Remember my name
It was a cold Wednesday evening when Harry Potter received a letter. Hedwig had flown in minutes before, the tale of terrible weather on his beak. He’d dropped the gift onto the boy's lap, briefly nodding at him before sitting in front of the warm hearth.
The letter they hold is torn and crumpled, no doubt as a result of the crushing grip of the bird's beak and whatever storm he had made it through. Harry and Hermione sit cross legged as they pour over its contents. Harry, with an intrigue far greater than Hermione’s, leans in to read the letter aloud- since Ron had decided to be of no use, the boy was in need of all the help he could get.
Harry,
I’m flying north immediately, this news about your entry into triwizard tournament can be no coincidence.
Somebody on the grounds must have their alliances elsewhere. Dangerous times are nearing Harry Potter, keep your eyes and ears open. As for the tournament, I'm afraid there's no way you can get out of it, believe me, I know.
Do you know about any of the tasks? Ask around, Hogwarts students know more than they let on. At least one person should know what’s happening.
I’m sorry I can't be there in person to help you but I can offer you this. There’s a small parcel attached to Hedwig’s leg, inside you should find some form of information.
Alexandra Delphi Garnier.
Remember that name.
Be on the watch, Harry, and don’t forget to let me know about anything unusual.
-Sirius
Harry cocks an eyebrow at the strange wording of the letter.
He knows? How could he know?
“Alexandra Garnier? Do you know who that is?”
The brunette beside him shakes her head frowning slightly. “No.” She sighs, looking rather conflicted. “But I could've sworn I'd heard her name somewhere.”
Harry nods, turning back to the parcel. It's getting harder and harder to force down the guilt that unapologetically erodes his insides. Sirius is worried, Sirius is flying north, Sirius may get caught. Harry doesn't think he'll be able to forgive himself if he became the reason for Sirius’ capture.
“Harry, is there something wrong.” More of a statement than a question, Harry ignores it nonetheless. Hermione had a habit of checking in when he'd really rather just keep to himself.
“What do you think he meant by ‘remember the name’?” He asks, ignoring her question. “Is she a judge?”
Hermione, obviously not too comfortable with not knowing so many things at once, just shrugs. “What’s in the parcel?” They both turn back to look at the large brown lump discarded on the floor, Harry rubs Hedwig’s feathers sympathetically - the package must've been at least twice his own weight.
He picks up the parcel and hands it to Hermione, “Let’s find out.” He says and the girl nods before getting to work tearing off the brown parchment. Had the situation not been so dire, perhaps Harry would have commented on her enthusiasm.
After a while, Hermione comes back up for air with a velveted book in hand. Its corners are topped with a golden outline, whilst the rest of it carries what may have once been a royal blue colour.
Expensive, is his first thought. Probably an heirloom.
“How old is this?” Hermione says, wrinkling her nose as the dust steadily invades her nose. “Merlin, the least Sirius could do was dust it off.”
Harry snorts before taking the book to inspect for himself. “I’m sure he would’ve, if, you know, my life wasn’t in impending danger?”
Hermione doesn’t find him humorous. “Just open the book harry.”
The boy does as he’s told and cracks open the blue cover. For all the front of the book was, the inside was certainly unimpressive. Harry finds himself wanting to plug his nose as the stench of old pasture invades the common room.
“Maybe he should’ve thrown it into a washing machine too.” He finds himself saying.
Hermione, holding her nose, points to the inside, “Look!”, handwritten and messy it says; ‘A gift for the tribute’.
Harry frowns, tribute? Do they mean him?
His friend has other ideas though, “The Garnier’s are ancient.” Hermione says, turning to him. “We learned about them in History of magic.”
Harry rolls his eyes, evidently annoyed that the one lesson he’d signed off as useless had come back to haunt him so quickly. Then again their professor was a ghost, the old man probably saw to it personally.
