Well, that's it, the tenth chapter! I apologize for the rather long delay, but as I already told some of you who asked me per pm, university started again and that practically cuts my time in half. Today was the first day in weeks, when I could just sit down and write. This chapter was rather strange to write, as I could finally bring all the ideas on paper that had hounded me during hours of boring lectures. In fact, I had so much ideas I didn't really know where to put them all :P
Anyway, have fun! If you have questions just ask, and I will do my best to answer them as always.
Magicks of the Arcane
Chapter X
Hogwarts - 19. June 1995
He didn't dislike the hospital wing, or to be more precise, his work in the hospital wing. No, contrary to his expectations, the detention he received for helping a fellow Gryffindor wasn't as bad as he had imagined, but... there were certain qualities to it that annoyed him. Not the muggle borns that had just started their first year at Hogwarts and weren't able to brew a simple potion against colds; not the odd Slytherin he had to treat, their expressions of unreasonable fear leaving him in a constant state of amusement, but something worse – something more profound.
Harry grimaced and looked up from the stock list he was updating since the early morning hours, a task set by an irritated Madam Pomfrey, who thought she saw signs of boredom in his expression. However, not even that was the reason why he entered the wing disgruntled in the morning, and left it bad-tempered in the evening.
White.
White was a color he learned to hate during the two weeks he had already served his detention, or prison time as he liked to call it much to the chagrin of the resident medi-witch. The sheets were white, the chairs were white, and even the walls were painted in the infernal color. He thought that the whole wing felt out of place, that it didn't look like the rest of the castle, but his opinion wasn't important to the woman in charge, at least regarding her working place.
In fact, his constant hinting towards the abominable coloring was always met with a patronizing smile and a pat on his shoulder. Madam Pomfrey could be quite devious like that, but he didn't take it too badly as the woman had probably heard hundreds of complains about it during her tenure. After all, he couldn't be the only one who felt bugged out by it.
"Hello?"
His hand, still gripping the quill, halted in its movements as he was just about to write another available ingredient down, and he looked towards the direction from where the voice had broken him out of his musings. It was a young boy, probably second year, with a yellow trim on his robe.
"Yes, can I help you?" he asked.
"I feel like I'm getting a headache."
And indeed, Harry saw that the boy had an expression akin to pain plastered across his face. In the mundane world there was always the possibility that such things could be faked if one was a good actor, but in magical places it didn't matter. Purebloods never even got the idea to use illness as an excuse for skiving off of class as it was pointless if just the simple wave of a wand could reveal the truth. Madam Pomfrey mentioned once that there were always some first year muggle borns who tried it; tried and failed horribly.
He nodded and pulled a new parchment out of the drawer next to him. "Name?"
"Jack van Slater"
A pureblood, he thought and jotted down some notes. "Well, Jack, let's see what we can do."
He rose from the white chair and unsheathed his wand to weave figures into the air, already feeling the magic that rumbled beneath his skin, anticipating its release.
"Quaesitum Calvaris."
It was one of the many different spells Madam Pomfrey had taught him over the last week. They weren't terribly advanced and couldn't heal someone, but they unveiled the injury and served wonderfully as diagnostic spells. Without them, healers around the world wouldn't know how to treat their patients, what potions to use, which herbs to procure, or in general, how to heal someone. Often overlooked, disregarded, and unappreciated, this kind of magick was only studied by the few who chose the medical field as their profession.
He didn't really understand why it was so undervalued, as he found it quite useful, but guessed that it was due to the lack of flashy effects and noise. The only problem those spells presented was the existing amount of them, as they were either extremely specialized, or too general. 'Medicine is like life; you have to work your way up to get somewhere.', Madam Pomfrey had said and at first he had looked confused until she showed him what she meant.
The first four spells a healer should always use, were the ones that roughly identified the cause of the problem, whether it was external, internal, magical, or caused by the brain. Afterward, each spell that is further used only narrows down the search until a final diagnosis remained. That was the procedure followed in magical hospitals at least, but it didn't escape him that she inconspicuously tried to work small tidbits about battle healing into her explanations.
Thoughts flooded his mind, seconds after he used the spell, and he knew that the boy wasn't lying. Something was active in his brain, what exactly though, Harry had no idea. For any further diagnosis he would need magick above his current level of knowledge, and as they boy's words were confirmed he didn't bother to search for any other possible causes.
"Well, that's easy to solve. One question, though; why the infirmary? The headache potion is easy to brew and you should have learned it at the end of your first year."
The boy looked contrite for a moment, as if he was fighting an internal battle with himself and Harry had a good idea what troubled him.
