Summary:
Previously. . . Beauxbatons and Durmstrang have arrived, Harry's mind is further corrupted with the presence of Nikolai Markov.
CHAPTER 17:
The halls were dim, the flames upon the torches that lit up the castle were dying. He could only walk through it with a grace most would consider not human . Perhaps he wasn't human. Not anymore, that is. Regardless, it was quiet and cold. The castle felt desolate, even with so many of them asleep, comfortable in their beds.
For a moment, he paused and stared at the reflective surface of one of the many armors in the castle. His expression was blank, then he smiled, reaching for his reflection as it rippled from the pitch black hair and vivid green eyes he wore, to near white hair and mismatched eyes. Unlike his own expression, there was a malicious smirk gracing the lips of his reflection. The face of someone who he used to be, someone so close yet so far now.
"Don't start preying on your little brother." His reflection spoke, a grin on his face but a manic gleam in his eyes. A threat to himself.
"Don't worry." He smiled, "I won't hurt him."
The reflection simply gave him a dark smile and vanished on its own. Insanity was a prospect in which he was well accustomed to. It was a concerning sense of adaptation— to mania that is. He didn't really care for it, he adapted well and it was a talent he was proud of. Perhaps simple delusions of who he once was, wasn't an issue to him. He was seeing himself, not others.
The halls were no longer quiet. Whispers echoed through his mind as he followed on through the path. He could feel the velvety fabric of his cloak. There was one voice in particular that he listened to intently. Whilst others spat out complaints, venomous reminders, and foolish advice on what to do next, this single voice was yearning for a conversation. To speak to him like the times he was still in that specific life. It was… pleasant.
That boy looks quite handsome… though he seems a bit too bright for my taste. Regulus' voice hummed, Nikolai… Markov.
Harry hummed softly, "Supposed-to-be little brother… reminds me of an old friend of mine." He smirked, finally coming to terms that Regulus' voice was haunting him once again. He couldn't get rid of it no matter how much he wanted to— but he wasn't keen on silencing Regulus Black's voice just yet.
"Do you want me to kill him?"
Why should you? Aren't you fond of him?
"Not… exactly… the mere fact he has the name and blood of Markov and the status of Nadia Markova's son is what I am fond of— the prospect of who he is and what he could have been to me. Perhaps I'll kill him and impersonate him after he dies…" he chuckled, removing his glasses and staring at the spectacles. "Don't you think that's suitable?"
Morbid, psychopathic, insane… Have I corrupted you that bad? Regulus spoke softly but there was amusement in his tone.
"Hm… well, said corruption included me changing my demeanor depending on who I speak to. I don't particularly do that much now— they're simply not worth the effort. But my desire to eliminate Nikolai Markov and take his place is purely from my own selfishness… Although you could say it is not my own… A part of me wants to devour him." Harry weaved magic through his fingers as he pressed his palm towards a wall, smiling darkly. "Perhaps it is love, perhaps it is obsession. But the first person who offered me warmth was my mother, and Nadia Markova is the only mother I had in this world."
What of Lily?
"I meant my mother who is alive . Besides, without Nadia, Orpheus would have gone insane long before he turned sixteen…" Harry sighed, tapping his fingers in a specific manner. He pressed against bricks, smiling as he saw the crest that would be nearly impossible to be seen.
"Don't worry, little king…" Harry hummed, "I'll do my best to fulfill my greed… that's what you told me, right?"
Regulus' voice sighed, Maniac… What have I done?
Harry chuckled, before he murmured something in Parseltongue, §Show yourself to me, Archive of wisdom.§
The brick wall stood still for a moment before it began to move, morph into an opening. The dark hallway that greeted him was a familiar sight, smiling to himself as he hurried into the darkness. He opened his palm and conjured a ball of blue flames to light up his path. The hallway was of the same bricks that created Hogwarts, but as he delved deeper and deeper into it, he saw the bricks turn into pure white marble. Satisfaction courses through his mind as he stood before a pure white door.
