Stormseeker: Borrowed Destiny

Chapter 66: Pride and Prejudice

---

So, from the looks of things, the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws all seem to hate me now, and the Slytherins still like me. Go figure. I'm not too bothered by it, though, since my inner circle all stand by me unwaveringly anyway. I don't even really care overly much if people think that I cheated to put my name in myself. What's the point?

I do, however, send off a letter to the headmistress of the Salem Witches' Institute to let her know what's going on. I let her know that she can come and judge the events if she likes, and tell her when the first task will be. I wonder if Solomon really wants to make a trip across an ocean, but the prospect doesn't seem to bother him much.

During breakfast on Wednesday morning, one of the Gryffindor prefects comes over and approaches me at the Slytherin table. "Harry?" she says. I wrack my brain trying to remember her name, but I'm drawing a blank. "I just wanted you to know that we don't all hate you. I know you don't really feel comfortable at our table anymore, but I wanted to wish you luck in the tournament."

I have to remind myself that she's not intentionally trying to wish horrible things to happen to me, and take her gesture at face value. "Thanks," I say. "I'll do my best. I might wind up losing, Merlin knows Viktor's way more experienced than me, but let it not be said that the Stormseeker didn't give a good fight."

It doesn't take long for people to start sporting badges that say 'SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY' and 'STORMSEEKER FARTS', and other creative insults. I just have to roll my eyes at the stupidity of it all. Never before have I felt so much like I'm surrounded by children.

I'm interrupted during Potions class to be dragged out for some sort of tournament related ceremonies. Probably just as well, I suppose. Draco can finish his potion just as well without me.

I end up in a classroom with the other champions, Ludo Bagman, and a witch wearing hideous magenta robes.

"There's nothing for you to worry about, Harry," Ludo says. "We're just doing the weighing of the wands today, to make sure your wands are fully functional. And we'll be having some photographs taken, as well. Allow me to introduce Rita Skeeter," he gestures to the witch with no fashion sense. "She's doing a piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet."

"Ah," I say, putting on my best mask of false sincerity. "I have seen your articles, Miss Skeeter. You're totally my favorite journalist. Always getting to the hard truth of the matter." I almost gag just saying that.

"Really?" Rita says. "It's always nice to meet someone who appreciates the fine art of journalism. Could I have a quick word with Harry before we start?"

"Of course," I reply.

Rita promptly practically drags me into a broom closet with taloned fingers. She takes a seat on a bucket, and says, "Now, do you mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill, so I can talk to you freely?"

"Be my guest," I say, shrugging.

She pulls out a quill, and says, "I'm Rita Skeeter, reporter for the Daily Prophet." The quill moves on its own, scribbling out something about Rita being an attractive blonde having punctured many inflated reputations. I quirk an eyebrow at her. She ignores me. "So, tell me, Harry, what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"

Well, to be honest, I did intend to enter the tournament, and I did end up in the tournament, even if it wasn't my own efforts that got me into it. Let's just pretend that I meant for this to happen. "Honor and glory, of course," I reply. "A chance to prove to the world that I'm not just great for not dying."

I glance over at the parchment, where the quill is moving rapidly, scrawling out something about me being a glory hound, blinded by my own fame, being needy for attention with the loss of my parents, and so forth.

"Ignore the quill, please," Rita says. "How do you feel about the tasks ahead? Are you excited? Or nervous?"

"Both, really," I say.

The quill scribbles something about how I'm apparently looking forward to besting the tournament with my talent with the Dark Arts. "Can you remember your parents at all?" Rita asks.

"I don't see how that's relevant to the discussion," I say.

Rita's quill writes about how I'm a defiant, rebellious youth, dabbling in dark powers that my parents would surely have disowned me for.

"I think that's quite enough of this," I say, glaring at the parchment. I reach over and grab the quill.

"Now, Harry," Rita says. "There's no need to do anything rash--"

Rita is saved from me doing anything rash by the closet door opening suddenly. Dumbledore is standing outside, looking in at us.

"Ah, Dumbledore!" Rita says excessively brightly. "How are you? Did you see the piece I did over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?"

