Author's Note:
More information down at the bottom.
Prompt 2 of 2 from TheNorwegianAuthor: write about Harry's Yule Ball
"Tell me again why we had to leave the snowball fight?" Harry asked Hermione as they walked back up to the Gryffindor common room.
It was Christmas day, and fourteen year old Harry Potter eyed her friend, Hermione Granger, critically; Hermione looked focused, mumbling under her breath like she was about to sit for an exam. Harry was apprehensive, not understanding why they had to leave the Weasley boys and Neville when they were in the middle of their annual Christmas snowball fight.
"I need to get ready," Hermione told Harry, cutting herself off from her mumbling to-do list.
"And you need three hours to get ready?" Harry asked, looking in disbelief at Hermione.
She gave Harry her best glare, which caused Harry to smile.
"I know it takes you five seconds to get ready, but I need more time."
Hermione pointed at Harry's hair and then at her own bushy locks. Harry rolled her eyes at Hermione's dramatics. It took Harry so little time to prepare because there was nothing she could do about her hair. Her black hair was always messy: strands would stand up as if gravity wasn't an issue; locks would interweave on their own and would not come undone no matter how hard Harry tried; and even if she did try to brush her hair it would never straighten out. For convenience sake, Harry always had her hair in a bun – it was a messy bun that always came apart at the end of the day, but it was still able to hold her hair in place for the most part.
It was a good thing Harry didn't care about her appearance; otherwise she would always be trying to tame her hair.
Normally Hermione didn't care much about her appearance either; like Harry, Hermione would keep her brown, bushy hair in a frizzy bun and be done with it. However, tonight that look wouldn't do.
"It only takes me five seconds because I can't afford to keep buying replacement hairbrushes," Harry responded.
Harry and Hermione shared a look and they had to look away before they started to laugh. The first week of their first year, Lavender Brown thought it would be fun to give Harry a makeover. She had claimed that she could tame Harry's hair and had the hair products to prove it. By the end of the night, Lavender had three broken brushes, run out of hair product, and was angry and confused that Harry's hair looked as bad as when she had started; Harry had watched in amusement as Lavender stormed from their dorm room before she went to take a shower. Since then, Lavender had never tried to give Harry a makeover, and no one has lent Harry their hairbrush.
Harry ran a hand through her hair, which resulted in some strands of her hair to fall out of her bun. According to her godfather, Sirius Black, Harry had the Potter Hair, which had cursed her father, her grandfather, her great-grandfather, and all of the heirs of the Potter line for centuries. When told this fact, Harry thought Sirius had made it up, though she couldn't deny after looking at countless photographs of her father that she did, in fact, have his hair; whether her grandfather or great-grandfather had the same hair type was still unknown to Harry.
"It's not like you couldn't afford the hairbrushes if you needed them," Hermione said as they reached the seventh-floor landing.
"I know," Harry agreed as they headed towards the Fat Lady portrait, "but I'd rather spend my money on important things. Like broomstick polish, treacle tart, the knowledge that I have enough money in my vault that I theoretically don't have to work a day in my life and I'll still have financial security. You know, important things."
Harry saw Hermione roll her eyes and Harry couldn't contain her smirk.
"Fairy Lights," Hermione said instead, speaking to the Fat Lady. Harry noticed that the Fat Lady was hanging out with her friend, Violet, and that they both had full glasses of wine and an open box of chocolates between them.
"Too right you are," the Fat Lady replied as she popped a chocolate in her mouth, opening her portrait to reveal the Gryffindor common room.
The common room was a circular room with red walls, squashy red armchairs, tables, a roaring fireplace, and far too many students for it being Christmas day. Harry followed Hermione as she made her way past the other students and up the stairs to the girl dormitories.
"It's weird seeing everyone here," Harry remarked as they walked up the stairs.
Harry had stayed at Hogwarts during every Christmas break since her first year, and she was far too used to there being next to no one who stayed for the holiday. Granted, of the past three Christmases she had only been present for two of them – she had been petrified during the Christmas of her second year, though she had heard that there weren't that many students that year for Christmas either.
But this year the students had a reason to stay at Hogwarts during the break: Hogwarts was hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year, meaning that Hogwarts was also hosting the Yule Ball.
Harry didn't see the appeal of the ball, which was one reason why she wasn't attending. She didn't like dancing, she didn't like wearing fancy dress robes, and she certainly didn't want to waste her time being forced into a crowded room with a bunch of hormonal teenagers listening to a band she didn't really care for.
Her refusal to go to the ball irked Ron, who still didn't have a date a week before Christmas and who still didn't have a date after he asked Harry if she wanted to go with him. Harry remembered asking why he didn't just sit it out with her, but after his grumbled response Harry understood: Ron wanted to go to the ball because everyone else would be there and he didn't want to miss the experience.
Harry couldn't fault Ron for that – he had already made so many of his Christmas decisions based on whether Harry was alone or not, it was okay for him to think of his own wants for once. Besides, Harry didn't really want him to sit out on the Ball – she needed everyone to attend the dance if her plan was to work.
She had still felt guilty over refusing to be Ron's date, and so had decided to set him up with someone he would get along with. So Harry asked Ginny's friend, Luna Lovegood, a third year Ravenclaw, if she wanted to go to the dance.
Ginny had introduced Harry to Luna when Harry stayed with the Weasleys during the summer after her first year. Harry remembered thinking the girl was odd when they had first met, however the more time Harry spent around Luna and Ginny the more Harry grew to like the strange girl. When Luna and Ginny first attended Hogwarts, Harry would check in to make sure they were handling everything okay – which is partially the reason why she was petrified in the first place.
