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Watching the merfolk chieftain's silhouette sink back into the waters of the Black Lake, Theodore couldn't help the satisfied curve of his lips.
The two talents he'd gained through that encounter were both extremely practical.
Where Dragons Dwell, Spirit Wakes needed no further praise; it was a key piece of the puzzle he'd been assembling in his mind for some time now.
As for Waters at Heart's Command, Theodore had already experienced the sheer usefulness of Fire at Heart's Command.
Whether it was brewing potions, refining elixirs, or just pairing with Incendio, its effect had been nothing short of superb. For Theodore, it sat just beneath talents like Adamantine Body, Unclouded Mind and Seven Apertures Exquisite Heart in importance.
Waters at Heart's Command was unlikely to disappoint.
In fact, a new thought crept into his mind.
In the Great Desolation, water and fire were meant to complement each other—yin and yang in harmony.
If he fused Fire at Heart's Command and Waters at Heart's Command, there might be a chance to create a single, water-and-fire-encompassing talent—one that would certainly surpass the two separate abilities.
And he had more pieces on the board.
There was Tiller's Dexterity and Earth-Spirit Core, both tied to the power of the earth-veins, and Command Wind & Thunder as well…
If he gambled, and threw all those talents into a single Talent Fusion, with a bit of luck, he might forge something truly extraordinary—perhaps a talent even greater than Adamantine Body, Unclouded Mind.
If that worked, his strength would undergo yet another qualitative leap.
But fusing that many talents at once… even Theodore hesitated.
If it succeeded, it would be a massive profit. But if it failed?
He'd only be allowed to keep a single "strongest" talent; everything else would be lost. Just thinking about that made his heart ache.
"I need to shore up my luck a bit before I try anything that crazy," he muttered.
"Felix Felicis is one option, but I'd rather secure that other reward first."
Destroy a Horcrux, strip a fragment of Voldemort's fortune, then fuse the talents…
With luck literally wrapped around him, the whole process would be as close to a sure thing as it ever could be.
Theodore's thoughts flickered and settled as he cast one last, long look at the Black Lake.
Once he'd done another round of Talent Fusion and forged a few more abilities on par with Adamantine Body, Unclouded Mind, then he'd come back down to probe the Giant Squid's true nature.
The creature was clearly tied to the Big Four, perhaps even to some deeper secret in the Harry Potter world. Going any further would mean venturing into the deepest parts of the lake—and eventually, perhaps, the sea beyond.
Even he couldn't afford to be reckless.
Besides, the storm had already begun to disperse. Hermione, Harry, and the others on the shore were probably half out of their minds by now.
He'd harvested more than enough from this little adventure. No point in lingering.
Just then, something bright flashed at the edge of his vision.
Theodore glanced down and saw Draco's pendant, the one Flint had hurled into the Black Lake, glinting faintly in the dark water.
He snatched it up with a lazy flick of his hand, then kicked his broom into motion.
A breath later, he was streaking upward, breaking through the low-hanging veil of mist over the lake and shooting for the shore.
—
On the bank, Harry and Draco were still surrounded by a ring of Gryffindors, their robes heavy with ice, their faces drained of colour.
Hermione had conjured a small bluebell flame, pressing it closer to their soaked clothes. The warmth finally chased enough of the chill from their bones for them to open their eyes.
The first thing they saw was Hermione's face—hoarse voice, reddened eyes, staring at them unblinking.
"Where's Theodore?"
"Where is he? What happened to him?"
Harry dropped his gaze. His eyes were bloodshot, his fingers digging into the muddy ground so hard they looked ready to burrow straight through.
Something was lodged in his throat; he couldn't force out a single word. Even breathing hurt.
Draco sat slumped beside him, equally hollow-eyed. He dragged his cloak over his head as if to hide inside it and rasped,
"He opened a path for us. Forced our brooms out."
"He… he didn't come through himself…"
Hermione reeled as if she'd been hit with the full force of an Unforgivable Curse. She staggered back a few steps, her mind going completely blank.
