—TheUnHolySmirk—
Dumbledore pointed his wand at his throat and spoke with a magically enhanced voice. "THE GOBLET HAS CHOSEN!"
The effect was immediate. The once cheery, loud and excited hall seemed to hold its breath. Even Neville, the normally shy and clumsy boy sitting four seats away from Harry, was sitting petrified and staring at the burning cup.
Everyone, save the teachers and Ministry officials, gasped when the flickering sky blue flames flickered to a deep red orange. A single tendril rose higher than the rest and withdrew just as quickly. A scorched, but clearly decorated, piece of parchment fluttered down into the Headmaster's waiting hand. Dumbledore cleared his throat.
"The Triwizard Champion from Beauxbatons is. . . Fleur Delacour!" There was an impressive roar as the male population of three schools all tried to show their appreciation for the French beauty in the loudest, most supportive way possible. Dumbledore didn't have to manually take control himself. The hall hushed when the goblet turned red once more.
"The Triwizard Champion from Durmstrang will be. . . Viktor Krum." The applause was softer and not as obnoxious this time, but the amount of it was much more evened out among the masses.
"No surprises there, mate." Ron muttered, a grin on his face.
Harry looked at the red-headed beanpole and raised an eyebrow. "You've got yourself a little crush, huh?"
Ron elbowed him in the ribs, laughing and joking for a good minute or two.
"Who d'you think that the Hogwarts champion's gonna be?" Harry asked him.
"I don't know. I hope Angelina, but Diggory's getting all the support."
"Bet you a sickle it's him."
"You're on!"
"It appears that the Goblet is confused for the moment. Let us return to the feast as we wait for it to choose the third Champion. For the first time in history, the Goblet requires more than twenty-four hours to decide. Carry on!"
Everyone stared at the cup, eyes wide at this new development.
Harry and Ron looked at each other. "Well I guess we've got to wait a bit."
"Scared?"
"You wish."
"Can you two just be quiet? Shut up and have some pie." Hermione scolded, serving Harry a plate with a piece of pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream. The bespectacled teen froze, staring at the offered desert with shock.
Halloween.
From the death of his parents to Sirius breaking into Hogwarts, Halloween has never been pleasant.
"Harry? Are you alright?" His reminiscing was interuppted by a voice that he wasn't used to hearing directed towards him.
Harry's head snapped up and turned towards the source of the sound.
"Oh. Ginny. Umm… yeah, I'm fine. Just a-"
"Then why do you look like you want to run?" she asked with just enough suspicion to get Hermione to turn her head to watch him closely, which forced Ron to turn as well.
"Well I- what?" his wavering voice rose an octave.
"Harry…" Ginny's tone clearly stated that it would be rather undesirable to give her an answer she doesn't want to hear.
"Oh… well…" his pause told her all she needed to here.
Now both Ron and Hermione were focused on him as well, putting their argument on a stand-by.
"She's right Harry," Hermione piped up in a whisper, "I can still see your hand shaking from here. What is it? Is it your scar? You really should talk to Madam Pomfrey. It can't mean anything good."
"I'm fine!" Harry sighed. "It has nothing to do with my scar. It's just-" he took a breath, "This holiday makes me nervous."
"This what?" Ron asked. "You mean Halloween?"
"Just think about it." Harry hastened to explain. "First year with the troll, second year with Mrs. Norris' petrification, third year with Padfoot."
"But Padfoot wasn't actually going to hurt you." Hermione pointed out, disbelieving.
"Sure we know that now, but we didn't then.
"The Goblet has made its decision on the final Champion. Please turn your attention to the front!"
"My instincts have never let me down before." Harry mumbled, "Why would they now?"
"THE TRIWIZARD CHAMPION FOR HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY IS…" he paused for dramatics, ignoring the amused whispers of favoritism, "CEDRIC DIGGORY!"
People in the populated areas in Scotland would later speculate on distant thunder that sounded without a cloud in sight.
The noise was deafening. People weren't even saying anything. They were just screaming as loud as they could. The polite claps from Slytherin were completely drowned out by the other three quarters of the school.