The feast was done and the next day would be hell. Harry preferred to have a piece of his sanity intact when everything goes to shit. He pressed a hand on the door, humming as he felt the familiar magic of the castle. A familiar magic that he knew so well, sighing in satisfaction and pushed it open.
What greeted him was a library— no, an archive . The marble walls were white, ornaments of royal blue and bronze hanging from both ceiling and walls. Above him, the ceiling was charmed to look like the stars. Every constellation in existence reflected upon the ceiling, twinkling as he stepped forward. The room was of a circular design, most of the walls being shelves for books, but one more row of shelves circled the middle of the archive. It was three stories tall. There were royal blue banners hanging around the place and he stared at the circular marble table in the very center.
Engraved upon it was an eagle, emblazoned underneath the bird was a name. Ravenclaw.
He smiled, unable to contain himself as he placed the cloak on the table and began to freely move. No one was there to watch, no one but the ghosts trapped in his mind. He skipped towards the walls of books— journals he happily took note of.
Hogwarts was truly a mystery in itself. A shame that its mystical history was shrouded by its headmasters and headmistresses. He pursed his lips at the thought, before shaking his head and running his fingers through the spines of the codices and felt the magic injected into the parchment, the ink, the book itself was doused in magic. Such beautiful and wonderful magic that made his soul spark into flames. He tapped his finger on the shelf, closing his eyes as he imagined an invisible string leading him to the text he had been looking for. The moment he found it, he waved his hand and summoned the enchanted ladder that came with the archive.
"Oh beautiful, beautiful, wisdom and knowledge. How you have kept me alive." He quietly sang such exaggerated words, allowing the ladder to lead him to the section he had been looking for. "Wisdom, knowledge, intelligence. An honor it had been when I was sorted into Ravenclaw in the ninth." He grinned.
His hand grabbed at the rail, pulling himself up until he found the book he wanted. Magic would have been far more useful, but Harry loved the thrill of searching and then finally finding what he wanted. The desire and greed he grew with had caused such meaningless habits, but he kept them anyway.
He casually sat on the rail of the ladder, caressing the leather bound journal. He smiled at the handwriting, reading the title out loud. " Hogwarts: architectures and passages. "
In his hands was a legitimate guidebook to every single secret passage within Hogwarts and a codex to the architecture made by the founders. Cruelly, he liked the thought of having coveted information that every scholar would have sacrificed their souls for. It made him feel better than everyone.
"Thank you Lady Ravenclaw…" he whispered, hopping off the ladder and proceeding to the second floor. He scanned through the unpublished books, the journals or simple notes shoved placed into a stack and wrapped with a thick string. Only texts he took interest in were taken from the shelves, carefully scanning through titles and hints of the notes before proceeding to the circular table in the center of the archive.
He sprawled the codices on the table, drumming his fingers on the table. He glanced around the room until he saw a comfy chair conjured from thin air. The blue velvet on the chair matched the entire theme of the archive.
"In Morgana's name, I will find where these chairs have been placed… one day I will." He grumbled, plopping himself on the chair.
He arranged the texts according to what he needed. One section were journals in regards to the interior of the castle, another were sets of rules that were carefully written on the rulebook. But he hesitated to touch one section of his organized mess, pursing his lips as he pushed it further from him and mentally labeling it as last . His palms were sweaty, hesitant as he started filing through the papers he had oh so confidently taken from the shelves of the archive.
The small stack of papers he had procured were written in the late twelfth century, 200 years after Hogwarts was founded and made. The text was written in Latin, as at that time, wixens spoke Latin as a second language. Most spells were latin so it was a required language to learn. Thankfully for Harry, he was perfectly fluent in the damn language after years of having to spit out spells of latin origin. The text was written by Isidora Hufflepuff, who Harry suspected was one of the last few to carry on the surname.
His eyes skimmed through the writing, humming as he mentally translated every single paragraph Isidora Hufflepuff had written upon the preserved parchment.
— "Another school has emerged up north. Only recently, Emric and Cressida Slytherin had a meeting with this new institution. The founder is named Nerida Vulchanova , a Bulgarian wixen. She has named her institution Durmstrang .
