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The Dark Apprentice Chapter 57
🕑 Added 2025-10-28 05:00:00 +0000 UTCChapter 57
The remaining months at Hogwarts swiftly vanished, each day bringing the Third Task closer. For Harry, it was a period of intense focus, but also of growing intrigue, especially regarding Tracey's remarkable progress. Her magical capabilities had surged far beyond his initial expectations, a direct consequence, he now understood, of the ritual they had performed.
Their immediate duel following the ritual had been a revelation. It was, without a doubt, their most formidable encounter to date, a whirlwind of spells and counter-spells that left both of them breathless and exhilarated. At first, Harry had attributed Tracey's enhanced prowess to a lingering magical high, a sensation he himself had experienced after his own last ritual. He recalled vividly how he had dueled a former Auror to a standstill under similar circumstances, a feat he was certain he could not replicate without that amplified state.
However, as the days bled into weeks, it became undeniably clear that Tracey's advancements were not fleeting. The initial surge of power had settled into a consistent, elevated level of magical proficiency. Her spells were sharper, her reflexes quicker, and her control more precise. She moved with a newfound confidence, her aura vibrating with a refined energy that spoke of deeper reserves and a heightened connection to her magic. Harry observed her with a mix of admiration and a touch of curiosity. None of the other Gaunts who underwent the ritual spoke of an increase in skill as sharp as Tracey’s and Harry was eager to understand the full extent of this transformation and what it meant for their future duels, and perhaps, for future rituals.
The transformation in Tracey was remarkable, becoming so profound by the time Spring was coming to an end she started drawing the notice of older students, a development that ultimately led to a dramatic confrontation. One particularly jarring incident involved Grant Page, a fifth-year Ravenclaw, who, in a moment of utter stupidity, referred to Tracey as one of "Harry's whores."
Harry himself was not present to witness the altercation, but the details were vividly recounted to him later by Hestia Carrow. Tracey, at the time, was in detention, serving out a punishment for her part in the ensuing chaos. Hestia explained that while Tracey had initially caught Grant off guard, a full-blown duel had quickly erupted. In a stunning display of skill, the brunette girl had goaded him into the fight, publicly humiliating him even further in front of his housemates and solidifying her newfound reputation as someone not to be trifled with.
Harry had been genuinely impressed to learn that Page was considered one of the best duelists in that year's group at Hogwarts. This knowledge fueled his desire to push Tracey even further, especially now that she was riding high on the confidence of her recent victories. Their Saturday afternoons became dedicated to this intense training, with most of their day spent hidden away in the Undercroft.
Within the confines of that secret chamber, Harry relentlessly pushed Tracey to her limits. However, he also began to harbor some concerns regarding her bouts of anger that occasionally flared up after their duels. These were not just flashes of frustration but something deeper, a volatile edge that seemed to emerge when she was pushed to her physical and magical boundaries.
The anger was never pointed at Harry, but at herself, for not throwing up a better fight. Despite Harry encouraging her, and promising that she was doing loads better than she had been before, she still wanted more. Her ambition had caught fire, and now the girl wanted to burn bright, which Harry respected to a point, but it did cause some concern.
Before the ritual when the two had dueled she was always so bright and bubbly afterwards, just like she had always been, but now it was different. The bright and bubbly girl was still around most of the time, but when they finished duels often he noticed her eyes would turn back to the inky color he had seen after the ritual. It was something he knew that must’ve been caused by the ritualistic magic, because he had not seen it before then. He had of course double checked his work with the runes, and the magic around the ritual, but nothing seemed to indicate why these personality changes may have occurred, but he knew he needed to keep a close eye on it for the time being.
The weekend before the 3rd task was the final Hogsmeade weekend, and Harry had been given permission by both Tom and Barty to rest, and begin preparing for the final showdown of the Tri-Wizard tournament.
Since the second task Krum and Delacour had both kept a wide berth of him. They had a glimpse of what he was capable of now, and it was clear neither were prepared to get on the wrong side of him again, much less alone.