Even after Harry's second year, though, she would still take time to check in with Luna to make sure she was okay – Harry knew Luna was bullied by her peers because of her odd behavior. Luckily, Luna always seemed fine, so she and Harry would end up discussing nargles or wrackspurts or some other fantastical creature.
Luna was a friend – an odd friend, but a friend – so when Harry asked Luna if she wanted to go to the dance with Ron she did so because she knew that they would get along. At the very least, Ron would find her amusing and Luna would go off to do her own thing.
So Harry felt less guilty for turning Ron down after she got him a date with Luna.
"I'll meet you in Ginny's room," Hermione said as they past their own dorm room.
Harry watched Hermione slip into their room, no doubt so she could gather everything she needed to get ready for her date.
Harry continued down the hall to Ginny's dorm room, and entered without knocking. Ginny's dorm room was devoid of everyone except Ginny, who sat on her bed painting her fingernails.
Third years and below were not allowed to attend the Yule Ball unless they had a date, and since Ginny was the only Gryffindor third year to get a date to the ball, she was the only one staying for Christmas break.
"Hey, we missed you at the snowball fight. Where were you?" Harry asked as she plopped herself down on an empty bed.
Ginny looked up from her pink nail polish to stare at Harry.
"I was helping Luna make her dress for the dance," Ginny explained as she got back to work.
"Is it fantastic?" Harry asked, knowing what counted as 'fantastic' for Luna's tastes.
"It's something," Ginny replied as she inspected her nails, "Ron will certainly be surprised."
"Are you nervous for your own date?" Harry asked teasingly.
Ginny looked at Harry with wide eyes, causing Harry to smirk.
"This is the fifth time I've painted my nails – I still don't think it's the right color," she replied, nodding over to her bedside table where Harry saw several different bottles of nail polish strewn across the top.
Harry could see that Ginny had already painted her nails green, blue, red, and purple.
"How did the purple look?" Harry asked as she reached over for the green polish.
"It looked good until I compared it to my dress robes," Ginny replied, nodding over to where her dress robes hanged off of the four poster bed.
Like Ron's dress robes, Ginny's robes were hand-me-downs; unlike Ron's dress robes, though, Ginny's at least looked presentable. No lace, no ruffles, only a weird floral pattern that didn't go with the pastel pink and faded blue color of the dress.
"I'm sure Neville won't care what you look like," Harry told Ginny.
Ginny gave a moan that told Harry that Ginny highly doubted her sincerity.
"Seriously, do you know how happy Neville was that you asked him? He was fucking relieved," Harry continued, placing the nail polish back with its brethren.
Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for Neville. First his name was put into the Goblet of Fire without his consent, and then he was chosen as the fourth competitor in a tournament designed for wizards three years his senior to compete in, then he had to face a dragon, and now he had to deal with fans who all wanted to go to the dance with him.
Poor Neville couldn't catch a break.
"It doesn't matter; he still only sees me as Ron's younger sister," Ginny moaned, causing Harry to roll her eyes.
Ginny has a massive crush on Neville, which had only escalated after he saved her life during her first year of school. Harry knew that Ginny had more of a crush on the idea of the boy-who-lived rather than on Neville himself, but until Ginny figured that out on her own there was nothing Harry could do about it.
Neville, as a person, had no similarities with the public's perceived boy-who-lived persona except for the fact that they were both brave.
"Well, maybe after tonight he'll see you as Ginny."
Harry tried to comfort the third year, but all she could think about was 'Or maybe you'll finally see Neville as a person and you won't be so shy around him anymore.'
Before Ginny could respond, Hermione barged into the room, her face obscured by the amount of things she was holding.
"Merlin, Hermione!" Harry exclaimed as she got up to help her friend. Ginny also got up to help, shaking her hands to dry her nail polish, however Hermione waved them off.
"I'm fine," a muffled voice called out behind the mountain of stuff as Hermione maneuvered herself into Ginny's bathroom.
Harry watched Hermione close the bathroom door behind her before turning to look at Ginny.
"She's mental," Harry stated, using Ron's favorite adjective to describe Hermione.
Ginny shrugged in response, blowing air onto her nails to dry them faster.
The door to the bathroom opened so fast that Harry felt a wave of air hit her from the door.
"Can you two help me with my hair?" Hermione asked as she started to brush it out.
Every time Hermione ran the brush through her hair, it became frizzier.
Harry looked at Ginny with wide eyes.
"Sure," Harry said hesitantly as she walked into the bathroom with Hermione.
"Alright," Ginny replied, far more happily than Harry had.
Harry surveyed the items that Hermione had brought with her. Hanging with the shower curtains was Hermione's dress robes, a nice periwinkle-blue robe that looked airy. The toilet seat was covered and stacked upon it were books. Around the sink were bottles and jars of different beauty products.
Harry cringed – it was hard being a girl.
"What's up with all the books?" Ginny asked as she eyed the stack with a tilted head.
"They're all books that deal with beautification spells," Hermione explained as she placed the brush next to the hair products. "Hopefully one of them has a spell that will help control my hair."
"Do you really think that is going to be necessary?" Harry asked as she picked up a random jar from the sink.
The jar read "Wanda Witches Frizz Control" and Harry opened it up to see a dark-green glob of something. Harry gave it a quick sniff and immediately regretted the decision when a wave of hard, murky, foul smelling something assaulted her nose.
"Oh what the fuck – "
"Language Harry," Hermione cut in.
"– is this shit?" Harry finished her question, her face scrunched up as she held up the product.
Hermione glared at Harry as she took the jar from her hands.
"It's for my hair," Hermione said as she placed it next to the other jars on the sink.
