Chapter Text
No one knew the how or the why, all they knew was that whatever had happened had gone spectacularly wrong. The moment Harry and Cedric had reached for the trophy the impossible had happened. No one knew why only the student stand had been taken alongside the champions, perhaps the other stand were warded with more care or maybe, just maybe, this was all the result of the worst luck ever.
Waking up on a beach overlooking an endless blue ocean however was not what anyone expected. There was confusion and fear, so much fear. The younger years cried for their parents, their friends, their homes and warm beds and comfortable food. The older ones tried to keep it together, to look like they had the problem under control. They didn’t. That first day was marked by crying and fighting and unanswered questions. But the island was big and bountiful, groups went out into the sparse forest inland and came back bearing familiar fruits and tales of the ruins of a great city.
That first day ended with people munching on the snacks they brought with them to witness the third task as well as the fruit, which was shared amongst everyone after some debate, and waiting for someone to rescue us. The Durmstrang students filled the sky with fire, the boys and girls from Beauxbatons shot up sparks and transfigured rocks into little lanterns to let loose in the wind. The second day was spent much the same, lounging on the beach and casting aguamenti to soothe thirsty throats when needed. The third was not much different from the second except more stomachs grumbled and growled and the sun and heat stopped having their previous appeal.
The fourth day would be marked as the start of our new life here.
Saviour. Hero. Boy-Who-Lived. Freak. Pothead. Harry had been called many names over the years, each one as unwelcome as the other. But people had always had expectations of him, be they good or bad, simply because they thought they knew him. They had seen him walk off to a shady spot under a few of the nearest trees with the other three champions as well as some other students from all three schools. They sat and talked in whispers, would point and argue and stand and scream before quieting down again. At around noon on the third day they got up, brushed the sand off their robes and moved to the centre of the beach.
A wand tapped a throat and a spell was whispered. “Can I have everyone’s attention please?”
The sound crushed all ambient noise, leaving a disquieting silence in its wake. People sat up straighter and heads were turned. No one uttered a word.
“We have spent the last few days waiting for some to rescue us, but up till now we have not seen any signs of a rescue. We haven’t even seen signs of other people, only ruins. For all we know no one knows we’re here and we’re stuck.
Voices sounded up at once, angry yells of denial and scared accusations thrown around. A few young girls clung to each other, tears welling up in their eyes. A pause, minutes long, and silence descended much more slowly.
“And if we are that means we have to survive here, on this island, until we can rescue ourselves. We’re not surviving right now, we’re not even doing anything,” Harry pointed at Viktor and the group of equally burly boys from Durmstrang that had gathered behind him. “Viktor and his classmates have scouted a bit of the island and it’s big. But that’s not the most important thing that he’s found, no, that would be the recourses. This island has it all, food, material to build shelter and it has us. And we have magic.”
Magic. People glanced at their wands, the thing they had always taken for granted. They could turn a mouse into a teapot and a cushion into a hedgehog. They could make fruit dance and fire burn forever. Was it cold? Cast a heating charm. Did it rain? Make your clothes waterproof. Change your clothes with a flick of your wand and heal broken bones with a twirl. Magic.
“It took four people to build Hogwarts,” Harry continued, glancing at the crowd, “one of the three greatest magical schools in the entire world. We have almost three-hundred. Three-hundred students of the finest schools in existence. We can’t keep waiting, chances are it will take a long time if we are even ever rescued at all. So we have to band together and start getting things done, and we can.
He cleared his throat, shuffled his feet in the sand and whatever aura of leadership had hung around him seemed to deflate. The Boy-Who-Lived was gone, the mythical about him turned mundane. In front of two-hundred-and-eighty odd wizards and witches stood Harry Potter, fourteen-year-old and utterly unimpressive.
