Chapter 12: As Chaucer Once Said, All Good Things Go to Shit
I sigh as I find a sunny spot in the courtyard. Today is the first day where I actively recognized the warmth of the summer; it's one of those days where the sky is impossibly blue, and the sun knows precisely how to shine to make the day perfect. Birds chirp as they dive through the air, playing a half-hearted game of tag, taunting each other with trilling sing-songs.
It's the day before our final task, and after that, all of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students are to go back to their schools. Then, Hogwarts students finish up final exams and the school year will be over. My time at Hogwarts will be over. It doesn't feel real. And it's a bit horrifying, to be truthful, knowing that I have a few more weeks and then I'm going to be thrown out into the real world. But this is my world. The only one I know.
The one I just learned to love.
I lay back and stare above my head with a small sigh. It's not fun to think about everything coming to an end. Leaving Hogwarts means leaving Cedric. The end of the tournament means Viktor leaves. Who knows what will happen next? He's famous. He'll go on to play for Bulgaria and sign womens' chests after each game. I can't compete with that. I don't want to. I want everything to stay the same.
"I have been looking for you," Viktor says as he approaches me, his figure blocking the warm sunshine that had been spilling onto my skin.
"I thought we were keeping our distance until after the tournament so that Rita Skeeter stops writing that we've been helping each other cheat," I say and shield my eyes from the sun as he steps to the side to sit beside me.
"It does not matter," he says with a shrug. "I have been thinking a lot."
"About what?" I ask.
"About what happens next," he says and looks over at me before returning his gaze to the sky.
"Oh. Yeah. Me too."
"After the tournament ends, what are we doing?"
"I think that depends on you," I say slowly, raising my eyes to his. At my words, his eyebrows draw together. He looks... offended?
"No, it does not. Don't say that."
"Well, I don't know."
"What does that mean?"
"Just—you know," I say and shrug, feeling dangerously close to tears. This is agonizing, standing on this precipice. I don't know which way I'm going to fall. Only one way has Viktor there to catch me.
"I don't know," he says.
"You're the quidditch star," I say and start ripping clumps of grass out of the ground. I will punish the earth for being so large. For the amount of space it's about to put between us.
"That means nothing," he says. His voice is so stern, it almost sounds like he's scolding me, which isn't helping with the whole holding-back-the-tears thing I've got going on.
I shrug again and stare at my hand, ripping bigger clumps of grass. He sighs and catches my hand.
"Nothing will change on my side," he says.
"You don't know that. What if you meet a hottie after one of your games, and she has, like, the biggest—"
"Nothing will change," he interrupts me. "Will they for you?"
"No."
"Then it is settled."
"Is it?" I ask. Because it certainly doesn't feel like it. He's still going to be thousands of miles away, and he's still going to be a quidditch star. No time for me or anyone.
"I want it to be."
"Okay."
He sighs and presses his hands against his temples. "I did not think that this would be the most difficult part of the tournament," he admits.
"Me either."
"It does not have to be. You will come to visit?"
"Yes," I say. "If you'll have me, I'll come. You know that."
"I hope, but I do not know," he says and grabs my hand to kiss my knuckles.
"Well, now you know."
"And what of your work? Will you work here, in Scotland?" he asks and lets my hand fall from his lips.
"I don't know," I say and sigh as I lean back to lie on the ground. "Now that graduation is just around the corner... I don't know what I want to do. I mean, I have to get a job, obviously. But I don't know what I'll do."
"Live with me," he says.
I'm silent. Because what can you say in this situation? We've known each other for less than a year, and I'm not the type who does things without thinking them over, let alone without overthinking.
"Live with me," he repeats. "You will not have to work if you don't want to. I have money saved to buy a house. I'll make sure there's room for two. If you do not want to live together as... what we are, then we live together as roommates first."
"Viktor..."
"You do not have to decide now," he says, "but when you are ready, you can come to me."
I nod and look up at the sky. Snow-white clouds blow across the azure backdrop.
"Isn't it just the most beautiful day you've ever seen?" I ask quietly. He sighs as he lays beside me and folds his hands under his head.
"It may be," he says.
"It makes me nervous. If today was a thunderstorm and cold and dreary, I think I would have more hope for tomorrow. But tomorrow could never top this," I say.
"Никога няма да прекосиш океана, докато не се осмелиш да изгубиш брега от очи." It comes out as a blur of syllables, and it takes me a moment to realize that he's speaking another language.
"What?"
"You cannot have a better day unless you let the best one pass," Viktor says.
"That's nice," I say and look over at him, catching his profile. "I like that."
"Tomorrow will be fine," he says and meets my eyes. "It has to be."
