Chapter Text
The stands rang with the cheers of the assembled students, the roar of their enthusiasm filling the brisk winter air. Above their heads, dark-robed figures darted to and fro, accompanied by the booming voice of an unfamiliar witch, charmed to resound around the pitch.
“And there goes Konohamaru with the Quaffle. He neatly dodges that Bludger - nice hit by Lee there - and it looks like he’s going to pass it off to Moegi by the Hufflepuff goal. He’s winding up and - ooh! - intercepted with some careful maneuvering by Tenten!
“Here she comes, folks, speeding down the pitch - now this is one witch to watch! Look at how she handles that broom; the boys from Gryffindor haven’t got a chance against her. She’s not even looking for her fellow Chasers, ladies and gentlemen: this is a one witch show!
“There she goes, right towards Hinata at the goal posts. Now, this has been a rough season for Hinata, as we all know, and she’s been trying to build up her confidence as Keeper, but do you reckon she’ll be able to keep up when Tenten’s on the warpath? Oh, nice dodge around her by Tenten there, and she readies her aim and - Goal! That’s ten points for Hufflepuff!”
The crowd erupted: students with massive yellow banners took up cheering and stomping and whistling from the section across the pitch from the Slytherins. A shower of sparks in the shape of a badger making a crude gesture blossomed into the wintry sky and was quickly blown away by a teacher, who leapt to his feet with a wind charm at the ready.
Gaara slunk further down in his seat and ducked his chin into the fur collar of his cloak. Kankuro’s head - over-wrapped in several scarves and a wool balaclava topped with a fluffy hat - partially obscured his vision on the left. Temari’s bony shoulder, occasionally shivering in the bracing cold, jutted into him on his right side. The weather at Hogwarts was so much wetter than it was at Durmstrang, cold, damp air soaking into everything and making him miserable. He exhaled in a huff, and his breath crystallized in front of him, forming sparkling flecks of ice on the inside of his scarf. He wrinkled his nose; those crystals were sure to melt soon and make their way down into his robes to chill him to the bone.
All around him, curious eyes burned on the back of his head. Even between the cheers of the crowd, a rough undercurrent of whispers reached his ears. He supposed it was only natural - between being the Durmstrang Champion and the son of their notorious headmaster - that he should attract some attention, but that didn’t make the feeling any more comfortable. It felt almost slimy: colder and wetter even than the snow flurries rapidly collecting on his nose and eyelashes, making his eyes burn. He rubbed his palms together fruitlessly in search of a bit of warmth, and a group of Slytherin girls behind him cooed in sympathy.
“Hangin’ in there, kiddo?” Kankuro whispered, leaning over into his space. “Hopefully we’ll be wrappin’ up here soon. Looks like the Hufflepuff Seeker just spotted somethin’.”
Gaara had hardly been paying attention to the match at all, but he glanced up at the pitch just in time to see the Seeker - a slight boy with thick glasses and a ruddy nose - making his way steadily towards a glimmer of gold just above the Slytherin section of the stands.
“Udon’s making his move towards the Snitch!” the announcer’s voice boomed. “But Kiba and Naruto have spotted him. Let’s see if he can outpace those Bl- Oh my god!”
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion.
Udon looked up, pushing his glasses up his face as his broom dropped a few feet.
Two Bludgers sailed over his head, batted simultaneously by the two Gryffindor Beaters, and flew straight towards the stands.
Kankuro gave an aborted cry and jolted to his feet, wand at the ready, but Gaara hardly had time to do more than widen his eyes in alarm as the Bludgers beelined towards his face.
Just then, there was a blur of yellow and black filling Gaara’s vision. A tremendous crack rang out, and a gust of air blew past his nose, a bat whiffing just centimeters from his face, close enough that the snowflakes were disturbed from his eyelashes. Gaara blinked and saw the beaming grin of one of the Hufflepuff Beaters, shiny black hair blown back and a determined pair of dark eyes under thick eyebrows. The Beater made eye contact with Gaara and winked, extending a thumbs-up on one gloved hand.
Gaara’s heart started to race; his mouth went dry as time sped back up to normal and sound flooded in all around him.
“- incredible save by Lee there - two Bludgers with one swing! That really should have been a foul for Naruto and Kiba, by the way, Professor Kakashi…. Are you even paying attention?”
On the other side of the pitch, a white-haired wizard in referee’s robes shrugged his shoulders and returned to reading his book.
“Gaara, are you okay?” Temari said urgently, one hand on his shoulder in a death grip. She leaned in until she was within his field of vision. “Did you get hit?”
“I’m fine,” Gaara replied, but his heart didn’t slow, even after the match ended in a Hufflepuff victory and they made the long walk back to the Durmstrang ship.
The ship docked on the banks of the Great Lake was larger on the inside than it appeared on the outside, but it was still a pale imitation of the accommodations of the Durmstrang castle. Nonetheless, it had enough space inside for a common room, with a blazing fire in a brazier in the middle and dark leather couches neatly lined against the walls. Gaara took up residence on one of the high-backed leather chairs closest to the fire, having changed into his third pair of woolen socks for the day, and let the heat soak into his bones. He was just beginning to relax, closing his eyes and finally letting his heartbeat slow, trying to reconcile the discomfited feeling in his stomach with the memory of a grin so bright it had nearly blinded him….
“Gaara.”
A sharp, familiar voice disturbed him from his rest. He cracked one eye open to see a shadowed figure looming over his chair.
“Father.”