At the same time, Harry had continued monitoring Barty, but it seemed that the man just seemed to become more frantic each day. Harry had offered to work on the Mind Arts with the man, when he suggested that perhaps he was becoming a little too high strung, but the man nearly bit Harry’s head off for suggesting such a thing. Since then he had kept his distance from the former Death Eater, but kept Tom informed of his slipping sanity.
With the final Hogsmeade weekend looming, Harry felt a surge of determination to savor every moment. The previous two visits with Tracey had been remarkably devoid of the usual drama and stress that seemed to follow him. He had genuinely come to appreciate her presence, finding a comfort and ease in their companionship that was a refreshing counterpoint to the complexities of his life. He looked forward to their time together with an anticipation that rivaled only the eagerness he felt for his sessions with his mentor – a testament to the quiet, growing significance of their bond. Tracey offered a sense of normalcy and lightheartedness during the times they weren’t training with magic. Yet when they were dueling, it was serious and they were both focused on becoming better, the combination was a stark contrast to the weighty burdens he often carried. It was easy with Tracey and he knew this would be their last chance to simply be teenagers enjoying a day out before the final, relentless push towards the third task and his own ritual. He wanted to ensure this memory, like the others, was unblemished and filled with the simple joy of shared laughter and conversation, a small pocket of peace in the turbulent storm that had been his fourth year.
The sun, already a fiery orb in the pale blue sky, beat down mercilessly as they gathered at the carriages in the early hours of the afternoon. It was undeniably a hot June day, the kind that promised sweltering humidity and endless thirst. The previous day, after a rigorous training session that left them both pleasantly exhausted, they had made a pact: a day of pure leisure, wandering through the village streets, seeking refuge from the heat and the demands of their usual training.
Blaise and Daphne had even agreed to join them for the initial part of their afternoon, and Harry tried to gage the duo in the carriages as they jumped in with thestrals, “Two weeks to go. Have your families given you your summer plans yet?”
Blaise was the first to answer, as he shrugged, “Another trip to the continent to spend time with my family. Isaac will have graduated, so I am certain there will be quite the party. Maybe you can come, Harry? My grandfather still feels quite bad about what happened at the Cup. I am willing to bet he would make it up to you. Might even take you in for the whole Summer if you could convince Dumbledore.”
Harry's sigh was heavy, laden with the unspoken tension that had permeated his interactions with the Headmaster since the second task. Though no words had passed between them, every fleeting glance, every accidental meeting of eyes, was charged with the old man's palpable disapproval. It was an annoyance, a nagging irritation that gnawed at Harry, for he genuinely believed he had exercised remarkable restraint.
The second task, a crucible of chaos beneath the murky waters, could have ended far differently. A chilling thought, a dark temptation, had repeatedly surfaced in Harry's mind: how simple it would have been to silence the hostile Merpeople, to eliminate Krum and Delacour, to leave no witnesses. "Dead men tell no tales," the insidious whisper had echoed, promising an easier path to victory, unburdened by the complexities of surviving witnesses. Yet, he hadn't. He had chosen a different path, one that, to his mind, showcased a level of control and maturity the Headmaster seemed incapable of acknowledging. One that Tom probably would’ve even disapproved of.
Of course, Dumbledore, with his unwavering faith in conventional heroism and his deep-seated aversion to darker methods, would never grasp the nuances of Harry's decision. Harry wouldn't dare voice such a thought, knowing the immediate condemnation it would draw. But the thought persisted, a constant undercurrent in his mind, a quiet rebellion against the Headmaster's silent judgment. The chasm between their perspectives, a widening gulf of understanding, grew with each passing day, leaving Harry to grapple with his own actions and their unappreciated implications.
“I think Dumbledore would rather see me with a family like the Weasley’s or Longbottoms.” Harry said with a snort.
Blaise, Tracey, and Daphne exchanged uneasy glances, their brows furrowing in unison as they weighed the uncomfortable truth of Harry’s observation. It was a stark reality that both the Weasley and Longbottom families were deeply entrenched in the more liberal and reformist circles of the Wizengamot. They were staunch adherents to the self-proclaimed "Light" faction, a group that championed progressive ideals and often stood in direct opposition to the more traditionalist views prevalent in pure-blood society. Their views were black and white, or dark magic and non dark magic.
