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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


"I GOT THIS," I WHISPERED TO myself, oblivious to anyone else's ears. The snow was thick underneath my feet, and I wondered how deep below the ground really was. Maybe I'll always be saying those words to myself, even with my throat thick and tears choked up in my eyes—not to fall at certain moments but just to build up inside. 

My feet crunched over the blanket of snow, the sky above was a deep startling black and only a mere few stars twinkled like glitter in the sky. The moon, seemingly full, had taken cover behind a cluster of clouds, illuminating them from behind as though it was too afraid to come out—as though it was too devoid of the confidence in the plan that I had woven below her.

We had been walking for hours. Had it been three, or five, I couldn't tell as we picked our way through the dark forest on the outskirts of the alps. It was dangerous to apparate or translocate anywhere close to Nurmengard or the Austrian alps. Aurelius Dumbledore had cautioned me against it, and I had obliged to some extent, having had no other choice while refusing to submit entirely to his will.

They followed behind, the companions—friends that had forced themselves along. Bridgette's breaths came in soft pants as she tagged behind, too hesitant to catch up right beside me—too avoidant of the awkward air between us. I suppressed a scoff. It had always been like that with us. We'd disagree—albeit slightly sometimes—and then we'd never know how to talk to each other again until some time passed and both of us forgot the discourse that took root in the first place. Though, it was always she who was the forgetful one. I never forgot.

Zubair Dimitrova, kept his own pace equal to that of my best friend's. His butter-like voice lowered to discreet words that he exchanged with her. None of which I could decipher, or cared to, until one of his statements made her laugh slightly. The sound was like the chime of bells against this harsh loud wind and the crunch of snow underneath all our feet.

Viktor Krum's strides were large, determined, as he caught up with me despite the pace I tried to keep to disable him from doing so. He didn't speak, though I felt his eyes dart to the side of my face expectantly, perhaps to catch my eye to start a conversation. I felt less inclined. I did not want to talk to any of them.

It was a strange feeling, a battle of emotions inside me, and they all felt trapped with no way out. Which one of these people were here just for me? None of them were. Who had come along merely to offer me support before I faced my great uncle? None of them were. They thought they had me down, knowing of my powers as they did. But Merlin, they didn't know anything about me.

I looked up ahead, and saw the Austrian alps—their dark daunting heights coated in snow at their peaks against the backdrop of the night sky peering through the trees of the forest. The fortress of Nurmengard was located at the edge of one of those peaks. A peak that I could not see from here—a peak that was possibly hidden in the center of the tall ones that towered in the distance, and not just by the mere art of the manipulation of nature, but by magic as well.

𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐂𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 - Viktor KrumWhere stories live. Discover now