Disclaimer: I own nothing
Chapter 2
The Plot Thickens
"This isn't looking good, Gred."
"I know, Forge. Just keep to the plan."
"Right. I think some crowd control may be necessary."
"All good. I've moved the preparations under the table."
"Knew I could count on my favourite twin."
"You have another twin?! You bastard!"
Fred and George sat at the table they had claimed in the lead up to the naming of the Champions. Their uncharacteristic quiet whispering had the students closest to them edging away nervously, creating a little oasis of stillness around them. The rest of the room was an explosion of voices. Some of the Gryffindors thought that having a Gryffindor Champion was better than nothing; some thought that an underage Champion was unfair. One unfortunately familiar loud voice didn't think that Neville should be in the Tournament; sadly not because it was too dangerous. Their dear little brother was loudly proclaiming in the middle of the room that Neville would embarrass the house.
"In fact, he already has! He has cheated before the First Task has even begun! How else would he have got his name in the Goblet? Now he will stutter and stumble his way through the Tournament, showing the rest of us up!"
The twins grimaced when they saw how many people were nodding along. Seamus was angrily shouting abuse; but as always when he was angry, his accent had thickened so much that no one could understand. Harry was studying his feet, but he was heard to mutter to Ron quietly, "he's our friend, Ron. That isn't fair."
Fred glanced in George's direction. "What do you say, shall we sort this mess?"
"I say, 'what are you waiting for, brother of mine?'"
"Aright then. Let's get going –"
"– and put the letters on hold."
Fred sighed. "And put the letters on hold. After all –"
"– this is more important," they chorused. With a last look at each other they plastered on the most convincing grins they could and jumped onto the nearest coffee table.
"Fellow Gryffindors!" Fred bellowed dramatically.
"We are proud to announce –"
"– that we, as brave Gryffindors –"
"– will stand up for our peer, our friend –"
"– and cheer him on as he BRAVELY SUCCEEDS –"
"– in the TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT!"
Everyone within the Common Room stopped talking to watch the twins' manic display. Their speech was met with bewildered laughter.
"A fourth Triwizard means that –"
"– there is now a Champion from every Hogwarts table."
Fred and George knew that all the Gryffindors had felt slightly left out once the third Champion had been chosen. Mention of the involvement of their house caused the students to perk up and listen to the twins more attentively.
"So, George and I are proud to announce –"
"– a party complete with butterbeer!"
"For the best Champion of them all!"
More to the announcement of butterbeer than to any mention of Neville, the students erupted into cheers and laughter. Fred and George reached under the table they had been standing on and began to hand out bottle after bottle of butterbeer.
Very few people noticed Ron storm up the stairs to the boys' dormitory, Harry hot on his heels. Even fewer noticed Angelina bursting into tears and running up the other set of stairs. Fred himself didn't notice until Alicia spat, "best Champion of them all? Nice one, Fred," before she ran up after her friend. Fred's face fell and he stood staring in the direction Angelina had run until George gave him a subtle nudge. In an instant he was back to playing the crowd next to an equally enthusiastic George.
When Neville finally appeared through the portrait hole with Hermione at his side, a cheer went up at his presence. He looked paler than normal and smiled wanly at the attention. Someone thrust a butterbeer into his hands, even though he attempted to refuse.
Fred handed another to Hermione, giving Neville a wink. "Might be worth taking a sip to calm your nerves, mate."
Neville's smile became more genuine at the soft suggestion. Despite Hermione saying that he shouldn't feel pressured, he went to take a large gulp. Hermione watched with interest as Neville's face regained its colour and his smile grew larger. With a happy laugh he took another swig, then gathered up Hermione into a hug. He then wandered towards the rest of the students, who each stopped to congratulate him. With an ease Hermione had never seen Neville possess, he thanked them and began talking with a group of students he barely knew.
Hermione glanced at the bottle in her hands and then fixed a thunderous glare on the twins. "Butterbeer is meant to be non-alcoholic."
George threw her a mock insulted look. "It still is, Hermione."