“Come to my office.”
To Gaara’s left, side-by-side on a loveseat with scrolls strewn all across their laps, Temari and Kankuro exchanged a wary glance. Gaara didn’t acknowledge them as he regained his feet and followed the swish of his father’s robes down a dark corridor, treading lightly behind his heavy, uneven steps. Whispers from a clutch of girls by the common room door followed him out.
Rasa was already behind his desk when Gaara entered the study. He gestured for Gaara to shut the door and sit across from him, then flicked his wand. The lock clicked behind Gaara like a bone popping out of joint.
The broad mahogany span of the headmaster’s desk was as ostentatious as it was unnecessary. A gilded cage containing a slumbering Mortis Bat occupied fully one half of the desk’s width, and the other half was mostly covered with scrolls of parchment. Directly in front of Rasa, a black-feathered quill moved across a parchment seemingly of its own free will, scrawling line after line of blood-red ink.
Gaara hesitated at the very edge of the wrought iron chair on the near side of the desk. He couldn’t be sure if it was the same one from the Durmstrang castle, but the one in his father’s usual office had been bewitched to burn red-hot when it sensed students lying.
Rasa cracked his knuckles and then his neck. Gaara winced.
“Have you discovered the nature of the first task yet?” Rasa began without preamble.
Gaara blinked for a moment. This thread of conversation was wholly unanticipated. He searched his thoughts for the perfect sequence of words that would placate his father, to reassure him that Gaara had been doing all he could to succeed. Practice and strategy had occupied nearly all his spare time recently, ever since his name had been read out in the Great Hall.
“It’s meant to be a surprise,” he replied at length.
“And you didn’t attempt to use one ounce of cunning to determine what it would be?” Rasa’s voice was sharp as nails digging into Gaara’s flesh. The scribbling of the pen on the parchment intensified. “I overestimated you.”
“‘The first task will test your courage in the face of the unknown,’” Gaara recited mechanically, an exact echo of Professor Hiruzen’s speech. He suddenly felt very distant from his own body. “‘Daring and an iron will are important qualities in a wizard.’”
Rasa scoffed and, with another flick of his wand, brought a scroll of parchment floating down from one of the high bookshelves that flanked the windowless back wall.
“You don’t think the other schools’ Champions will have pressed any advantage they could find,” Rasa sneered, “courage or no?”
Gaara stared at the scroll clutched in his father’s pale, knobbled fingers. There was a wax seal on it in the shape of an hourglass - a timed disintegration charm. He forced his grudging hand to reach for it, fingers gone cold. Whatever dark means had been used to obtain the scroll, it was too late to undo them, and the punishment for refusing the help would likely be worse. The scroll represented an olive branch, poisoned though the tree may have been.
“I suppose I thought your confounding the Professor to read Temari’s name as my own was enough cheating for one tournament,” Gaara murmured. He bit the inside of his lip so he didn’t grin at his own daring, though he knew he would pay for it later. Inside the pocket of his robes, he could have sworn he heard the scroll fizzing like a lit fuse.
“Don’t make me regret it,” Rasa snapped.
On the desk, the quill screeched across the parchment until it ripped. Bright heat blossomed on Gaara’s forehead; the skin of his scar rippled with indescribable pain. He clenched his fists until his fingernails broke the skin of his palms, but he refused to let it show on his face.
“Dismissed,” Rasa commanded. “And be quick; that scroll will destroy itself in fifteen minutes.”
Gaara stumbled back down the hallway, moving slowly with his face still stinging. He brought a hand up to press against his scar and found it flecked with red when he pulled it away. He hastily wiped the blood off on the inside of the sleeve of his robe as he entered the common room. With barely a tilt of his chin, Temari and Kankuro rose as one and followed him to his room.
They sat in a circle on his bed. Kankuro’s face was pale, his lips a thin line as Gaara tapped the scroll with his wand.
“What did he do to you in there?” Temari whispered, staring down at the scroll unfurling. As she spoke, spines of ink wound their way across the parchment.
“Don’t worry about it,” Gaara replied. “I’m fine.” The burning on his face had not yet abated, but he allowed himself to be distracted by the scene taking form on the parchment in front of him.
From the center of the parchment unspooled inky lines, dancing and curving around each other until they formed a map of a stone maze - no, a labyrinth. In the very center of it, a tiny beast took shape. It shook its head, and a leonine mane fanned out around its face. It stomped four tiny, cloven hooves. Along its back, spines rippled and a great, winding tail lashed. The beast looked up at them and gave a silent roar.
“What the hell is that?” Kankuro breathed.
Temari’s knuckles went white on her knees.
“A Chimaera,” she hissed. “What on earth are they thinking?”
Gaara looked away from the parchment to regard her bloodless face, her eyes wide and wild. She met his gaze and her eyes narrowed, her expression hardening into steely rage.
“Gaara, they can’t possibly expect students to do this - it’s much too dangerous.”
“We’ve fought dangerous beasts before,” Gaara replied gruffly. The parchment started to emit a faint hissing noise.
“Not like this. No wizard has ever killed a Chimaera.” The words tumbled frantically from Temari’s tense lips. “I mean, there’s a legend about someone who bested it in battle, but even he died of exhaustion afterwards. This is insane! You can’t possibly-”
“I’ll do it,” Gaara interrupted her. “I’m going to the library. I have research to do.”
The parchment glowed bright red and crumbled to ash on his bedspread.
He brushed it to the floor as he stood, and left the room without another word.