An average person could just barely make out the start of coherent words.
"DIGGORY! DIGGORY! DIGGORY!" As more people heard the chant, they followed suit. The volume and clarity rose exponentially as the rest of the hall joined in.
"DIGGORY! DIGGORY! DIGGORY! DIGGORY!"
Harry caught a few Slytherin girls cheering with everyone else, unabashed.
Everyone was on cloud nine. Harry felt like nothing could ruin the mood from Hogwarts for the rest of the night…
But then the Goblet of Fire turned red.
It took all of two seconds for everyone to freeze, the Great Hall quite enough to hear a quill drop, and those were made of feathers.
For the fourth time that night, a single tendril of vibrant red flame reached up to the heavens. When it retreated, a single scrap of charred parchment seemed to be suspended midair. It started its floaty, innocent decent into Dumbledore's waiting hand.
"Harry Potter."
Harry froze. No. Dammit, this isn't happening again. He silently willed himself to shrink away from the glares and sneers coming in a low tremor from the rest of the students, trying his best to ignore the angry mutters. Making a split second decision, he jumped under the table and slipped on his Cloak of Invisibility.
Seamus Finnegan was the first to notice that he was no longer under the table. "Harry?"
Said teenaged wizard was halfway to the double doors when a voice boomed out.
"WHERE D'YOU THINK YOU'RE GOIN', POTTER!?"
It wasn't possible. Moody shouldn't be able to see him while he was under his Cloak, nobody should.
"Magical concealment can't fool the best, boy."
Harry stared up at the man, silently begging him to not remove the useful nature of owning an invisibility cloak.
"That's quite the powerful disillusionment charm ya got there, Potter. Never mind the fact that you shouldn't be able to achieve one at all. That's advanced magic, that is."
Harry looked at the gnarled old professor and mouthed a silent 'thank you'. He then took out his wand and shot a notice-me-not charm at the cloak, before taking it off.
Of course he then had to deal with the whispers of "powerful" and "he's dark" that spread through the hall like a wildfire.
"Er… thanks, professor." he said in a small, detached voice.
"Up you come, Harry." Dumbledore's voice rang out. "To the side room." The wizened old headmaster didn't use the sonorus charm, but he didn't need to.
"To the back room, please."
Harry was hesitant. Dumbledore almost seemed… satisfied. That expression made him wary of his mentor. It was only visible for a split second, and he could have imagined it. "No you didn't." A small voice said in the back of his mind. "You know you didn't."
That may have been, but before Harry could investigate his thoughts further, he found himself in and ornate hall he had never previously been in. "Hmm, I don't remember walking."
"Harry? What are you doing back here? Do they need us?" Cedric asked.
"Oh, hey Cedric. Umm… No… Well you see… Well I-" he stammered, feeling very nervous all of the sudden.
"Zen what are you doing here?" A heavily accented voice interrupted him. Harry hated being interrupted. Reminded him too much of the Dursleys.
"Well, you see, I-" The pompous French girl cut him off again. Harry was beginning to become very irritated.
"Zis area is for the champions only, non?"
"I know! I'm trying to tell you that I-" Harry near-shouted.
"Zhen why are you here?" she repeated smugly, cutting the very peeved boy-who-lived off again.
Never before in his life had Harry felt such a strong urge to hex a smile off of someone's face, not even one Draco Malfoy. A breeze had started to pick up as dark maroon and black wispy smoke started to crawl from the teen's clenched fists.
"Listen," he ground out with such malice that the Frenchwoman stepped back in shock, before regaining composure.
BAM! The doors slammed open and five wizards and two witches all strided into the at an alarmingly fast rate. All seven of them looked extremely intimidating and in two cases, very angry.
Igor Karkaroff pushed passed the other six and advanced on Harry. Before the latter knew what was happening, Karkaroff had picked him up by his robes and slammed him into the stone wall.
Harry gaped in fear at the red-faced man that was glaring at him with deep loathing and malice. "HOW DID YOU DO IT, BOY?" Karkaroff shouted in his face. When Harry didn't offer an answer he screamed madly, "TELL ME!"
