Fudge stammered. "As per the investigation -"
"Lord Black, you served as an auror during the last war, correct sir? What is your opinion?" Someone else shouted over Fudge. The Minister leaned across to say something to Sirius, his face smudged with red anger. But at that moment, by pure happenstance and not at all on purpose, Dumbledore blocked his view from the rest of them.
Sirius was normally light-hearted and jovial, but in moments like these, clad in fine robes and having complete control over the crowd before uttering a single word, Harry thought his godfather could be rather intimidating. Sirius released a familiar, impish grin, and he saw Fudge tense at the worrisome gesture.
"In my opinion, they were Death Eaters. They wore the same uniforms, including their infamous bone masks. They raised the Dark Mark and tortured muggles and muggleborns. They used similar techniques as used in raids in the previous war: runework mixed with potions for large-scale disasters and avoiding close-range combat. The one culprit killed during the attack was tried as a Death Eater during the last war - he pled innocent by Imperius but clearly he kept the robes. So yes, I believe that it was Death Eaters who arranged the attack. Now whether or not Voldemort himself was involved - " The crowd murmured in shock and horror at his casual use of the name. " - I cannot confirm. I cannot deny either. That his remaining forces would spontaneously and without outside influence plan out an attack of that scale is unlikely to me. We should be alert for further escalation."
The reporters buzzed like a swarm of angry bees rushing after the scent of honey - or a good story - lingering in the air.
"The name of the deceased assailant was not released to the public!"
"Yeah, but I killed him," Sirius said with a shrug. "So I know who he is. His name was Bulbous Crabbe."
"This all very interesting I'm sure, but we aren't here to interview Mr. Black!" Fudge insisted.
"Feel free to owl me for a comment," Sirius said with a cheeky grin. The reporters, sharp-eyed and willing to take Sirius up on that offer, settled into a riotous bout of frantic note-taking and whispered conversation.
"Wow. Look at the time. Our champions have lessons to return to, don't they?" Fudge said. Sirius took the invitation to steer Harry away from the crowd over towards where the other champions were waiting, ignoring the angry calls from Fudge following after them. The four of them fled as the journalists turned their ire back onto the Minister and slipped into the blissful quiet of the hall.
"Will you be alright from here, love?" Sirius asked. "I need to owl the solicitor after all that mess."
"Yeah, thanks a ton Sirius."
"Lord Black," Viktor inclined his head. "Good to see you again."
"You too. I'd say I'm rooting for you but," he patted Harry's shoulder. "Miss Delacour, congrats to you as well. Good luck to you both. Harry, I'll see you soon, take care." He took off down the hall.
"I have not realized that Lord Black had a child, and that child was you, Potter. You will do better than I think. He is good duelist and politician." Harry blushed at the assumption that Sirius was his father, but did not bother to correct him.
"He mentioned that you two met at the World Cup. Is your injury better?"
"Da, is well healed, thank you."
"We have not been properly introduced. It is nice to meet you." Fleur said. "It's not fair that they are forcing you to compete."
"It is what it is," Harry shrugged as he shook hands with them both. "Just promise you won't go easy on me."
"May not matter. It is how you say, political stunt," Viktor said. "Game always rigged, I think. I am famous, you are famous. You, Delacour?"
"Fleur is fine, both of you. And I suppose? My father is in the parliament. He is important in France, oui. It is a great honor that it is his daughter who has been chosen…"
"Da! Exactly. We make government look good. Winner may already be picked, may not." Viktor said.
"Well, I'm still going to do my best. I wonder if your ministry will regret their decision, Harry. Monsieur Fudge looked very angry with your father."
"Er, yeah. I hadn't exactly planned on announcing that Voldemort was back, it just sort of happened. I was nervous," Harry admitted. "But I think it all worked out. The people should know if there is a danger."
He wondered if Viktor's guess was accurate. If his entry had been arranged by the Ministry instead of Voldemort's forces. That would be comically good luck for Voldemort, who would be trying to gain power regardless. The government might have unknowingly made that easier by offering Harry on a silver platter. Still, it made more sense for it to be Voldemort. Or maybe it was Voldemort through Crouch who had convinced Fudge it was a good idea?
It was all much too confusing. Hopefully, whoever it was, they would indeed regret their actions as Harry proceeded to accidentally blabber his way through foiling everyone's plans. If the game was rigged, then it was rigged. He could probably win anyway, and at least he'd have a sick-ass trophy when all this was done.
"There are many stakes in this game, and if your guess is correct, then there are people coming after you. I know we are competitors, but I will keep an eye out for you. You're still a child, it's not fair." Fleur said. Viktor nodded in solemn agreement.
"I appreciate that you both believe me about not putting my name in," Harry said.
"You say you did not do it. You are small child. Why would I not believe you? We could die in the tournament." Viktor shrugged.
"Yeah, let's aim for no deaths this year," Harry said. "I sincerely hope that the worst part of this tournament is dealing with the press."
"I do not talk much in interviews so they do not ask many questions. Your mistake to have good English." Viktor said with a laugh.
.....
By the light of the full moon, Harry set off alone deep into the woods surrounding their cottage. Sirius had been worried, as apparently such things were unsafe, but he and mama had a mountain of corpses to get through in their quest to learn about Voldemort's past so he only gave a cursory complaint and ensured Harry was sent off bundled in a warm jumper.
Sirius' ever-increasing parental concern was sweet yet unnecessary. There was nothing in these woods that could frighten Harry.
