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Harry Evans Chapter 133: Shenanigans, uh
🕑 Added 2025-08-20 07:03:40 +0000 UTCThe summer continued along in its usual hazy way, devoid of the clear structure of a school curriculum. Work was done, progress was made, and friends were entertained. Harry was paying special attention to hanging out with Tonks since she would start the Auror Academy soon, and he knew for a fact that once she graduated, she would never have as much free time again.
But even that friendship could not overshadow the true focus of the summer. And no matter how much McGonaggal likely hoped that Harry would make the upcoming transfiguration O.W.L. the centre of his world, that honour still belonged to the upcoming dueling tournament and the meeting that he would have before it.
This was why Harry found himself, once again, in the international portkey department of the Ministry of Magic.
”22, 13, 98, 1, 104, 0,” the same bored clerk from last year counted down as Flitwick and Harry clutched at a wooden ladle that carried some unidentifiable stains.
Once the countdown reached zero, they disappeared into the gut-wrenching spiral of colours that was this particular method of transportation.
“Hate that,” Harry growled as he clutched his stomach on the reception side of the Finnish ministry.
Him and Flitwick awkwardly waddled out, escorted by a Finnish witch covered in so many layers of white fur that they could only see her eyes, a very bright and pale blue.
“Britain juu?” the woman asked happily as she led them outside the portkey receiving room and into a large wooden hallway. Very homey. “14,” she said, before once again showing the number with her fingers to make sure they understood.
“Faleminderit,” Harry replied to the confusion of both the woman and his mentor.
“What?” Flitwick asked as they moved on.
The pupil simply shook his head. “Brain freeze from the portkey, wrong language.”
“Which language?”
“Albanian.”
“You speak Albanian?”
“I only know how to say hello, thank you and *******,” Harry replied.
“Any Finnish in that noggin?”
“Ehhhh, perkele.”
Flitwick shot him a disapproving look. “Why is it that you only know the curse words?”
“No clue,” Harry said, and then they were standing in front of door 14.
Flitwick raised his hand to knock, and upon not receiving a reply promptly opened it to uncover a small room with a wooden divider and a glass window from which another fur-covered ministry worker was waving at them to come closer.
There was a fireplace on the side with a little tray holding floo powder.
“Britain, dueling tournament, Filius Flitwick and Harry Evans,” Flitwick said simply, putting up a parchment against the window for the man to read. Although with the layers of fur, it was quite hard to distinguish gender.
“Alright, I see,” the ministry worker replied simply and shrugged. His hand moved, pressing some sort of button, at which the fireplace turned green.
The two wizards went to the floo, took a pinch of powder and jumped right in.
The hotel had been arranged, and five minutes later, they were out again, sitting on the pier facing the shipping docks next to the fish market on the Muggle side of Helsinki. Harry had insisted and was eating a bowl of salmon cream soup that had more parsley than salmon, just how he liked it.
“You seem equally at home in Finland as you did in Austria,” Flitwick said with a hint of confusion in his voice.
“Ehh, every stranger is just a friend you haven’t met yet,” Harry replied. “Similarly, every city is just a home you haven’t lived in yet.”
“Aha,” Flitwick said smartly, ignoring the looks of the locals. It wasn’t often you saw a very small man with a very impressive moustache wearing a black suit straight out of the 1920s in the middle of August.
“About the tournament,” Flitwick continued after Harry had finished his food.
“What about it?”
“Every country hosts differently. I’ll go pick up the bracket information myself as the mentor. Are you alright with waiting here?” Flitwick asked.
“Professor, I’m 14,” Harry replied with a roll of the eyes. “I can also find my own way back to the hotel.”
“It might be better to not get too close to the wizarding side while we’re here,” Flitwick said with a frown.
Harry hummed thoughtfully. They’d been the only people at the ministry, and the magical hotel they were staying at seemed relatively empty. “It’s not a very lively place, is it?”
“The wizarding population is much smaller than in Austria,” Flitwick briefly explained. “Additionally, the culture is more nomadic. The people are scattered amongst the forests and mountains, not centralised in a large city. The population of magical creatures is also much higher than in Austria and Britain.”
“If I’m not supposed to go to the wizarding side of the city, then how about we meet at the National Museum in two hours? I don’t want to wait around here, as nice as the sea is,” Harry vaguely pointed at the rolling waves. “I only came for the food.”
Flitwick hesitated for a moment. “You’re mature enough,” he eventually determined with a shrug. “I’d just suggest you not eat anything without my supervision for the moment.”
“I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Harry replied and demonstratively zipped it, locked it, before swallowing the key.
“Alright, I’ll see you soon.” Flitwick stood up and left, leaving Harry on the relatively popular pier, it was summer after all, to ruminate.