The core of Harry's concern, and what made the trio so disquieted, was the existence of heirs within these very families who were close to their age. The subtle, yet powerful, influence of peers, especially those from families Dumbledore likely considered "suitable" and "safe," was a tool the Headmaster was not above employing. He might, they all realized with different variations of annoyance, see these young wizards as ideal conduits for shaping Harry's perspective, for guiding him towards a path that aligned with his own grand designs, rather than allowing Harry to forge his own.
The thought was laughable that Ron Weasley or Neville Longbottom could influence Harry. Ron had not been the same since his sister died at the end of their second year, and Longbottom was afraid of his own shadow.
“Maybe we just need to push for it.” Blaise suggested optimistically, “If my grandfather approved it, and then you requested it, perhaps an accord could be reached. My family still has influence on the Wizengamot.”
Daphne snorted, “I think Dumbledore has a better chance of letting my family take Harry. Mine didn’t support You-Know-Who, or Grindelwald.”
Tracey immediately seemed to dislike that idea and said, “My dad is an Auror, and Harry is growing on him. Maybe my family can take you, Harry. Our home isn’t huge, but we have a guest bedroom.”
“You too would end up in Azkaban if you both spent the Summer together,” Daphne said with a forced laugh, that made Harry raise an eyebrow.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Tracey said, clearly not liking the insinuation.
“Nothing,” Daphne said, holding her hands up, “I just meant if your dad found out about what the two of you were up too, and the magic you were delving into, it would likely lead you both into a ton of trouble.”
Tracey looked like she would retort with vitriol, but the carriage was pulling into Hogsmeade, and the girl merely pursed her lips in a tight line indicating her displeasure. Harry shook his head, as he dismounted, and offered his hand to Tracey to help her down, while Blaise did the same for Daphne. He hoped Tracey would not make a scene about what Daphne had said, and thought carefully on what his own response should be. The village was already beginning to crowd with people, and he recognized many from his own house roaming the village; he did not wish for the other Slytherins to know if there was any division in the house's leadership.
Before the group of four could begin to wonder off, Harry addressed Daphne’s words, before Tracey could lay into the girl, “I know how to be careful. Just because I have chosen not to be this year, does not mean I have lost the ability to do so. I evolved under the radar for years before any of you realized just how powerful I became. This tournament presented a once in a lifetime opportunity, which is the only reason I put such a large target on my back. Once it’s over, I will lay low for a little while, and bask in the victory of being the youngest TriWizard champion ever.”
Daphne stared at Harry unblinkingly for a few minutes before sighing, “You’re right. Forgive me, I spoke out of turn. I am just not looking forward to the Summer. Astoria has been sick a lot this year, and my parents are bound to be unbearable. The thought of some more pleasant company sounded like a nice distraction.”
Tracey and Harry both softened at the mention of Daphne’s sick sister, a somber note that resonated deeply with them. While most of the school, and even their own housemates, remained blissfully unaware, Astoria had spent a considerable amount of time in the confines of the Hospital Wing during the second term of that year. It seemed the younger Greengrass sister was a veritable magnet for magical maladies, becoming awfully sick each and every time a new contagion swept through the school. Her delicate constitution made her particularly susceptible, and the sight of her pale face and weakened state had become an increasingly common, and concerning, occurrence for those who paid close enough attention.
Deciding to change the topic, or at least move it along, Harry said, “I understand. I am grateful the three of you would be willing to speak with your families about housing me for the Summer, but it would be best if I simply go where Dumbledore wants me. I would not want any of your families to be in trouble, when I venture off on my own.”
The trio all looked floored by Harry’s words, and Blaise asked uncertainly, “You’re not planning to stay wherever Dumbledore puts you?”
“Of course not.” Harry said with a chuckle, “I doubt I would even be allowed to.”