It was Viktor Krum who stepped forward, turned his eagle-eyed gaze on the crowd and spoke. He didn’t a spell to make his voice carry over the wide beach, he spoke and people listened. Even with his broken English he was heard and understood. But he didn’t contradict, didn’t offer the words the others so desperately wanted to hear. He bolstered and enforced, plastering cracks before they could bring walls down. He showed support.
After Viktor had finished his own little speech Harry went forward again. Shoulders steeled and spine straightened, he had something he lacked mere minutes ago. Something bold, something brave. Something unforgiving and demanding and fearsomely ruthless.
“Some of you don’t like me, I know that, but I can’t change that. But this,” arms spread out wide and gestured at the sand and the sea and the desolation that hung about the island like a blanket. “This is serious. There are no teachers here to help us or adults to hold our hand. I didn’t ask for this any more than you did, I am just as unhappy and angry and scared. But tonight I am going to find us food and I’m going to do that tomorrow as well. As long as I need to get us all fed and warm. Do you think I want to have to do that? Because I don’t.”
Hissed words, green eyes flashing, fists balled. A breath, deep and calming, and another. The waves crashed on the beach, again and again, and to that background noise Harry continued.
“But I have to. And so do you. I don’t like being the bearer of bad news but we have to get of our arses and start doing something. I don’t mean just a few people, I’m talking about everyone.”
Cedric sat on the sand, a circle of roughly twenty others had formed around him. Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors and even some of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students had joined the group. They sat and watched Cedric shine, a bright, guiding star on the horizon that provided wisdom and inspired courage. He was in his element and broadcasted it far and wide for everyone to see.
He ran them through the drills, taught them the spells they’d need to catch fish in the endless ocean surrounding them. It was a position that suited him fine, teaching and organising others, and it showed.
“Bubble-head charms, stunning and summoning,” Cedric surmised, moving through the three spells with practiced ease. “They’re easy, the last two rely mostly on intent. You have want it. You want the fish to come to you, you want to stun it. Watch-”
Feet turned in the sand, shells breaking under soft leather. Smooth, polished wood was held loosely between his fingertips. “Accio Fleur’s hat.
The brilliant blue hat came flying to his outstretched hand not a second later. Its owner came not long after, rolling her eyes and putting her hat back on.
“Do you want for me to ‘ave a sunburn, Cedric,” Fleur huffed, but the curl of her lips was friendly and the sparkle in her eyes honest. She turned and left, hips swaying and blonde hair swishing with each step in the stand.
“See?” Cedric grinned, spread his arms wide and nodded at Fleur’s retreating back. “Intent is key here, so let’s get to work.”
But if Cedric was like a star with his radiance and guiding influence then Harry was the sun. He shone so brightly at times that it burned and people orbited around him like planets pulled into his gravitational sphere. People drifted to and from, asking questions and getting whatever answers Harry could give.
He was like sun, yes, but he was terribly, terribly young.
“Malfoy,” he said, voice tired and hand on his wand. “What do you want?”
Hermione shot him a concerned glance from her own little study group, a haphazard gathering of the best and brightest who wanted to check out the ruins the next day. The smile he shot back was weak, he knew it, and Hermione looked decidedly incredulous but let him be.
Malfoy however, was not just pale, no, he looked ashen. Even behind the sunburn that stained his cheeks and the bridge of his nose an ugly, blotchy red. There were bags beneath his eyes, shoulders sagging and his customary sneer was missing.
“Potter,” his tone was flat, dejected, empty of the arrogance that had filled it before. “I-“
He paused, gritted his teeth and swallowed. “I want to get some people together and start on thinking of how to transfigure shelter. No- not that-“
He paused Harry’s enquiry in its tracks and gestured at the throng of people busy trying to make little shacks. Flashes of bright light and the occasional either joyous or dejected cry marked their slow progress. His lips were downturned and something of the casual arrogance that made Malfoy into Malfoy seemed to slowly trickle back into him.