After being sure that the professor was gone…
“Dobby,” Harry said quietly, the servant appearing next to him invisibly and with no sound. The only reason Harry knew the house elf was there was because of his magic sense. “Tell our friend that he has an hour starting in fifteen minutes. At the national art gallery, as we discussed already in the letters.”
-/-
Twenty minutes later, Harry was standing in the relatively empty National Art Gallery looking at a triptych along with some other tourists. The left painting depicted a young girl being followed in the forest by an old man, the middle was her, naked in the lake, being pursued by the same old man in a boat. The last painting had her sitting at the shore of the lake playfully.
“An interesting place to meet,” a voice suddenly spoke behind Harry.
The redhead didn’t bother turning around and simply continued looking at the painting with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Nothing to say?” the voice asked.
“The Aino myth,” Harry suddenly started. “One of my favourite works of art. Do you know the story behind it?”
“Should I?”
“Perhaps you should,” Harry muttered thoughtfully. “It tells the story of a beautiful young girl whose brother foolishly promised her hand in marriage to an old man. The family insists because the old man is powerful and influential, but love cannot be purchased. Aino runs through the forests, through the lakes, but he keeps chasing her. Eventually sick of running, she goes underwater to drown, refusing to become a slave to circumstance and choosing the only fate she can choose freely. Death. But death is temporary, and she returns as a nymph, or the Nordic version thereof. Untouchable, she spends the rest of her days taunting those who once thought they owned her.”
“You identify with the girl?” the voice asked, amused.
“With both. The girl speaks to the child in us. We are always surrounded by people who think they own us, because of seniority, power, familial authority or because they once did us a favour. But they do not know that all they own is an illusion. If we wish to break free, we can, although the price can sometimes be a bit high. But, well, can you really put a price on freedom? The story illustrates the foolishness of those who grasp at something that does not belong to them. It shows, although this is certainly a stretch, that one should look within, rather than without, when seeking.”
“But you said you identified with both.”
“The old man. He has everything, fame, fortune, influence, yet he is alone. So alone, he chases even those who wish to have nothing to do with him. He is the Authority. The ministry, the state, the institution, the narcissist. They have their rules, their power, their influence, but if nobody comes to be subject to their governance, then what do they truly have? Nothing. Empty titles. A broken psyche.”
“What part of that do you identify with?”
“A cautionary tale. We all desire something; it's quite a chronic part of the human condition, I’m afraid. But some things, when not pursued, come to us on their own. And some things, those that run from us, are best left alone. I have a suspicion as to why you are here, but why should I chase, when all things shall come to me with time?”
“The tournament, the brackets. They’ve been made easier. The duelling committee is interested in hinting at the possibility of the age record being broken. Grindelwald was 14 and a half. You’re 14 and two weeks old.”
“Their machinations bore me,” Harry drawled. “I will win and lose whichever duel I desire.”
“Habsburg will be on the opposite side of the bracket. If you win as you desire until the finals, you will meet him.”
“Habsburg couldn’t duel his way out of a wet paper bag.” Harry scoffed.
“He will not win by duelling. Others are competing to prove their personal ability, to upkeep their family honour, or perhaps just for fun. Habsburg is competing for political reasons, and the forces arrayed behind him have the most to lose, or win.”
“Lofty goals wrapped in an inexistent work ethic, narcissism and stupidity. Perhaps the movement deserves such a leader.”
“We cannot suffer such setbacks. Habsburg must lose.”
“Imagine, if you were, that I am a fair maiden, being chased by an unsightly figure of authority and ideology that needs my assistance. How would this figure gain the favour of the maiden?”
“There are favours that can be exchanged. Some luck, perhaps. Three times. By the fourth, it becomes toxic. You have a quest, do you not?”
“The possible repercussions of winning the tournament are many; the repercussions of losing are none. The reward should be double the negative consequences; anything else is a failed investment. Also, did you yourself not partake in your so-called luck in your quest as well? Where did it lead you, exactly?”
Silence.
“The luck was used up on saving your own life, wasn’t it. Escaping Britain. Quests fall by the wayside when personal safety becomes a privilege.” Harry insisted.
“There are not as many repercussions as you might think. Greater forces do not move against children, especially not in Britain, an isolated and cold island. Hogwarts is safe.”
“I am sorry, but if your argument boils down to convincing me that there is no danger, then you obviously do not have enough capital to gain the interest of this particular fair maiden,” Harry snarked.
He would not be used and then thrown aside to face the consequences of his own, only three vials of Felix Felicis to protect him.