"Indeed so," Dumbledore says. "I was especially delighted by your description of me as an obsolete dingbat." His eyes twinkle. "Come on now, Harry, the wand weighing ceremony is about to begin." He turns back to the room.

"Could I have my quill back now, Harry?" Rita says in a sickly sweet tone.

I glare at her, fuming, for a few moments, before releasing the quill and stalking after Dumbledore. I don't really care what she writes about me, and it's not like it's not true, I suppose.

Ollivander is here to examine our wands. Hopefully, Dumbledore has already spoken with him and he won't give me away. Well, he didn't with Sirius, but I suppose he had his attention on other things at the time.

Rita sits off to the side, her Quick-Quotes Quill writing madly. I wonder what she's writing about now. Maybe I should have just snapped her quill while I had the chance.

Ollivander tests the wands of the other champions. Fleur's wand of rosewood and veela hair, Viktor's of hornbeam and dragon heartstring, Cedric's of ash and unicorn hair. And then he comes to me.

"Stormseeker, may I see your wand, please?" Ollivander says. I hand it over to him to examine as he had the others. "Hmm, yes, I remember selling you this wand. A most peculiar customer you were." He flashes me a small grin. "Pine and dragon heartstring, thirteen inches." He sends forth a fountain of wine from it. "Perfect condition still. Here you go."

Then, with that out of the way, I patiently sit through a photography session. "It's a pity my headmistress couldn't be here for this," I say after a group shot of all the champions and heads of the schools involved.

"Harry?" Dumbledore says.

"I wrote her, you know, but I haven't gotten a reply back yet," I say.

"You're still a student of Hogwarts, Harry," Dumbledore says.

"Certainly not," I say. "Hogwarts can't have two champions. I'm with the Salem Witches' Institute this year."

"As you say, Harry," Dumbledore says indulgently.

---

On Saturday morning after breakfast, Viktor Krum and a handful of the other Durmstrang students show up in my Dueling Club's usual meeting room.

"So you are here," I say, looking over from where I was trying to teach Luna to cast the Shield Charm.

"I said I would come," Viktor says, looking around the room disdainfully. There's no one above fifth year present.

"Let's do this, then," I say.

"Yes, let me show your little club some new curses," Viktor says, grinning wickedly at me. "I'll even refrain from casting them silently to make things more fair and give your friends a chance to see."

The club members make room for the two of us, and we face off against one another. I open with a Protego, which stops Viktor's first curse, but he immediately follows up with a Dark Tendrils Curse. He's using the serious spells here? Either that or he's just that confident in my ability. I think he's actually trying to kill me, though.

"Fulgoris!" I cast, sending a bolt of lightning at him. He had a shield up himself, but the force of my spell cracks right through it as though it weren't there.

Viktor stumbles back, stunned, and his dark tentacles vanish. "You are more powerful than I gave you credit for, little boy," Viktor says.

"If you want to use lethal spells, that's fine by me," I say. "Storm Army, if he kills me, cover it up and tell them that it was an unfortunate accident."

"If he kills you, can I have your stuff?" Draco says.

I snicker softly. "Do what you like," I say. "Viktor, shall we continue?"

Viktor grins broadly. "Let us continue."

The club members clear away more space and put up shields of their own to make sure nobody gets hit with any stray curses. Viktor and I duel viciously, dodging, blocking, and countering one another's curses and holding little back. My heart is pounding, my blood aflame with excitement. This is great! Rarely have I been able to really push myself or test my dueling ability, with the tame, limited selection of approved spells allowed in the normal Dueling Club.

The battle doesn't actually last all that long, though. Even though he's casting verbally, he's still way above my level and throwing out a lot of spells I don't recognize. I try to pay attention to catch what he's doing, but wind up trying to learn wand movements and incantations to the point where I forget to dodge, and it's over.

---

I wake in the Gryffindor dorm. That was awesome. Even if I died. I cheerfully head to breakfast, and then to the dragon tapestry room to do it all over again. I write "Viktor: 1, Stormseeker: 0" on the blackboard. Everyone who isn't in the inner circle looks a little puzzled at that, but they don't comment on it.