"It smells like a fucking sewer," Harry complained, wiping her nose for emphasis.
Hermione smacked Harry on the back of her head.
"Ow," Harry exclaimed, rubbing the abused spot on her head.
"Language," Hermione admonished, causing Harry to roll her eyes.
"Alright, mother," she said.
Harry couldn't help when she cursed. People don't censor themselves on the streets, so Harry, for a time, grew up hearing and using a lot of bad language. Now that she was around adults who cared about children cursing, and Hermione, Harry was constantly told to watch her language. She has gotten better about censoring herself, however she was friends with Ron, so she slipped up sometimes.
After all, Ron cursed just as much as she did.
Hermione stared at Harry, unimpressed, before turning back to her hair.
"Alright, let's start," Hermione declared as she put her hair into a ponytail.
It took them two hours to tame Hermione's hair. Harry didn't understand how that was possible. After three attempts at styling Hermione's hair into the elegant knot she had envisioned the three girls stepped back to admire their work.
"Wow," Ginny stated with wide eyes as she checked out Hermione's hair.
"What Ginny said," Harry agreed, nodding over to Ginny.
Harry held her hands out and away from her body; she did not want to get any of the hair products smeared on her hands onto her shirt.
"Do you think it's going to stay?" Hermione asked. She turned her head from side to side so she could see herself in the mirror; Hermione bit her lip out of worry.
"It better," Harry replied, a clear warning in her voice. She did not want to go through this Hell for a second time.
"Hold on, let me look to see if there is a spell," Hermione declared as she dived for the books, her hair waving with her movements.
Harry and Ginny both moved to protect Hermione's hair like they were trying to catch a glass figurine before it crashed onto the ground.
"Let's see," Hermione said under her breath as she flipped through the biggest book in her pile.
With her hair no longer in danger of coming undone, Harry and Ginny looked at each other in relief.
"Well, if you're good, I'm going to get my hair ready," Ginny told Hermione.
Hermione absent-mindedly nodded at Ginny's words as she continued to look through the book.
"Do you want to help me?" Ginny asked Harry with a smirk.
"That depends – what's in it for me?" Harry asked, still holding her hands in a manner so she wouldn't contaminate the rest of her body with the hair product.
"You get to see me look pretty," Ginny replied. Harry was about to decline but stopped when she saw Ginny with her 'puppy dog eyes.'
"Fine," Harry declared, drawing out the word to show her aversion to the idea. "Just know that I hate both of you."
Luckily for Harry, styling Ginny's hair took fifteen minutes. There was a major difference between Hermione's bushy brown mane and Ginny's straight red hair – it was that Ginny's hair was far easier to manipulate and control.
Ginny decided on a simple braid for her hair, and it would have taken less time to style it had Harry been competent with any hair style that wasn't a bun or a ponytail.
Suffice to say, Harry had to start over a few times.
Finally, twenty minutes before the Yule Ball started, Ginny was dressed in her blue and pink dress robes, her hair in a braid, and her nails painted a subtle pink.
"How do I look?" she asked as she twirled in front of her mirror.
"You look like you," Harry answered.
For the millionth time that night, Harry was so happy that she decided not to go to the ball.
Ginny stopped spinning and looked at herself in the mirror, a worried expression on her face.
"Do you think Neville will like it?" she asked self-consciously.
"Yes," Harry answered, her annoyance coming out in her tone.
"Are you – "
"Come on, let's find out," Harry interrupted Ginny before she could finish her thought.
Harry looped her arm with Ginny's and pulled her towards the door.
"Hermione, I'm dragging Ginny down to her date – are you ready or do you still want to surprise everyone?" Harry yelled out, causing her friends to squeak in protest.
"Harry, no I'm not ready," Ginny moaned as she tried to get out of Harry's hold.
"I'M NOT READY YET!" Hermione yelled from the bathroom, a note of hysteria in her voice.
"Okay," Harry called out to Hermione before putting her arm around Ginny's shoulders.
"You look great, don't worry about it," Harry told Ginny as she led her young friend out of the room.
"Remember, you are a strong, independent, young woman who has no need for a man," Harry reminded Ginny as they walked down the stairs and into the crowded common room.
"Now, let's find that man you don't need," Harry continued as the two scanned the room for Neville.
Harry – who was taller than Ginny by a few inches – spotted Neville and Ron first.
"Merlin, Ron, did you get into a fight with a niffler?" Harry asked as she dragged Ginny over to the two boys.
Ron gave Harry a sour look, and Harry couldn't really blame him. Ron's dress robes had always looked like a dress – a really bad, lacey, ruffle-y dress. Ron must have done something to it because now it still looked like a dress, but it was far less lacey and had no ruffs, only frayed edges where the ruffles and lace used to be.
"I tried to use a Severing Charm on it," Ron said, dejected.
"Well, don't worry, Luna won't mind," Harry assured Ron, who looked only mildly better at Harry's declaration.
Harry glanced over to Neville and Ginny, who had both been far too quiet, only to see them both red faced and awkward looking.
"Speaking of Luna," Harry continued, fixing Ron her meanest glare, "if you make her cry, I will break your face."
"Merlin, Harry," Ron stated horrified, "no need to bloody be all 'protective mother' over the girl."
"Well, you'll understand why when you meet her," Harry said.
"Why is she ugly or something?" Ron asked, confused.
"RON!" Harry, Ginny, and Neville all called out at once, which at least helped ease the tension between Neville and Ginny.
"What? You said she wasn't ugly," Ron defended himself.
Harry rolled her eyes.
"She's not ugly – she's just odd. You'll understand what I mean when you start talking to her," Harry told him.