"Flipendo Duo!" cried three voices in unison.
Karkaroff was blown backwards at an alarming rate, similar to being shot out of a cannon. The man crashed through a shelf of mysterious objects, which all shattered as they impacted the floor. He gasped in pain while laying in the shards, a few piercing his skin. Blood trickled from his nose and his chest rose and fell slowly. He was still alive.
Unfortunately.
Shakingly, Karkaroff slowly stood up stopping his nose bleed and closing his various with a wave of his wand. "What is the meaning of this!"
Dumbledore spoke softly, but with a detached humor Harry had never heard before. "I cannot allow you to manhandle and attack my students, Igor."
"What the bloody hell was that?!" Cedric shouted. Viktor Krum looked outraged.
"You must learn your place, Englishman. Show some respect." the Bulgarian seeker growled at the Sixth Year Hufflepuff.
Professor McGonagall looked absolutely livid. She was so upset that her natural Scottish brogue was traceable. "How you dare!" she shouted, red-faced. "If I find you ever laying a hand on another student, Ah'll-"
"Please refrain from yelling at our foreign guests, Minerva." Crouch interrupted.
"Right!" Bagman piped up a bit too cheerfully, "Let me introduce the Fourth Triwizard Champion!"
Silence.
"Oh, very funny Meester Bagman, but theez iz no time for jokes." The Delacour girl chuckled dryly.
"If this is a joke, I can't say I'm too fond of your Ministry's humor, Bagman." Karkaroff muttered aggressively. "You have humiliated-"
"Joke?" Bagman interrupted, "No joke."
"WHAT?!" The R.P.A.(Royal Pain in the Arse) as Harry had started calling her in his head. "Zeez leetle boy could never be allowed to compete. I have worked 'ard to get such an opportunity and honor, non? Zeez child cannot be permitted to participate, I will not stand for it!"
Harry finally spoke up. "'Little Boy'? Excuse me, but I'm taller than you!"
"YOU HAVE NO GROUNDS TO SPEAK FROM!" R.P.A. Screamed. Nobody, much less the girl, noticed the rattle of shaking glass against wooden shelves.
"Don't you raise your voice at-" he replied heatedly. The instruments were still unnoticed by the room's occupants.
"Harry did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?" Professor Dumbledore intoned calmly.
Damn! Now even Dumbledore's interrupting him? "No sir." He spoke out loud, "I had-"
"But of course he is lying." Madame Maxime added her two knuts to the pile. A small wooden stool, as well as other assorted items started to float in the air precariously. Cedric, who was the first to realize that something was happening, spoke up.
"Uhh, guys…"
"Of course he is!" Fleur said for emphasis.
"Professors? Sirs? Umm… should we be concerned?" Still he was ignored.
"Please, if you would allow me to finish my-" Harry started again with no small amount of anger and being cut off for like the eighth freaking time.
"GUYS!" Cedric warned, a bit louder and more insistent than before.
"Potter's been crossing lines since he came to this prestigious school three years ago." Snape threw in. "It was only a matter of time until he started doing it in the literal sense. Arrogant, just like his father-"
"ENOUGH!" Harry yelled at the top of his lungs.
CRASH! The delicate glass cases and jars all shattered into powder, and a large, impressive looking crystalline aesthetic structure exploded, scattering the pieces onto the floor, melted and deformed. The flying objects, that had taken to orbiting the group at alarming speeds, were blown backward, crashing into more shelves and the cold stone walls.
A small metal object with no visible purpose was red hot, and melted before everyone's eyes; turning unrecognizable from its previous state of beauty.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, and for the first time since he had met the man, Harry detected fear in his voice. "Harry," he spoke in a hushed tone, "I need you to calm down."
The topic of conversation could feel something, churning inside him, building up, waiting to be released. Something that gave of a feeling of elation, complete and total happiness. Yet it had an undertone of violence, of anger and rage. It felt welcoming and terrifying all at the same time.
"Mr. Potter?" Crouch said with as much dignity as he could muster, "I am a high authority ministry official, and I am ordering you to stand down. Now."