"Any spells but Unforgivables," I say. "Storm Army, if he kills me, tell them it was an accident. And I really don't care who gets my stuff."

The second round goes better. I focus better, pay more attention to avoiding being killed by his spells than on learning what they are. I still managed to pick up a couple just by watching him, though. Never have I been more grateful for my talent with curses. The ones with complex movements, I've no hope of duplicating on short notice. However, the ones with simple movements are the ones likely to be fueled by intent and emotion. And most harmful curses have similar sorts of intent behind them. Anger, hate, rage. The will to hurt someone. The desire to kill.

"Nevischio!" Viktor casts, and a localized storm of sleet rains down upon where I'm standing.

"Protego!" I cast, managing to stop from being bombarded with frozen bullets. It doesn't stop the air from becoming bitingly cold or the floor from turning into a slick sheet of ice, however. "Thermos," I mutter, counteracting the chilling effect and melting the ice at my feet. Then I look back at him with cold fury, reminded of the harsh mountain storms of Wishingsdale, and say, "Nevischio!"

Viktor stumbles back in shock as my own sleet storm rains down upon him. It wasn't as effective as his casting of the spell, but pretty good for a first attempt. After quickly dealing with it himself, he says, "Stop! Time-out! Let us speak for a moment."

"What is it?" I ask, lowering my wand.

"Where did you learn that spell?" Viktor asks.

"From you," I say. "Just now."

Viktor gapes at me. "How? How could you figure out how to cast it just from watching me do it once?"

"I'm good with curses," I say. "Especially anything storm related. I'm not called the Stormseeker for nothing."

"I did not think they taught the Dark Arts at Hogwarts," Viktor says.

"They don't," I say. "That hasn't stopped me from learning them anyway."

"I should kill you for stealing my spell," Viktor says. "How did you cast it? You couldn't figure it out just from the wand movements!"

"I know," I say. "I guessed at the proper mental state, thoughts, and intent."

"You guessed," Viktor says, staring at me furiously. "You guessed? It took me months to learn that spell and cast it properly! That's my family's private spell, passed down from father to son for centuries!"

"My apologies," I say, giving a contrite bow. "I did not intend to infringe upon your family's honor."

Viktor doesn't seem particularly mollified. I glance off to the side, and notice that most of the Dueling Club members are munching on popcorn.

"Let us settle this in the dueling ring," Viktor demands.

"Very well," I say. "We shall continue, then."

"Nevischio!" Viktor casts, and ice like daggers rains down upon me. This spell was cast much more forcefully than the last, and they punch straight through my shield, tear through my robes, pierce my body in a dozen places.

I collapse to my knees, bleeding and shivering, and slump over until my face hits the floor. Let him finish it. I'm wounded, I'm dying, let this be over soon.

"Protego," says Neville's voice. "Episkey. Thermos." He's standing over me. He's protecting me. "You've won, Krum. You don't need to kill him."

"Neville, no..." I rasp.

"So, are you his second, now?" Viktor asks. "Will you continue the duel in his stead?"

"Neville, don't die for me," I say. "Please."

"There's no need for that," Neville says. "I'm just here to keep you from killing him. You've already won."

"Potter, do you concede defeat?" Viktor demands. "Do you surrender?"

I groan softly. Neville healed some of my wounds, but I still ache all over, and I'm still half frozen, even with the Warming Charm. "I surrender," I say quietly.

Viktor strides up toward me, but Neville blocks his path. "I am not satisfied," Viktor says. "I demand restitution."

"Oh, lay off it already, Krum," Draco says. "What the hell did you even cast that spell for if you were going to go spare if anyone else cast it? You said you wanted to demonstrate some new curses for us."

"He should not have been able to cast it," Viktor says.

"Then you don't know the Stormseeker very well," Draco says. "He's a natural dark wizard. It takes him months sometimes to get even a simple charm down, but you show him a new curse, and he'll cast it right away."

"I will not tolerate anyone outside of my family being able to cast that spell," Viktor says.

"So," Blaise says. "Have you got a sister?"