She replied with a look of utter disgust. "Then explain this." She gestured wildly at the increasingly rowdy Gryffindors. "Not only is this against school rules, but it is highly illegal! If McGonagall found out –"
"If McGonagall found out," Fred interrupted with a cheeky twinkle in his eye, "she would find nothing but a little pixie dust in each bottle. Completely harmless."
George chuckled in response. "Completely harmless fun, Fred."
Hermione's frown cleared. "So you're saying, you put pixie dust in the butterbeer. That would react with the hops, wouldn't it?" Her face lit up in sudden understanding. "Oh! You created tiny quantities of Felicity Serum! That's brilliant!"
George grinned. "All the best parts of being drunk: happiness, confidence –"
"– no hangover!" echoed Fred with glee. "Drink up Hermione, you could do with letting loose for once."
Hermione let Fred clink his bottle against her unopened one with a bemused look. "This is weirdest prank you two have ever pulled. You never set out just to make people happy."
The twins put on identical wounded expressions and clutched their hands over their hearts dramatically.
"You wound us, Hermione!"
"People would almost think that you don't trust us!"
"With good reason," muttered the witch in question as she placed the offending butterbeer to the side. "Tell me what you're up to."
The twins glanced at each other and she could see an entire conversation passing silently between them. Fred smirked, "only if you let us in on what the First Task is."
She glared at him. "I don't know."
"Oh, come on Hermione," wheedled George. "We only want to help you."
"I really don't know. And why would I want help?" She looked at them with dawning terror. "You want to help Neville, don't you? Knowing you, you'll get him killed!"
"Oh, don't be such a drama queen," said Fred, rolling his eyes.
"We've never hurt a fly!"
"George, that's not helping our case."
"Right. Sorry."
"No you're not."
Hermione watched them distrustfully. "Really guys, tell me what you're up to?"
"Where would be the fun in that?"
"Then, no. I won't tell you anything. I won't let you help and I won't trust you until you tell me what's going on." She stormed off towards an overly jovial Neville, whom she guided with a firm grip towards the stairs. Once she made sure he was safely on his way up, she gave a parting glare to the twins and stomped off towards the girls' dormitory.
Fred turned to observe the chaos around them. "Well, that could have gone better."
"Could have gone worse as well. She could have stayed long enough to see this," said George, pointing at the students who were now rolling around laughing on the floor as one by one started glowing blue. "Good thing she turned it down in the end."
Fred grinned and shook his head. "Forgot that the pixie dust would react with the sugar, didn't she. Sloppy, Granger."
Just then, there was a shriek from the girls' dormitory. Hermione come came pounding back down the stairs and stood, face flushed with anger, staring at the scene in front of her.
"Looks like she remembered after all," George ruefully pointed out, snatching up the remaining unopened bottles as fast as he could.
"Damn," concluded Fred, racing for the stairs. He cast a protective shield behind them and they cackled gleefully as the hexes shooting from Hermione's wand ricocheted into the walls.
Hermione was left with a Common Room full of bright blue Gryffindors. She dragged a hand tiredly over her face, wondering what on Earth the twins had actually wanted.
"This cannot be good."
~o~
Surrounded by the whirring of Auror Moody's Dark Arts Detectors cluttered on every surface, Barty Crouch Jr paced what he saw as his office. A fire burned in the hearth, casting grotesque shadows of his Polyjuiced form on the walls. Anger from the meeting with the other Professors had not yet dissipated. It was lucky he had remained in enough control of his temper so as to not curse Igor Karkaroff. How dare the man come back to Britain after his betrayal of the Dark Lord? he snarled silently to himself. That Dumbledore had seen it fit to chastise him for his anger did not sit well either. The old fool could not see past his act as Moody despite knowing the Auror for so many years, but the idea of Dumbledore believing he had any say over how he acted…
He took a deep breath. No, he must control his temper. For the sake of the Dark Lord's plan.
The plan that was now shattered by Longbottom. Crouch slammed Moody's closed fists onto the desk, causing the mirror set on the wall above to swing dangerously. Crouch immediately steadied it; whilst his colleagues had rolled their eyes behind his back when he insisted it be installed, thinking the mirror was set so he could see behind him even whilst marking essays, it actually had a much more important roll. Studying Mad-Eye Moody's ghastly reflection now, Barty spotted a blond hair among the grey and took out the fire whisky flask from the inside of his jacket. He did not even wince any more at the taste of polyjuice; testament to how often he was required to drink the vile stuff.