Upon making contact with this school, Emric and Cressida had agreed to Vulchanova's request to meet in somewhat neutral territory. Neither parties have revealed the location of their academies and thus have produced a mutual trust between ourselves.
Cressida has gotten close to Vulchanova. She has suggested a little event for the two schools to get to know each other and grow to trust each other.
The next time the Slytherins meet Vulchanova, it will be three moons from now. I simply hope that. Aillard will not do anything foolish, I heard Vulchanova was a renowned duelist in her country.
— Isidora Hufflepuff, February 17th, 1195."
He found it interesting that Hogwarts had made contact with Durmstrang during its earlier stages. Between the three schools, Harry had learned that Hogwarts was the oldest. Previously, the school was revered and respected by all. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had come to Hogwarts for advice on how to manage their schools in the beginning and Harry couldn't help but feel ill at the realization that the school once respected and loved was now a hideous mess that threw away the traditions it taught to others.
He took in a deep breath, shaking his head as he ignored the louder voices in his mind yelling all sorts of profanities. He set down Isidora's notes and inspected the rest of the history between Hogwarts and the other two schools.
He hadn't been able to do this due to his previous lives having no relation to the founders, nor did he have the capability of parseltongue. Malcolm might have accessed the archive, but it seems the castle hadn't found him worthy at that time— he was ever so bitter for it.
— "The Triwizard tournament.
Three great schools have been made within the lands of Europe. The tournament has been established as a form of bonding and a game to strengthen the trust between the schools. One champion from each shall be chosen by a goblet of enchanted flames. The current headmaster and headmistresses of the institution's have placed their magic into the now sacred goblet.
Zaharina Lazarova, Geneviève Beauséjour, and I have perfected the magic within the goblet.
Carefully made rules have been established and these rules will only be changed when absolutely necessary.
For the future of Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and our beloved Hogwarts, this tournament must succeed. Trust is essential to the connection between the schools and as the oldest academy, Hogwarts must be responsible and trustworthy.
Merlin Emrys had been involved in the creation of our school, we must uphold its honor.
— Caesar Gryffindor, November 13th, 1294."
Harry paused on the text. His ancestor had written this and was apparently the headmaster who helped create the goblet of fire. He grinned, finally finding some sort of advantage to his wretched fate as he lifted the paper towards the light. He quickly stood from the chair and began searching for the unpublished journal filled with the original rules written by the three headmasters who had created the tournament. It wasn't difficult to find, considering it was just beside the parchment.
To Harry's chagrin, the journal was rather thick… he grimaced, sighing as he trudged back to his chair and groaned.
"I'm not gonna get any sleep at this point." He grinned bitterly, flipping through his ancestors notes and carefully reading every single rule that was made for the tournament.
Get some sleep , Regulus' voice was back. It was soft and gentle, just the way Harry remembered it. Alas, he shook his head and forced the voice down. Sleep was not needed in this situation, to which he would devour every single bit of knowledge within the codex in his hands.
"I should have Dobby make me coffee tomorrow."
"Mate, no offense but… you look… bad …" Ron grinned awkwardly, faltering as to not start swearing on Harry's appearance.
He looked slightly pale, dark hair sticking up in various directions to which Hermione was questioning how it was defying gravity. Harry's emerald eyes were lidded, not even caring to wear his glasses that were on his head. In his hands was a mug of almost boiling coffee. Bless Dobby and how quick he is, Harry was glad the elf had given what he needed so quickly.
Even so, Harry seemed to effortlessly look amazing.
"Thank you." Harry sarcastically replied. He looked at their worried faces and relented to a little lie. "I had a bad feeling."
"Oh no. Not again!" Ron bemoaned, placing his face into his hands. "The last time you had a bad feeling was when Sirius Black broke into our dorm. I mean… sure he wasn't after you but still…" his voice was now a low hush, looking around cautiously and glaring at onlookers who were hunting down gossip.
"Exactly… I couldn't sleep at all." Harry rubbed the side of his head, "You know how damn cursed this day is."
