Chapter 6. Unrestrained Strength
The Quidditch World Cup was being held on a vast campsite. A massive open field ringed by thick woods. The gigantic stadium rose in the distance, its alabaster walls shining bright in the morning sunlight. It alone stood a solid thing among the sea of silks, anchoring this mighty entourage.
Everywhere Harry's eyes fell, there was a tent billowing with the breeze, a fluttering flag mounted on the pole. The rows of tents were endless, spread in all eight directions, encircling the stadium like a shield wall trapping a lone enemy. And they all came in various sizes and colours. Though the colour green seemed to be the most common.
Harry's family trodded carefully through the crowd, on the dirt path crisscrossing the venue, careful not to trip on a stray rope or a pole. And it was a crowd. Never before had he seen so many people packed into one place. There were at least a hundred thousand people! Maybe more. And the result was sweltering heat and constant clamour.
It was a city without its comforts, but not without its business.
"Irish flag for a knut! For a knut, get your Irish flag!"
"Krum's photo for only a galleon! Krum's signed photo for ten!"
"Veela's hair here! Buy it for only a sickle! Veela's hair, once you smell it, you'll lose your mind—in the best way!"
Harry blinked at the stall selling Veela's hair. Was that even legal?
"Move along." Daphne slapped his back, catching his arm and tugging him after her. "I'll give you my hair if you're that desperate. It's better than a Veela's, I can assure you."
"Is that even legal?" He let her pull him along, jogging to keep up, amazed at how soft her hand felt in his. "I mean selling Veela hair—not, you know, taking yours."
She scoffed, slowing down as Rose and the others came into view. "It's probably scented grey hair from some old hag. As far as I know, Veelas are very careful with their hair and nails. They know how depraved wizards can be. It's most likely a scam."
Harry didn't press the topic, unwilling to sour his mood.
Their tent was at last visible. A purple thing, barely large enough to house two people. Or so it would seem from the outside.
Lily entered first, followed by Rose and Hermione. Then, Daphne released his hand and ducked inside.
The moment he went into the tent, the noise cut off, and a weight lifted off his chest. It was blissfully quiet here. He hadn't known how much the loud chaos was affecting him until now. He had grown to love silence since he decided he'd be homeschooled. So rarely his ears were assailed by such a variety of noise.
He pinched the ache between his forehead until it dwindled into nothing. This was probably his last Quidditch World Cup. He was not going to force himself through this again. Unless Rose actually went pro, of course. Then he would have to attend every game.
His body shuddered.
Speaking of Rose, his twin sprawled prone on the sofa, taking up the entire space, so Daphne and Hermione had to sit on the other. Now that was selfish.
The tent was spacious inside. The floor was carpeted with a fine beige rug, and the purple 'walls' appeared steadier than mere fabric should be. Two black sofas faced each other in the centre, and flaps on either side led to their sleeping rooms.
It was more luxurious than a tent should be but not as cosy as their house. Nothing could be. He already missed Potter Manor. The thought of spending the entire day here made him feel a little anxious. He didn't do well in new places. He didn't want to. He stifled a groan. Why did he even bother coming here? Right, because his absentee godfather suddenly realised they existed and wanted to meet them outside of Britain.
Shaking his head, deciding not to be a spoilsport, he walked over and plopped on Rose.
She grunted, the air pushed out of her lungs. He felt her body sink further into the cushions.
"Get off, you brute! You're heavy," she hissed, twisting her face to the side so she could glare at him with a single eye.
"Then make space, you slob," he retorted in a similar way, flicking her earlobe.
She flinched and her glare turned intense. "You first."
He readily rose to his feet, already knowing she wouldn't stay true to her words. And lo and behold. Instead of sitting up, she rolled on her back and stretched her feet, so now even the armrest was unavailable. She smiled like an angel. "It seems there's no space. How about you park your butt there," she pointed at the sofa from where Hermione and Daphne were watching them with exasperation, "little brother."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Do you want me to sit on your stomach?"