Harry wasn’t sure why he said it, but he couldn’t take it back. All three were taken by his words, none able to keep the curiosity out of their expressions. The teen never spoke of his mentor. The occasional slip like this was all they ever pulled out of him.
Tracey whispered, as if there were people within earshot that might overhear, “Will your mentor take you in?”
Swallowing hard, his eyes shifted around the area, it was a paranoid thing to do. The village was bustling, but still no one was near enough to possibly eavesdrop, “It would be a waste of my entire Summer if we did not get to work together. I will go wherever Dumbledore sends me, but I will apparate away within the day. You will all be able to write to me, and even visit my home in Islington. I could even visit your homes over the Summer if your families allow it. Or we can meet in the alley under disguise like we did last Summer.”
The three were stunned by his audacity, but finally Blaise’s face split into a grin, “You know Harry, you’re crazy, and I like that.”
Daphne was shaking her head, but a small smile graced her lips, “Dumbledore is going to expel you one of these days.”
Shrugging, Harry threw an arm around Tracey, “I have prepared you all well. If the worst were to happen and I am expelled, you are all more than capable of leading together. By the end of the Summer you will each be more than capable of taking down the NEWT students. I will ensure it, in fact I think Tracey could take most of them right now.”
Tracey just beamed under his praise and kissed him on the cheek, careful not to remove his arm from her side, and instead held it in place with one of her free hands. Harry didn’t miss the scowl that crossed Daphne’s face, but it was fast, and had he not been looking at the girl he might’ve missed it, but deciding to ignore for the time being he followed his friends into Hogsmeade, and enjoyed their final day at the village.
.o.
As twilight deepened over the Scottish Highlands, Harry and Tracey had long since bid farewell to Daphne and Blaise. Their conversations had tittered a way to a comfortable silence, a comforting echo of the day's events, slowly faded into memory as the two chose the quieter solace of a walk on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. The vibrant hues of the setting sun painted the sky in shades of fiery orange and soft violet, casting long, dancing shadows across the ancient stone buildings of the old wizarding village.
The summer evening, which had begun with a gentle warmth, now cooled to a more bearable temperature. A soft, whispering breeze rustled through the leaves of the oak trees that lined their path by the Forbidden Forest. Sounds of the village, once a lively hum, were now subdued, replaced by the chirping of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl, adding to the tranquil atmosphere. They walked in comfortable silence, their footsteps soft on the worn path, each lost in their own thoughts yet keenly aware of the other's presence.
“I’ll miss you over the Summer. I know I will be able to write, but it won’t be the same as getting to see you everyday.” Tracey said with a small smile.
“I promise I will try and visit.” Harry said easily, feeling a small bit of nerves as the girl took his hand in her own, “I suppose it will be disappointing to not train together on Saturdays anymore.
“That’s a pretty lame way of saying you will miss me too.” Tracey said with a soft laugh.
"I don't think I've ever missed anyone from Hogwarts," Harry admitted, his voice a low rumble. His gaze drifted, tracing the familiar path of trees that led into the depths of the Forbidden Forest, a silent testament to countless adventures and hidden secrets. He swallowed, the movement a palpable struggle, before his eyes, filled with a newfound vulnerability, found Tracey's dark brown ones. "But I think I will miss you." The unspoken weight of their shared experiences, of the quiet camaraderie that had blossomed between them, hung heavy in the air, a bittersweet farewell already lingering on the horizon.
“It has been quite the adventure. I feel like I have grown a lot this year.” Tracey said softly.
“You have. Remarkably so.” Harry assured, squeezing her hand in his own, “You have impressed me at every step of the way this year. You proved your loyalty to me, and I am grateful. I have never been able to trust someone as easily as I have come to trust you.”
Tracey beamed at his words, “That means a lot, Harry.”
“Well,” Harry said, swallowing hard, “You have come to mean a lot to me.”
Her eyes widened at the young man’s words, “You mean that, don’t you?”
Offering a grin to the girl, “I try not to say things I don’t mean. I’m a man of my word. Or I try to be.”
