[Living for Tomorrow] Chapter 11 - Massacre

On the 15th of February, the student body at Hogwarts was still reeling from the crazy incident from the previous day. Yet, in hindsight, nobody could say they were terribly shocked by what had transpired. The over-the-top smiles and winks that Gilderoy Lockhart threw at everyone sixty times a day may have had something to do with that. 

The classes of Defence Against Dark Arts had been cancelled, and, much to Harry’s not-so-hidden glee, they were allowed to do whatever they wished during that period. 

‘There’s a chance that McGonagall would look for me to get my testimony,’ he thought as he walked with his friends towards the Ravenclaw Tower.

Considering the muddy situation in the present, Harry decided not to disappear anywhere for a while. Hence, for the first time that semester, he decided to spend the rest of the day with his group of friends.

“This game is complete bullshit.”

The complaint came from Harry as his figurine was sent from the top floor of the board to the second. 

They were playing a wizarding version of the muggle board game ‘Ladders and Snakes’ called Stairs and Slopes. The board game’s appearance resembled the Hogwarts Castle with its floors and staircases. Just like in reality, the staircases in the game could change places, their steps could disappear and make people slide down to a lower level, or they could trap people’s legs (which in the game would force the pawns to sit out one turn). 

“Skill issue,” Elora said, snickering.

“You literally roll a die, and the staircases also move randomly. There’s nothing about skill here; it’s pure luck.”

“Many words just to say you suck at the game,” Elspeth was quick to jump on him too. 

Fleur laughed in delight as she watched the two girls gang up on him. It was so rare to see Harry spend his day with them that she was unknowingly in great spirits whenever that happened. 

Eventually, their game came to an end, and she stood up. 

“I’m going to drink some water,” she told them. “I’ll be right back; don’t you dare start without me!”

Quite a few boys and girls turned their heads as Florent Delacour passed by. 

“Look at him walk,” Harry heard one of the sixth years laugh with his mates in a quiet voice. 

“I think the rumours he might be gay are true,” his friend replied. 

“Nah, he’s just French.”

The three boys started snickering like hyenas. 

“That was a good one.”

“Oui, oui, baguette.”

“Yo, I have an even better one. What do you call a gay French? - a faguette.”

“Bwahaha!”

Elspeth was unable to keep on listening to them and stood up in a fury. 

“What’s your problem with him, Duncan?” she yelled at the guy who made those jokes. “Why are you being such arseholes!”

“Why the hell do you care? We weren’t even talking to you. Bugger off,” Duncan said and made a shooing motion with his hand.

“I care because Florent is my friend!”

The boys snorted. 

“Friend, as if! You just want to jump his bones, like literally 99% of the girls in the school.”

Whether it was from embarrassment or anger, Elspeth’s face turned as red as her hair.

“You’re a cowardly piece of shit, Duncan!” she yelled at him. 

“What did you say?” the sixth year stood up and took out his wand. 

“You don’t like hearing the truth, eh? If you have something against him, tell it to his face! Why wait until after he leaves? Two-faced cowards, all three of you!”

Duncan took out his wand and shouted:

“Mucovespertilis!”

It was the Bat-Bogey Hex. However, his spell went way off the mark because, before he could finish chanting that incantation, an invisible spell slammed into him, and his body was launched backwards, flipping two times in mid-air before colliding painfully against the wall. 

His two mates were about to whip out their wands, but when they noticed who was the one who had cast the nonverbal spell, they froze.

“Think carefully before you draw your wands,” Harry said. “It won’t be just a Knockback Jinx next time.”

Despite the fact that they were one year older than him, the boys didn’t dare draw out their wands. They gulped as they raised their hands to show that they didn’t have any bad intentions. Neither of them had forgotten the brutal beating that Harry had put on Marcus Flint and his friends a few months ago; although there was no real proof, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that it was him.

The two guys grabbed their half-unconscious friend off the floor and scurried away with their tails between their legs. There was nothing else they could do; they couldn’t even go to the Head of the House to cry about it because they had been the ones to start the conflict verbally, and they also threw the first spell.