“You are very smart, I’ll admit,” the voice started. “You have positioned yourself as the sole recipient of the expertise of many a master. Potter, Flitwick and Quirrell, or should I say... Yet, the instruction of those at the highest order always carries hidden costs. One could say that there is likely already one old man who thinks they own you.”
“Count two,” Harry said. Dumbledore hadn’t benefited him any yet, but he was sure the headmaster thought that Harry was his project to manage.
“What if there was a third?” the voice asked.
“More old men who think they can have me?” Harry joked.
“A payment for services rendered, nothing more, nothing less. A one-hour conversation. But, well, you should know that at the highest level, vast amounts of information can be transmitted very quickly.”
“You let strings extending past the walls of a prison guide your movements? I don’t know if that’s foolish or brave.”
“The same thing,” the voice muttered. “But sometimes we must sacrifice-”
“For the greater good?”
“Of course. For the greater good.”
“I did always ask myself,” Harry mused, “for whom this greater good was, well, good. It seems to be quite against my personal greater good to tie myself to a sinking ship, even if it is only in passing.”
“One last offer then,” the voice said cuttingly. “Three times you will get lucky. Once you will converse with a being beyond comprehension, and for one year you will be personally protected from those circumstances you seem so afraid of, while enjoying personal tutelage in… whatever form of magic you desire.”
Harry turned the offer over in his head. It was, in fact, a good offer. Three vials of felix felicis were already prohibitively expensive. However, the other two favours were tainted.
Was it so easy to gain knowledge without paying an unknown cost? It wasn’t, at least not in the wizarding world.
As for the one year, obviously, making connections with the wrong people had the tendency to drag one down in the long term.
But…
Would Habsburg, or at least the people behind him, be powerful enough to retaliate while he was absconding in Hogwarts? Would they even want to? After all, it was foolish to make unnecessary enemies, going after him just because he won a duel, no matter how much they wished they had won it. It would be a bit childish.
The rewards were great. So were the potential benefits.
“I accept your deal,” Harry eventually said.
He would need the skills and the luck. And in the end, if he didn’t want to continue entangling himself with these forces? A fidelius on Cyprus, or better yet, some island in Okinawa for a few years, would allow the heat to cool down.
“Of course, that is only if you win, or if nobody beats Habsburg before you,” the voice added silkily.
“Of course,” Harry replied. “Do have a great day, Severus.”
“It is a nice painting,” the man mused before walking off.
A few minutes later, Flitwick came to join Harry, who had not yet changed his position.
“An interesting painting,” the half-goblin said.
“Yes,” Harry agreed. “But I don’t think you’d find it particularly relatable.” He turned around to look at his mentor and gave him a polite smile. “We can leave, if you want.”
Flitwick twirled his moustache. “Why not walk through the rest of the gallery, if we’re already here,” he proposed.
Harry’s smile turned more genuine. “A good idea, I can see why you’re the head of Ravenclaw.”
The professor laughed. “If only it worked like that. If only it worked like that…”
Comments
bor902
Nah he won fully
bor902
Flitwick is cool frfr. Lol it might actually be a year tbh. Moody would be a good interlude actually
bor902
well a lot of people have houselves, so idk really. Could be legit
Jubex
Since Doby informed Snape about the meeting, wouldnt Snape be suspicious of how Harry has Doby? With some search he could figure out Harrys "secret" identity.
Green0Photon
Harry is so dramatic. I love this so much. I also love the difference at the end, where Flitwick is the true mentor, because they both just share a genuine joy for learning about the world and a broad positivity (which for Harry, is only blemished by the quest with his mother). --- Some other thoughts: I wonder how long it's been in real world time since the last tournament. Would be funny if it was a year. I would love to see a Tonks intermission for when she's finally good enough with occlummency and learns from Harry. And when she enters the Aurors as someone super OP. One day I want Moody meeting Harry, too
Ant1h3ld
As far as I can interpret it: Snape wants Harry as the poster child of his Grindelwald-aligned faction. Harry uses the Aino story to demonstrate that he would rather off himself than be controlled like a marionette as well as reiterate that he has his own desires and mission (finding out what the fuck happened to Lily exactly) This part is the most obvious. The rest is haggling about what Snape can get for Harry if he agrees with the plan to win the tournament as the youngest ever: 3 vials of Felix Felicis, personal tutoring by Grindelwald and finally a 1 year grace period where Snape's faction does everything in their power to keep other players (Dumbledore, Death Eater remnants, The Ministry, thr Habsburg faction) away from Harry as well as another tutor.
MagicWafflez
hm~ so, he went for it... oh well~ it's not the worst thing in the world to be considered better than grindelwald... didn't he only come in 4th at that age?
Theo Q.
The doublespeak is too much for me. I don't understand what snape is offering or why he is offering it
