An Ancient Magic
Harry isn’t the best with wizarding etiquette. In his defense, he’s hardly given a chance. For his first eleven years, his guardians tell him his magic is all in his freak head. Harry believes them wholeheartedly. They may not be kind but for as far back as he could remember, their words were law. He certainly hasn’t been taught the Old Ways.
In Harry’s first year at Hogwarts, he is met by both friend and foe. Harry is no stranger to fear and pain when he receives his Hogwarts letter, so it’s easy to overlook the warning signs, the omens cropping up at every turn, when he’s being introduced to his first feelings of happiness.
Ron and Hermione quickly become his first and closest friends. Professor Dumbledore his mentor. Malfoy his nemesis. Everything has a place and Harry’s finally found his.
In that first year, Harry and his friends traverse obstacles designed to send far more experienced wizards to their death. He gets some of the details wrong but what eleven year old knows everything?
In Harry’s second year at Hogwarts, he meets his fate with both wonder and conviction, though it’s less innocent this time. He feels a darkness growing from within, foreign voices hiss in his ears and he is driven so close to the edge that he starts to believe the masses:
Maybe there is no goodness left in him. Maybe there never was any to begin with. No, he’s not the villain of this story. It’s Malfoy, he’s sure. Malfoy is the heir of Slytherin; it only makes sense. So Harry and his friends stalk the enemy, wearing the faces of Malfoy’s closest allies. Malfoy has no real friends.
In that second year, he’s wrong about so much. He’s wrong about the heir and wrong about himself. He slays Voldemort’s beast with the Sword of Gryffindor nonetheless.
In Harry’s third year at Hogwarts, he is hunted by a madman on the run and trailed by a mysterious dog. He drinks in stories of friendship and betrayal. Dementors claw at his soul. He was so sure he found all the pieces but the puzzle grows larger and larger.
Sometimes friends are dressed liked foes. Sometimes foes are hiding in plain sight yet impossible to recognise. It’s all too much for a boy of only thirteen to juggle. As Hermione tells him, there is not enough time, not enough information.
In that third year, they break the most sacred laws to get a bit more of both. It’s not that hard to be in two places at once if you know what you’re doing.
In Harry’s fourth year at Hogwarts, a war is brewing. He tries to tell them, shouts until his lungs have no air, cries until his eyes have no tears. Very few believe him and even less have the power to help him. Instead, those in power plaster smiles on their faces and, with sugar in their voices, take whatever they please.
It’s a time to make choices, take sides and break rules. No law is sacred. Not really. The brave and the clever and the kind among them do what they must. They say he’s too suspicious but Harry figures he’s not suspicious enough if it’s gone this far. Justice has no space for cunning ambition.
In that fourth year, Malfoy takes the Dark Mark and no amount of observation beneath cloaks of invisibility or magical maps or bloody hexes stop it.
In Harry’s fifth year at Hogwarts, the Riddle is finally solved. A garish fairy tale, a ghoulish scavenger hunt. So they play the sadistic game and break all the pieces. No one is innocent. Everybody is guilty. Deep in his belly the darkness grows and grows and grows …
He knows why. Does is it really matter, though, in the end? There’s always a reason but reasons don’t change realities.
A year ago, a broken and shaky voice saved him with feigned ignorance painted in shades of gray. And a wise and familiar voice condemned him with a sad smile behind twinkling blue eyes.
A year ago, Harry died. Yet, he also survived. No law is sacred, after all.
This year, almost everybody says they can see the thestrals. Most of them are telling the truth; the war had came to Hogwarts suddenly with little time to evacuate. But some of them are lying. There’s a sense in shame at having retained some innocence when so few have.
Nobody calls them on it though: having seen someone die or not, the war had torn them all apart. They earned whatever coping mechanism they could salvage.
Harry, Ron and Hermione find themselves making their way to Hogwarts with Luna, just as they had last year. In direct contrast to the war-torn and notably smaller student body, the castle is completely whole. In fact …
“It looks different. Did they remodel it when they … rebuilt?” Hermione asks, gesturing toward the castle.
“It looks a bit creepy,” Harry says. He can’t quite articulate what makes it him slightly uneasy. It looks almost the same, really. A new addition, maybe but the castle looks the same as it had before the war. So why does it feel different?
“Wait, I think I know what this is,” Ron says.
“A Tri-Wizard Tournament,” Luna supplies.
“You’re right. I remember Mum and Dad talking about it when I was little. There’s this thing about the ancient magic that makes you feel -”
“Dreadful,” Luna cuts in, “it imports a sense severity. But it’s also got a bit of a romantic feel, don’t you think?” Luna looks to Harry after she says this, her head tilting absentmindedly to the left.
Ron shrugs but Harry nods. He really only feels the dread but that’s no reason to ruin Luna’s good mood.