“Thanks, Harry.” 

“Think nothing of it,” he said easily and sat back in his seat. “But you should be more cautious next time.”

“I couldn’t just stand and watch how they made fun of him!” Elspeth said, still outraged. “I’m definitely going to Flitwick next time!”

“None of this would’ve happened if you had kept your mouth shut,” Harry said with a shrug of his shoulders. “It was your gossiping that led to everyone in the school finding out.”

The girl momentarily deflated at that, acknowledging her mistakes. But then, she glanced at him accusingly.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you stand up for him? Isn’t Florent your friend too?”

“I can’t start attacking people just because they say mean things. That’s not how the real world works. I’m on thin ice as it is.”

This time, it was self-defence; the other guy attacked first. But Harry wouldn’t be surprised if they really expelled him the next time he started an altercation. 

“You could’ve at least said something!”

“Hey, I defended you when they attacked, didn’t I? I was just waiting for the right moment to intervene.”

Their conversation entered a lull, and Harry glanced at Elora, who had been quiet the entire time. 

“Are you alright?” he asked in an unusually kind voice. 

The quiet redhead just nodded. Harry didn’t insist on making her talk. After five years of being friends, he knew that the girl froze like a deer in headlights whenever any sort of conflict broke near her. 

“Stop pouting and make sure Elora is right,” Harry said as he sat up from the table. “I’ll go check on Florent. He’s been missing for more than 10 minutes now.”

Since the French boy had asked them to wait for him, they couldn’t start another game without him. 

Heading back to the bedroom he shared with Florent, Harry opened the door and was about to give him an earful for making them all wait, but his words remained stuck in his throat. 

The French boy was collapsed on the floor, foaming at the mouth. 

“Florent!” he shouted as he rushed at him. 

He cast a Diagnosis Charm. He was no Medi-Wizard, but he had learnt all sorts of spells for the sake of being able to rescue his brother should anything ever happen to him. 

‘The toxicity level in his body is way above the normal limit. He must’ve drunk something.’

Coming to that conclusion, he noticed the bottle of water that fell off and spilt all over the floor.

‘Revelio.’

The moment he cast that charm, the colourless liquid started glowing with a pink light. 

‘That’s not water. That’s a Love Potion!’

“Bollocks!” he let out a curse. “You must’ve drunk a botched Love Potion. They should never have this kind of effect on someone.”

He cast a Levitating Charm on Florent, but the boy suddenly threw up all over the carpet. Harry let out a sigh of relief. Throwing up in Florent’s current condition was actually good. 

“Hold on, mate. I’ll take you to the Hospital Wing,” he said and laid her down on the floor again.

“No. . . ‘Arry. . .don’t,” Fleur said with difficulty. 

“Then I’ll bring Madam Pomfrey here. Just wait a few minutes. I’ll be-”

“Noo!” Fleur moaned and grabbed him by his sweater, not letting him go. “Don’t. . . please, don’t. . .”

She forced herself to sit up to show him that she was alright, but she threw up again. 

“Merlin… How can I not take you to the hospital?? Look at you!”

But the French boy started begging him almost desperately not to go. It was to the point where Harry was starting to get weirded out. 

He ran a hand through his messy hair.

“Alright, alright! I’ll go get an antidote for you.”

“No Pomfrey, please. I’ll get better! Promise.”

“I understand, just let go,” Harry said, trying to not grimace as he almost stepped in the vomit. “I won’t go to Madam Pomfrey. I’ll get it from somewhere else. Promise.”

Florent let go of him reluctantly. At first, he thought that the French boy finally trusted him, but it turned out that he had just fallen unconscious.

He cast a Cleaning Charm, trying his best to Vanish the mess on the floor, and then put Florent on his bed.

A silvery raven came out of his wand. It was the Patronus Charm; he sent it in advance to Matthew. Then, he went out of the room and cast the strongest Locking Charm he knew. 