Ron did not look convinced and Harry was beginning to question whether it was a good idea to pair Ron with Luna.
"Anyway, she'll meet you in the Great Hall. Now, I need to go force Hermione out of the bathroom," Harry said as she made to leave.
"Who is Hermione going with?" Ron asked.
Ever since Hermione said she had a date for the dance, Ron has wanted to know who it is.
"You'll find out soon, you prick," Harry told him.
Ron flipped her off in response, causing the two of them to break out into smirks.
Harry left the three, weaving between and dodging random Gryffindors as they waited for their dates. Taking the stairs three at a time, she raced up to the girl dormitories and made her way back to Ginny's room.
"Hermione, what's the problem?" she asked as she walked through the doors.
Harry stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw her friend.
Hermione was standing in the center of the room, looking into Ginny's full-length mirror; she was biting her bottom lip as she looked at her reflection. Hermione looked beautiful. Her blue dress robes fit her body perfectly, and her hair was sleek and shiny and looked like it wasn't in danger of coming undone from the knot any time soon. She stood straight and powerful, and had it not been for her biting her lip with her recently straightened teeth Harry wouldn't have known Hermione was nervous.
"Bloody hell!" Harry exclaimed as she walked up behind Hermione. "Who are you and what have you done to Hermione Granger?"
Hermione looked over her shoulder and at Harry, no longer biting her lower lip.
"I know, I look terrible," Hermione said, and Harry was worried to hear the note of hysteria in her voice.
"Are you – are you fucking kidding me?" Harry asked, astounded by Hermione's doubt. "You look like a fucking goddess! Move over Athena, move over Freyja – bloody fucking hell."
"Language Harry," Hermione chided, though it wasn't as harsh an admonishment as it had been earlier.
"No, Hermione, I'll say whatever I want. And you look fucking fantastic," Harry told her sincerely.
Hermione blushed red at Harry's compliment, and Harry could see Hermione straighten up at the praise.
"Do you think Viktor will like it?" Hermione asked as she straightened her robe out of anxiety.
Viktor was of course Viktor Krum, the famous seeker. Harry and Ginny both knew that Hermione was going out with Krum and they had both been sworn to secrecy from Hermione.
"Fuck what he thinks," Harry told her, "fuck what anyone thinks. You look amazing. More than amazing. And if you know you look stunning, then Krum and everyone else will know it too. So yes – Krum will love you."
Hermione smiled at Harry's pep talk, and Harry smiled back.
"Harry, what's the real reason you aren't going to the Yule Ball?" Hermione suddenly asked, catching Harry off-guard.
"Well, it's obviously because you are going to steal the show tonight and I would never be able to compare to your amazing beauty. I mean, seriously, brains and beauty. Leave some superlatives for the rest of us, yeah?"
Harry watched Hermione to see if she bought her lie; Harry knew that she wouldn't, however all she needed was for Hermione to be too distracted by her praise to call Harry out on her bullshit.
The truth was that Harry had a theory that she needed to explore. She had promised Neville back when his name first came out of the Goblet that she would find the person responsible for putting his name into the competition. Now, months later, Harry had a suspect that she needed to check out. To do that, she needed to investigate his office.
And what better opportunity would she have to investigate a teacher's office than when everyone is down at the ball, including said professor?
Hermione stared pointedly at Harry.
"It's true," Harry tried to say, but even she could hear the lie.
Hermione sighed, but didn't press Harry for information. Harry and Hermione had been friends for so long that Hermione no longer questioned Harry about her motives.
It just wasn't worth it.
"I need to go," Hermione declared after looking at her watch.
"Well, go then," Harry said, shooing her from the room. "Remember, if you go all the way make sure he wears a condom."
"HARRY!" Hermione yelled out in shock.
"HERMIONE," Harry called back, "you are not allowed to get pregnant yet, you are way too young."
Hermione slapped Harry arm, causing Harry to laugh. Hermione, unable to glare at Harry, started to laugh as well.
"You're not helping," Hermione finally said once she got her laughter under control.
"I'm not meant to help," Harry replied, cheekily. "Go get 'em tiger."
Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry before giving Harry a slight smile. They stopped walking at the bottom of the stairs, and Hermione gave Harry a quick hug, surprising Harry.
"Thanks for everything," Hermione said to Harry as they pulled out of the hug.
"Yeah, well, no problem," Harry replied as she rubbed the back of her neck.
"Whatever you're planning – be careful," Hermione told her, worry and sincerity in her voice.
Harry, not trusting herself to speak, nodded at Hermione's request.
Hermione stared at Harry one last time before straightening her shoulders and striding confidently out of the now deserted common room.
Harry watched the portrait close over Hermione, and she waited a few seconds before she bolted back up the stairs and into her own room.
Her dorm room was deserted, all her roommates either at the ball or back at their own homes for Christmas. Wasting no time, Harry opened the trunk and pulled out her invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map.
Launching herself down on her bed, Harry grabbed her yew wand and tapped it against the map.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she intoned, watching as the map came to life in front of her eyes.
Harry twirled her wand in her hand as she scanned the map.
Well, she told everyone that it was her wand. In actuality, it was just a hollow stick of yew that she used to channel her magic through – her real magic came from her holly and elder bracelets on her right and left wrists respectively.
Her eyes focused on the Great Hall and the Entrance Hall, both of which were filled to the brim with all the names of the attendees to the ball. It was so full that Harry could not discern one name from the others, though she could see Hermione's little dot as it made its way from the seventh floor down to the main hall.
She could see a few more names that were making their way down to the dance, but Harry ignored them. She was more focused on a certain office on the second floor.
Her target was the defense against the dark arts office, located on the second floor and currently being used by Professor Moody.