Harry stared at his hands. They had become horribly fascinating. The same way one would find the most dangerous weapon on earth fascinating. His knuckles were white, and a deep purplish-red smoke was rolling off of his closed fingers. He forced his disobedient hands open, and the substance receded to a simple, multi-coloured glow.
The boy knew what this was. He simply knew, as if he had known his entire life.
'This is magic,' he thought to himself, 'but I don't need it yet.' And with that, the glow faded entirely.
"So," he said outloud to the crowd, ignoring their stares, "who feels up to discussing the 'magical artifact' that can't count?"
—TheUnHolySmirk—
Harry quite literally stormed out of the room an hour later, the doors slamming open without him ever touching them. He completely ignored the suits of armor bursting apart when he past them, as well as the winds whipping around him, bellowing his robes out.
He couldn't hear the voice calling out to him, and barely even noticed Peeves fly in front of him to dish out torment, only to scream in pain and fall from the sky. He stepped right through the semitransparent face, which then dispersed with a haunting scream.
"Harry!" A hand grabbed his shoulder and held Harry panicked and whirled around, his fist glowing and sparking the same way it had previously. It was well on its way towards the nose of Harry's 'attacker'.
Harry was staring into the terrified eyes of Cedric Diggory, despite the latter being nearly three years older. They both froze in those positions, before Harry slowly drew his arm back.
"Dammit Diggory, now I'm holding it in." Harry half-mumbled to himself.
Cedric gaped at him. He cleared his throat. "Holding what in, exactly."
Harry turned around and slammed his closed fist, still shimmering, into the wall.
"Oh," he said, shocked as he stared at the fist sized hole in the stone. "...That."
The older wizard's eyes were drawn to the hand previously imbedded in solid stone, which was still smoking. Harry just bore his flashing eyes into Cedric's skull, waiting for him to speak. It took the latter a while to realize that he had been invited to talk.
"Well," he started, still nervously glancing at the dent, "I just wanted to let you know that I believe you."
The fuming teenager froze. He was so shocked that his closed fist stopped smoking.
"What?" Harry asked, breaking the slightly awkward silence.
"I believe you." Cedric repeated, with a bit more confidence in himself.
"Hm." Harry pondered this welcome change of atmosphere, "It feels nice."
"What does?"
"To have someone listen to me for once." Harry elaborated, "Normally people simply assume the worst of me, never bothering to listen to my story, that sort of thing."
"Er, okay?" Cedric half-asked/half-stated.
"Was that it?"
"What?" Harry just stared at him. "Wha- Oh! Oh! Yeah that was it." He finished with a mumble.
"Alright then." With that the raven-haired champion turned around and paced away, albeit more calmly than before.
Cedric just watched as Harry walked away, and when the latter reached the end of the corridor, he paused in his stride. "Thanks." he spoke, without looking back. He turned the corridor and vanished.
—TheUnHolySmirk—
Harry stopped at the portrait hole. There was no way that people were still in the common room at the current time, but then again, this was the house of Fred and George Weasley.
'Wait a minute, I can just ask The Fat Lady.' he thought.
"Uh, excuse me Mrs. Lady…" No that didn't sound right. He wasn't about to address her as Ms. 'Oh what the hell!'
"What's your name?" the boy asked, slightly out of curiousity, slightly stalling for time.
Whatever answer the portrait was expecting, that wasn't it. "What?" she sputtered, blushing slightly.
"What's your name?" he repeated.
"Well I never…" Harry wondered if this question was rude to paintings. "The only person to ever ask me for my name before you was your great grandfather, but he never did until he became Head Boy in his seventh year.
"Runs in the family I guess, you know, skipping three or so generations." he responded rather shyly, not anticipating such a response.
"Hmm," she pondered. "Why do you want to know?"
"Well in my head, and I'm assuming most of the rest of Gryffindor as well, I call you 'the Fat Lady.'" he explained. "I don't think you would find that title very flattering."
The woman preened rather flustered, and Harry had visions of a rather proud bird that had just conquered a worm, not that he was going to tell her that.
"I should expect not."