Her thoughts—usually so quick, so precise—refused to form. She could only repeat the same words, numb and trembling.
"No."
"Impossible."
"Theodore can't be dead."
"This isn't… it's not possible…"
Nearby, the Slytherin Quidditch players Theodore had knocked out of the sky finally managed to drag themselves upright, limping and wincing.
They'd even improvised a stretcher to haul Flint, whose arms and legs were broken in several places. His face was twisted with pain—until he caught the words "Theodore" and "didn't come out."
A slow, nasty smile spread over his features. For a moment, he almost forgot how much everything hurt.
"That mudblood's dead?"
"Serves him right. Who told him to strut around like that?"
"See that? Even the Black Lake couldn't stand him. Storm like that—maybe it was the Founders' will—"
He didn't get to finish.
Hermione, Ron, and Draco all snapped at once.
"Shut up!"
Three spells cracked through the air towards him, only to be intercepted hastily by the Slytherin players, who raised their wands with snarls of pain.
"You want a fight?" one of them sneered.
"Without that mudblood, you lot think you can take us?"
At that exact moment, something cold and dreadful slithered through everyone's hearts.
Harry's fingers clenched around his wand so tightly the knuckles turned white. Whether it was the injuries he'd already taken or the raw grief boiling inside him, he didn't notice when his nails broke the skin.
Blood dripped from his palm, sliding down onto the holly wand.
His bright green eyes darkened, shading into something deep and venomous.
A chill slid off him, like the presence of a snake, coiling and tightening.
In eleven years of life, Harry had never felt anything like this.
Grief this sharp. Rage this deep. It all burned so fiercely that his mind swung round to an eerie, unnatural calm.
Staring at Flint's spiteful face, Harry had only one thought left.
He has to pay.
Harry raised his wand.
His scar burned—no, flowed—with a cold, merciless magic.
Use Sectumsempra? a voice suggested, somewhere deep in his mind.
Harry shook his head, slowly, as if answering someone no one else could hear.
"No," he breathed. "Not enough. It's too easy on him."
"For something that filthy, that stupid, you need a worse curse."
"What curse?"
"A very powerful one. One that will make him disappear forever. You can do it. You have the power."
"Come. Repeat after me. Avada—"
Harry's lips moved, barely more than a whisper, as that icy magic surged down the wand.
And just then, a familiar hand closed around it.
"Theo," said a voice at his ear, low and steady, "snap out of it."
Harry froze.
So did everyone else. Heads turned as one, staring at the figure who'd just swept in on a broom and skidded to a halt in the middle of the crowd.
"Theodore?"
Theodore swung off his broom in one fluid movement.
He ruffled Hermione's hair hard enough to make her stagger, clapped Ron on the shoulder, and smoothly eased the wand out of Harry's grip, flashing him a bright grin.
"Harry," he said lightly, "lend me your wand for a second?"
He gave the holly wand a little shake, as if to fling off something grimy, then flicked it skyward.
A huge burst of gold-and-scarlet firework erupted over the lake.
A lion, roaring and proud, unfurled in the air, then shattered into a shower of sparks that rained down onto the Slytherin Quidditch team.
The glowing embers seared any exposed skin they touched, drawing yelps and howls and leaving a mess of angry blisters.
Flint's lips swelled up like overcooked sausages; it would be quite some time before he could say much of anything at all.
Theodore sniffed, utterly unimpressed.
"Looks like Slytherin's going to be digging into their reserves for Quidditch this year."
The Gryffindors exploded into wild, cathartic laughter.
Harry, too, found a grin tugging at his mouth, that horrible coldness draining away from his chest in a rush.
Theodore's eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced toward one of the distant towers.
Up there, Quirrell was pressed to the window, eyes locked on Harry, his own gaze filled with shock and dawning horror.
He—or rather, the Voldemort riding his body—had finally realised one crucial thing.
"That child…"
"There's a fragment of my soul inside him?"
"He's my seventh Horcrux?"
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