“-But houses. You said something about Hogwarts in your little speech, and I’m not planning on sleeping in some hovel. I want to build a castle, I know we can. Like you said, there were just four founders and we've got easily fifty times more people. My family has extensive history in transfiguration related to houses and building and I know more than a bit of it. I just need some arithmancers to help with the calculations and some others to help gather the materials and shape the magic but Krum said there was stone. All renovations done to our manor were done by us ourselves, Potter, so I can help. I … I want to help. I’m not stupid. I know there’s been bad blood between us but I want to put that behind us, can we do that? A fresh start.”
Harry’s eyes ran up and down Malfoy’s face, searching for the barest hint of dishonesty. He found none, only embarrassment and fear edged in the lines beneath his eyes. His eyes went to Malfoy’s outstretched hands, the appendage shaking slightly.
He grabbed it tight, shook it once, twice before letting go.
Malfoy’s eyes watched him as intently as he had watched him not seconds before. Assessing, weighing, before his stance relaxed.
“A fresh start,” Harry echoed, nodding. “I like that.”
Eyes had been watching the exchange, children clad in silver-and-green holding their breath. Hands shook and the world trembled, to some it was an earthquake, to others it was a shift of the universe. The dozen first years, huddled together in the shade of the treeline, cast their gaze to their year mates. Their peers, children they had ridiculed and in turn had been ridiculed by. They stood, as one, a wave of green and silver and black making their way to one of the groups centred around a Bouxbatons student teaching the littles ones simple, useful spells.
The older Slytherins were less conspicuous, blending into groups they’d skirted around for hours. Always in pairs, but they mingled with more ease. They smiled and joked as if they’d been there since the start.
“They made you their leader?” it shouldn’t have surprised Harry, not when others had made him their leader, leader of their haphazard gathering of mostly underage witches and wizards from three different magical schools.
Malfoy stopped in his tracks and turned halfway, facing him. His face was unreadable, not a mask, the emotion was merely indistinguishable. He was silent for a moment, eyes shifting and brows drawn together.
“No, merely the messenger.”
“Merlin’s beard,” Hermione swore, taking in the towering structures rising up in front of her.
The ruins were once great but now, even crumbling apart, were no less impressive. They were made of grey stone and most of what remained standing were the remains of high, circular pillars. They had been painted once too, she noted, black swirls and spirals were mostly faded away but still visible. The spirals were everywhere, from the overgrown streets were cobblestones formed spiral patterns to being carved in the trees they’d passed on their way to the ruined remains of what must have been a city.
“Unbelievable,” Cho Chang breathed, “can you feel it?”
She could, they all had to feel it. The air was saturated with power, with intent, this was like the first time she’d entered the grounds of Hogwarts. The air had been cloying there, the atmosphere heavy with something unrecognizable. It was magic. At Hogwarts it had been the build-up of centuries of heavy magical inhabitation, hundreds of magical beings had soaked the air and the grounds with power.
There was a river dividing the ruins in two, cutting through the landscape. It disappeared somewhere between the base of the hills that lined the horizon. The city had been big, once, but the island was easily bigger. Big enough, Hermione reasoned, to live comfortably off.
“Let’s try transfiguring some of it,” Miriam Fellsbury, a seventh year Ravenclaw, ordered. “If the stone lacks magical properties or previous spellwork this could solve our little housing problem. I want those with runes to have a look at the spirals, I don’t think they were purely for decoration. If there is a previous network of runes in place it could prove dangerous.”
“The spiral is vaguely similar to several Egyptian hieroglyphs I know of, though other parts-“ Stanislav, a bulky Durmstrang student who was fluent in six languages and had another four he was currently studying, said. His English was flawless, much unlike Viktor’s. “This here in the centre has a touch of Latin influences, or so it seems, but then the outer layers have a flair is decidedly Northern European.”
They worked in silence for a while, with Hermione joining Stanislav in trying to work out the spirals. Sometimes they found identical ones, but most were different in minute ways. But there was one thing all had in common: they were broken. Not one had undisturbed lines of ink, even the few they found built into the buildings and the street were fragmented or smudged. It was almost as if someone had done it on purpose.