"Well then what is it?"
"Verdetta."
"Hmm?"
"My name is Verdetta." she told him, flushing.
"Ver-det-ta," he sound out, hearing how it sounded. "I like it."
"Alright then Verdetta," he enunciated despite her small blush. "Mind telling what awaits me behind that door of yours?"
"Oh just one girl. At first there was nearly the entire house, but they all cleared out after an hour." Verdetta said quickly. "It's that young woman that you're always around, Grain-jur, I think."
"Hermione? Bushy hair? Boorkworm?" Harry asked.
"Hmm?" She glanced up, "Oh, yes, her."
"Thank you."
"Anytime Mr. Potter. Anytime." The portrait swung forward without Harry ever giving the password.
It was just as Verdetta said, the room was empty, a snack table was off to the side, forgotten. Bottles and plates littered various areas of the common room, and the fire gave off an eerie light. Harry scanned the room, and there, in his favorite chair before the fire, was Hermione.
Harry walked forward slowly, nearly on his tiptoes. "Hermione?" All he got in return was a broken sob. He realized that in his nervous state he spoke nearly silently.
He cleared his throat to announce his presence. "Hermione?" He repeated louder.
The previously quaking girl froze. "What do you want, Potter?" She said his name with so much venom, mocking it. Her tone was colder than ice and harsher than rock. Harry unconsciously stepped back.
"Hermione? What did I do?" Harry asked tentatively, afraid of striking a nerve.
She laughed. Not her usual quiet laugh of joy and amusement, but it was sarcastic. Angry and openly savage. Harry flinched at the sound.
"You-" she didn't complete the thought, instead making a muffled sound of general frustration. "You just couldn't help yourself could you? You just couldn't stay away." Her voice was shaky, whether from anger or crying, Harry couldn't tell.
Then it all clicked. And Harry resigned himself to the fact that he knew would crush him as soon as it sunk in.
Hermione doesn't believe me either.
Harry was mad again. He forced the feeling of bliss down and tried to calm himself. It won't do well to destroy the common room right now. People would talk. "Stay away from what, exactly?" He was trying to keep his tone light, but faltered at 'what'.
"Stay away from what?" She repeated, goading him. "STAY AWAY FROM WHAT?!" she shrieked. "GOD DAMMIT HARRY!" she swore, exploding out of her chair and glaring at him. Hermione never swore.
"THAT BLOODY TOURNAMENT!"
That did it. Harry was on his feet as well, though not yelling quite as loud as she was. "You are an idiot if you think that I put my name inside that Gobl-"
"YOU DON'T CALL ME AN IDIOT, POTTER!" she screamed, "I CAN THINK WHAT I WANT!" Harry just stared at her. She cut him off. She never cut him off, not ever. She knew better. She knew. His hands started to shimmer slightly as smoke began to curl from his palms.
"YOU JUST COULDN'T WAIT FOR TROUBLE TO FIND YOU THIS YEAR, COULD YOU?! THE FAME AND RECOGNITION OF BEING THE BOY-WHO-LIVED, SAVIOUR OF THE PHILOSOPHERS STONE, SLAYER OF BASILISKS, DEFEATER OF A HUNDRED DEMENTORS AND PRIME ENEMY OF YOU-KNOW-WHO WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH!
"BUT NO! NO AMOUNT OF GLORY CAN PROPERLY SATIATE THE INFLATED HEAD OF HARRY POTTER!" At this point she had tears running down her face, and a few people were in the common room, watching the exchange. "OF COURSE, FIVE TITLES IS TOO FEEBLE FOR THE GRAND HEIR OF POTTERS! THE FOURTH TRIWIZARD CHAMPION! THAT HAS A NICE RING TO IT, DOESN'T IT?!" Now everyone was downstairs, observing the pair as Hermione started to reach decibels and pitches never before thought possible by humans. She took a breath, and Harry thought she might be done.
He was wrong.
"AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN TELL US- YOUR BEST FRIENDS- ABOUT IT! RON DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO WAIT FOR YOU!"