***
There's a phrase in the English language that people often like to say after they say something like, 'Tomorrow will be fine.' They would then say, 'Knock on wood.' This is meant to signify that the person does not want to jinx it. We're afraid that if we say something aloud, we're preventing it from happening. Now, I'm not superstitious, but it only seems right to blame Viktor for the shitshow that ensues.
I'm walking beside Cedric and, for once, I wish that he would start talking. Even through the rumble of the still-amassing crowd, today feels different. Quieter, as if it's muffled. I know my dad and Nat are somewhere in the crowd. I can't see them. I want to. I want to ask them to take me home. Because, as I stare at the maze before me, there's this pit in my stomach. Like maybe not everything will work out.
1701; The triwizard tournament ended with a task involving an acromantula. It killed two of the champions. One spectator.
1732; A champion died trying to retrieve the jewel from the head of a horned serpent. They weren't able to retrieve his body.
1747; Very similar to this maze, but there was a Lethifold. It suffocated a champion.
1777; A manticore stung two champions. They died instantly.
1792; A cockatrice killed three judges. The tournament was banned.
1994; TBA.
"You're going to crush this," Cedric says and sets a hand on my shoulder. Why does this feel like a goodbye? I can't bring myself to speak, so I crush him in the tightest hug I can manage. "Hey, hey," he says, and his voice is so soft, I want to cry. "You'll do fine. I'll see you in a bit, alright? I'll take you out to celebrate when you win."
I pull away and immediately turn my head toward the ground. I don't want him to see my eyes brimming with tears. I don't know why I'm crying. Maybe it's because this is the beginning of the end.
"Hey," he says again, "what's wrong, killer?"
"I don't know. This doesn't feel right," I say and sniffle.
"Hey, hey. I know they say you can't back out but that's probably bullshit. If you're not feeling right, you don't have to do this. Really, Y/N, you don't."
"No," I decide. "My dad and Nat came all the way here for it. I have to. Plus, I know you put money on me winning." I crack an uneasy smile, but Cedric's serious expression doesn't waver.
"Are you sure?" Ced asks.
"Yeah."
And then I'm alone.
I reach the mouth of the maze, and everything is not fine. Nerves like I've never felt them. So bad my stomach cramps up and my knees are shaking.
"You okay?" Harry asks me. He looks relatively confident. Relatively. And since I'm the relative comparison to him, that's not saying much.
"Yeah," I say. I look over at him. He's pale, so I pretend that I feel like myself. "Just thinking over all the ways I'm going to beat your ass, Potter."
One corner of his mouth raises in a smile. I think he does it for my sake. For the same reason I'm pretending to be cocky when I just want to find Nat and my dad and let them take me home.
"Good luck, Y/N."
"Good luck, Harry."
And then I'm in the maze. The hedges are over double my height, thick enough that I couldn't force through them if I tried. I try to swallow and it doesn't really happen. Instead, I spit on the ground. Breeze rustles the leaves of the hedge. If I close my eyes tight enough, then I can almost imagine being in a regular hedge maze, or maybe a corn maze. I went to one with my mom once. I was scared. I thought the scarecrow was real in the dim lights.
Look at how brave Cedric is being, she had said. Be brave like Cedric.
I had felt... inadequate. The way no child ever should. Mom loved Cedric. And mom loved Amos. Loved him too much. So much that dad couldn't bear it anymore, so he asked her to leave. Maybe her love for Amos was why I had so many playdates with Cedric. Amos never took her up on her advances. I'm glad he didn't. I was happy for Cedric. To have functional parents. To not have my mother.
But Cedric had taken my hand in the maze, and he said, Come on, killer. We'll protect each other.
There's no one to protect me here.
I walk anyways. I would rather move than stay in place. I don't care where I'm going; I just stumble around blindly, hoping to God I don't run into anything.
1994; Please, God, don't let anything happen.
A scream tears through the near-silence of the maze. My world shatters.
1994; champion slain in maze; cause unknown.
Red explodes somewhere to my left. I think I sob a little bit. 1994 can still be saved. And then I realize something. I don't have to wait for something to happen to use my flare. I can use it now. I can be done. I can vomit outside of the maze.
But then—
It's exoskeleton on exoskeleton. A horrifying noise that stirs up a memory.
My chin rests in my hand as I watch Hagrid wrangle the little creatures before him.
"They'll get bigger," he says. "As long as you are tall. And then they'll be a force to be reckoned with, that's for certain."
And then... I had doodled on my parchment and ignored him.
Oh my God.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
This is the worst thing I could have encountered. A blast-ended skrewt.
