AN: Wow, finally reached those triple digits. That had always bothered me.
In any case, I might continue a few more chapters to finish the Triwizard Tourney arc but no promises.
If you care, I wrote a few more fanfics during the time I didn't write (more chapters for this or my other published fanfics here). I mostly wrote an original story I won't put on webnovel, but whenever I had writer's block, I wrote other stuff. Or read webnovels.
Which made me write two R18 parody fanfics:
|1| The super clichee SI overpowered MC that transmigrates into the OnePiece world during the Alabasta arc, eats the logia jizz-jizz fruit off of a cactus and gains the powers of dual cultivation (full on braindead logic leaps and the worst harem logic that I intended to make fun of). For example, the 'SI' MC somehow knows the most obscure knowledge because of supermodel-level scientists he rescued on his missions as the best agent of the world at age 18 ||
|2| A dude becomes a Kirigakure Uzumaki from the same era as Naruto's parents, gets betrothed to the future Fifth Mizukage and becomes the most overpowered being in the entire verse by the virtue of a sage region bound to his soul that grows immortal herbs that he learns to refine into pills. He trolls Terumi Mei his entire life and through some twisted logic makes Tsunade bear twin children and go back to Konoha to raise Naruto ||
I also wrote a fanfic I might actually post, but that one is less refined. Currently written up to around the time before Guardians of the Galaxy vol 2 / Infinity War arc:
|3| No transmigration. Just a demi-god from the Greek pantheon who is cursed to an endless life in the MCU. No matter how often he dies, he wakes up in a bed the next morning. By the time Iron Man 1 happens, my MC is over two-thousand years old and is completely jaded. SHIELD finds out that he is special and forces him to participate in the events that happen in the MCU. Something he does not like at all, making everyone's life more miserable.||
In any case. Enough rambling. Here's chapter 100! Wooo, yay me.
— — — — — — — — — —
Filius Flitwick scanned the Ravenclaw common room. His little birds were celebrating as if they had achieved champion status themselves and won the whole thing already. He'd already chided a few older students to put away the hard liquor to not lead astray the younger ones enjoying their root beers and low-alcohol ciders. Flitwick's eyes searched the room for the actual champions Harry Potter and Talion Macnair, who had survived their tasks and managed to secure the egg that would help them get clues for the second.
Harry was enjoying the positive attention of his classmates and quidditch teammates. The boy who had suffered so much so early in life was finally at ease and thriving. But there was still some wariness in his gaze. A shadow of doubt in the way he held himself when he thought nobody was looking. A gaze that lingered on shadowy corners a little too long.
The charms professor noted it all as he sipped from his bottle of cherry cider.
A gift from his most gifted student.
A student he did not find among the celebrations.
Flitwick looked to the tall windows facing the lake. He knew where Talion was. The young wizard had made sure his little crush from Beauxbaton was fine in the medical tent before bolting toward the lake.
'Does he already know the second task? Is he already preparing traps beneath the surface to ensure another crushing victory?' Flitwick thought with a proud smile. That dragon incarnation his student conjured was spectacular.
Dumbledore had asked the charms master for his opinion on how to safely secure the objective for the second task a week ago. Surely it was unneeded, but there was an intangible, lingering tension in the relationship between the headmaster and the charms professor.
Flitwick's involvement in the planning of the second task was an olive branch to try and bridge that gap that formed when the smaller head of house had outright accused Dumbledore of deliberately messing with Talion just before the second year began.
… and he still believed it to be so. Which was why he helped Talion go to Italy for his third year in the first place.
"Have you thought about my offer, Miss Croft?" Flitwick asked as he walked closer to the young witch who had declined the headgirl position this year. Quite in character for her, though he was still miffed. He had spent quite a bit of political capital to secure the position for her.
"I'm very sorry to have to disappoint you again, professor," the muggleborn witch excused with a helpless smile. She only briefly yet politely looked at her head of house before looking down at the lake again.
Flitwick came to a stop next to the window and joined her in looking at the body of water down below.
"It is not often that I offer such an opportunity," the professor asked with a rueful sigh escaping his lips. His gaze roamed around the rippling surface of the lake. "May I ask why?"
"Talion, … he…"
"Even if you accept a betrothal from him, I assure you, you can still take an apprenticeship. We've come far since the days before Morgana fought for the rights of witches."
Lara breathlessly chuckled. She didn't need to deny what was surely meant as a joke. "He found something for me. Something that gives me the hope to solve a… very personal matter. I promised my father that I…"
She stopped as Flitwick held up a hand. Lara saw his smile filled with understanding. She didn't need to explain more. Didn't need to carefully weigh her words to reveal as little as possible.