Harry watched her rant, his mouth an invisible line. He started to shake, and his already glowing hands began to throw off light in earnest. He opened his mouth. "Yell right back," he thought, "She has no right to shout at me!" But all he could do is open his mouth, before closing it again. He couldn't find the words to display his feeling of betrayal, his anger at her audacity, The colour started to climb up his arm, and flared.
Darkness.
Murmurs of confusion, and 'Lumos' washed over the crowd.
About forty wands lit up. The white glow cast multi-directional shadows across the walls, giving off a very haunted look. It was to the shock of many to see no less than seven house elves sobbing in front of the once crackling fireplace, their efforts to relight the flame were in vain. Hermione was the first to speak.
A few heads turned towards Harry, some staring in awe, some in fear. A great few stare with disgust. 'That's how Harry Potter treated his friends' He could practically 'hear' in their faces.
"That isn't possible." The elves' crying began anew in earnest. "It says so in Hogwarts, A History that the fireplaces will always burn, they simply need tending to every day. Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor themselves cast the protection charms."
"Yeah well I seem to have a knack for kicking 'Impossible' into the ground and crushing his balls under my heel." Harry bit out icily. "We play Exploding Snap on Thursdays." A few muggleborns warily chuckled, before a venomous glare from Harry shut them up. "I've seen all I need to. I know where the loyalty of Gryffindor lies. In first year we're all told that our house is to be our family at Hogwarts. Good to know you all live up to the standards of my muggle relatives."
With that, he turned on his heel and walked out the portrait hole.
The Gryffindor common room was filled to the brim with a deafening silence. Until, of course, it was promptly interrupted.
Whispers began anew, and not a small amounts of accusations and bitter mutterings about 'arrogant teenagers who didn't know their station' were rampant all around the gathered crowd.
The new voice seemed to explode. It reached volumes and frequencies that surpassed Hermione's, and made the entire 'house of the brave' take several steps back.
"HOW… BLOODY… DARE YOU!" A few people were briefly reminded of the mandrakes from two years previous and deeply wished for one of Professor Sprout's noise cancelling earmuffs, even the fluffy pink ones.
"YOU'VE KNOWN HARRY FOR OVER THREE YEARS! THREE! AND YOU WOULD ACTUALLY BELIEVE HE DID THIS?!" Several heads swivelled to locate the source of the voice, if one could call it that. Those who found it pointed her out to the others.
Ginny Weasley was yelling into the face of Hermione Granger for all she was worth.
"HE HATES FAME! ANY HALF-TROLL WOULD KNOW THAT! MERLIN! HAVE HIM WRITE AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY, I SWEAR ON MY MAGIC THAT IT'D BE A WHOLE BUNCH OF HIPPOGRIFF SHITE ABOUT HAVING HELP OR BEING LUCKY! WHY? BECAUSE THAT'S JUST WHO HE IS!
"NEED I REMIND YOU OF A CERTAIN TROLL THAT WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU IF IT WEREN'T FOR HARRY. OR MAYBE PERHAPS THE MORGANA FUCKING BASILISK THAT HE FOUGHT WITH A MERLIN DAMNED SWORD OF ALL THINGS! THE SAME BASILISK THAT ATTACKED YOU.
"OR NO! PERHAPS THE HUNDRED PLUS DEMENTORS THAT HE FOUGHT OFF ALONE WITH A SINGLE CORPOREAL PATRONUS THAT HE SHOULDN'T HAVE EVEN BEEN ABLE TO CAST?! OR SIRIUS FUCKING BLACK, THE DERANGED MADMAN THAT HE WAS WILLING TO PROTECT YOU FROM? RISKING LIFE AND LIMB AND NOT EVEN ACCEPTING A THANK YOU?!
"BUT OBVIOUSLY NONE OF THAT MATTERS TO YOU!" She then turned to the rest of the crowd. "YOU ALL MAKE ME SICK!" And for the final time, she stared down Hermione Granger's angry scowl. "I hope you know that you threw away your only real friend. If it wasn't for Harry, Ron wouldn't give a damn about you, and you know it. We'll see if he still does." Ginny glared at everyone once more in displeasure, before leaving the same way Harry did.