It's a large one, far larger than the ones Hagrid was nursing, almost five feet long. Its grey skin looks slimy, and all I can recall is that it offers a sort of protection for the creatures. Which means that this is going to be hard because I didn't pay attention in class and I don't know what to do. I decide to save the vomiting for later, although I do have the questionable sense to stare at the thing and try to figure out which end is the front.
Fire shoots out of one end of the creature, and I yelp and jump back, ultimately deciding that it doesn't really matter which side is which. I doubt the thing will kill me, but I am shooting for escaping without serious injury.
I'm not the smartest person on the planet, however. And I've never been the best student. So, when I cast a stunning spell at the nasty little gremlin and it comes hurtling back at me, I almost screw myself. I dart to the side and try to form a game plan.
You see, I am not good at this kind of thing. Maybe if it involved a quaffle and a hoop, I could get a good hit, but I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. If I had paid more attention in Care of Magical Creatures, then maybe I would know. But I didn't, so I don't.
I don't want to run. The thing is faster than it should be and its flames move fast and far.
Now, before I move on, allow me to remind you of a few key pieces of skrewt anatomy (crucial to the story—ignore the dip of my toe into the world of metafiction.) On one end, we have a lovely little piece of machinery, which is a large, gross-looking stinger that I would rather eat all of my fingers one by one than get behind, and then on the other end, we have a fire-shooting hole that (fun fact!) doubles as a mouth for sucking blood.
Why do I mention this? Well, the repulsive creature manages to propel itself at me, stinger poised as if ready to attack, and oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. If you catch my drift.
I scramble backward and a root catches my heel and now—I'm on the ground, shuffling as far away as I can get from the thing as it opens its mouth and...
Pain. White-hot, screaming pain. I don't know if I make a noise, but I know I want to. It's like touching the hot stove intensified tenfold, and then I jerk my arm out of the column of flames the skrewt still spews, rolling through the dirt to escape the burning sensation that's so close to driving me from nausea to vomiting.
The pain disappears for a split second, and then it's a pulsing, throbbing pain, excruciating. Sweat beads on my brow as I whimper, cradling my arm to my torso and... yeah, I'm regretting this dumb tournament. But I'll be damned if my arm is melted off and I lose. Not happening.
The shield encircles me before I realize I've cast it, and flames roll around the shield, like I'm a little plastic man inside of Satan's snowglobe. I try to catch my breath and risk a look down at my forearm. It's shiny and bright red, littered with blisters. Serum coats my skin like a sheen of sweat. It hurts so badly I want to sit down and wait for someone to find me, but the goddamn skrewt is still jabbing its gross stinger at the bounds of my shield, roaring a beam of fire at me. It stamps its crustacean feet angrily, testing the shield for give.
After a few moments, it takes a few scuttling steps back. Reassessing. Not giving up. No, I could never be so lucky. I cast a ferula charm to wrap my wound and take a deep breath because this is going to be so stupid, but it's kind of becoming my thing.
I drop the shield.
The skrewt is still.
So am I.
I blink and swallow.
It stares.
"Come on, fugly," I say.
And it does.
It's really all about timing. I crouch down slightly and wait, which is the worst part. Hearing the skittering, seeing it near me with its mouth widening, its stinger tensing above its body. But I have to get the timing right because if I can...
"Protego!"
The shield solidifies the air around me and the skrewt collides with it. I twist my body with the spell and the skrewt spins wildly, catching some air. I watch as it lands on its back, squirming around ferally, trying to right itself. I drop my shield.
I want to give up. But Nat and my dad are waiting. Ced is waiting.
He doesn't call me killer for nothing.
"Evanesco," I say, and the skrewt ceases to exist.
I take a moment to think about the spell I've just cast and the life I've removed from the world before I continue on. If I don't, I won't. And I have to.
I'm limping. I don't know what did it, but I assume my fall was the culprit. Even though my progress is slowed, I'm moving. That's all that matters. I don't even care in which direction. I will keep going until someone wins.
Once again, I'm plunged into a serene silence, only the rustle of the breeze evidence that the world is still spinning.
I flinch when I hear a twig snap behind me. My entire body tenses as it prepares itself to fight, but when I turn...
"Viktor," I sigh as I see him. "Are you okay?"
It's a panic I've never felt before, wondering if someone else is alright. As if they're a part of me that I have to keep safe. Like if he's hurt, I'll feel it. Maybe we can stick together, competition be damned. Maybe I'll move to Bulgaria and leave this country behind. We can be together. Protect each other.
But there's something off.
The blast-ended skrewt was the worst thing I believed I would encounter. I was wrong. I should have knocked on wood. His eyes are not right—so unfocused, and his face looks so relaxed, he could be dead. I should have knocked on wood. I should have—
"Crucio!"