"You can try." She immediately folded her legs, her knee pointed upwards, protecting her belly. "I'll be sure to introduce my knee to your butt."
He dropped into the narrow space her folded legs allowed, victorious. "There, some space."
"Idiot." Daphne snorted, crossing her leg over the knee. "Why do I think you lose your brain cells when you're with Harry?"
Rose lazily pushed her legs into his lap. "Because we're twins. My brain syncs with his when we are close. It temporarily degrades to match his level. I'll be brilliant again once we're back at Hogwarts."
"Actually, it's the opposite." He drummed his fingers on her knee, the texture of leather familiar beneath his fingers. Ever since she began playing Quidditch for her house, her wardrobe changed drastically. Now dresses were replaced by tight leather trousers and random tops. "Her brain does its best to match my superior intellect but fails and malfunctions."
"Harry's hypothesis makes much more sense to me," Hermione chirped, fishing out a book from her mokeskin pouch, her lips twitching.
"Sure it does." Rose drawled, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "You're absolutely not saying that because you fancy him."
"Rose!" Hermione shrieked, her cheeks colouring up, her frantic eyes darting everywhere but his face. "Don't lie!"
"So you didn't come along with us to peek while he was exercising without a shirt?" Rose burst out laughing. "Who was the one drooling over my brother? Not me, obviously. And not Daph, either. You should've seen her face, Harry. It was priceless."
No one else laughed. A heavy silence descended like a dark veil. Hermione looked mortified, guilty, and hurt. Daphne fidgeted, a hint of awkwardness clinging to her, and Harry was furious.
Hermione muttered a quick apology and practically fled the tent.
Harry shoved his sister's legs off his lap and jumped to his feet. "You spied on me while I was training in the duelling room?"
Rose's laughter had long since died. "Nothing like that. I just wanted to show them how hard you train. They were curious after you won the duel."
"Still, you should've told me." Harry snapped, pacing between the sofas. "Imagine if I brought my friends over and let them watch you when you're half naked."
She opened her mouth, then shut it close. No doubt almost saying you don't have friends, but thinking better of it.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it in a bad way. I swear I just wanted to show them how cool you are." Her voice shrank to a whisper, her eyes fixed on his feet. "Please, Harry, you have to believe me."
"She isn't lying," Daphne said quietly, coming to her defence. "We might've lingered longer than we should have, but Rose only wanted to show us how you train."
"I know." Harry sighed, dragging a hand through his hair before dropping back onto the sofa beside Rose. He didn't move away when she leaned against him. "But it feels weird that you three were watching me while I was like that, all sweaty—"
"And smelly." Daphne added, lips curling in a wry smile. "You reeked of rotten mice."
"And you of a healthy corpse plant." He grinned despite himself, his anger melting away.
They both laughed at the inside joke, while Rose just looked bewildered.
"You better go and apologise to Hermione," he said, bumping her shoulder. "You were being an arse."
"I know. I know." Rose sighed, pushing herself off the sofa. "I hope she isn't lost in the crowd already."
After Rose left, it was just them. Harry and Daphne. Daphne and Harry. One who secretly liked the other. And one who used to hate him.
Daphne quirked her eyebrow. "So? Plan to woo Hermione now that you're aware of her crush?"
Harry was flattered to know that someone as smart and pretty as Hermione found him attractive. But… he had his sights on someone else.
"No. Hermione is great, but I'm interested in someone else." He confessed with a tight smile, being careful not to give away the secret.
Daphne just shrugged, her blue eyes locked on him with a strange intensity. "Call me biased, but I doubt anyone is better than Hermione."
"Hermione is good. But she is something else. She's kind of impossible to top."
She sighed and shook her head, but there was a fond smile, a knowing one. "Boys are stupid."
"And girls are perverts," he quipped.