"Yes..." Viktor says. "Potter! You must marry my sister!"

"What?" I say dumbly, my head spinning, still recovering from Viktor's curse.

"You will marry my sister, Potter," Viktor says. "Or I will kill you!"

"What would your sister think of this?" I say, blinking slowly.

"Stormseeker, just agree already," Draco says.

"But..." I mutter weakly in protest.

"I'm certain that my sister would be most pleased to hear that I've found her a good husband," Viktor says. "And she would be quite disappointed to hear that you'd rather die than marry her!"

"Alright, alright!" I say quickly, slowly climbing to my feet. "Fine, I'll... marry your sister... what the Abyss..."

How did this go from dueling to accidentally winding up betrothed?

---

"You look like you've been through a war," Moody says at our 'detention' that evening. "What happened today?"

"Dueling Club with Viktor Krum," I grumble.

"I see," Moody says. "Got the better of you, did he?"

"I must not have done too badly, since he demanded that I marry his sister," I say.

"I think I heard something about that," Moody says with a snort. "Foolishness, if you ask me. No matter. On with our session. You're getting pretty good with the Killing Curse, and we're running low on vermin in the castle to eliminate. Do you want to start learning one of the other curses?"

"I'd like to learn the Imperius Curse," I say.

"Very well," Moody says. "I've got a fresh rat here for you to practice on." He pulls out a rodent and places it on the desk, where it looks around in confusion. "With this curse, you need to focus upon subjugating the target's will. You must make yourself their master. You must believe that you have every right to command them. The key emotion required is pride."

"I think I can handle that," I say quietly. I'm even more uneasy about casting this spell than I was the Killing Curse, but I am determined to see this through. I have no idea where I might ever want to actually use the Imperius Curse, but I think I would rather know a spell and not need it, than need it and not know it.

"Do you need a demonstration?" Moody asks.

I shake my head. "I think I've got it," I say. "I think it might take some work to overcome my mental block about it, though. But I'm not backing out now."

"A bit leery about using it after it was used on you?" Moody asks.

"Something like that," I mutter. "I also dislike slavery in general." I snort softly. "But I'll get over it. I'm not letting that stop me." I peer at the confused rat, and try to focus my thoughts. I point my wand at it and say, "Imperio!"

There's no effect whatsoever. "What kind of pathetic magic was that?" Moody says. "You're a mighty wizard, and you can't subjugate the will of a mere rat? What, should I bring in a slug from the greenhouses instead? Would that be a low enough being to command?"

"I can do this, damn it," I growl, gritting my teeth. I fix my gaze upon the rat. I am the Stormseeker, the Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood! Of course I can do this! "Imperio!"

This time, the spell actually fires at least. For a moment, I can feel the rat's tiny will. Small, afraid. I can't help but feel sorry for the poor thing. At least it wasn't here for the Killing Curse practice. I lose hold of the spell after only a second.

"Come on, I can do it..." I murmur. My body is trembling. There's tears stinging my eyes. But I ignore that. "Imperio!" Nothing.

"Calm down, Potter," Moody says. "You're not getting anywhere like this. You can't cast a spell if you're afraid to cast it."

"I can do it..." I whisper. My knees are going weak. I sit heavily in the chair.

"Maybe you should just pass on this spell," Moody says. "It might not be something you'd ever be cut out for. And when are you ever going to actually use it, anyway?"

"I will learn it," I say fiercely.

"Determined, are you?" Moody says. "Why are you so determined to learn something you hate so much?"

"Because... because..." I stammer. I take a deep breath and try to focus to calm myself. I am the eye of the storm. No one should be seeing me in such a state. "Because I want to learn everything there is to learn."

"That's the sort of answer I'd expect from a Ravenclaw," Moody says. "But you're a Gryffindor, lad."

"I could have been a Ravenclaw," I say with a shrug. "I could have been in any of the houses."

"Yeah, why do you really want to learn it?" Moody asks. "Planning to be the next Dark Lord yourself?"

"I'm not evil, damn it!" I snap. "But the Ministry is useless and corrupt! I will tear down this world and rebuild it better!" I pause. "Maybe I shouldn't have said that."