“Harry, what’s the hold-up?” asked Elspeth when she saw him return to the Common Room. 

“He’s not drinking any water. He’s doing his best to clog up the toilet,” Harry lied.

“Why do you have to be so disgusting, eww! I didn’t need to know that!” Elspeth said in chagrin, and Harry forced a chuckle. 

“I’ll go to the kitchen,” he lied once more. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be back before Florent returns.”

And with that, he left the Ravenclaw Common Room, not paying much attention to Elpeth’s protests.

Once he was out in the corridors, he Transfigured the door threshold to create a doorstop, preventing the door from closing completely. 

He would get into serious trouble if a professor were to come and see that he left the Common Room’s door unlocked, but he decided to take that risk. Once in a while, the Eagle Knocker’s riddles could be extremely annoying and time-consuming; he could not afford to waste time like that in the present.

He broke into a sprint towards the Gryffindor Tower. Thanks to his numerous nightly escapades over the years, Harry knew the castle like the back of his hand. Taking a shortcut through a secret passage, he arrived in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait less than three minutes later.

His younger brother was already waiting for him at the entrance with the thermos that Harry had given him yesterday in his hand. 

“I got your Patronus message,” Matt said, his voice tinged with awe. “I didn’t know you could cast such an advanced spell!”

The Patronus Charm by itself was a NEWT-level spell, but sending voice messages through it was something beyond the curriculum taught at Hogwarts. 

“Sorry, Matt, I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Harry said. “Forent got poisoned with a botched-up Love Potion.”

“You’re kidding!”

Harry just took the flask from his hand and said before breaking into a run:

“I’ll give it back to you at dinner.” 

Another three minutes later, he was back in the Ravenclaw Tower, in front of the eagle knocker. Thankfully, the door was half-opened, as he had left it. 

‘Finite,’ he cast a mental spell to cancel the Transfiguration on the door threshold and then ran inside.

“You’re back already??” Elspeth said in surprise.

“But where’s the food?” Elora also asked. 

“I changed my mind. I’ll be back. Give me 1 minute,” he said and rushed past them, heading straight to his room.

Once he locked the door behind him, Harry went to the French boy and sat at the edge of the bed.

Florent’s short silvery hair was matted with sweat, his face was flushed a red colour, and his skin was burning to the touch.

‘If he doesn’t get well within five minutes, I’ll take him to Pomfrey regardless of what he says.’

Getting closer to him, he raised his head slightly, and after unscrewing the top of the thermos with a nonverbal spell, he brought it closer to his mouth. 

He poured the Love Potion Antidote slowly into his mouth, making sure he drank it all before giving him more. 

⁂

When Fleur regained consciousness, she found herself in Harry’s arms, with him slowly pouring the Love Antidote Potion into her mouth. Being so close to him and seeing through her half-opened eyes how intently he was looking at her, Fleur started flushing outside of her own volition. 

‘His fever is getting worse for some reason.’ Harry thought as he felt Florent’s temperature rise. ‘Was the Love Potion botched to the point where it became a poison?’

“Accio,” he muttered under his breath, and a bezoar flew out of his trunk.

Bezoars were rather rare and valuable, but with how paranoid he was, Harry always carried three of them in his trunk at all times. One for himself, one for Matt, and one more just to be sure. 

Feeling Harry’s fingers touching her lips to open her mouth wider, Fleur couldn’t keep up the charade anymore and opened her eyes.

Blue and green eyes met, and for a moment, the two stared at each other as though they were spellbound before they both recoiled. Well, only Harry did, and he fell off the bed like a sack of potatoes; as for Fleur, she was too exhausted to move. 

“You’re awake,” Harry said, trying (and failing) to fight back the feeling of embarrassment that started creeping up on him. 

“Oui,” she said in a voice so quiet that he barely heard her. 

“Um, I fed you some Love Potion Antidote. I didn’t go to Madam Pomfrey, don’t worry. I had prepared some for Matt before Valentine’s Day to prevent exactly what just happened to you.”

“Ah. Thank you,” Fleur said weakly. “Thank you so much!”