"Touché"
~xXxXx~
After ensuring their sleeping quarters were up to par, Lily stepped into the living room, where Harry and Daphne were engrossed in conversation.
She glanced at them and smirked, amused by her son's obvious adoration of the blonde. The way he leaned forward, hanging on Daphne's every word as if they were songs of divine muses, tickled her. His eyes shone each time the girl smiled or laughed at his remarks.
He was absolutely smitten.
Ah, youth. She could remember her own teenage years, falling for every pretty face that happened to glance her way.
It was a shame, really. Daphne didn't seem nearly as taken with him. Fond, yes, but there was no spark of adoration, no hint of desire, only the warmth and affection one reserves for a close friend.
There would be no happy ending for her boy here; that much was certain. The girl he liked didn't like him back. Quite the opposite, in fact. If Lily's intuition—which never failed her—was right, the blonde's interest lay elsewhere. In the other twin.
Her poor son was barking up the wrong tree. Daphne Greengrass, it seemed, preferred bacon to sausages.
She resisted the urge to meddle, to shatter the fragile illusion of love, to reveal Harry's mistake. But she knew better. This was a good learning opportunity for him. She wouldn't spoil their bittersweet youth. Let them break each other's heart, let them despair and mend them again. Hearts were meant to be stuck in the endless cycle of hurting and healing. She wouldn't rob Harry of his first rejection. Plus, she'd always be there for him. He would soon learn that only her love was unconditional. That he needed only her.
With a sharp snap of her fingers, she made her way to the tent's entrance. "Come, Harry. We should go and say hello to Sirius."
"Rose isn't here yet." Harry didn't whine at her for separating him from his sweetheart, his tone was calm and rational, but it seemed like a whine to her anyway. "Shouldn't we wait for her?"
"No need. She can meet him later. But we must go see him and thank him for the tickets. We don't want to seem ungrateful, do we?" She slowed her pace and shot a pointed look over her shoulder.
He sighed and stood up.
"I'll go find Hermione and Rose in the meantime. It's been half an hour since they left," Daphne said, walking away before they could leave the tent themselves.
Lily watched the retreating figure of Daphne Greengrass. The girl was sylphlike with a slender body and otherworldly blue eyes. And her long pale hair always seemed to fall straight and pristine. Her choice of attire also added to that ethereal aesthetic, a flowing white dress laced with gold-filigree. No wonder her son was besotted. In all her years, Lily had met only a handful of girls as pretty as Daphne. Even Proserpina Greengrass, the girl's mother, wasn't this beautiful.
"That one's gorgeous, eh?" She elbowed him, stifling a chuckle at his short "Yes".
"But not as much as me, correct?" She presented herself with a flourish, spreading her arms and doing a slow twirl for him, the twist of her hips languid and deliberate.
She allowed herself a triumphant smile as his gaze landed on her, as it took in everything, from her loose scarlet hair to the back of her dark heels. He was like dry sand devouring every last drop of water. Today, she'd chosen a sleeveless blood-red gown. It was bold, to say the least. While it didn't have a plunging neckline, it stuck to her body like a second skin, moulding to every curve and contour. It accentuated her eye-catching assets. It drew focus to her hourglass body. Plus, a slit ran up her left side, up to her mid-thigh, revealing a white leg if you looked closely enough. And the sexy black stockings made that glimpse doubly rewarding.
His awkward silence was delicious.
Chuckling, satisfied, she swept out of the tent, followed by her darling son, who was no doubt staring at her bum.
Truly, she was the epitome of beauty. Forget a young girl like Daphne, no one could surpass her.
Sirius' tent wasn't too far from theirs. And they found him nursing a scotch in an armchair. Draped in thick black robes, he looked… diminished. His once lustrous hair was peppered grey, and his cheeks were sunken and hollow. There used to be an era where witches went crazy at the sight of his roguish smile. Now those same witches wouldn't spare this man a second glance.