Through a long period of process of elimination, Harry finally dwindled down all the likely suspects to one person; she was certain that Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody was the one to have put Neville's name into the Goblet of Fire.
It was difficult for Harry to even suspect that it was Professor Moody who had put Neville's name into the Goblet, however the more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed.
For one thing, he was far too invested in Neville's well-being. When Neville knew that the first task was dragons he told Cedric Diggory, a seventh year Hufflepuff and Hogwart's champion, about it. Moody had overheard Neville and had then brainstormed with him how he was going to get past his dragon. When Neville told Harry about his conversation with Moody, warning flags immediately went up in Harry's mind.
It was one thing for a teacher to tell Neville about the task, like Hagrid had when he showed Neville the dragons. It was a different thing entirely for a teacher to actively tell a competitor about how to complete a task, like Moody did with Neville.
And granted it didn't end up being a very good plan – summoning a shield from one of the statues in the school in order to protect Neville while facing the dragon might not have been the best way to complete the task – however the success of the plan was not a factor in this case.
The fact remains that Moody had actively helped Neville, which went against the rules of the competition and was something that even the teachers who knew Neville for years did not do.
This was primarily the reason Harry suspected Mad-Eye. She would have loved to blame it all on Snape, like she normally did, but she knew he wasn't insane enough to pull something like this under Dumbledore's nose. Snape might hate Neville, but he hates Harry more, and if he had the choice he would no doubt have placed Harry's name into the Goblet, not Neville's.
And while Sirius believed that Igor Karkaroff, the headmaster of Durmstrang, was the one to blame, Harry had to disagree. She had interacted with the ex-death eater only a few times, but even she could see the man was a coward and incompetent. There was no way he could confuse the Goblet well enough that it would go against its nature and spit out a fourth name; there was also no way he would have the gall to do it if he could.
But Harry was sure Moody could. It apparently required dark magic to confuse the Goblet, and Moody already showed that he was capable of dark magic. After all, the first day of her defense against the dark arts class had Moody casting the imperius curse on her and the other fourth year students. And considering that he was able to cast the curse repeatedly, without fail, for close to an hour, Harry was sure Moody had the magical ability to confuse the Goblet.
Though some nights Harry questioned if Moody was going easy on everyone or if he was just really weak; Harry had been able to throw off his imperius curse by her fourth try – was that enough to prove that he was casting weak curses or was it just a testament to Harry's personal ability? Some nights, she believed it to be the former, other nights she believed the latter.
Whatever the case, Harry knew that it was Moody who put Neville's name into the cup, but she needed evidence first.
Which is where his office came in.
Harry groaned when her eyes spotted his office. There, off to the side of the room, was a small dot labeled as 'Alastor Moody.'
He must not have left for the ball yet.
So Harry waited and watched the dot for movement, but after ten minutes of no movement from the dot, Harry was starting to get nervous. Normally the dots on the map move, even if the person was sitting in one spot there was always some form of movement from the dot to signify that the person was awake.
That meant Moody was asleep, or he was dead – neither of which were good for her purpose.
Harry got off her bed, the map and her yew stick in her right hand, her invisibility cloak in her left. She gave the map one more look to make sure everyone else was either in their common rooms or at the Yule Ball before she stuffed her cloak into her pocket and left.
Harry walked the deserted halls with ease, glancing down at the map every so often to make sure she wouldn't be interrupted in her mission. She wasn't anywhere near another person, and she noted with surprise that she couldn't find Filch on the map, meaning that he must be in the Great Hall with the rest of the school.
Well, that was a bitter pill to swallow.
Harry stopped once she was outside Moody's office, and after a few deep breaths, knocked on the door.
No answer.
Harry tried again, this time louder.
No answer.
"Professor Moody? Can I talk to you?" Harry asked after knocking once more.
She waited for an answer that never came.
Harry checked the map once more and saw that the dot for Moody hadn't moved. Heart racing, Harry checked the door and was not surprised to find it locked.
Pulling out two bobby pins from her pocket, Harry got down on her knees and started to pick the lock. During the first summer she spent with the Weasleys, Fred and George thought it would be a good idea to teach Harry how to pick locks.
She's glad they did because the skill had come in handy a few times already.
Harry listened for the clicks from the lock, but after a while it became apparent that it locked through magical means. Sighing, Harry got back up to her feet.
Breathing deeply, Harry closed her eyes and started to envision an open door. She had done this several times while living on the street; envisioning a previously locked door as open always guaranteed that her magic would comply and open the door for her.
With the image in her mind, Harry tapped the doorknob with her wrist, causing a clicking sound from the lock. Smirking, Harry covered herself under her invisibility cloak and opened the door.
The first thing she noticed was that Moody wasn't there. There were no reactions to the open door, there was no Moody slumped over sleeping at his desk, or any other sign that he was there.
Harry stepped further into the office, and she noticed the Sneakoscopes and the Foe-Glass off to the side. She gazed into the Foe-Glass and saw one shadowy face on the surface – Harry had no doubt that the face was Moody's. Harry had read about Foe-Glasses and she knew that since the face wasn't clear that she was in no danger at the present moment.
Resolving to keep an eye on the glass, Harry took off her invisibility cloak and stuffed it back into her pocket.
Harry began looking around the room, checking the map every so often just to see where Moody was according to her map. She was disappointed to find that many of the shelves and desks were devoid of anything incriminating. As she made her way around the room she noticed that the dot for Moody was originating from a trunk in the corner.
Curiosity taking over, Harry walked over to the trunk and began to study it. There were seven locks on the trunk all placed vertically, one on top of the other.