Ron and Hermione were confused for a moment, before suddenly remembering the date. October 31st, Halloween, Samhain, the day Harry's parents died, and the day the three became friends… yet it was also known between them as unlucky 31.
"Oh bloody hell!" Surprisingly, the one who was cursing was Hermione. She slammed her fist down on the table, teeth grazing against each other. No matter the fact it was the anniversary of their friendship, bad things always happened on October 31st. Usually to Harry.
"Back up plans… plan a to k, still making some…" she murmured, taking out a journal from her bag and started violently flipping through it.
On the other hand, Ron was staring at her with a small pinkish hue on his face. He shook his head and turned to the mildly amused Harry who was still sipping on his precious coffee. He glared at their sleep-deprived friend before running a hand through his hair.
"The bloody tournament." A pained expression graced Ron's face as he came to realize what misfortune awaited Harry. He suddenly grabbed Harry's hand, silently pleading with him not to do anything.
But what could Harry do? There were certain events in the timeline he could not change. Barty Crouch Jr. putting his name in the damn goblet was one of them. Speaking of the disguised man, Harry glanced towards the head table and saw Moody's face scowling at Karkaroff. One would think it was due to the fact Moody was formerly an auror and knew of Karkaroff's past crimes, but in reality, it was Barty Crouch who despised the traitor.
"Just promise not to abandon me." Harry whispered, looking at Ron with an almost knowing look.
"I… that's weird but of course! I won't leave you behind." Ron smiled, as Hermione busied herself with furious counter measures on what tragedy may happen to this Samhain.
Harry merely gave him a bitter smile.
Envy, jealousy was an emotion humans inevitably felt. Some more than others. People like Ron had the tendency to feel such envy coil around their heart and minds, devouring them little by little until their thoughts were shrouded by the darkness of it. Ron had a mild inferiority complex from what Harry understood. He was the youngest son. Ginny may have been the youngest child but she was the only daughter. Ron was the one who suffered the burden of having to keep up with his older brothers.
Harry had understood this. Malcolm taught him that being the younger sibling often caused numerous incidents regarding jealousy. He spoke of this to Regulus.
No matter what you do, he will be jealous. He may not leave you behind but there will always be a bitter sense of jealousy from the magnitude of differences you two have. Regulus hummed.
Harry closed his eyes, trying his best to keep his smile. The ghost of Regulus within his mind had his arms wrapped around Harry's shoulders, whispering softly as he attempted to comfort the boy.
"Yeah… just know that I would rather swim with the giant squid than take part in the bloody tournament. Don't want to have another near death experience." Harry chuckled wryly. They've gotten used to it… sorta…
§Master… Master I smell another snake…§ Amarantha whispered into his mind.
Harry went stiff as he searched the hall for another snake. It depended on what kind for him to be so cautious. If it were just a regular snake then it was okay, but if it were Nagini… he grit his teeth and ran a hand through his hair, taking in deep breaths and squeezing Ron's hand.
"Mate… we'll be here. Don't worry." Ron assured him, patting his back with a smile that was meant for an older brother.
Harry faltered for a moment, glancing at Hermione who had turned away from her scheming to smile at him. They trusted him. They were by his side, no matter how many difficulties they had to go through. If there was anyone Harry could trust in this life, it was these two.
"Ah bloody hell… you guys are making this so damn depressing." Harry grinned.
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Don't be so dramatic. Also, that one over there…" she trailed off and gestured to their left, "Seems like he's excited to talk to Harry."
Harry glanced towards the end of the table, seeing a rather nervous looking Nikolai Markov sheepishly waving at him. He blinked, before letting out a small laugh and excusing himself from the group. Once Nikolai saw him coming, he stepped out of the hall and waited for Harry.
"Kolya— I mean Nikolai." Harry greeted with a smile.
"Kolya is fine!" Nikolai assured, turning a faint red. "If I am able to call you Hades, of course."
"God of the underworld… you sure I won't get smote by the king of the dead?" Harry teasingly asked, to which Nikolai laughed. The two were slowly becoming the center of attention as they started walking through the halls and conversing. Switching from English to Russian, but sticking to English for now.