They trekked back to the beach when the sun started its descent back into the ocean, the sky tinged orange and red and pink and dark blue clouds hovering in the distance. Once they were back in the forest, the light from their lumos spilling forth from the tips of their wands, Hermione looked back. The ruins were bathed in shadows, the great pillars and crumbling walls suddenly looked like a graveyard. It held no beauty, looking at it drew forth no awe. It looked as lost and forlorn as they were, the last remains of a civilisation on a desolate island.
Cedric returned mere minutes after sunset and set foot on a beach that exploded into cheers as soon as they saw him and his team. Harry joined them and smiled broadly when Cedric caught his eyes, the older boy holding up his quarry with a grin. He clapped until his hands tingled and laughed when some broad-shouldered boys and girls hoisted some of the group on their shoulders and carried them around the beach to the waiting bonfires.
Shells and driftwood were transfigured into pots and cutlery, leaves into warm blankets and cushions to sit on. Harry joined in with the cooking group, not knowing any of the spells but perfectly capable of doing it the muggle way. He was flanked by Fred and George, who boxed him in with silly grins and displayed an unexpected ease with household and cooking spells.
“Can’t exactly make good prank candy without being able to actually make it yourself,” a flick of is wand and the fire rose higher, the spoon in the pot stirring the soup inside on its own. “Mum would’ve thrown a fit if she knew why we wanted to learn her spells though, so you’d betty keep mum about it.”
Fred joined in with a solemn nod, mumbling something under his breath that had a heavenly smell waft from their pot. “The trick’s into getting the spell in during the making, you can charm a pastry for sure, that’s easy. The only downside is that charming it makes it wear off after a while or so and you can’t know for sure what the ingredients are. Some magical plants interfere with charms-“
“-and then you might just end up in St. Mungo’s, which, obviously, no one wants.”
The twins rattled on and Harry watched with wide eyes. He’d known they weren’t stupid, but he had never expected this level of sophistication from them.
They shot of sparks and flames and colour-changing birds and sparkling rocks up into the sky and did anything they could do to attract the attention of, well, anyone. No one came, but the spectacle itself took minds off the gravity of their situation for just a moment. This was an act of desperation, a last bid to try and get off the island. To disprove Harry’s words, to get someone to rescue them despite his claims otherwise.
They huddled together in the haphazard shacks and shelter they made that afternoon and curled up underneath the transfigured blankets. They slept and dreamt of home, of warm beds and good food.
They woke up the next morning still on an abandoned island, still alone. No one even mentioned shooting up more sparks.
They set to work, made new groups and tweaked plans. They needed more than just fish, Justin Finch-Fletchley reasoned, they’d need vegetables as well or risk getting scurvy. Draco took two dozen students with him to try and figure out how to build the promised Hogwarts and tagged along with the group studying the ruins. They worked and strategized and cast spells tirelessly until the heavy atmosphere was broken by Collin Creevey rushing onto the beach.
“Look what I found!” He hollered, almost stumbling over his feet in his hurry to get to Harry and his group. He had something in his hand, something black and smooth and sharp.
Krum lifted it up in the air with a grunted spell, wary of touching the sharp edges himself, and the others crowded around him to watch. It was a knife, but a very odd knife at that. It had a small, circular handle at one end that could maybe hold a finger and a longer, straight grip that flowed into the blade. The blade itself had four sides that met in a sharp point at the end.
It was Luna Lovegood who took a glance at it and shook her head, a waterfall of blonde hair moving along with the motion. She clacked her tongue ruefully and then turned to face Harry.
“I would stay clear of that,” she advised sagely, “it is infested with nargles and we all know what creature is drawn by nargles-“
She leaned in close, voice dropping to but a low, throaty whisper. “Heliopaths.”