"He's quite the capable little troublemaker, isn't he?"
Lara smiled. A deep, satisfied smile. "He's a great friend to have," she quietly murmured. She turned her head a little to look at her professor for a short moment. "Could you have accomplished his spells today, professor?"
Flitwick snorted and brought a hand to his mustache to twirl the end a little. Lara's eyes widened as she remembered what Talion had told her in secret: Flitwick has a tell when he boasts and embellishes a little.
"You heard him explain that I taught him those spells. And that little dragon he conjured? I'd need to study a little how many spells he wove together to make it so lifelike… but surely it would be within my means."
Lara's expression turned bewildered as she whispered under her breath, "'Little dragon…?'"
Flitwick coughed into his hand and asked, "How have you progressed in runic magic?"
Lara straightened a little, her face once more becoming a pleasant mask. "I'm progressing rapidly. Talion is an excellent teacher. Though, I purposefully avoided him this week to make sure he had enough time to prepare for the first task."
"Yes, he mentioned to me this morning how annoyed he was to need to look for you in the castle before each tutoring session," Flitwick dryly countered.
Lara could only awkwardly chuckle.
"Even without becoming my apprentice, I of course wish you the best of fortune for any future endeavors, Miss Croft," the professor wished and turned to walk to his quarters. "Have a fruitful last school year."
Lara's eyes followed her professor's back before looking down at the lake again.
A bold sixth-year student walked over with two drinks and a suave grin on his face.
"Hey, Lara. Would you-"
"No thank you, Liam," she interrupted and walked away without even looking at him.
— — — — —
The calm of the lake ruptured as a jubilant Talion jumped out at the shore. He dropped the egg on the beach without worry and waved his secondary kelpie wand over his form to get rid of the cold water. His long hair was already dry because of the enchanted headband that used to be Ravenclaw's diadem. With another wave of his first wand the hair was loosely bound and his wetsuit slowly rippled to turn back into shirt, vest, slacks, and comfortable shoes.
"Quite the nifty spellwork," a wizened voice praised with a chuckle.
Talion slowly turned around, a brow lifted in confusion. "How did you do that?"
Dumbledore combed his long beard with a hand and asked, "How did I do what?"
"You were not there a moment ago and I felt no magic to announce your arrival. And yet you stand there now regardless."
"You feel magic?" Dumbledore asked in genuine interest.
Talion cast another silent spell as a warm coat gently wrapped him up to shield him from the bleak November winds. "No answer then." His eyes slowly searched the skies until they seemingly found something far in the clouds. "Fawkes' phoenix fire travel?"
Dumbledore hummed, whether or not in confirmation, Talion couldn't tell.
"You've solved the riddle for the second task?" The headmaster asked as he briefly looked at the carelessly tossed egg lying lopsided in the sand between them.
"Had a professor in Italy who taught us how to converse with merfolk. Wasn't really a riddle, was it?"
The centennial nodded, as if the answer wasn't meant to be insulting. "You don't like me much, do you my boy?"
Talion's eyes briefly rested on Dumbledore's wand hand. The man didn't have it equipped, but he knew about the uniqueness of the headmaster's focus. The Elder Wand was not just a Deathly Hollow. Heimdall had revealed to him that it was the repurposed grip of the mythical sword Excalibur, a lost Isu artifact.
And as part of the legendary blade, it should come with one of its unique properties. No lies could be told to the wielder of the Excalibur, the Line Ender.
"You have not given me much reason to like you, sir," Talion answered evenly, silently acknowledging Dumbledore's remark.
"It started a little before that," the older wizard prodded, still with that ever-friendly, grandfatherly smile on his face.
Talion almost burst out, first in anger then in derisive laughter, but he caught his tongue. Instead, he forced his Occlumency into overdrive and looked at the waning moon hanging above them.
He couldn't lie, he repeated to himself. But he could speak enough to satisfy whatever curiosity brought the man to him. Omitting the things he needed to keep to himself.
"You have long figured out I am a natural Occlumens, right?"
Dumbledore once more lifted a brow, but nodded indulgingly.
"Well, those naturally gifted in this art gain many boons. Near perfect recall is among my gifts," Talion explained, finally looking straight at Dumbledore. "So the moment I heard your voice at my welcoming feast, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were the man who allowed my mother to die and let me grow up in an orphanage. I heard your voice the day I was born."
"It was never my intention to let you suffer," Dumbledore explained without defending his actions or so much as flinching at the reveal. He knew as well as Talion by now that the headmaster did not in fact allow Selene Macnair to die. She was beyond saving, according to Bellatrix and her brother-in-law, Talion's father.
His safe birth alone was a miracle even by magical standards.
