Magic of the All Hallows Eve

The Hunter of Souls

A/N: Why am I getting no comments at all? But before pining, let me say thank you for all the readers who are stuck till now! 2.2K Reads! That's marvellous! And also, there is a fight soon entering the scene. Hopefully soon.

"So, Father, that's why I think it's best for me to see the Duel Finalé between Remus Lupin and Monsieur André Conneau"

"I have met that werewolf once before in my life, and had sworn never to see his end of the wand again", her father commented in a proud fashion. It was as good as a compliment that you could extract from the man in question.

Now, she was not that interested in duelling as Jasper, or Merlin forbid, Potter — but she was raised in a pureblooded family that cherished the art. After all, it would do no good for the Patron of Life to encourage something that was clearly meant to harm. Even as a sport.

But then suddenly she found Neil in her bedroom of all places. But before she could berate her for that, she watched the utterly serious expression on his face and stopped herself. She had never seen him so shaken, so scared before. Hell, she had never seen him frightened before.

"No time to talk. We need to go this instant", and he didn't waste a second of time before she nodded to apparate her away.

"Ah! Glad you came so readily, Calypso", Jasper smiled weakly.

"Will someone tell me what's with all these serious faces?", she demanded.

"We saw Nurbolat again", Jasper said solemnly.

"Who?"

And so the omniscient arbiter told the story of a young arrogant man seeking immortality, of how for the first time he had told the future of someone to an open crowd. How he drank the water which tore his soul, from a misinterpretation of a sage's words.

"He never had to drink the water. That tore his soul which grew inside itself, causing a burn to his very magic. And he uses the souls of those he murdered in cold blood to keep it together"

And after a bit more questions, Calypso agreed to call one Mister Potter out of his vacation with his crush and her parents. And Remus Lupin. She could not forget that.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Bittersweet.

It was the best word to describe how his holidays in France were going. He, as expected, was utterly rubbish at Fine Arts, be it magical or muggle. But Hermione somehow excelled at drawing several accurate depictions of anything brilliantly with a brush and so fast with a wand it almost felt insane.

But the pang of jealousy didn't last long. Hermione had agreed to tutor him on the basics separately as well, which was quite — um, fun — especially when she corrected or studied his wand hand and showed him how to do certain strokes.

But the problem was, his stomach was doing too many flips and cartwheels whenever she was near. At least he hadn't gone to stuttering, thank Merlin for that.

And he made quite a few friends too. Particularly one Viktor Krum, who played for his home town Silistra in the Bulgaria Quidditch Blitz and attended Durmstrang.

"You see, I am kwait an artist when I'm not riding a broom or studying at Durmstrang. But it is too hot here, is it not?", he said in a Slavic slur.

Harry corrected the teenager's English, while Viktor showed Harry some cool tricks on his broom and told him stories of how he used to cross the border on his broom and enter the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary sometimes to fly with the dragons.