August 13, 1994
Black Manor
2:54 AM

The air inside the tower cell felt like a stifling vice after the cool, misty weather in England. Harry had not realized until now how accustomed he had grown to the dementors’ gloom. “You have met again with Voldemort?” Grindelwald asked from his corner of the room.

Harry gave a distracted sort of nod. “Earlier tonight, yeah.” 

“And what did you learn from the meeting?”

The distracted expression faded and was replaced by something more contemplative. “Learn?”

“There is a lesson in each breath we breathe. You must learn to recognize them and learn from them.” Grindelwald interlaced his fingers. “So what did you learn?”

Harry cast his mind back to that dark room and the mist-cloaked balcony overlooking the gardens. “Does it have to be a lesson?” 

“Not necessarily,” Grindelwald replied. “Information is valuable in its own right.”

“Voldemort uses magic to punish his Death Eaters.” That had bothered him in a deep, persistent manner he could not quite identify. “I saw him use wandless magic against one of them tonight, and when he threatened punishment if anyone disobeyed him, he started stroking his wand.”

Grindelwald’s eyes twinkled in a way not unlike Dumbledore’s. “That is valuable.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure about valuable, but it was eye-opening.”

“Enlightening, as well. It shows not only Voldemort’s character, but his insecurities.”

Harry cocked his head. “What do you mean his insecurities?”

“If Voldemort was confident in the loyalty of his servants, he would not need threats. The fact he does implies a certain wariness on his part.”

Harry eyed his mentor. “Is that valuable?” he asked. “Voldemort might just be paranoid.”

“I’m sure Voldemort is paranoid, but that does not make the facts any less important,” Grindelwald said with decisive certainty. “Paranoia often finds its roots in soil comprised from truth. Those fears do not come from nowhere. It might be that, as a boy, Voldemort failed inspiring loyalty in any of his friends. It might also be that he has mistreated them so severely, he doubts they will overlook the offences if they are not reminded.”

Harry leant back against the wall, mulling over what Grindelwald had said. The memory of a well-kept between two hedges resurfaced, a memory of setting sunlight shining in Draco’s blond hair as the young boy bowed his head and trembled.

“M-my Father will serve him again. My m-mother never wanted anything to do with it. She thought it was s-s-stupid and dangerous.”

“My friend’s afraid of him,” Harry mused aloud. “His father serves him and his mother knows what’s going on. I’m not sure if she serves or not, but my friend says she thinks it’s stupid and that she never wanted anything to do with Voldemort or his regime.”

“See?” Grindelwald asked with the barest trace of a smile. “There is value in information. You have found a crack in his ranks already.”

“Maybe, but I’m not sure how it’s useful. I need to be strong before I can be free. I guess if Voldemort was going to win the war before I was strong enough, I could maybe try using it to slow him down, or something? The Malfoys are important allies.”

Grindelwald made a tsk, tsk sound. “You think too narrowly.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“You believe in my cause and will champion it.” Harry opened his mouth but fell quiet when Grindelwald held up a hand. “You know I am correct. That cause dies if Voldemort conquers. You must stop him — you will stop him.”

Harry resisted the urge to gawk with difficulty. “Stop him? I can’t—”

“That will change,” Grindelwald cut in. “Note these cracks now. One day you will reach between brick and mortar and tear them open, pulling his foundations down around him before setting them ablaze.”

Why were all the most powerful sorcerers madder than a frothing dog? Was that the fate awaiting Harry if he survived? “There’s more,” he said, moving things along before he had too much time to dwell. “Voldemort means to enter me into the Triwizard Tournament.”

“Ah, the one you mentioned taking place at all three of the dominant European schools of witchcraft and wizardry.”

“Yes. Only seventeen-year-olds and up can enter. Dumbledore’s going to draw up an age line, but Voldemort still plans to enter me. He thinks I can—”

Grindelwald snorted. “It would not be competitive.”

Harry let out the breath he had been holding. “That’s what I tried telling him — in subtler words than that. How am I supposed to—”

“You would embarrass them.” Harry snapped his jaw shut and fell still. “Do not look surprised. Already you know magic they could never dream of and you have spent the past month practicing with some of the greatest minds in their respective fields. You already report notable improvements against this Dolohov.”

That much was true. He had never made so much progress in anything so fast. But there’s more to a tournament like this than duelling. That was perhaps his strongest area, but there were others he was not so skilled in. “It doesn’t matter either way, I guess,” he muttered. “It looks like I’ll be entered, one way or the other. Voldemort thinks it will boost my fame even more and that it will be useful.”

A smile crested the warlord’s lips. “Voldemort is a fool, but not an unintelligent one. Your victory would heighten the influence you might one day wield.” Grindelwald unlaced his fingers, drumming them against his knee. “You will use the influence to change the world — not to aid a fool who would see it burn in his own, bigoted pursuit.” Hell must finally have frozen over if the two of them were agreeing on something so insane as this.

“Think,” Grindelwald pressed on.“You have told me before you dislike the attention because you feel it is unearned.”

Harry scowled at the opposite wall. “It is. It’s stupid — I just got hit with a Killing Curse.”

“Then earn their attention. If you win this tournament, never again will they call you the Boy-Who-Lived. Instead you will be the Boy-Who-Won, the Boy-Who-Conquered-Against-All-Odds.”

Harry paused. The stares felt different when he imagined them, more like the way they did after a well-played game of Quidditch. Or when Pansy compliments me. Those are always nice. More of those… so many more of those…

It was a tantalizing prospect. That much he could admit. 

And there were other benefits as well. I do better when pushed and challenged. Dolohov had proven that this past month. This tournament would push me. How much stronger would it force him to become?

Harry let out a long sigh. “I’m going to do this, aren’t I?”