As he walked through the silent forest, uncertainty dredged from within. Harry was not nearly as spiritual as mama was. He'd been exposed enough to the Christian normativity of muggle society to be suspicious of her belief in the Death Gods. Death was probably real, but in like a non-literal way, he'd assumed. As a concept, not a deity. Sure magic was real and it came from somewhere and their necromancy was also blessed by a nebulous someone. Sure.
Here he was, looking to ask for a blessing from Death itself.
All the necromantic divinations in the past had worked, but he'd never had to bargain for those before, a sacrifice was enough. They were impersonal, granted by the laws of magic. Or so he'd assumed. Was he special? Was he truly touched by Death, an honored servant of the Underworld as mama had been preaching to him since she'd received her own divine intervention to come rescue him? That had to be proof of it. She'd come for him, and not of her own volition. She'd been sent by Death to teach him.
Divination, fueled by corpses or not, tended to be vague. Most of the study was about how to best interpret what you were shown, not how to see in the first place. He'd tried everything he and mama could think of and he had to show for it was something related to the elements. Fire, water, and earth. That was much too vague for mama, who had been considering torturing the information out of Minister Fudge, much to Sirius' horror before Harry had agreed to try this ritual out first.
Having walked for a good hour or so, he finally found a spot that looked good enough, a small clearing he was pretty sure he'd gone flying in a few times before. Settling in on the ground, Harry laid down on his back and looked up at the light of the moon. While he didn't have a passion for astrology, the beauty of the night sky was indescribable. Utilizing space math, he located the rough position of Pluto (not that it was remotely visible with the naked eye) and ran through the directions mama had given him. There was not really a way to mess this up, she'd said. He just had to believe.
He lit the small, unscented candle he'd brought and set it down at his left knee. This was to represent his physical connection with Pluto. Hopefully. If there was one thing Harry was less confident about than religion, it was his ability to perform complex math in his head.
"Okay, okay it's the hypotenuse… added to Merlin's Fifth Equation… gotta be mostly correct?" He fumbled around in the grass for a moment, his mind going blank as he repositioned the candle again. Belief, right, now was the perfect time for belief because he was messing up this very easy ritual.
"Oh Lord of Death and Creation, as your humble servant, um… shit… what was I supposed to say?" Why hadn't he written this down, he was rubbish without written directions! "Um, are you there, Death? It's me, Harry Potter, junior necromancer at your service. I was wondering if you could do me a favor? I'll continue to sacrifice shit in your name. Er, did you want my firstborn? Or is that just a muggle thing?"
"Goodness, you are a wreck, aren't you, living one?"
Harry screamed in terror, bolting out of his spot and nearly pissing himself with fear as he made eye contact - well, cloak contact with the hooded figure leaning over him.
"Seriously?!"
"You're the one defenseless in a field with your eyes closed. What did you expect?" The cloak said. Its voice was toneless and whispery. The figure was what Harry considered to be the most generic classic depiction of the Grim Reaper ever, complete with a skeleton hand clutching a scythe at its side. Harry went from terrified to baffled to shocked.
"You actually look like that?"
Death's laugh was a low creaking warble that that shook the ground with an earthquake.
"Of course not. Why would I look like this? Do you think it's cold Down Below? Do you think I need a cloak? I can take on any form I like, but you didn't think I was real, so I picked something obvious and indisputable. Now, you wished to speak with me, living one?"
There were a great deal of questions Harry found himself with now. But he figured he ought to stay on target before he panicked properly.
"Could you tell me what the tasks for the Triwizard Tournament will be?" Harry asked.
"Certainly. For the first, you shall face off against a dragon to collect one of its eggs. For the second, you shall race to the depths of the Black Lake and retrieve something that was stolen from you. And the third shall be a maze guarded by dangerous beasts and traps."
"Oh, thanks," Harry said in a baffled tone. "Uh, I'm pretty sure you weren't supposed to tell me anything that easily. Do you own my child's soul or not?'
"You'd be correct about the former. I do not, as a rule, hand out favors willy-nilly as the kids say these days. But I've already extracted my payment from you, Harry Potter."
"You did?"
"Yes. Or, I will extract it from you in time. You will be a most magnificent necromancer."
Death sat, its bones folding in with xylophonic pings as the being settled into a cross-legged position across from Harry. The hem of its hood was pushed aside by a rustle of air and revealed the smooth bone forming Death's skull. The black void where eyes should be tilted toward Harry, and he saw himself reflected in it. Him, old, weathered with laugh lines crinkled in the corners of his face.
It scooped up a pile of soft dirt in its skeletal hand and let it sift through the cracks in its fingers.
"You do not have to think of our exchange as a transaction, young one. You will pay your debts and I will repay you in kind. We will be partners in crime if you'd like to consider us thus. Coming soon, an opportunity will present itself. You have been bonding with our Cloak, haven't you? How would you like the other two Hallows?"
Harry blinked. He'd honestly forgotten that his Invisibility Cloak was an ancient artifact made by Death itself considering he used it primarily to sneak off for midnight snacks with his friends.
"You will lead them into a new era," Death continued ominously. "It is your destiny. And as your benevolent chosen deity, I would be honored to assist you in this matter."
"What do you mean?"
A bony hand reached through the hem of its robe and it trailed one finger from the top of his head down to his neck. He expected something magical and profound to happen at its touch, but the bone was like fine porcelain, dry and cold. He didn't feel blessed and/or cursed or whatever was supposed to happen.
"Fret not, young one. This is your birthright. I know you hear the war drum thumping in your soul, the part that recognizes your higher calling, the part that seeks more. I will help you with this. You may retrieve my Hallows, win your Tournament, and vanquish your Dark Lord. But after, I will have use of you."
....
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