Sitting down in front of the trunk, Harry took the top lock and started to unlock it with the bobby pins.
She could have tried to search the office for the key, however Harry knew that Moody was paranoid enough that he wouldn't let the key to his trunk be anywhere except on his body at all times. Since Moody wasn't in the office, no matter what the map said, that meant the key wouldn't be there.
Harry opened the first lock to see it filled with spellbooks. Closing the compartment, Harry looked over her shoulder to check out the Foe-Glass; the face in the glass was still cloudy, so Harry continued with what she was doing.
The second, third, and fourth locks all revealed similar useless compartments – nothing of much note, mainly parchment, broken dark magic detectors, quills, an invisibility cloak, and several other items.
What Harry noticed, though, was that each compartment was bigger than the next, almost acting like a Russian Doll but in reverse. If her theory was correct, then, that meant the seventh compartment was the biggest.
Probably big enough to hide a body.
The seventh lock seemed harder to open, and after fiddling with it for a few minutes, Harry had to use her magic trick in order to open the lock.
Heart pounding in her chest, Harry opened the trunk to reveal a pit that descended down, as if it was ignoring the fact that it was located on the second floor and not on solid ground.
Harry looked down at the map once more and saw the dot labeled 'Alastor Moody' right next to her own dot labeled 'Rose Potter.'
Slowly, Harry peered over the edge of the trunk and had to contain a surprised gasp at what she saw.
It was Mad-Eye Moody, asleep. Except he looked different than Harry remembered. He was far too thin, chunks of hair were missing from his head, his magical eye was missing from its socket, and he was forced to sit down on the ground because he didn't have his artificial leg.
Harry couldn't help herself.
"HOLY SHIT," she exclaimed in surprise.
Well, there went her theory.
Moody was roused from his sleep, gazing up at Harry from the bottom of his pit. Harry could tell he was surprised by the fact that his good eye widened and his mouth dropped open.
"Hang on, I'm going to get you out," Harry finally said, getting her wits about her.
She looked over her shoulder, thinking she could just find a random piece of rope somewhere, but something out of the corner of her eye stopped her.
It was the Foe-Glass – the face was slowly becoming more focused.
Heart hammering in her chest, Harry looked down at her map to see a dot racing towards her position from stairwell – a dot labeled 'Bartemius Crouch'
"Mischief managed," Harry said in near panic. She had no idea what Mr. Crouch was doing racing up to the office – she didn't even know he was here for the ball.
Stuffing the map into her pocket with her invisibility cloak, Harry turned back to Moody.
"I'll get you – " Harry began, but was cut off by Moody.
"Go," he rasped out, waving his hand in the air as if to motion that Harry should leave.
It was sound advice; however Harry didn't know what would happen to Moody if she left. She knew, now, that Moody couldn't have possibly have put Neville's name into the Goblet of Fire. After all, the map never lies, meaning that the real Moody was locked away in a trunk.
So who was the one responsible?
"I'm not leaving you," Harry replied, resolving herself to the fact that she was going to get caught by whoever the real perpetrator was.
Her mind raced with the new information. Whoever the real perpetrator was, they were using polyjuice potion to impersonate Moody. That would explain why his eye and leg are missing along with the chunks of his hair. Harry had no doubt that if she had looked at the other compartments that she would find all the ingredients needed for a polyjuice potion – hell, maybe she'd even find one brewing in the sixth compartment.
Harry had no first-hand experience with polyjuice potion; during her second year she, Hermione, Neville, and Ron had planned to sneak into the Slytherin common room using polyjuice potion, however Harry had been petrified before the potion even finished. According to Ron, Hermione, and Neville, though, Harry hadn't missed much.
"Go, Potter."
Harry heard the rasping command from Moody, and she knew he had a point. If she stayed, she would no doubt get caught, and if she left now she'd have a chance of getting to Dumbledore and telling him what she saw.
Harry sprinted to the door, looking over briefly to see the face in the Foe-Glass. The face was of a man, early thirties with freckles and straw-colored hair. He was not Mr. Crouch but there were similarities.
Harry threw the door open, ready to sprint to Dumbledore, but before she could take another step she was blasted across the room.
Her body soared through the air and hit the wall opposite of the door. Her head banged against the wall, her back cracking at the impact. Harry's body bounced from the wall due to her momentum, causing her to crash onto the ground.
Harry was in pain; her back ached and she knew that it would bruise come the morning, and she feared that she might have a concussion.
Turning onto her stomach, Harry pushed herself onto her knees and looked over the desk she had flown over.
There, standing in the doorway, was Professor Moody.
Except Harry knew it couldn't be Moody because the real Moody was in the trunk.
"Potter," the fake Moody hissed out, his face showing his rage.
"Crouch," Harry replied, choosing the name because it was the last dot Harry had seen on the Marauder's Map.
Fake Moody growled at the name signaling to Harry that fake Moody's real name just happened to be Crouch.
Using the desk, Harry pushed herself into standing position and took out her wand from her pocket.
"So, what gave me away?" Crouch asked as he stalked into the office, his eyes never leaving Harry's face.
Harry looked at fake Moody, then over to the Foe-Glass. The man in the Foe-Glass was fake Moody, and Harry knew his name was Crouch.
"Nothing gave you away, Barty Crouch, I was merely here on a hunch," Harry replied, taking a stab in the dark by saying his name was Barty.
The last dot on the map was 'Bartemius Crouch;' if it wasn't the Crouch she knew it was a different Barty Crouch.
"A hunch?" he asked through Moody's face, the fake leg making a pounding noise against the floor with each step.
"Oh yeah. My original hunch was that Moody was the one to put Neville's name into the Goblet of Fire. I was obviously wrong, but now I know who did," Harry said, trying to be nonchalant through her explanation.