“You will.” Grindelwald’s smile was knowing and like a knife. “It will strengthen you and those titles I mentioned should suffice before you become the Boy-Who-Saved-the-World.”

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Twelve hours later, at Malfoy Manor…

“Who do you have for the World Cup?” Draco asked, sweeping blond curls up out his eyes.

Harry tossed a practice snitch from one hand to the other as he looked up toward the clock. There was still some time before his scheduled appointment with Lucius. “I know Ireland and Bulgaria are the favourites. I don’t know much about Ireland. Just that their chasers are strong.”

Draco snorted. “Strong is an understatement. They probably have the world’s best chaser trio.”

“How’s Bulgaria’s team shaping up besides Krum?”

Draco licked his lips, as if considering. “Their chasers are on the weaker side and their keeper looks unimpressive,” the blond admitted. “Their beaters are respectable. Probably on par with Ireland’s.”

Harry remembered the whistling of a rogue bludger hot on his tail, the way his hair flapped in a strong breeze each time it missed him by mere inches. “I’d lean toward Ireland. Bulgaria’s beaters will probably focus on trying to slow down the chasers, which will let Ireland’s target Krum if they play in the finals. I know he’s brilliant, but if they can hold him back long enough, it won’t matter if he catches the snitch.”

Draco hummed. “I reckon Krum catches it early, but your logic’s sound.” Harry watched Draco closely as his eyelids pressed shut and his mouth yawned open. He had been yawning often, as of late, and dark bags had claimed permanent residence underneath his eyes.

“You won’t get to play Quidditch this year, will you?” Draco asked when finished yawning.

“I guess not.” The fact had escaped his consideration thus far. “Not unless they host some matches at the other schools, or something.” He waited for the disappointment but felt no sign of it. That realization brought on a bitter burn. Was there nothing he enjoyed these days? Had Voldemort taken happiness from him? Or had Grindelwald?

“I’m surprised you don’t already know.” Draco’s lips twisted halfway into a sneer, then settled back into a resting state. “It seems like you know everything else that’s going on.”

Harry bit his tongue. There was no use in lashing out. It would accomplish nothing. Instead he forced himself to shrug. “I only know about the tournament, really.”

“That’s a damn sight more than anyone else.” Draco’s grey eyes looked past Harry and out the window behind him. “I miss first year, you know. Remember when we chased each other around classrooms throwing Tickling Jinxes?”

“I remember you saying how undignified it was back then.” What felt like his first smile in days found its way up onto Harry’s lips. “Right until Theodore had you rolling with laughter.”

“It was undignified, and I miss it. Everything was so simple back then. We were all friends and were just being kids. Now…” Draco’s voice trailed off.

The bitterness rose up in Harry yet again. Its taste was sharper than a mouthful of broken glass. Another childhood ruined by all of this. That was at least five now. Mine, Weasley’s, Longbottom’s, Lovegood’s, and now Draco’s…. Against his will he saw gleaming bones jutted out through broken skin and the spill of blood over bright snow. Why is it always children? 

“I miss them too.” The words came unbidden, spilling out from the deepest corners of his mind. “I don’t enjoy things like I used to. The idea of not playing Quidditch this year doesn’t bother me, going back to Hogwarts doesn’t feel exciting — there are a bunch of things like that; things I used to love but that don’t make me feel a thing these days.” His fingers had curled tight around the arms of his chain without him realizing. Slowly he released his grip. “I wish we could have stayed out of it.” Harry lowered his eyes. “There’s no way I could have avoided it, but I wish you never followed me down into the Chamber of Secrets.“

“Don’t be stupid.” Harry looked up, surprised by how forceful Draco’s retort had been. “Riddle was torturing you and Weasley was frozen. Had I not been there…” The words faded like droplets of water off hot asphalt in mid-summer.

“I know.” Harry rangled his emotions and breathed out long and deep. “I’m happy you were there. I just… I wish it didn’t lead to all this.” 

“Me too.” The distant look Draco had briefly adopted crumbled off his face. “Is that why you’re not interested in Pansy anymore?”

The grip Harry held on his now clear mind came perilously close to slipping. “What?”

“Come off it,” Draco said with a dismissive gesture. “Everyone sees it. She tries cuddling up to you and all you do is stare off.” There was a short, stiff pause. “It’s bothering her, you know? She’s got her knickers in a right twist about it.”

The cold hands of guilt reached their frigid fingers into Harry. “I hadn’t thought about it that way,” he muttered, and then sighed. “I don’t think I was ever that interested, really. I like Pansy and I liked the attention back then, but I always just went along with everything.”

Draco rubbed at both temples. “You should probably tell her that.”

Harry could not help but stare. “You’re giving me advice about girls?”

Pink flooded Draco’s cheeks. “I’m passing on things my mother’s told me. She always said it isn’t good letting things drag on.”

Harry looked away, the guilt still tugging at his stomach. “I just don’t want to end it. I’d feel bad.”

“She’ll move on and find something else,” Draco assured him. “We’ll all just have to deal with a bit of pouting.”

A cold fist closed inside his stomach, squeezing the guilt away. In its place was something cold and leaden. I don’t want to lose Pansy. She had supported him during a year when almost everyone else had turned their backs, she had abandoned her friendship with Daphne for him — she had always been there, patient and unplayable as an ancient oak tree. “You’re sure?” he forced out, trying to keep the worry from his voice.

Draco must have heard it because his shoulders slumped. “No,” he admitted, “but I don’t see how what you’re doing is any better and I’m sure my mother or Diana could give more confident advice.”

The clock chimed and Harry stood. “I’ll ask Diana,” he decided. “Thanks, Draco. It was nice, just hanging out again.”

Draco’s smile was a brittle thing, but there was warmth in it. “We should do it again soon.”

Harry conjured up a brighter, wider smile of his own.

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