Stepping in front of him, Tracey offered him a shy grin, her eyes flitting from his lips to his eyes, “Can I ask you something?”
Harry stared at the girl carefully, before nodding his head, feeling butterflies erupt in his stomach. Naturally he couldn’t answer some questions, but in the privacy of their evening walk, he could explain his need for secrecy, without lying to her, “Of course.”
Biting her lip now, Tracey said, with nervousness clear in her voice, “If I have proven my loyalty to you, and shown you that I am a witch capable of standing beside you. Why have you not asked me to be your girlfriend?”
Harry’s jaw fell a little at the bluntness of the question, and he stammered, several times trying to find the right words immediately, but none came to him. Instead he took a breath and released it, while finding her eyes, and thinking of the safest way to tell the truth, “I have thought about it. Several times, and I can’t thank you enough for not pushing me to it. You have been really patient about this, but…”
“I knew there would be a but.” Tracey said sadly, talking over him as he trailed off.
Harry stepped closer to the girl, unsure of what to say, but was close enough that she could undoubtedly feel his uneven breath on her face, “Tracey…I’m dangerous.”
Snorting, the girl took a small step back putting a hand on his chest, “I think that was obvious from the moment you took down all those seventh year students last year, Harry. I watched you kill a werewolf. Obviously you are dangerous.”
“That’s not necessarily what I meant.” Harry said softly, “Being around me, being a part of my life, it’s dangerous. Here at Hogwarts is one thing, and even in your homes and mine is another, but if you were my girlfriend then…I don’t know if my mentor would allow it.”
This last part was said with a whisper, but Tracey’s eyes widened, before they narrowed in determination, “I proved myself to you, I can prove myself to him too.”
The chuckle that escaped his lips wasn’t warm or genuine, it was cold, and dismissive, “I am still working on that myself. You have seen what I can do, but still…”
“So you will hide behind the excuse? That your mentor won’t allow it.” Tracey said bitterly.
“I’m not hiding from anything,” Harry said testily, “I am trying to keep you safe. I have not had a very good track record of keeping people I care about alive.”
Tracey recoiled at his words, but knew he spoke true. She paused for a long moment, looking into his eyes, searching for an answer, before she sighed, “I understand…but can’t we at least, try?”
Harry grabbed the hand that was on his chest, and held it firmly in his own, “What do you think I’ve been doing? I have been seen with you, and couldn’t make it more clear that I want to be with you. I can promise you are the only one.”
It was true. Harry had hardly even glanced at the others now, except Daphne, but she was a part of their group, a part of the Slytherin leadership. Tracey had a sad look on her countenance now, saying, “Then what difference would it make? Would the title really change so much between us?”
She was right. It wouldn't, Harry thought. He didn’t know what Tom would think, or if the man would even allow it, but she was right. Unless expressly forbidden he wouldn’t continue his sneaking around with Tracey. Enjoying a few stolen moments here and there, and the others weren’t blind, they all knew her place was at his side.
“I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” Harry said softly.
Tracey offered him a tentative, nervous smile, her hand reaching out to his face. But before she could close the distance, her eyes widened in a mixture of terror and pain, and she tumbled forward with a choked scream. Harry's own eyes widened in horror as he watched her crumple into his arms, a sudden, inexplicable agony radiating from her. He struggled to fathom what was happening, his mind racing to comprehend the abrupt shift from cautious optimism to a nightmare unfolding in his grasp.
Before he could even voice a question or attempt to help, a sound ripped through the otherwise silent clearing – a loud, booming voice. It erupted from the treeline, a sound that carried a chillingly familiar malice, cutting through the air with a single, resonant word: “POTTER!”
Harry’s eyes darted in the direction of his name, a jolt of recognition shooting through him. Stalking towards them with an unnerving gait was a man in dark robes. His skin was strikingly pale, almost luminous in the dim light, and a long, sharply pointed goatee descended from his chin, giving him a sinister, almost Mephistophelian air. Harry recognized the man at once, it was Igor Karkaroff. A wave of unease washed over Harry as he observed the man with his wand in hand, allowing his own to fall into slip between down his wrist.