"I- but- Snape..."
"Professor Snape, but it's alright. I understand."
He took great pleasure in throwing the headmaster's words around, always keen to see the reaction they evoked. "Wait here. I'm going to get you something."
Harry walked over to one of the many wooden shelves that lined the northern wall, and searched for the right vial, hidden behind hundreds of it's brethren. Snape was another matter altogether. The man was insufferable, petty and most of all, able to hold a grudge for decades. Which didn't make it all too pleasant to work alongside him whenever Madam Pomfrey had the fabulous idea to restock the shelves. Of course, he only brewed the easier potions, and Snape had the lion's share of work, but did that really justify five hours of snide remarks and comments?
It didn't make it easier that the man now knew about the identity of his silent assassin. Harry was sure that the bat would have left, hadn't he faked his eternal suffering due to the detention. It was an easy way to reduce his own workload and to see if Snape still legilimenced random people, or if Dumledore had already talked to him.
That the boy was scared of the potion master didn't come as a surprise, even though Snape was generally more pleasant toward purebloods, if only slightly.
"Here you go. Take a sip now, and then another one in five hours; tomorrow you'll be fit as a fiddle."
Harry grinned when he saw the grimace of disgust. The nearly always bad side effect of each and every potion was its disgusting taste, and often he wondered how something, able to heal the most serious wounds in a matter of minutes, could taste so horribly. Maybe it was an inside joke of the potion master guild?
"Potter!"
He turned around and saw a group of Slytherins walking towards him, but they weren't in his year, and they weren't tall enough to be anything above, so he only threw them a short look and his right hand, hovering in the vicinity of his wand, relaxed. It would be foolish not to regard them as a threat, as even a first year could do horrendous damage with a wand, but openly showing that he was watching their every move, anticipating their next step, calculating his own position according to it... it would leave him wide open to the mockery and derision of those that had the experience to know what he did.
"If that's all, Jack, why don't you go to your dormitory and rest a bit, eh? Headaches can be nasty business."
The Hufflepuff nodded and gave him a relieved smile before he walked out of the door. Maybe his work in hospital wing made it easier for some of the younger years to like him? He was on guard, but not overly concerned about the lengths they could go to, as it wasn't much, but to see even tiny first years stare at him, not curiosity, but terror and anxiety in their eyes; it wasn't a pleasant feeling. He had the feeling that with every student he diagnosed, healed, or relieved of his pain, the amount of frightened looks lessened, and that was indeed a cause for celebration.
At the moment however, he had to deal with the three Slytherins that had entered the infirmary, and so rudely interrupted his prior session. He glanced at the stack of parchment that was still lying on the table, and scrunched up his nose. Madam Pomfrey couldn't fault him if it remained unfinished, he had patients after all.
"Potter!"
"I heard you the first time. What can I do for you?" he asked.
"Where's Pomfrey?"
The lone girl in the group looked around the wing, her eyes searching for the medi-witch. He certainly understood why, but it amused him nonetheless. Slytherins really, really disliked being treated by a Gryffindor. They didn't know that Madam Pomfrey had made him swear a temporal oath, not unlike the Hippocratic oath, which made sure that he wouldn't intentionally harm anyone in the wing, and that he'd do his best to heal those that came for help. She was, in fact, very insistent on that part, and it stood to reason that it was one of the reasons why not more detentions took place in the infirmary.
The oath was written on special parchment, reserved for contracts and special occasions, where both, the time frame and the terms had to be written down. The gravity of such an oath was only heightened by the red liquid, his own blood, he had to sign it with. It was seldom a problem for the odd muggle born who didn't know about oaths signed in blood, but to propose it to a pureblood was another matter altogether. The principle that one had always to be careful with oaths, promises, and debts was ingrained into their minds from the moment they were born. Thus it would be a futile attempt to have them sign something like this just for a simple detention, and it were only the rare individuals that thrived under the prospect of helping others, that would even consider it. Sadly, such people were rare and it happened maybe once in a decade that someone took up the healing arts.
"Madam Pomfrey isn't here at the moment, but I might be able to help. What's the problem?" he asked, but he already knew what it was.
It was rather obvious as all of them sported some magical appendages. He had to admit, without being a pervert of course, that the girl looked rather cute with her cat tail. Hadn't he read something about it in a magazine once? Nekos they were called in japan, or something like that.
She threw him a venomous look. "You can damn well see what's wrong, Potter."
"Right, forgive me..." he said.