She didn’t have the power to raise her voice, but he could hear the sincerity in her words. 

“It wasn’t much, don’t sweat it,” he murmured, ruffling his hair awkwardly, his gesture unknowingly making Fleur’s heartbeat quicken. “How are you feeling?” he asked. 

“Tired,” she said. “Could you give me some water?”

Fleur’s face flushed anew when Harry summoned his personal bottle of water. 

“Ugh-”

She tried to say something, but Harry seemed oblivious to her thoughts. 

“Can you drink?” he asked as he took off its cap and approached it to her mouth. 

“I think I’m not thirsty anymore,” she muttered.

“Nonsense. Here, let me help you,” he said and sat at the edge of the bed again before raising the back of her head.

By now, Fleur’s face was so warm that you could cook meat on it. Unbeknownst to both of them, her allure broke free of her control, and Harry found himself getting embarrassed by her mannerisms too. 

His eyes could not help going to her red, glistening lips, finding them strangely full, attractive, and feminine. A feeling of revulsion made him shiver as he reminded himself that Florent was a guy. 

He didn’t understand what the hell was going on with him; he had never had any interest in boys, and he certainly wasn’t going to change himself now. Scolding himself inwardly, Harry used his knowledge of Occlumency to clear his mind of any distracting thoughts, unknowingly breaking the Veela Charm’s influence on his mind. Schooling his face to adopt a serious expression, he brought the bottle to her mouth and helped her drink from it slowly.

When the ordeal was finally over, Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“I’ll go tell the girls that you’re not feeling well, okay?”

Fleur bit her lower lip.

“Will you be back?” she asked. 

Florent’s vulnerable voice made chills go down Harry’s spine again. 

“Um, yeah, I will. Do you need anything else? Perhaps you want me to help you change your clothes?”

“N-No, it’s fine. I don’t want to bother.”

Harry looked away from her face, distracted by how cute her stammer sounded. 

“Are you sure? Your sweater is all messed up.”

Considering how much she had thrown up, it was no surprise.

“Maybe cast a Cleaning Charm. I can’t change my clothes in front of you.”

“. . .”

Harry had no idea what to say for a while.

‘Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him wear light clothes or change in front of me.’

He didn’t know why Florent was so self-conscious about his body, but he decided not to pry.

“Okay. But, just so you know, my Cleaning Charms aren’t the best.”

“That is fine.”

After casting several Cleaning Charms on the floor and then on Florent’s clothes, Harry left to inform the girls that the French boy was ill and that he wasn’t coming to play in the Common Room anymore.

Once he was gone, Fleur started thinking of what had just happened. 

‘Why did I get sick?’

‘What is going on?’

‘Love Potions aren’t supposed to work on Veela.’

As magical creatures of lust and beauty, Veela were immune to Love Potions. Even Amorentia did not have any effect on them. That being said, Love Potions weren’t supposed to poison them either. Veela magic was supposed to purge them out of their system instantly. 

‘It’s because of my hair. . .’ Fleur realised after a few minutes. 

All Veela had long hair. Their Veela Charm came from their hair. The longer and more beautiful their hair, the stronger their allure. Veela’s hair could even be used as cores for wands. The act of cutting her hair so short not only drastically weakened the strength of her allure, but it also weakened her body’s defences against Love Potions. 

She twisted her body with difficulty, turning on her side so that she could look at the door. 

‘Where is Harry? He said he would come back,’ she wondered after a few minutes passed, and he didn’t return.

Fleur felt her face grow warm again as she thought of how gently he had held her head and helped her drink from his bottle. Somehow, he was always there for her when she needed him the most.

⁂

Returning to the Common Room, Harry tried to act as naturally as possible as he explained the situation to Elora and Elspeth. He did not tell them about the Love Potion, he only told them that Florent had gotten an upset stomach. He didn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the Common Room and start another rumour because students at Hogwarts loved gossiping. 

Although they were visibly disappointed, the two redheads could do nothing but accept the situation and move on.

