Daphne followed, hurling curses to fend off pursuit and blocking any stray spells from the Death Eaters. “Bloody Ministry,” she cursed.

They ran back through the tents, towards the woods on the other side of the moor. They ducked behind a row of tents once they were far from their attackers. They could hear CRACKs in the distance as either Ministry reinforcements arrived or the Death Eaters Disapparated. Suddenly, Harry felt himself grabbed by the shoulders and roughly spun around. He tried to resist, but felt his knees go weak as he saw that Daphne had seized him. In the darkness, her scarred face was straight out a nightmare. “What do you think you were doing?” she demanded, her voice harsh and strained.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, his voice weak. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Daphne this furious with him. She was breathing heavily, and angrily swiped her hair out of her face as she formulated a response.

“I have warned you about using that…ability,” she said, spitting the word. “It is dangerous. You know that,” she said, her words soft, yet with a hard edge. This wasn’t just her normal concern for his well-being. There was something else there, some kind of desperation that he’d never seen in her before.

“Harry? Daphne?” Tonks’ voice called out. “Where are you?”

“Over here!” Daphne yelled. “We’ll continue this conversation later. Do not try what you did again,” she ordered him. Harry gave in.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, almost as a junior Auror would speak to his commander.

Tonks and Andromeda made their way over. “S’place is deserted,” Tonks reported. “They must have run somewhere else when those bloody Death Eaters started blowing things up. Maybe into the forest?” she suggested.

“Possibly,” Andromeda said. “I don’t hear anything, though.”

Daphne considered for a moment. “It’s unlikely the Ministry has evacuated them. They are hiding-”

“MORSMORDRE!” a harsh, hoarse voice cried, shattering the silence. Daphne’s eyes widened as a green jet of light shot into the sky, the same hue as a Killing Curse. It blossomed, and a sickly green apparition appeared high over the forest. Harry recognized it instantly. It was the image of a serpent sliding out the mouth of a skull. The Dark Mark.

Daphne took off towards the point where the castor must have been. But by the time they caught up with her, she was standing alone in a clearing, examining a familiar-looking wand. She turned to face them. “Whoever cast it is gone. We should go-”

Multiple CRACKs of Apparating wizards sounded. A circle of about twenty wizards formed around them, and they began firing Stunning Spells. Harry, Daphne, Andromeda, and Tonks deflected them with ease. Only a lone, surprised opponent, or an unarmed one, would have been taken down by the Stunners. The wizard clearly in charge cried out to his compatriots. “Cease fire!”

Daphne stepped forward. “Amos. It took you long enough. The castor is gone.”

“We’ll see about that,” a refined voice said. An older man wearing fine robes and dark hair stepped forward. It was Bartemius Crouch, the former Head of Magical Law Enforcement, a position now held by Amelia Bones. “Hand over that wand, Dressler.”

Daphne looked surprised. “Which one? My own or the one I found on the ground, the one that was undoubtedly used to cast the Dark Mark?” Before they could answer, she pointed her own wand at the apparition and cried, “Deletrius!” The green serpent and skull vanished. Daphne returned her wand to her wrist holster, and then flipped the wand she had found to the man apparently called Amos. Harry didn’t know or recognize him. But he did recognize one of the men standing off to the side. It was Arthur Weasley. He ran over to him.

“Where are Ginny and Hermione?” he asked. Arthur looked up in surprise. “They’re with the others; I don’t know where. The Death Eaters have gone, so they aren’t in any danger. I suppose you might have had something to do with that.”

“You could say that,” Harry replied. “And thank you,” he added, returning to his guardian’s side. She stood a few feet from Crouch, her arms defiantly crossed across her chest. She and Crouch clearly had an unpleasant history.

Finally, Crouch cast a Reverse Spell, and it was confirmed that the wand Daphne had found had been used to cast the Dark Mark. What came next was unexpected. “Can’t you cast a spell to find out who it’s registered to?” Daphne asked, obviously perfectly aware that they could do exactly that.

Crouch growled in annoyance, and performed the spell. Harry’s jaw dropped. He had been right when he thought the wand looked familiar. The name floating in the air was Hermione Jane Granger.

“The wand must have been stolen,” Harry found himself saying. “Hermione’s a Muggleborn; there’s no way she could have cast the Dark Mark…nor would she have any desire to.”

Crouch and Amos both nodded. “Very well.” He tossed the wand in the air, and Harry caught it. “Return the wand to your friend.”

“Sir,” one of the Ministry wizards called. “I saw some movement in the bushes.”

Crouch’s head snapped in his direction. “Where?”

“Over here,” another called. “But…bloody hell, what is she doing here?”

The entire group hurried over. As they drew closer they could hear faint sobs. Harry peered through the group of onlookers. Ludo Bagman, wand drawn, towered over a house elf. A familiar-looking one. Winky, to be exact. “Elf? What are you doing here? This is a crime scene!” Crouch roared angrily. Winky cowered in fear.

“Winky was…Winky was…” she sobbed.

“I don’t care what you were doing. You disobeyed a direct order. That means clothes,” Crouch said gruffly.

Winky begged to be punished in some other way, but Crouch had clearly made up his mind. Hermione’s not going to be happy with this, Harry thought. Once the house-elf had been dealt with, Crouch turned back to the wizards that had come with him. “Return to your families and make sure they are well. If you can, help supervise the departure. I have a feeling many wizards have already made illegal Apparitions to escape the chaos. I’ll also need someone to record all of the destroyed tents. We’ll be getting insurance demands soon.”

With that, the men dispersed. Arthur approached where Daphne, Harry, Tonks, and Andromeda stood. “Crouch can be a right old bastard sometimes,” he admitted. “Let’s find my family and Hermione,” he suggested.

They located them about a half-hour later. Hermione and Ginny were extremely relieved to see him (and both showed it, much to Ron’s displeasure.) They were alarmed when they found out what part he had played in the entire thing. They both chastised him for putting himself in danger, though Ginny seemed to blame Daphne more for getting him in trouble. They also both demanded to know where he had disappeared to. Arthur saved him from having to lie by announcing that the Weasleys would be returning to the Burrow, and that the rest of them were welcome to come. Daphne accepted the generous offer.