Crouch glared at Harry, who glared right back. Harry had to get around Crouch to get out of the office, and she was confident that she could outrun the guy, considering the fact that he was currently operating with a fake leg.
The only problem was getting out of the room first.
"And who do you think did it?" Crouch asked as he approached Harry once more.
Harry raised her yew stick and pointed it at his face.
"Barty Crouch, Jr.," Harry declared, taking her line of thinking to its conclusion.
The facts are these: his dot is labeled 'Bartemius Crouch,' he reacted to the last name, and the Foe-Glass shows a male who looks similar enough to Mr. Crouch to suggest that he is his son.
Therefore: Barty Crouch Jr.
"In other words, you," Harry finished.
Her eyes never left Crouch's face, and she felt sick to see an evil smirk form on Moody's face.
Crouch started to clap condescendingly, causing Harry to scowl.
"Oh, good job, Potter," he said, clapping out the sarcasm. "You would make one hell of an auror, do you know that?"
Harry didn't take the bait: if she would make 'one hell of an auror' then she would have brought back up, then she would have known who Barty Crouch Jr. was before making the accusations, then she would have taken a shot and run to get an adult by now.
So much for having the makings of an auror.
"You must know – can't think of too many people who would impersonate a world-renown auror just so they could put a fourteen year old kid into a competition," Harry said, trying to get answers from the guy.
Crouch laughed Moody's laugh.
"Oh I could think of a few who would kill for the opportunity that was gifted to me," Crouch said, looking at Harry as if he had already won.
It was not a look Harry liked.
"Right, because being put into a position where you have to impersonate someone in order to teach a bunch of kids is really the greatest gift anyone could ever get," Harry said sarcastically, her wand never wavering from fake Moody's face.
"That is only a small downside to my job," Crouch explained, his tone of voice taking on an eerily fanatic tone.
"Really? Sounds like a big downside," Harry responded, resisting the urge to take a step away from the once again advancing Moody.
Fake Moody gave a laugh.
"You have no idea what my plans are, do you? You have no idea how close I am to achieving the highest praise from my Master – I am so close to becoming His second in command and I will not let some teenaged bint mess that up for me."
A few things became apparent to Harry from Crouch's speech, the first being that Crouch needed to broaden his vocabulary because 'bint' is not the most offensive thing Harry has ever been called.
The second is that Crouch is a Death Eater. Harry came to this conclusion due to the fact that the only 'Master' any wizard has now a days is Voldemort.
Which means Harry is screwed because she is not prepared to handle a Death Eater at the present time.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry called out anyway, waving her stick in the correct movements.
Without a sound, Crouch waved Harry's disarming charm away with Moody's wand. With another wave of the wand, Harry felt her stick fly from her hands – Crouch had silently disarmed her.
He laughed maniacally as he plucked her wand from the air, twirling her yew wand around as if he had won.
"You might be the best in your year, Potter, but you are by no means a match for me," Crouch taunted.
Harry grimaced, knowing he was right. She did not have the same amount of experience with magic as Crouch has had. But that doesn't mean she didn't have a trick or two up her sleeves.
Crouch pointed his wand threateningly at Harry, and Harry put her hands up in surrender.
"I should kill you right now," Crouch said, as if he was discussing the weather.
"But people would notice that I'm missing," Harry countered, voice calm.
She wasn't afraid of death – his threat meant nothing to her.
"Yes, your idiotic friends would know," Crouch said under his breath.
Harry deemed the fact that her friends didn't know where she was as unimportant to the conversation at hand.
Harry didn't like the evil smirk that came across fake Moody's face at his realization.
"I might not be able to kill you, but I can make you scream," he stated.
Harry felt chills run down her spine at his declaration.
"Hey, Mad-Eye," Crouch called out to the bottom of the trunk, "I know you've been only hearing my voice for months now – how about I give you another voice to listen to. It'll be a scream."
If it wasn't for the fact that Harry's heart was pounding in her ears, or the fact that her hands were sweaty and her mind was racing with all the possible ways to escape, Harry would have rolled her eyes at Crouch's stupid fucking pun.
"CRUCIO!" Crouch yelled, pointing his wand directly at Harry's head.
Wasting no time, Harry waved her right hand and envisioned the large book on the desk to rise up and shield her from the spell.
Harry watched as her thought turned into reality, the book hovering in front of her face and being forced back a few inches at the impact from the spell.
Harry saw Crouch's look of shock on Moody's face.
Harry punched the air in front of her with her left hand and watched as the book went sailing towards fake Moody's face, hitting him directly in the nose.
So loved using her bracelets to conduct her magic.
At Crouch's distraction, Harry launched over the desk, kicked Crouch right in his chest as she vaulted over, and sprinted right to the door at dismount.
She had her hand on the doorknob and was right about to open the door when a spell whizzed past her head and hit the door.
Suddenly the doorknob was too hot to touch, and Harry let go, giving a shriek of surprise.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Crouch asked, annoyed and intrigued.
Harry turned around and punched the air with her right hand, envisioning Crouch flying across the room as she did so. However, her thoughts didn't come to fruition since Crouch waved her magic away with his wand.
Crouch laughed.
"Oh, I have never thought I would see a wandless witch before," he said, looking at her as if she was part of a freak show at the circus.
"Expelliarmus," Crouch exclaimed.
Harry's eyes widened in shock as she felt her wrists rise up towards Crouch on their own; she let out a pained scream as her wrists shot forward while her body stayed in place.
Harry fell to the ground, her shoulders dislocated.
"GAH!" Harry screamed as she landed on her left arm.