Quickly Harry moved Tracey to the ground behind him and he growled towards the bearded man, “Bold of you to approach me out here alone Karkaroff. You must have a death wish for attacking the daughter of an Auror.”
“Insolent boy, AVADA KEDAVRA!” The man roared.
Harry’s eyes, usually sharp and quick, widened in a primal, instinctual fear as he saw the deathly green curse erupt from the assailant's wand. It was a flash of lethal light, a harbinger of instant oblivion that he alone had survived in their world. Without a second's hesitation, pure adrenaline coursing through his veins, he threw himself backward, shielding Tracey on the ground with a force that knocked the wind out of both of them. They hit the unforgiving dirt hard, the impact jarring their bones and sending a cloud of dust billowing around them. The sound of their bodies hitting the earth was a muffled thud against the sudden, shocking silence that seemed to have fallen over the immediate area, a silence that only heightened the frantic beat of Harry's heart.
But there was no time for lingering on the pain or the shock. The very next instant, Harry was popping back up, a low, guttural growl rumbling in his chest. It was a sound born of rage, of a primal need to survive, to protect. His eyes, no longer wide with fear, narrowed into slits of fierce fury. He didn't hesitate, didn't falter. He immediately beset himself on the man who had cast the lethal spell, a blur of motion driven by an overwhelming sense of urgency.
If Karkaroff was surprised to see the teen fighting back so well, he didn’t show it. The man was mechanical and methodical in his attacks. His curses that came towards Harry were dark, and came at him with reckless abandon. In the initial exchange Harry had caught the man twice, with dark cutting spells that would make the man bleed exponentially, but still the Headmaster didn’t stop. Harry had never seen a dueling style like this before.
A curse flew over his shoulder, and he knew Tracey had broken through her pain and entered the frey. The spell was something he had recently taught her, a low grade spell in the dark arts that would cause the bones to shrivel away in its immediate target, and it struck the man in his non-dominate arm, but in his state it didn’t even slow him down, and in turn she began transfiguring nearby rocks into animate little creatures that began charging towards the dark haired man.
Harry wanted to just keep the girl behind him, but another killing curse made him summon the creation she hurled at the man in the path of the spell to protect them both. The rock exploded causing the debris to cut through Harry’s face, and he recoiled from the pain.
Karkaroff laughed maniacally, and sent a large barrel of fire in his direction, causing Harry’s eyes to widen, and swish his wand in an upward direction of desperation. The fire coalesced around them, and Harry knew this was the fire he had once seen Tom wield. Fiendfyre.
The demonic fire took the shape of a large raven, and attempted to swoop towards Harry, but with a flick of his wand, the bird recoiled, creating a loud caw that deafeningly pierced his ears. Tracey screamed behind him, and he couldn’t tell if it was pain or fear. He didn’t even have time to check.
The man marched closer to them, and Harry’s eyes widened as the former Death Eater began to close in on them. This wasn't a duel; it was a desperate, no-holds-barred fight for his existence along with Tracey’s. Every move Harry made was fueled by the stark reality of the situation: it was them or Karkaroff. Harry didn’t know what he had done to the man to push him to this point, but there was no room for error, no chance for retreat.
“Water charms, now!” Harry yelled, and luckily Tracey obeyed immediately, causing steam to fill the air as jets of water collided with Karkaroffs conjured flames. Harry also attempted to smother the flames with a massive mound of dirt he ripped from the earth with a mighty yell of effort, and with their combined efforts they managed to smother the flame with more steam rising in the air.
Before Harry could begin to launch a counter attack a spell slipped through the stream and caught him directly in the arm, causing him to hiss with pain. He nearly dropped his wand, as his arm began to blacken slowly from the point of impact. Another bellyful laugh came from Karkaroff as he emerged from the steam, and the look in the man’s eyes told a new story.