Moody snorts in amusement. "At least you're finally being honest."

I sigh and look at the floor. "Well, at least you haven't dosed me with Veratiserum yet, unlike Lockhart."

"Whatever happened to Lockhart, anyway?" Moody asks.

"He's gone," I say simply.

"That's all you have to say on that, is it?" Moody says. "Very well. Shall we continue the lesson?"

"Still willing to teach me?" I say. "Am I not the very thing you're supposed to fight?"

"Of course not," Moody says. "You're a good person, Potter. Don't ever delude yourself into thinking otherwise."

I continue the practice. I still don't manage to successfully cast the spell very well, but I think I'm getting closer. I'm able to hold control of the rat for a few seconds, although I don't manage to actually make it do anything. When our time is up, I head out and start Scourifying random hallways to clear out my wand again.

"What are you doing?" Ron asks, coming up behind me.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I reply. "Scourgify." A statue looks a little cleaner.

"Alright, more importantly, why?" Ron wonders.

"Saving the house-elves some work," I say, shrugging.

Ron shakes his head. "I don't know why you and Hermione even bother," Ron says. "House-elves love to work. They like being enslaved!"

I spin around and pin a glare upon Ron. "Do they, now?" I say. "Have you been paying attention to nothing Rispy has told you?"

"Well, he's weird," Ron says. "I've never seen an unhappy house-elf before."

"You make yourself out to be the good guy, and yet you support institutionized slavery of an entire species?" I say.

"Oh, come on," Ron says. "Don't try to make yourself out to be the good guy for wanting something so ridiculous as house-elf rights!"

Rage swirls in my mind. I will not allow this weasel to provoke me, damn it. "Go on, Ron, before I hex you or something," I say. I turn away and move on to clean a painting frame.

A hex whizzes over my shoulder and strikes the painting. The lady in the picture squeals and flees out of the frame. I spin around, wand in my hand in an instant and pointing it straight at Ron.

"What did I tell you about that, boy?" Moody says, limping down the corridor. "I said never do that again."

"He threatened me!" Ron exclaims.

"I'll do more than threaten you if you keep acting like an arse," I say.

"Do you need another lesson, Weasley?" Moody asks dangerously.

Ron looks uneasily to the aged professor. "No, sir," he says after a moment, lowering his wand.

"But I'm told I'm supposed to give you detentions, not transfigure you and bounce you around like you deserve," Moody says. "So have a detention, then. Come to my office next Saturday after dinner."

The same time as my lessons? I glance in alarm at Moody, but he ignores my look. What is he planning? He doesn't mean for me to actually practice on Ron, does he? I'm not nearly ready for that!

"Fine," Ron says, and stalks off.

"Professor?" I quietly say to Moody.

"Go on, now," Moody says. "It's almost curfew for you."

"Yes, sir," I say, and head off toward Gryffindor Tower, cleaning along the way, but my thoughts are still wrapped up in just whatever it is Moody intends. He could have given Ron any other day for detention if that wasn't what he meant to do. My stomach is churning. I think I'm going to be sick just from the idea.

Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this spell after all. But damn it all, I'm not going to give up now. I'm not backing out.

---

"What, we both have detention with Professor Moody today?" Ron says as he arrives at Moody's office.

I look at him with a carefully neutral expression, but I don't trust myself to say anything. I glance over to Moody questioningly. Is he really going to put me through this?

"Weasley, you're here to assist me in teaching Potter a lesson," Moody says, then turns to look at me. "Can you stomach it?"

My heart is racing. He's testing my nerve, that's what he's doing, clearly. I give a nod, and say, "Let's get on with this."

"Hah," Ron says. "You're going to learn a lesson--"

Moody waves his wand, and the door to his office slams shut. Another flick relieves Ron of his wand. "Weasley, I've had about enough of your remarks. Now, you're going to help me teach Potter learn the Imperius Curse."

"What?" Ron says, eyes bulging in shock. "But... but that's illegal!"