He was alone, as usual. And the moment his eyes found her, he snorted. "Trying to pick up a victim for the night?"
She didn't have to look behind to see Harry's frown. Like any child, he was possessive of his mother, uncomfortable to hear that she could be more than a mother, that she could have sex.
"Are you volunteering?" she quipped.
He shivered and shook his head. "Never, you bloody mantis."
She chortled, perching on the couch facing him, crossing her leg over the other. "Are you still pretending Harry doesn't exist?" she softly asked since he still had to acknowledge Harry's presence.
Her boy sat beside her, rigid and resentful.
"Nice to see you again, Harry. How many years has it been?" Sirius joked, though he firmly kept his gaze on her, unable to look at him.
"Five, I think," Harry muttered.
"How have you been?"
"Good. You?"
"I'm good, too."
Lily rolled her eyes at their stiff conversation, but she understood why they were like that.
Harry's resentment was simple. He disliked Sirius for deserting him.
Sirius' problem, on the other hand, was… complex.
From the moment Harry turned into a young prepubescent boy, Sirius' visits to Potter Manor decreased. The depressed man couldn't keep up the jolly act. He saw in Harry what he couldn't save, and a point came where he couldn't even look at Harry without being reminded of that night. Finally, he cut them off from his life to escape the ghosts of the past.
It didn't seem to have helped, if his present condition was any indication.
Sirius was there when James was ambushed. And he had never forgiven himself for being saved. Harry's face trudged up acutely painful memories that he wanted to bury deep, memories so torturous that he'd rather abandon his godchildren altogether than face the ghosts. The war had thoroughly broken him. It left him the sole surviving Marauder.
That was why she never asked him what happened to them on the night James was killed. She never asked him how much they suffered. She feared the little rationality left in her will be consumed if she came to know the graphic details. It was already getting difficult not to attack Malfoy Manor. She didn't want any more temptation. It was for both their sakes that they never discussed that night.
"You think Lucius will attend the match?" Sirius asked, his attention back to her, the perfunctory conversation with Harry done. His voice had gone quiet, his eyes bulged in anticipation, the dark circles making him look like a rabid dog. Like the man who had murdered the Parkinsons a week after the war's conclusion. The man who had cracked a little toddler's head against the wall.
The only reason Sirius wasn't sent to Azkaban was because his family had untold political power. Arcturus Black had bought the Aurors, and the murders were left unsolved, a mystery.
Lily didn't hate him for that. She'd have done the same in his place.
War and rage made monsters out of everyone. But unlike her, Sirius was pathetic enough to be weighed down by guilt and remorse.
"I don't think so. Lucius knows there are two 'mad dogs' always waiting for a bite. He wouldn't risk it. That he showed up on Platform Nine and Three-quarters was a miracle enough," she mumbled despondently.
Lily and Sirius had attempted many covert attacks in the early years. But the slimy bastard always managed to run away, turtling behind the unassailable protections of his manor. The last attack they did was in 1988, and it wasn't covert enough. It brought the ire of the Ministry and Dumbledore. And the two had to reluctantly abandon their game of 'who can kill Lucius' first if they didn't want to be incarcerated. But, still, they always were looking for more opportunities. They wouldn't hold back if a chance fell in their lap.
Sirius groaned and sipped from his bottle. "The coward," he slurred.
"Anyways, what have you been up to since you ran away from the country?" she asked, changing the topic, slinging an arm around Harry and pulling him closer to her side. Close enough that he should feel her skin through the clothes. It wouldn't do to leave him all bored and unattended. She wasn't that heartless. He could enjoy her close proximity while she was entertained by the gossip.
Sirius always had such a well of gossip. He was fun like that.
Her lips twitched when Harry's hesitant arm slid around her waist, his open palm resting on her hip.
She could feel the light press of his fingers.
Good. Now everyone could have fun.
~xXxXx~
Daphne was getting increasingly worried.