Talion shook his head, indicating that he didn't want to argue the point.
Silence stretched as the winds howling over the lake now ruffled the headmaster's garish robes.
"I know about the prophecy. I know that it talks about either Harry, Neville, or me. I overheard your muttering that day," Talion continued to break the silence. He bent down to pick up the egg. Carelessly tossing it in the air, catching it, and tossing it again, he revealed, "I also know how Riddle will try to come back. Horcruxes. Stupid madman split his soul half a dozen times. I already dealt with a few splinters. But maybe you can make yourself useful for once."
Dumbledore shivered. It wasn't the wind. It wasn't the cold tone in Talion's voice. What made him shiver was the realization that Tom Riddle had split his soul half a dozen times. And what if Talion was wrong? What if it was even more?
Dumbledore had long interrogated Slughorn and learned of young Riddle's obsession with the foul soul magic. At worst, the headmaster feared he'd have to find two or three soul anchors.
"Half a dozen…?" Dumbledore asked with a quivering voice.
Talion's gaze fell to Dumbledore's wand hand again. Still empty. The tremor in the fingers was new.
"I do not like you, you're right. But we have a common enemy, headmaster. I suspect there's still one horcrux in his ancestral home. Maternal or paternal, who can say? I did not find out over the summer break." Phrasing it like that worked, Talion celebrated inwardly. Of course he knew exactly where the ring horcrux was. He didn't find out over the summer break because he knew from the very start. But this was his attempt to borrow an enemy's knife. He couldn't give the game away and make the man needlessly paranoid beyond what Talion could influence.
Dumbledore's already steadily climbing level of paranoia was sufficient to send him into an early grave at the hands of Voldemort's cursed Gaunt lordship ring holding a Deathly Hollow.
"How have you learned about the Horcruxes and where to find them?" Dumbledore finally asked, his voice forcibly mustering much of the man's authority.
Sadly for him, Talion did not acknowledge much of said authority because of his own preconceived notions about the man before him. He did not answer the question but instead replied, "The question should be how could you take so long, headmaster? I found two of them right here in Hogwarts. Granted, one was newer, the other one had been here since the time you refused to offer Riddle a position as professor."
"These are dangerous things, Talion. His curses and enchantments on these objects are profound! You cannot be swayed by Tom's sweet whisperings!"
"Please. My disdain for the cur outweighs all promises of power he could never fulfill. I've dealt with more cursed objects during my school years than you have in decades, I'm sure."
"Then surely, you'd let me check-!"
"No. Find your own horcrux to experiment. The three founder treasures I've found that he enchanted are mine, Helena Ravenclaw can vouch for it, and Riddle's diary is nothing but ash now."
Dumbledore's eyes turned to pinpricks, "The vault! Bellatrix' treasure you took!"
"You're very slow, headmaster. No wonder he could dance on your nose for so long. That you'd need three infants to deal with a threat you created for our society."
Talion kicked the egg up with a foot, catching it with a hand, and began walking toward the castle. Originally he'd been in too good a mood because of what he learned moments prior. Nothing related to the egg or the second task but another fruitful conversation with the two founders living inside an artifact below the castle.
The watery entrance was just a cover. He could enter the Forge room through the Room of Requirement. But people would wonder where he was.
In any case, Talion was now in a foul mood. Talking to Dumbledore usually did that for him, but now even more so he was annoyed. Whether or not it was the influence of Excalibur's grip or his own impulsiveness, he had revealed too much just now.
Thankfully he had thought of invoking the Grey Lady's name, hopefully making sure the headmaster wouldn't think too soon to ask for the founder treasures he had obtained.
He still needed Slytherin's locket to grant bloodline abilities through rituals to his loyal followers. He used his own chance to gain the ability of a metamorphmagus and was delighted ever since. A few of the ingredients he used were mere catalysts that could not only be reused but also gained more power under the correct circumstances. Some of them he and his followers fulfilled.
Talion could hardly contain himself, imagining a whole squad of trained assassin shapeshifters trained by him.
Then there was the Ravenclaw Diadem that the consciousness of the very founding witch herself had enchanted to be his very own shield and weapon in one. A sharper mind to a wizard meant a sharper weapon. Now, it even offered protection against physical and metaphysical threats aimed at his head.
No more drowning, no more airborne poison, no more mental influence unless he willed it so.
Finally, the Hufflepuff cup played a center role in his ambition to uplift his followers and create a prosperous future for all he came to cherish. His four house elves enjoyed a drink from that cup each day, the people Patrick rescued drank at least a cup a week unknown to all.