Hermione, being the biggest know-it-all in Hogwarts, scolds Harry for his lack of knowledge. “From Italy?One of the purest bloodlines known to the wizarding world?” The boy's blank stare only serves to tell her that she was in fact ringing no bells. “Come on Harry, this amounts to half our grade.”
Harry, if he’s being entirely honest, can’t find it within himself to care, “How are dead blood supremacists going to help me now?” He says, unimpressed.
Hermione, preoccupied with the book's contents, dismisses the evident sass in his tone.“The real question is how Sirus managed to get a hold of this.”
She flips to the next page, breath faltering in her chest. There were names. Hundreds of them, dating back past the 1700’s. Before the games even began.
“Harry?” Hermione mutters her eyes scanning the paper. “Do you think all of these people took part in the tournament?”
Harry doesn’t respond, instead he goes back to Sirius’ letter.
“Alexandra Garnier. Hermione, check if she’s in the book.”
Hermione nods, she was already doing this, “Why do you think she’s so important?”
Harry shrugs, “I don’t know, but I trust Sirius.”
Alexandra Delphi Garnier. Hogwarts,1977 (7,800) **. It’s the final entry in the book.
Harry won’t admit it, but he’s nervous. Whatever was written inside this book would help him survive the games, it would prove that, despite his situation, maybe he wasn’t doomed after all-just significantly unlucky.
He’d have to thank Sirius properly the next time he sees him.
Hermione breaks him out of his thoughts with an aggressive sigh. “There's nothing in here. The pages are blank.”
Harry finds the thoughts draining out of his head, steadily being replaced with the same dull annoyance he’d begun the day with.
“What do you mean there’s nothing?” He asks, the confusion present in his tone.”Why would Sirius send us nothing?”
The girl doesn’t reply. In fact he’s sure she’s forgotten his presence entirely. “There has to be something.” She mutters, as she picks up the book by its cover and makes a show out of shaking it vigorously. Harry flinches at the violence of the action and makes a quick prayer-the last thing he needs is the ghost of an angry pureblood haunting him for terrorising their possessions.
He’s about to tell her to stop, to put the book away and go to bed, they’d find a solution in the morning, when they were both feeling more sane, when Hedwig, as humanlike as his owner, hoots particularly loudly and picks up something from the ground.
A note. A folded up note.
Harry stares at the bird in confusion before collecting the parchment from his beak. “Where’d you get this Hedwig?”
The owl, apparently tired of the stupidity of mankind, rolls his eyes and hoots loudly before flying off. Now Harry Potter, may not speak owl, but he is quite certain that what his pet had just communicated was particularly foul.
Hermione takes the note out of Harry’s hand and peers at the outside. “To human eye it may seem blank, but maybe we just need to-”
“For God’s sake Hermione, just read it!”
The girl mumbles something about Harry’s severe lack of attention to detail before eventually unfolding it. “Fine, let’s take a look.” She says.
I’m sorry for my actions, and the loss of information and danger and because of them.
But I could not survive knowing that remnants of my past existed in such a permanent thing like writing.
The games are rigged, there is no way to win them. You either pay with your life force or with something else. Something more precious. Ignorance and ambition is going to get you killed, you will have no one to turn to, and so inevitably you turn on yourself.
The descendants of Guarnier have been cursed with a pride so deadly it tears souls apart and forms monsters with the remnants, I myself could not escape this fate but I refuse to let it continue, this book will die with me, this damned legacy will cease to exist.
To whoever finds this message, I apologise, I could not save you, but you do not have to let them win, you cannot let them win.
Victoria aut mors.
Alexandra Delphi Garnier (1977)
Harry looks over at the girl’s tense frame and he finds himself also feeling deeply unsettled. He doesn’t understand. What was the point in sending him this?
Hermione is still pouring over the letter when he puts a comforting hand on her shoulder-she’s still tense. “Hermione, what is it? What does it mean?”
The young witch shudders, her eyes not leaving the page in front of her.
“Victory or death.”