What a sweet sight. Tragically handsome, arm outstretched as blood-red light reaches out to me. Do I meet it halfway? Reach out and let him take me? His hands can do me no harm. Why does time seem to slow? Reality sharpens and I am no longer in my body. I am above. Red light flickers like lightning, and it shines in his eyes. Gives them some semblance of life. If he can regain that gleam, I will be on the receiving end of whatever he doles out. I am ready. I am the lightning, the unforgivable curse that hurtles through space with my body as its destination. I bring him to life with my illuminance. And then...
My muscles involuntarily retract under the curse as goosebumps rise on my skin. Every part of my body stings with the curse, in fluctuations that range from intense pain to dull aches, and then back again. A scream tears from my throat but is soon cut off as I collapse on the ground, my vocal cords straining, but no sound escaping my mouth.
This is death. The most tragic one.
I am me, and I am him, and I am the lightning. I am death. I am, I am, I am, I am—
Alive.
Shaking, but alive. Body jerking every few seconds with the aftereffects of the curse, but alive. And Viktor.
"Oh my God, Viktor," I say, and then I'm scrambling through the dirt to where Viktor lies.
"He's fine."
"Harry?"
"Come on, before he wakes up."
"No, I don't—He—"
"He was attacking you," Harry says and his hand closes around my forearm. I make a strangled sort of sound when he squeezes my burn. He releases me. "Come on."
"We can't leave him here."
"He attacked you," Harry says again, and the look that crosses his face makes me feel stupid. Maybe I am.
"That wasn't him. I'm going to stay here with him," I say.
"No," Harry says and shoots a flare into the sky above Viktor's body. "If he wakes up, who knows what he'll do? He used the cruciatus curse on you, Y/N. He'll do anything to win. Come on."
My eyes are fixed on Viktor as Harry pulls me away. I don't want to leave him alone, but Harry is right. What's the difference between one unforgivable curse and another? Who's to say he won't take it a step further? I want to believe that it wasn't him, but I can't stay with him because of a dumb hope. I am somewhere lost in my thoughts as I limp behind Harry, slowing him down.
How could this happen? After everything, how could this happen? Nearly infinite combinations of events, and this is the outcome that I have to live through?
"Y/N," Harry says insistently as he stops in his tracks. When I follow his eyes, I actually do throw up into the hedges. A giant spider blocks the path, with legs bristled with spindly hairs and large, black eyes staring down at us.
1701; The triwizard tournament ended with a task involving an acromantula. It killed two of the champions. One spectator.
1994, 1994, 1994.
"No, no," I whimper quietly as Harry starts throwing curses toward it. He's a fierce little thing, and I should be helping, but my mind is fried. Like the curse reached inside and jumbled everything all around. "Killer," I mutter. I don't deserve the nickname, I don't deserve the win. He does. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, now fending off an—oh my God, I'm going to throw up again.
"Y/N!" he shouts.
It snaps me out of it, resetting something in my mind. I am Y/N. I am not lighting, not death, not killer. I am Y/N. I am me.
I step up beside Harry and begin throwing spells, hurling as many as I can at the gargantuan spider, who remains upright solely due to its mass. The acromantula swipes at Harry's leg and it gives beneath him. He cries out and crumples to the ground as I throw one last curse at the spider. One I didn't want to use again, but it's just too large, too strong.
It disappears as the light touches it.
I gulp and tear my eyes away from the empty space where the spider was mere seconds ago. Harry grasps at my arm, and he winces as I help him to his feet.
"Y/N, keep going," Harry says and stumbles with a cry as he tries to put weight on his leg. "We have to be close if we found that thing."
"No, I don't want to do this anymore," I reply and shake my head, "and I am definitely not leaving you here."
I loop an arm under Harry's armpit and bear a majority of his weight.
"Come on, Harry. Work with me here," I say through gritted teeth. He groans and limps forward. "Let's finish this bullshit."
And Harry is right. A couple of turns through the hedge reveal the goblet.
"It's right here," he says with an astonished laugh as he sees it. "We did it."
"Go ahead. I'm going to lay down here and die, preferably," I say and place my hands on my knees while I attempt to catch my breath. Harry hobbles forward.
"No, you deserve it. You saved me back there," he says and shakes his head, halting just feet away from the cup.
"Seriously, Potter? I would still be back with—"
Viktor. Viktor, who I trusted with my life. Viktor, who had used an unforgivable curse on me.
"Let's do it together. We both went through hell to get here. We're both from the same school, so it shouldn't matter," he says. "No matter what, it's a Hogwarts victory."
I nod.
"3...
"2...
"1..."
And, CUT!
hehe i'm a bitch
in case you're wondering, Viktor's saying literally means 'you have to leave the shore to cross the ocean' or something