“Maybe you should take the chance to complete your Transfiguration essay,” Harry said teasingly. 

“I don’t want to hear that from you of all people,” Elspeth snorted at him.

“Lizzie is right. One more missed assignment on your part and McGonagall will definitely give you detention,” Elora said in agreement.

Harry was just about to summon his assignment from the bedroom and throw it in their face that he had already finished his homework when an unexpected sound of Apparition rang in the Common Room. It was not like the sound made by wizards but more like that made by the House Elves’ form of Apparition. 

Harry was not the only one who heard it. The entire Common Room turned their heads to see a House Elf wearing a clean, navy-blue pillowcase tailored to suit his form, appearing right next to Harry. 

“Young master Harry! Mistress and Master are attacked by Goblins! Mistress is bleeding! Mistress is hurt badly!” Remy wailed as he grabbed onto Harry’s clothes in desperation. 

For a moment there, Harry was stunned in disbelief, as was the rest of the Ravenclaws in the Common Room too.

“Take me there right away!” Harry said, and before anyone could say anything or try to stop them, the boy and the elf Disapparated. 

⁂

“Get up! Get up, you old fart!” the other goblins shouted and poked him with their swords, forcing him to stand up despite the pain that made it hard for him to even breathe. 

“A-Alright. . . let’s. . . let’s get inside. I’ll . . .I’ll give you the sword. . .” Fleamont said with difficulty. 

The goblin leader sneered at him.

“I’d have to be an imbecile to set foot inside your home, where you can trigger your warding spells. . . no, we’ll wait here. You go inside alone, take the sword, and bring it back to us. We’ll wait for you right here. You have one minute. If you're not back in one minute, she dies."

Fleamont limped in a panic inside his house, rushing to the unmoving portrait of the mediaeval knight wearing plate armour and wielding a long silver claymore. 

“Bruncvik!” he said, and the silver claymore jumped out of the portrait, becoming real.

The House Elf, Remi, happened to be in the room at that moment too, and Fleamont told him in a hurry:

“Remi, Euphemia was captured by the Goblins! She’s injured! We’re in grave danger! Get help! Quickly!”

In his panicked state of mind, Fleamont did not tell Remy whom he should call for help. And the House Elf, just as desperate as his master, didn’t think of going to Sirius. Instead, Remi’s mind instinctively flew to the member of the Potter family that he considered to be the most serious and reliable after his Mistress: Harry. 

As the House Elf Disapparated, Fleamont went outside in a rush with the silvery claymore in his hand. 

Noticing the old man coming out with the sword, a perverse look of avarice flashed over the Goblins’ faces.

“Don’t try any games, wizard,” said the Goblin leader while his lackeys were holding a knife to Euphemia’s bleeding throat. 

The old woman kept shaking her head left and right, desperately trying to tell him not to give in to their demands, but Fleamont couldn’t disobey them.

Rationally, he knew that the Goblins were most likely going to kill them in order to prevent any news of their robbery from going out. But he couldn’t dismiss the tiny chance that maybe they would be left alive. Maybe they would spare his wife. He couldn’t bear to part with her. They had been married for so long, and he loved her so much that even a priceless artefact like the flying sword of Bruncvik had no value in his eyes compared to her.

“Here’s your sword,” he said, handing it over to them. “Just please, keep your word. Please let my wife go,” he said in a trembling voice. 

The Goblin snatched the silver claymore from his hands and gazed at it with reverence. 

“Ah! You’re as beautiful as the day we lost you,” he whispered as he caressed the sharp edge of the blade with the tenderness of a lover.

The Goblin leader was broken off from his reverie by the old man’s pleading voice:

“Please. I gave you the sword. Please don’t kill her. Not my wife. Please let her go.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” the Goblin leader said and laughed nastily. “Zungor, slit the old hag’s throat.”

The lackey grinned in malicious glee at his boss's order, but, for some reason, the world suddenly tilted. 

“What the hell is going on?” he tried to say, but only a wet gurgle came out.