"I don't think so. Well, I don't suppose the god of the dead would ever hate you of all people. In my opinion, you are a wonderful person, Hades." Nikolai offered him a blinding grin, eyes closed and hands tucked behind his back.
Harry's smile twitched as he heard that. Hades, huh… how cute. He felt pleased with himself, grabbing his wrist so as to not touch Nikolai's head. Bad habits , he thought, annoyed that some part of his soul was still clinging on to his identity as Orpheus Black.
"Well then, I'm Hades and your Kolya." Harry declared. "Have all of your schoolmates placed their names into the goblet?"
Nikolai nodded, "Some other younger students, Asen, and I are the only ones who haven't placed our names into the goblet. Oh goodness, it was nerve wracking! Viktor placed his name last night."
"So have some of the Beauxbatons students… are you acquainted with any of them?"
"Hm… well, I suppose I am acquainted with Colette Boisseau and Thierry Derouen . Both of their parents were once my mother's clients and their families often go to my mother for legal advice. I'm not really… friends with them, but we're on good terms." Nikolai explained, glancing around as if he would find the mentioned two.
Harry hummed, thankful that Nikolai was not acquainted with anyone from House Lemaire .
"Watch your step." Harry warned, pulling Nikolai away from the step he had been standing on.
The poor Russian boy stared in fright as the steps he had been standing on moved to a different direction. He blinked, turning to Harry with a mildly pale look. Harry could only offer him an awkward smile as Nikolai practically latched himself to Harry as they went up more stairs.
"This is, is… ah, what's the word…" Nikolai began to mutter in his breath before he clicked his fingers and pointed an accusing finger to the stairs. "AWFUL! This is awful and unsafe."
"I know… but the castle was made that way. All students learn and memorize the patterns of the stairs by the end of their first month here." Harry explained. It had taken him a while to memorize the steps back in his first life but he had gotten a hang of it eventually.
Should've studied why those bloody stairs were made that way , he glanced back at the staircases that were moving. Some students were cursing loudly as the steps they were going to take moved in a different direction, evidently the cause of them being late to whatever engagement they had.
"Thankfully the towers don't have those kinds of stairs."
"I would not even go near your castle towers if the staircases moved… How many students are injured because of that?" Nikolai spoke in a quiet voice, gesturing to the staircases.
On the days Harry heard of students falling from the stairs, he grew a deep sense of Paranoia when looking up at the magical architecture that would lead them to their classrooms. Within his thirteenth life, he hadn't been as naive and ignorant. Rather, from the blurry memories he was still recovering, his self prior to waking up was more cautious and cautious of his surroundings. He had memorized every single pattern the castle made for its stairs within two months of arriving at Hogwarts. Why he was not sorted into Slytherin was to be blamed for his fear of… uniqueness.
"Around 10 students are injured every year… the teachers have done nothing to fix the issue." He ran his fingers through the walls, unable to form a proper expression. That simple fact was something he despised so much and he had to rein in his magic.
" Chto ne tak s etoy shkoloy? " Nikolai grumbled, "And you're all okay with it?"
Harry was mildly abused with the absurdity in Nikolai's voice when he spoke Russian, "It's not that we're okay with it… it's that we've gotten used to such things… The headmaster doesn't do much about it and keeps saying that we cannot take any measures to keep the students safe. Dumbledore is rather narrow-minded."
Nikolai nodded, "My grandfather never liked him either."
His entire body went rigid. His magic flared for a second before something in his soul seemed to start laughing. A part of him was reaching out towards Nikolai, a dark wraith of his magic coiling around the boy that could not see it. The wraith changed from a messy wisp of smoke into a man whose body kept morphing from one to another. He could see the reflection of purple eyes, hugging Nikolai tight before amethyst hues turned a venomous silver and black. A grin spread across its face as it quietly spoke.
"Ours."