He slumped at the desk, suddenly drained. Subterfuge was much more the Dark Lord's thing than his. Of course, he would do anything to help his master, but teaching half-bloods and even mudbloods for a year wasn't something he relished. Now Longbottom's name had come out the Goblet instead of Potter's the whole plan had to be reconstructed. The Goblet could no longer be used as a Portkey. On the other hand, I am under no obligation to help Longbottom through the tasks, he thought with a smirk.
He would enjoy watching the boy suffer. Whomever had it out for the boy obviously needed to be disposed of. He couldn't have another would-be killer running about the castle getting in the way of the Dark Lord's plans, but he would certainly savour Neville Longbottom's demise. He wondered absently if his screams would be as delectable as his parents'. The part of him that still felt slightly bitter at the choice made that night by his Lordship rejoiced that the boy would now get what had been coming to him. Especially since the toddler that had so amused the Dark Lord had turned into this cowering Gryffindor. Shame that he would not be able to personally cause the suffering, but one couldn't have everything.
Now, that's an idea… Everyone's attention on Longbottom and the Tournament will make it so much easier to find a way to get Potter cornered. No one will miss The Boy Who Lived when their attention is fixed on the Champions. Barty let a self-satisfied smile creep across Moody's face. Now he had a plan, he could report to Lord Voldemort without fear. Perfect.
All that was left for him to do was find the person who put Longbottom's name in the Goblet of Fire and quietly get rid of them before they caused more damage. He absently started marking the closest essay to him on his desk whilst he thought, until he realised what he was doing and pushed the work away with disgust.
Longbottom was a Pureblood, so it would not just be any Death Eater. Augusta Longbottom, after all, was not a witch to be messed with and taking her remaining family would surely mean being hunted down and killed in a seriously unpleasant fashion. So that ruled out the remaining Death Eaters, the traitors that escaped imprisonment in Azkaban. Their ideals clearly could be chopped and changed to suit whichever side was winning the war. His lip curled in disgust at the thought.
Death Eaters who were present the night of Fred and Alice Longbottom's… party… other than the Dark Lord were only himself and the Lestranges. Bellatrix, he thought with a fond shake of Moody's head, is unfortunately still locked up in Azkaban. Probably getting madder by the minute poor dear.
That left very few suspects. The glaringly obvious unknown was Karkaroff, but having calmed down, Crouch could see no motive. Still, better not to rule him out immediately.
Or, he thought sardonically, it could be an attempt by Dumbledore to 'prepare' the child to battle for the 'Greater Good'. He had seen the Headmaster do similar things to Gryffindors before the First War, but never this obvious or drastic. And the question remained as to why Longbottom, since the boy was clearly incompetent at magic, despite him clearly having the theory down pat. Crouch pushed aside the fatherly frustration of a Professor who knows a student could do better, hating himself for having fallen into the role so easily.
Dumbledore had seemed as surprised as everyone by the extra Triwizard, but Crouch knew how well the old wizard played the fool. Then again, if Dumbledore was hoping to prepare anyone for the war to come it would be the brave Harry Potter.
There must be something he was missing. He shrugged, he tiredly resolved to report the failure of the plan to force Potter into the Triwizard Tournament and explain the safer, less convoluted plan that had come to him. As he was the most loyal of his servants; Lord Voldemort would refrain from killing him in anger until all had been explained. This would allow Crouch to warn the Dark Lord of other actors in this grand game. Actors which he would promise to find and kill.
All that was left was to watch and wait. He smirked and raised his flask of polyjuice to toast the heavy, wooden chest pushed into the shadows at the edge of the office. Constant Vigilance.
AN: I want to thank my fantastic flatmate for helping me out with this chapter! If she does not escape, she will be helping me for the rest too, just saying. In other news, any tips with writing Fred and George's characters? I'm not funny enough...