For the first time in his life, the Goblin saw his own body with his own two eyes, without a mirror.

Realising what had happened, he tried to scream, but no sound came out. His lips wouldn’t move, and his mouth wouldn’t obey.

His beady, evil eyes became dull as the last glimmer of life vanished from them. The last sight his brain registered was that of a geyser of blood shooting out of his headless corpse. 

He had been decapitated. 

⁂

“Please. I gave you the sword. Please don’t kill her. Not my wife. Please let her go!”

Those were the first words Harry heard when the House Elf Side-Apparated him back to Pitt-Upon-Ford.

In an instant, an image flashed in his mind:

“Not Matthew, please no, take me, kill me instead!”

Voldemort tried to push her away, but she wouldn’t stop.

“Not Matthew! Please! Have mercy! Have—”

Fury, unlike anything he had ever felt, took over him. No, he had experienced that once in his life, two years ago, when he had killed the Voldemort-possessed Quirrell with the Killing Curse.

His vision blurred, and a red haze filled the edges of his sight. It was no mere anger. It was an overpowering, all-consuming rage.

A terrible magic power erupted from his body like a volcano, and he screamed as he swung his wand at the Goblin’s back like a sword:

“Decapitare!”

The spell took the form of a white blade, like a brilliant crescent moon, nailing the Goblin right in the tiny space between his helmet and his breastplate. His head fell on the ground with a metallic clang, and a geyser of blood burst from the decapitated corpse, painting Euphemia and the nearby Goblins red.

The second Goblin, who was holding Euphemia, quickly unsheathed the dagger from his waist and tried to stab the old woman in the chest, but the House Elf cried out, screaming in a loud voice:

“You shall not harm Mistress Effie!”

Despite that he was wearing armour made of Goblin Silver, the wretched creature’s arm twisted like a pretzel, and he let out a howl of agony as the House Elf used his entire magic power to crumple his arm beyond what even magic would be able to heal. 

“Kill them all!” the Goblin leader screamed at that moment, and he raised Bruncvik’s sword before swinging it savagely at the old man. 

“Return!” Fleamont shouted, and the sword was yanked out of the Goblin leader’s hands, flying to the old wizard’s side. The sword of Bruncvik was tied to his blood, to his family. No Goblin could ever undo that enchantment.

The Goblin leader screamed in anger, and his body suddenly doubled—no, it tripled in height and width, taking on a hulking, grotesque appearance as he used his blood magic to enhance himself to his utmost limit.

“Behead him!” Fleamont ordered the flying sword, and the silver claymore obeyed his orders as though it were sentient, plunging towards the Goblin’s neck.

Bright sparks lit up the night as metal clashed against metal. The goblin raised his gauntlet just in time, blocking the magic sword from reaching his throat. Forged from Goblin Silver, his plate armour was nearly impenetrable to physical attacks.

The Goblin tried to grab the blade with his hands, but he had overestimated his power because the sword of Bruncvik shook itself out of his grip, and the Goblins’ enormous body was sent flying through the air. 

On Harry’s side, he started firing spells with wild abandon. But after getting over their initial surprise, the Goblins raised their shields, and Harry’s spells, even the Dark Beheading Curse that had slain the first goblin, splashed against their shields and armour harmlessly, bouncing away.

“Take Grandma to St. Mungos. Then go to Sirius and bring him here.”

“Yes!” Remy replied, his face wet with tears of both anger and relief as he grabbed his beloved mistress and Disapparated. 

“Serpensortia!”

He could cast that spell nonverbally effortlessly, but saying its incantation out loud gave it much more power. 

A swarm of 10 king cobras shot out from his wand, and then Harry spoke in a language that terrified the Goblins to the point where their backs broke into chills.

“Ignore the small ones. Go for the big Goblin. Kill him.”

It was Parseltongue. It was a secret that Harry had never revealed to anyone other than his family. And he planned on keeping it that way. He was not going to leave any of them alive. 

‘Accio.’

The window to Harry’s bedroom shattered as a leathery pouch broke through forcefully before flying into Harry’s hands. 