She had scoured the nearby area and her best friends had yet to turn up. Praying that she had missed them on the way, that they would be already present in the tent, she returned.
The tent was empty. Even Harry wasn't there yet, probably still with his godfather.
She sagged onto the sofa and rubbed her face, dread welling up in her chest. She'd always been paranoid, jumping to the worst conclusions. And this situation didn't help. Her mind kept conjuring gruesome ways Rose and Hermione had died, or worse… kidnapped. She should've tagged along when Rose went to find Hermione. Instead, she chatted with Harry. Brilliant! If something bad happened, if they were hurt, it would be all her fault.
The tent flapped open. "Daphne?"
"Harry!" She hurried to him, her voice cracking. "I can't find them! I looked for them everywhere, but they've just fucking vanished!"
His brows furrowed, and he smartly didn't tell her to calm down. Because she would've hexed him if he had. She was already strung up as it was. She didn't need to calm down. She needed her friends in front of her, hale and healthy, unhurt. She wanted the vile voice in her head to just shut the fuck up!
"Let's search for them together. I can find Rose easily. Hermione should be with her," he reassured her, pulling the tent flap open.
She jogged out and was once again greeted by the chaos of a hundred thousand wizards and witches staying in one place. Wherever she looked, she found rows of tents and people. Then there was the unbroken thrum of noise. Like a million buzzing mosquitoes. It didn't help her rising panic. There were too many people. They should all just keel over dead, so she could see where her friends were.
Harry took her arm in his, grounding her. She'd usually tease him for this daring, for holding her hand. It had always been her who was trying to be familiar with him, after all. This was the first instance where he initiated physical contact. But she was not in a playful mood. She had apprehension looming over her neck like a guillotine. She could not be bothered with small milestones.
She only hoped he didn't mind sweaty palms. Because that was what he'd be getting as a reward.
"Just follow me," he said, tugging her after him, leading her through the annoying crowd, through the bustling shop stalls.
"How are you so confident that you'll find Rose?" she asked.
He gave her a small, nervous smile, and it reminded her that he was just as anxious as her. "Because we're twins. Our brain syncs up, you know."
"That's ridiculous!" She couldn't smother an incredulous laugh; the pressure in her chest easing just a tad. "Now you'll say you can hear her voice in your head. Is she asking for a hundred page letter?"
"I'm afraid we're not psychics." He dodged a stumbling drunk geezer. "But I can feel where she is if she's nearby."
That comforted her, even though it sounded too absurd to be true. If Harry and Rose were identical twins, she might have found it easier to believe. But they were not. They didn't look alike at all. Where Harry had dark, ebony hair, Rose had silky red tresses. Where Harry was broad and tall, Rose was lean and supple. Where Harry's body seemed sharp and muscled, Rose was soft and… perfect. The only thing they had in common was their green eyes.
It was impossible to believe that two people so physically unlike could be in such sync.
She believed him anyway. And Harry proved his claim true.
~xXxXx~
Rose was kidnapped. She couldn't believe she let it happen. Harry was going to chew her out so bad. Then again, what was she supposed to do?
Hostage situations were unwinnable. No matter how powerful you were, you couldn't do anything but obey when the shady blue-haired man had his wand pointed on your best friend's head.
So, she obeyed and allowed herself to be locked in this tent with Hermione, who was inconsolable, blaming herself for this.
"It's not your fault," Rose said evenly, not worried in the least. "If I weren't an arse, you wouldn't have to leave the tent. If you hadn't left the tent, you wouldn't have been kidnapped."
Hermione nodded, but Rose could see she didn't believe it.
"Look, Harry is coming in this direction. We'll be fine," she cheered, patting her back.
"How do you know that?"
"We're twins, duh. I can feel it."
That did not seem to reassure her.
~xXxXx~
They didn't wander but moved with purpose, as if he already knew where Rose was.