"And your memories will be modified afterward," Moody says. "All you are going to remember is that you spent an uneventful hour copying 'I will not attack people from behind' onto a roll of parchment."

"You can't do this to me!" Ron says. "And you're teaching Potter dark magic in secret? What kind of an Auror are you? Unforgivables, even!"

"Be glad we're past the Avada Kedavra practice," I say lightly.

"So, Potter, think you can pull this off?" Moody says. "You felt sorry for the rat. Do you feel sorry for the weasel, too?"

I look over at Ron, who is thoroughly panicking at the moment. A boy I called my friend once, in another life. A boy who could have been my friend in this life as well, if it hadn't been for starting off with idiotic prejudices. But I could change all that. I could make him my friend again. I could make him the friend he was supposed to be to begin with. He should have been one of my loyal followers...

"Imperio!" I cast. I can feel it now, Ron's terrified mind. Relax, I won't hurt you, I tell him mentally.

He's fighting it. I can feel him trying to fight it, to shake me off, to expel me from his mind. I only manage to hold on for a few seconds longer before I lose it. "Why are you doing this?" Ron says, panting softly. "I knew it... I knew you intended to be the next Dark Lord..." He doesn't have his wand, but he makes to move toward me, fist raised.

"Imperio!" I shout. Don't attack me, I think at him hard.

Ron freezes where he is, and lowers his fist. But I'm losing my hold again just as quickly, and not just because he's trying to fight it. Doubts weaken my grip. He's a good person. He's just misguided. I shouldn't be doing this to him. My control shatters again.

"I can't believe you're doing this," Ron says, then turns to Moody. "I can't believe you're helping him! This is a horrible, vile, evil thing to be doing!"

"I have good reason for what I'm doing, Weasley," Moody says. "Can you say the same? Potter, stop doubting yourself. You have every right to demand the obedience of this vermin."

I can't really argue with that. "Yes, sir," I say quietly. I'm buzzing with the feeling of dark magic at the moment. It's always feels so good to cast these spells. I point my wand at Ron again. "Imperio!"

I am the Stormseeker. I am the Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood, descended from the line of elven kings. Why should I not have the loyalty of this peasant? And yet, I would rather have it by choice. He chose to turn against me. He chose to be my rival. I should respect his free will, even if I disagree with his choices. I cannot enslave another being like this.

My spell breaks, and I sit down heavily in the chair. Tears sting my eyes, and I'm shuddering with sobs.

"What, disappointed that you can't get the spell to work, Stormseeker?" Ron says.

"Ron, shut up," I say. "Unless you're trying to make me justify doing this to you."

"Don't tell me that a dark wizard like you has doubts about being evil," Ron replies.

"I am not evil!" I snap.

"Could have fooled me," Ron says.

Then I have a bit of an epiphany. It doesn't matter if I really feel like I deserve obedience and loyalty, anymore than it matters if I'm currently happy in order to cast a Patronus. It's just the mentalstate needed to make the spell function. I'm getting hung up on irrelevant things here.

I try casting it a few more times, with more focus, more force. It's getting more difficult, however, as he's actually learning how to fight it. Maybe going up against someone who can barely cast it at all helped him in figuring that out.

"I'm sick of sitting here having to submit to this bullshit," Ron spits.

"Then don't," I say. "Fight it! Make your own damned choice and never look back! If you're so weak that you can't keep even me out, then you'd deserve to be nothing but an unwitting minion! Imperio!" Dance like a chicken, I tell him. Dance!

Ron's arms come up for a moment, and then he shouts, "No!"

Moody chuckles softly, and says, "Alright, I think that's enough of this. Obliviate!" Ron's eyes glaze over, and Moody hands him back his wand and cancels the spells over the door. "Run along now, lad. And don't let me catch you attacking your fellow students from behind again."

"Yes, sir," Ron says, and leaves the office quickly.

"So, doing better, were you?" Moody asks.

"I think I managed to break past my mental block, at least," I say.

"Good," Moody says. "Go on now. Be back here next week, same time."

"Can we make it Sunday instead?" I ask. Next Saturday will be the final day of the full moon.

"Fine," Moody says, not even bothering to ask why.