He grabbed Nikolai's wrist and pulled him forward. Nikolai looked frightened, as Harry blinked in surprise before profusely apologizing. " Mne ochen' zhal'! I am so sorry… reflex… your magic seemed to spread out a bit." Harry wore a smile, cupping Nikolai's hand in between his.
"My magic?"
"Yes… I'm rather sensitive to magic that suddenly touches me." Harry feigned worry, rubbing his arm and avoiding eye contact.
"Oh… so you're similar to Bisera! I should be the one apologizing. Mother has said that I haven't quite mastered the art of controlling my magic." Nikolai apologized, flinching as he turned away, unable to ensure any sort of anger from Harry.
On the other hand, Harry gripped his arm tightly and smiled. It was only right for him to apologize. His rebellious magic was as greedy as him after all. But he didn't like the way Nikolai frowned and stepped away from him, scared and worried. Again, did something in his head whisper to him angrily of the fear on the other boy's face.
"Kak vy smeyete! Ty zastavil yego ispugat'sya! KAK TY POSMEL!"
How dare you! You made him scared! HOW DARE YOU!
The voice was all too familiar.
"It's fine, Kolya." Harry whispered, patting Nikolai's head and smiled. "Your magic was so wonderful that I couldn't really help it. So don't blame yourself." He comforted the boy and held his hand again.
"Are you sure?" Nikolai's face turned slightly red, fingers shaking on his free hand. Harry noticed these little signs, sighing at Nikolai's hesitation.
"Think of me as your older brother now. If you get lost in Hogwarts, just start crying out my name and I'll come to the rescue." Harry teased.
Nikolai blinked, before laughing to himself. "I wouldn't cry but… thank you for the help." Color stained his cheeks, purple eyes shining with admiration and fondness. A look Harry had seen on the younger siblings of his previous incarnations. Harry would be lying if he said that he didn't adore that expression so much. A look that said he was an older brother again.
Luna and Hermione were his sister's. Ron, Fred, and George were his brothers. Yet, that simple confirmation that he was someone's older brother again made his magic sing and burst into fiery flames of happiness. His third life as Arcturus had influenced him so much in regards to being an older sibling. The happiness of having someone admire and love you in that way made his heart melt.
"Brat... Mladshiy brat…" Brother… Baby brother… "Eyes… pretty eyes… want pretty eyes."
Harry could only smile darkly to himself, Shut up, Orpheus. If there was one thing Harry knew about that part of his soul, it was how jealous it was.
"Don't you dare kill him."
"Hades? Are you okay?"
The grip he had on Nikolai's hands slackened, patting his ash brown hair again. He gazed into purple eyes, the very same ones he had seen on himself and a friend.
"Nothing… just two thoughts arguing in my head."
Kill him.
Keep him alive.
Notes:
Harry's mental state is... Unstable. Obviously. Parts of his soul have their own 'consciousness', if you could call it that. It's something like a personality disorder or something similar to schizophrenia. The Harry we currently know, who I often refer to as Hadrian when comparing his different lives, has to struggle with control considering most of his past lives are assertive people.
Basically, he has to constantly fight his past lives for control over their body. It's still possible for other lives to take control. With Nikolai's presence, Orpheus admittedly wants control. He's prodding and arguing against multiple lives who don't want him 'awake' because most of them know how dangerous he is.
Then there is also Regulus' voice. Again, regarding the part where it's similar to schizophrenia, I guess I was referring to Regulus. To Hadrian, he's like a ghost that resides in the archive of his mind and often pops up onto reality like a ghost only he can see. Regulus is akin to an imaginary friend for Hadrian, but is a manifestation of his desire and attachment to the Regulus he had known in his second life.
Also, about the Archive of Wisdom, it's just a made up a thing. I refuse to believe that the room of requirements and the chamber of secrets are rhe only secret rooms in Hogwarts. Rowena Ravenclaw definitely had some secret library where only heirs of Hogwarts can access!
More OC's of the founders children. Since Helena Ravenclaw was supposedly the last, I didn't exactly write much about Ravenclaw descendants. Who knows! Maybe Rowena had another child but I'm still debating with myself in that.