—TheUnHolySmirk—
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Harry watched in practiced fascination at the lines of the Marauders' Map being drawn before his very eyes, before a deep grinding of stone on stone diverted his attention to the painting he had just passed. What was this?
It was a portrait. One that Harry had never seen before. Though, given he didn't recognize the part of the castle he was in, that wasn't much of a stretch. On it was a cartoonish version of a large african lion, a medium sized badger, a curling snake, some bird, possibly an eagle, and a wolf-like creature that Harry realized had to be a werewolf. The noise finally quieted with a satisfying thunk before there was a click and the portrait swung outward.
Harry looked down at the map. Where there had previously been blank wall, ink began to to trace out new lines and contours of a passage that even the Weasley twins may not have known about.
Harry looked back. "What do you have to lose?" he told himself, before stepping through.
The bespectacled boy crawled into a small space that could barely allow him to fit with any wiggle room. While attempting to figure out what to do from there, the painting swung back into place. Panicking, Harry tried to push with his foot to pop the painting back out, but it wouldn't budge. After a minute of useless struggle, he remembered how he found the small nook in the first place.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he whispered, in case some stragglers happened to be out on a stroll two feet away from him. Nothing.
"Wait!" he froze, before mentally face palming. "Duh."
George's words echoed in his mind. "Don't forget to wipe it after you've used it or anyone can read it."
"Mischief managed," As soon as he got out the last syllable, the floor under his stomach vanished and he fell through, head first.
Meanwhile, down the corridor in a broom closet, dark, slightly sweaty hair was messed up even further when Cedric Diggory's head swivelled. "What was that?"
"Shhh" Cho Chang whispered alluringly. "Nothing Ced, baby. Don't talk. Keep going." Cedric shrugged and continued his downward trek, pushing the faint screaming sound into the back of his subconscious.
It took Harry about seven seconds to realize that he wasn't in free fall. He could feel the textures of a very slick material under his front, and he was moving at a steep angle.
He was on a slide.
The blood was slowly rushing towards his head as the force of gravity was winning over inertia and his feet didn't feel quite so heavy.
Harry couldn't tell just how long he was moving before he was promptly deposited face first into a plump couch. His nose was going to be sore for a while.
After gathering his bearings, and placing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, Harry stood up and let his eyes scan around the new room. It could be very well be described simply as 'cozy'.
There was the couch he landed in, the cushions stuffed fully for comfort. An indoor fire pit, rather than the common flue and mantle found throughout the rest of the castle, took up a good square meter of space. Metal rods and racks cluttered around it hinted at a potions stand. There was a small table next to one of the armchairs that held a lamp and drawer, and each chair was colored a neutral grey.
The walls themselves were a nice cream color, and glowing balls of light hung in the air. Off to the side was a small kitchen, stocked with the proper blades and utensils for making a casual meal. Even a refrigerator, toaster and microwave was preset, though none of the cabinets or drawers was stocked with anything. That would have to be rectified. Through an open door, Harry could make out the outline of a queen sized bed. The entire setup was about twice as big as Hagrid's Hut, and could be a reasonable place to live.
"It's not like you're going back to the tower," Harry thought with a bitter chuckle, before he walked over the threshold of the bedroom. He just missed one of the armchairs fading from the grey to a black, with emerald green highlights.
—TheUnHolySmirk—
A/N: Wow. Okay, so I came up with this idea a while go, even went as far to handwrite over a hundred pages. I made quite a few changes in here, but the idea is the same. I can't find many stories where Harry becomes a new marauder, or at least one that I haven't read yet. I spend a lot of time on this site. Please send me a review, or even a PM to my account, I'd appreciate any feedback. Flames are acceptable, they make me laugh. I'm in dire need of a beta, or someone who can help me with british mannerisms. I'm only an ignorant American. W/o the A/N, the first chapter is about 5600 words, which isn't a lot, but it's a decent amount. First story, so please help me get better at writing them, I have too many ideas. Also, sorry for the all caps, but I couldn't figure out the best way to show angry shouting.