Crouch laughed at her pain.
"You know, I've only heard about your kind before," he told her, grabbing her right shoulder roughly with one hand and her right wrist with his other. "I have heard that there was once a time where wands weren't the go-to for magic casting."
He inspected her holly bracelet with a clinical eye before letting go of her wrist like it was something silly and not worth his time.
"Wands are obviously better," he said as he stood up, looking down at Harry with a smug look on fake Moody's face.
Harry tried to get up, but her arms were useless. This was not the first time she had dislocated her shoulders, however it was the first time that they had dislocated at the same time.
"You know, there are so many things I can do to you right now," Crouch continued.
He looked at her like she was his favorite meal, and Harry felt sick to her stomach at his hungry gaze.
"Maybe, when Lord Voldemort is back in power he will reward my loyalty by giving me you to be my plaything."
Harry wanted to throw up at his words.
"Until then," Crouch continued, pointing his wand right between Harry's eyes.
"Crucio!"
Harry screamed.
"Harry?" a voice called out.
Harry opened her eyes, and she really wished she hadn't. Everything hurt. Her back hurt, her shoulders hurt, her arms and legs and head and everything hurt. She felt like she had run a marathon, and had done a million push-ups and sit-ups and had run up all of the stairs at Hogwarts and her body protested in pain at Harry's decision – a work out without the payoff, in other words.
"Harry, are you alright?" Neville asked as he walked up to Harry.
She was standing in front of the Fat Lady's portrait, the Fat Lady and her friend Violet were sleeping, which explains why Harry hadn't been yelled at for not saying the password immediately.
Her head hurt, pounding away behind her eyes like someone was hammering a nail into everything – eyes, brain, and skull. Her mouth was also dry and her throat hurt, as if it had been rubbed raw by sandpaper.
She couldn't remember how it got that way.
"Oh, hi Neville," she said in a raspy voice, which surprised both Neville and herself.
"Harry, are you okay?" Neville asked again, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder.
Harry flinched at the contact, and she swatted Neville's hand away for no apparent reason.
"Yeah, I'm good," Harry said, though the more she thought about it the less she believed.
For one thing, she was sore – extremely sore. More sore than she had been after any Quidditch match or practice. More sore than when she had been living on the streets.
She didn't know why she was sore.
"Are you sure?" Neville asked, his face and voice showing his concern.
Harry looked at Neville, and she felt her heart break, but she didn't know why.
Maybe it was because Neville was a good friend – a good kid – and he didn't deserve to be in a competition where he had to face a dragon for his first and easiest task.
Maybe it was because Neville was sincere and honest and wanted the best for everyone and didn't deserve to have everyone's troubles placed onto his shoulders.
Voldemort already wanted him dead, no need to add her worries to his giant pile of 'things to worry about.'
"Yeah, I'm great," Harry said, still not sure why her voice was so raspy.
"Why aren't you at the party?" Harry asked, trying to turn her attention away from her and onto him.
She checked her pockets and noticed that she had her wand, the Marauder's Map, and her invisibility cloak on her person.
She didn't remember having any of those things when she saw Hermione off.
She didn't remember leaving the common room with Hermione when she left.
"Ron and I overheard Hagrid talking to Maxime in the garden," Neville began.
Maxime was the headmistress of Beauxbatons, Harry remembered that.
"After that, I didn't feel like staying around," Neville confessed with a shrug.
"So you left before you could give the opening dance?" Harry asked.
She remembered that fact too – what was it that she forgot?
She tried to sound more confused than worried, but it must have not worked because Neville looked concerned.
"Harry, it's almost eleven. What have you been up to?"
She didn't know – she couldn't remember. Last she remembered it had almost been eight.
"Where's Ginny?" Harry asked instead. She knew that she was freaking Neville out – the drained color from his face told her so.
"She's hanging out with Luna. To be honest, Ron wasn't that great of a dance partner," Neville explained, his eyes filled with worry and concern as he looked at her.
"Come on, let's take you to Dumbledore," Neville spoke up suddenly, causing Harry to physically recoil back.
"NO!" she said, a bit too loudly.
"Harry –"
"No, really, I'm fine. I was just out for a walk. It's fine. We don't need to tell anyone. It's fine. Everyone is still enjoying the ball, no need to interrupt them because you think I need to see Dumbledore. I'm fine."
Harry felt like crying, but she refused to do so. Crying was for the weak – she wasn't weak.
Neville looked at her, a mix of emotions on his face. He was concerned, and worried, and scared, and disappointed.
Harry refused to cry.
"Harry, I'm here for you if you ever need to talk," he told her, his tone having far more sincerity than Harry deserved.
"And I'm here for you," Harry replied, punching Neville lightly in the arm.
She gave him a smile, but even she could tell that it looked manic.
"Seriously Harry, if you need to talk to me I'll listen. You aren't the only one who is willing to be the listener in our friendship," Neville reassured her.
Harry nodded in understanding, hoping that he would drop the topic.
Harry would love to tell Neville what had happened.
That is, if she could remember it.
"You look like you could use some sleep," Neville told her, his voice tired and sad.
Harry nodded once more, her eyes burning with unshed tears.
She would be fine. She could figure out what had happened. There was no need to involve anyone else – especially not Neville, who had more pressing issues that he would have to deal with.
No, she could handle this.
Too bad she couldn't remember what this was.
Author's Note:
I am still, and will forever more, be taking suggestions for one-shot prompts for this story. The more requests there are the more often this will update - unless I can think of a few myself.
Hope you all had a great weekend and I hope that TNA likes her second one-shot. Thanks for all the support of this story and I hope you all have a great Monday.