Already, the changes were astonishing. Urd, Skuld, and Verdi grew taller, their figures slowly losing that malnourished look. They still firmly looked like house elves, but much healthier. Patrick lost a few of those nasty scars Talion's grandfather had graced him with, but the older elf's transformation stopped at that. Yet all of them reported that their elf magic was much easier to wield already.
To add to that, his followers living in Goldsborough became more lively, more healthy. No more back pain for the squibs who labored as much as they could to feel like they contributed. Scars from their tormentors began to fade, even those the expensive potions Talion procured for them at the start didn't fix.
The leader of the first group, Amanda Evert, the first to become a trained assassin from among his followers, even began to show signs of awakening her magic.
Talion had asked Lady Hufflepuff in the Forge room if that was indeed possible, if her cup could really be so miraculous. And the answer only confused him more.
'Technically no.'
Why 'technically'? Talion would need to figure it out eventually. He had quite a few squibs loyal to him. Empowering them to be able to use magic was a worthwhile endeavor.
Not to mention that the cup's elixir even boosted the growth of the herbs they grew around the forests of Goldsborough with the help of dryads and forest nymphs. The thing was truly a godsend to someone trying to build up an organization.
— — — — —
Lucius Malfoy's face was gaunt. The hollow skin stretched against his skull in a hideous smile he hoped was flattering.
"My lord, surely you do not believe me capable of breaking into Azkaban on my lonesome? All your loyal followers before me failed, only I remain."
A raspy, entirely inhuman voice spoke from beneath a silken blanket. "I never believed you were capable of anything, least of which alone. You remaining at my side is nothing but foolish luck for you and an intolerable curse for me. I loathe that your loyal father was taken from me by that wasting curse instead of you. Call upon your loyal bannermen already, or have you lost even the faith of people born to serve your house?"
Once more, Lucius Malfoy thought about strangling the creature's neck. Once more Malfoy dropped to the floor to writhe in agony.
"How often will you entertain those thoughts, Lucius?"
The pain from the cursed marks slowly receded. The terror in the pureblood lord's eyes remained. Trying his best to sit up in a dignified manner, the blonde wizard eventually managed to get into a kneeling position.
"We will use the second task as a distraction. You will only have to get me close. I will convince the isle's guards to join our cause."
Lucius Malfoy did not need to ask what 'second task' meant. Already he spent a fortune to bribe his way into a position of influence regarding the proceedings of the tournament. Something their reluctant 'ally' failed to do despite his unique position.
With another bow, the lord left the master bedroom and walked toward his study. His beautiful wife waited there, shrouded in shadow. Her once remarkable face and stunning features were similarly sickly and wretched.
"I have procured unicorn blood from sources in Poland," she whispered with a hollow expression.
Lucius Malfoy clicked his tongue. "It loses too much efficacy if it isn't fresh. He won't like it."
"I cannot endure him drawing my essence much longer, Lucius," Narcissa Malfoy rebuked as she leaned forward. The pale moonlight shown on the deepening lines of her face. "This abomination will be the death of us. Nothing good will come from serving such a creature."
A Lord Malfoy who didn't lack the energy for an outburst would have blasted the room apart to show his indignation. But Lucius Malfoy, as he was, walked to his grand leather chair, fell on it as if he was a puppet with his strings cut and endured the silence that admitted what his wife feared most.
"We cannot allow Draco to meet him. Have you sent him your instructions?" Lucius whispered weakly.
Narcissa Malfoy nodded with a defeated look. "I fear Severus will ask questions. And if he does, he will be smart enough to figure it out. And if he figures it out… he will get involved. He will draw Draco into it, I'm sure."
Lucius Malfoy closed his eyes, drawing the same conclusions as his wife.
"His ego will not let him see the danger for our son. Maybe I can ask my eldest sister-?"
"No," Malfoy rebuffed before the mother of his only child could finish the thought. "I'd sooner send him away with that useless traitor Karkaroff."
"We will die, Lucius. He will not care what happens to us. His ruinous path will drown entire family trees in blood once more, just like last time. Are your convictions truly worth your son's life, still?"
Lucius Malfoy stared blankly ahead.
"He is weaker than before. Much weaker. The only reason we do not pose a threat to him is that he planned for it. His slave seals and curses are rooted in our bodies. A mere babe could flick the switch… and he does."
A small tear rolled down the man's cheek.
But when he opened his eyes, a small wave of pain ran through his body. Malfoy did not cry out this time. He endured because his treasonous thoughts brought him a sliver of hope and a whole cache of satisfaction.
Malfoy knew now what he had given away to that insufferable Macnair brat. What that lowly cur had taken from his sister-in-law's personal vault. Something that would doom his master.
As much as he hated Macnair and his entire bloodline, Malfoy was sure now that he hated his so-called master even more.