The man's eyes were completely glazed over, a chilling, vacant stare that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. It was a look Harry had come to recognize with a sickening dread: the unmistakable sign that the person staring back was no longer themselves. He was under the Imperious Curse, Harry realized with a jolt, or perhaps some other insidious mind-altering substance had been forced upon him. That was how they had disrupted fiendfyre so easily, it was easy to win a battle of wills when someone was blindfolded.
The specifics, however, were secondary to the undeniable and terrifying truth: this man, stripped of his own will, was unequivocally set on killing Harry, and quite possibly Tracey as well. That simply could not be allowed to happen.
Harry's deteriorating hand gripped his wand tighter than ever, and he knew it was time for something desperate, with a hiss, Harry jabbed his wand, and began delving into his knowledge of the Dark Arts. He would do what Tom taught him to do, survive, win.
As Parselmagic began to weave its way into Harry's curses, Karkaroff's formidable presence started to crumble. The aura of mindless aggression and power that had defined his advance now flickered, replaced by a horrifying vulnerability. He was no longer the relentless pursuer, but a man in rapid, agonizing decline. A ghastly crimson began to seep from every orifice—his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth—a stark, visceral testament to the insidious power that was tearing him apart from within. His once proud frame spasmed, a grotesque dance of a body succumbing to an unseen, internal assault. The air around him, once charged with his animosity, now carried the metallic scent of fresh blood, mingling with the acrid tang of magic gone awry. Each tremor that wracked Karkaroff's body seemed to echo the subtle, serpentine hiss that accompanied Harry's increasingly potent spells, a chilling symphony of his undoing.
At long last, Harry reared back, his wand a conduit for the tempest raging within him. With a surge of raw power, he unleashed the same searing orange spell that had decimated the werewolf weeks prior, a potent symbol of his burgeoning, terrifying capabilities. Unlike the magically enhanced beast, however, Igor Karkaroff offered no such resilience. He crumbled, his once imposing figure immediately shrivelling as he plummeted to the cold, unforgiving ground. The stench of burnt flesh, acrid and sickening, seared the air, a grotesque testament to the finality of the act. Harry, his own breath ragged and heaving in his chest, watched, transfixed, as the man who had once betrayed his master, the man who had been a specter of the past, took his final, agonizing breaths.
His shoulders sagged, and Harry gasped for breath as he hunched over. It was an exhausting burst of a duel. It happened so fast. Running over to Tracey who had once more fallen to the ground, he asked, “Trace, are you okay?”
“I think he hit me with the cruciatas curse.” Tracey heaved, sitting down on the ground, tears in her eyes.
As Harry waved his wand over the girl and detected no magical damage, he agreed with her guess. His mind bubbled with fury that this happened on his watch, but before he could say anything he could hear the call of others in the distance.
Clearly, their desperate fight had reverberated throughout the tranquil village, a jarring disruption that had undoubtedly drawn the attention of its inhabitants. The arrival of the Aurors was imminent. Representatives from the school, too, would be descending upon them, their faces a mixture of concern and stern inquiry, eager to understand the chaos that had erupted on their doorstep.
With a swift, instinctive movement, he pulled Tracey into the secure circle of his embrace, his arm a shield around her trembling form. Her face, tear-streaked and pale, buried itself into his shoulder, and he felt the dampness of her anguish soak through his robe. It wasn't a loud, heart-wrenching sob, but rather a series of choked, silent tears, each one a testament to the raw, visceral horror they had just barely survived. The tremors that wracked her small frame spoke volumes of the lingering terror, the near-fatal dance with darkness that had left them both shaken. He held her tighter, a silent promise to protect her from any further harm, his own heart still hammering against his ribs from the adrenaline and the chilling proximity of true evil.
Harry wasn’t sure who had put Karkaroff under the Imperious curse, but what he knew for sure was that someone was going to pay for endangering him and Tracey…with their lives.
Comments
Beau Brown
His arm is going to be fine LOL!
sonicmalibu
From getting caught so unawares to being on the back foot for so long seems forced tbh. If Harrys’s arm is forever maimed from this encounter then I’ll be pretty disappointed. Was a pretty sad showing all around.
Alex
Could it have been Barty?