The Goblins used that moment of respite when he wasn’t firing spells at them to lunge at him, screaming as they swung down their weapons.

But they could only take three steps before Harry grabbed a handful of the leather pouch’s contents and threw it in the air. 

A thick cloud of darkness expanded in the air, swallowing the light coming from the house’s open door. The moon and the stars disappeared too, and, on a radius of 20 meters around him, the world sank into absolute darkness, a darkness so terrifying that one could not see their hands in front of their face. 

“Dirty, scummy wizards!” screamed the Goblins as they huddled together, back to back, trembling with anxiety. 

“You can only win through tricks!”

They understood what was the item that the boy had used. Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. 

‘Revelio,’ Harry cast nonverbally.

He did not need to see them with his own eyes to find out their location. As the pulse of magic spread out from him, the silhouettes of the Goblins appeared in his mind. 

A chilling voice rang in the night.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The vivid, bright green light associated with the Killing Curse did not come out. Or rather, the Peruvian Powder made it impossible for them to see it. 

A split second later, one of the Goblins collapsed on the ground with a loud metallic clang. His Goblin Silver armour and Goblin Silver shield may have been capable of protecting them against most charms and curses, but they could not save them from the Killing Curse.

⁂

By the time Remy returned to Pitt-Upon-Ford with Sirius in tow, everything was over. 

A giant goblin lay lifelessly on the ground, his body inflamed, red, and purple after the 10 king cobras had emptied their venom sacks into his veins. One goblin was decapitated, another one’s arm was crumpled in a grotesque manner, and his head was twisted to his back, and four other goblins appeared to have died with no fatal physical injuries whatsoever. Their lives had been reaped by the Killing Curse. 

Sirius felt his mouth become dry as he took in the sight of that massacre and his godson standing silently amidst the Goblin corpses, summoning a cloud of black powder into his hand while his magic power rolled off him in waves. 

He had duelled with Harry many times ever since he started training him, but he had never sensed anything remotely close to that from the boy. 

It was dark, twisted, malevolent. It was powerful, oppressive even.

It made him nervous. It reminded him of the last time he had witnessed Voldemort and Dumbledore clashing against each other during the war from over a decade ago. 

“Harry?” Sirius called out his name carefully. 

And, just like that, that terrible magic power vanished. It happened so abruptly that, if Sirius had not gotten a taste of it himself only a few seconds ago, he would not have believed it.

At that moment, Fleamont also walked towards them with a limp, using this silvery claymore as a cane to support his aching body.

“Where is Euphemia? Is she safe? Is she alright?” he asked. 

Sirius rushed to him and offered him his shoulder to lean on as he led the old man inside the house. 

“Remy took her to St Mungo. She has a concussion, but the Medi-Wizards assured me that she will recover.”

“Take me to St Mungo too. I want to be by her side,” Mr Potter said. 

“Go on,” Harry said calmly when Sirius turned his head to look at him. “I’ll stay here until the professors from Hogwarts arrive.”

Had it been in different circumstances, Harry would have Vanished the corpses and erased all the signs of battle. But he could not do that because Remy had shouted in the middle of the Ravenclaw Common Room that the Goblins had attacked his grandparents. He could not sweep this incident under the rug. 

The boy’s unnaturally calm demeanour despite the violent killings he had committed unnerved Sirius, but he did not waste his time worrying about useless things at that moment. The sooner he took Fleamont to the hospital, the faster he could return to Harry’s side.

“I’ll be back in a second, Harry. Wait for me, okay?”

“Yes, I will.”


⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂

AN: Just in case some of you have forgotten, other than Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick, nobody knows that "Florent" is a girl; that's why she didn't want to go to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey would have discovered her secret right away.

Was it reckless of her to refuse treatment? Yes, it was; but people aren't perfect and Fleur isn't either. Furthermore, she's an emotional teenager and she was not in a normal state of mind.

Goblins' body-enhancing in this chapter (gif taken from Hogwarts Legacy)