“Dreadfully romantic,” Luna says, her melodious voice ringing in the air as they all watch the castle grow closer.
Over the lake, fresh faced new years drift towards Hogwarts.
Once again, there is a clear division between Muggleborn and Pureblood. However, this time it’s solely in knowledge.
Nearly every pure and most half-blood wix has heard tales of the Tri-Wizard Tournament but very few of the Muggleborns have. It’s an ancient ritual that happens every so often, they say. The last one happened when the seventh years were toddlers. Not that there is a set schedule. Talk of a popular children’s tale that’s a watered down version of the time two were called back to back, with nearly all the same participants, starts making its rounds.
The way they speak of the ancient magic makes Harry picture it as a person or some kind of entity. Or rather a group of entities. Apparently there are lots of different personas to this ‘ancient magic.’
Dumbledore tells them two weeks into September. The students go to dinner one night to find the Great Hall decorated beautifully. Twinkling lights float in the hall and a sweet fragrance twirls through the air. There’s a faint mist that’s a barely visible shimmer. Hogwarts always looks magical, but tonight it’s so much more.
Each table is punctuated with an elaborate banner baring the respective house crest. Four different but equally decadent feasts are prepared, one to perfectly match each house. And nobody is allowed to sit until Dumbledore finishes his announcement.
“We stand here today, the pinnacle of a long linage of ancient magic that predates recorded history. When our kind prevails in the face of great adversity, we must honor what we’ve lost and what we’ve gained. And so, we are called once more to follow the Old Ways.
“It is therefore a great privilege to, for my second time, announce that Hogwarts has been called to host a Tri-Wizard tournament,” Dumbledore says, his eyes alight with their usual twinkle.
When Dumbledore sits back down to allow them to eat, an ethereal melody begins to play.
They eat their dinner between excited words and drink in the atmosphere of pure magic. Harry is relieved to, for the first time since he was eleven, look forward to something fun at Hogwarts with no threat looming overhead. The dread has long subsided and while he wouldn’t call it romantic, it is exciting. And that’s better than romance, Harry reasons.
In front of the head table is a large goblet made of gold and silver. A white flame flickers from it, promising adventure.
Neville tells them about how the goblet will be used to announce the champions. Champions selected by the ancient magic who will compete in games throughout the year. Harry’s not sure he wants to be called but Ron is very open to it. Hermione asks what the tasks are but all those in the know say the same thing:
“The tasks are determined by the champions themselves.”
Lavender tells them the really exciting part of the tournament isn’t the champions or the tasks but the ball that will be hosted at the end of the tournament. She glances at Ron who avoids her gaze. Hermione directs the conversation back to the tasks, her irritation clear. Ron is grateful for the subject change because he has no plans to date Lavender again.
It’s just as well because the excitement colors over any awkwardness. Before long, the dinner is over and everyone leans back in their chairs lazily.
Harry wonders if there was something in the food because he feels a little drunk on it all.
Dumbledore rises from his seat and addresses the room once again. With one authoritative gesture, the room falls silent. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Snape flank his sides.
“I hope that you all enjoyed the feast prepared for you this evening. It is now time for the ancient magic to call forth three of the champions,” Dumbledore says with a smile.
The white flame of the goblet morphs into a bright yellow and Professor Sprout steps forward proudly. From the flame a slip of parchment spits out. She grabs it from the air and calls forward Justin Finch-Fletchley.
Cheers erupt from the Hufflepuff table as Justin stands. When he does a black crown materializes on his head.
“Congratulations Justin Finch-Fletchley, Champion of Hufflepuff! May your kindness usher in a new age compassion,” Dumbledore says.
There is a moment of silence before the flame changes to a brilliant blue. This time, Professor Flick accepts the parchment offered and he calls on Padma Patil.
“Congratulations Padma Patil, Champion of Ravenclaw! May your wit usher in a new age of understanding,” Dumbledore says.
This time, it’s the Ravenclaws who cheer. Padma stands and on her head appears a bronze crown.
Again, the goblet waits for the clapping to subside. This time, the flame fades from blue to a deep scarlet. Professor McGonagall smiles and after reading the scrap of parchment calls for Harry Potter, her chin held high and eyes full of happiness.
The Gryffindor table goes wild. Ron and Hermione offer Harry encouraging looks as he rises. His crown is gold in color.
“Congratulations Harry Potter, Champion of Gryffindor! May your bravery usher in a new age of boldness,” Dumbledore says, his fondness for Harry apparent in his tone.
Professor Snape looks sour as always but the Slytherins do not appear to be offended. As the house with the most pure and half-blood wix, and with families who cling to the Old Ways more than any other, they seem to be perfectly okay with how this has turned out.
The red flame vanishes and in its place are three roses: one white, one black and one red.