Then they came to a halt before a massive tent near the edge of the woods. The other tents were still in sight, but it was far enough to have a little solitude. The tent was a horrendous shade of pink. She absently wondered how many rooms the magically enlarged space must contain when this abomination was already this big. Easily ten.
There were two guards at the entrance, their unfamiliar burgundy clothes marking them as foreigners. Even their hair was an odd blue, like watered down ink. It could be an enhancement, though she doubted it. Because who would even want blue hair?
"They are in there," Harry claimed.
His face was a mask of composure, just like his voice that had gone flat. It reminded her of yesterday, when he was duelling Rose.
Was he 'cycling his mana' again?
"Are you sure?" She pulled out her wand from her sleeve, not sure what they were going to do.
"Yes," was his curt answer as he marched to the guards.
The two guards straightened, eyeing them with open annoyance. One had blue hair cut to a buzz, the other wore his hair long and braided. Both looked fucking weird.
"Stop," the buzz-cut said in thickly accented English. "This is the Weep's Minister of Magic's tent. You cannot enter."
Weep, Weep, ah, she remembered it. A tiny Island country in the Atlantic, just west of the British Isles.
She knew about them because they were infamous for their barbarity.
She read an article once, where it said how they practiced extreme patriarchy. Only men had rights in that nation. Women were akin to commodities, first a property of their fathers, and then their husbands. They were never given wands and were forced to wear gloves, only allowed to show their bare hands when they were with their families. Even slavery was legal there.
Weep wasn't always like that. A century ago, its culture was similar to theirs. It was called Akara once. Then a coup happened and the monarchy was overthrown. A 'republic' was formed, but it was just in name. In reality, Weep was run by an extremist group that worshipped 'Father Magic'.
Nowadays, there weren't any muggles or squibs there, only wizards and witches. The rest were cleansed.
Weep was a horrible place from what little she knew. This only fed her more apprehension. Why were Rose and Hermione here in the first place? Were they alright?
"My sister is inside," Harry said with a placid smile, the emotionless voice contrasting with the rage in his eyes. "She has red hair. Looks a little like me. Very beautiful. Probably the prettiest. You have her inside, don't you?"
The guards shared an alarmed look, and it confirmed their suspicion.
Rose and Hermione were indeed inside. Now it was fury that filled her chest, replacing apprehension. The vile voice inside her head had stopped telling her what might've happened to her friends, and instead it had begun telling her what she should do to these men.
"That is a grave accusation, boy." The blue ponytail stepped forward, crossing his arms at his chest, his accent lighter. "But even if you are correct, this tent is, for all its purposes, a foreign embassy. You cannot step inside. Even your Ministry cannot step inside. So go away, boy, ask your filthy Minister to send a formal complaint to Weep. Only then you'll be allowed to cross this threshold. Maybe your sister is inside. Maybe she is not. But you cannot enter. Now go, do not trouble us."
Her fury wavered. She knew what an embassy was through Hermione. She had no doubt how grave their punishment would be if they ended up ruining Britain's reputation, if they caused an international scandal. Their own government would punish them further. But a glance at Harry was enough to squash her misgivings.
He didn't care. So, she didn't care.
"Last chance. Step aside. Or I'll have to consider you my enemy."
The buzz-cut whispered to his wand and waved it to the north direction, while the ponytail leveled his wand at them. "Enough! This is no playground, boy, leav—"
Harry's fist crashed into his face and his skull exploded in the shower of blood and brain matter. The pink tent was painted red, the crimson liquid dripping in rivulets. The stench of iron filled the air. The headless body faltered and collapsed.
There was blood everywhere. Too much blood.
Even the buzz cut was dripping red, his eyes wide, his mouth agape, red smeared on the side of his face. He was gasping, unable to form words.
Harry took a step forward and blew his head too.
Daphne stood rooted to her place, her mind unable to reconcile the sweet boy she knew with the nonchalant man beside her, the one who could kill with a blank face and a placid smile.
Then she screamed. Then she stumbled back and emptied her belly.