He chuckled and pulled out his wand, eliciting small sparks as he wove it around the Slytherins who were observing him with distrust.
"That's rather advanced transfiguration work." he said. "Traces of potions too, and even some simple charms."
Harry walked around the group and muttered to himself, sounding more and more like the barmy wand maker Ollivander when he searched for the connection between a wizard and his wand.
"The Weasley twins got you good, huh?"
Their furious looks, and gritted teeth were all the confirmation he needed. "Curious, I thought that Fred and George only played pranks on fifth years, or above."
"Obviously not." the girl grounded out. Oh boy, Harry thought. She looked really angry, and he had to suppress the grin that threatened to form on his face.
"Well, it's no problem. I can fix that pretty quickly."
A few spells later the Slytherins walked away, and Harry congratulated himself on a job well done. He might have to talk with the twins tough. They normally didn't target people that were some years below them, and only in school wide pranks did those ever see their hidden genius.
It took another thirty minutes, in which he dutifully updated the stock list, until the fireplace flared green and Madam Pomfrey stepped out of it. She had forgone her usual clothes and was dressed in impeccable green robes, a white cross stitched on both shoulders. Wherever she had gone to, it must have been important, he mused.
"I see that you're still hard at work, Mr. Potter. Were there any complications?" she asked.
"A second year with a headache, and three third years which had the dubious pleasure of being pranked by the twins." he answered.
"So, only the usual it is. Well, let us not dawdle, Mr. Potter. They day is fresh and we still have much to do."
He looked at her, but saw no signs hinting towards further ventures. Well, only her sly smile... The woman definitely planned something, and in his experience it couldn't be something good, or pleasant.
"What exactly do we have to do?" he asked cautiously.
"We're going into the forest. Today is the only time when a certain species of fungus can be found, and we have to use that chance, of course."
"The forest?" he asked, and his eyebrows rose slightly. It wasn't that he was scared of the place, but for a staff member to casually propose a walk through it?
"Exactly. The headmaster set up some wards around the wing that will notify us if someone needs our help. Until then, however, we're going to harvest mushrooms."
In the end, no one needed their help, and they spent more than four hours in the forest where the medi-witch explained that it was the Alba Punctis they were looking for, a mushroom belonging to the class of Fungi Medicae. It was colored in black and could be easily identified by the white dots on it.
Hogwarts - 24. June 1995
The last days of his detention went well, and although Harry had no ambitions to enter the healing business it was nice to know how to do it should the occasion arise. In the end he really had to thank the headmaster for setting up such an interesting detention. Snape would probably flip if he knew that Harry had fun while being punished for assaulting him.
At the moment however, all such thoughts were unneeded, as he was walking towards his destination. He had just been informed that the champions had half an hour they could spend with their family, and even if he knew that he had no real family left, he was curious to see if someone had come.
The sight that greeted him as he entered the room evoked feelings ranging between anger, gratitude and happiness. Professor Lupin sat at one of the tables, a black dog lying at his feet, snoring loudly.
Sirius.
"Harry, there you are!"
Moony sounded cheerful and waved his hand. "Here I am" Harry lowered his voice. ", but why is Sirius here? It's much to dangerous!"
The black dog had woken due to the werewolves shout and whined pitifully when it heard Harry's question. Lupin, however, wasn't bothered in the slightest and looked sternly at Harry.
"You should appreciate that he's here. He was on the sea for the last two months, just so he could support you."
"I- I know. I'm sorry Sirius, and I'm happy you're here. It's just..."
"Don't worry about it, Harry. The headmaster included Professor Flitwick in our little conspiracy, and both managed to come up with a temporal solution. It should hold for a few hours at least."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief and knelt down to Padfood's level, stroking his fur. "That's good. I'm glad you're here, Paddy. When this is over we can finally have a talk."
The black dog barked in reply and for the next thirty minutes they talked about inconsequential things while Harry petted Padfood.
"Mr. Potter, it's time."
Professor McGonagall, who had lost her stern and aggressive attitude of the past, looked worried as she called him over. It had been months since he slighted her, and it looked like she finally got over it and saw how childish she had been. That were only assumptions of course, but otherwise he couldn't explain her change of behavior towards him.
"Right. Moony, Padfood, take care. I'll be back soon."
He and McGonagall walked alongside a path that led them to the entrance of the maze, where already he could hear the roaring crowd that had probably grown since the second task. He wondered if, like last time, there were some foreign dignitaries among them.
"Are you... prepared, Ha- Mr. Potter?" she asked, when they were only a few feet away from their destination.
"As prepared as I can be. I'll make it out of that maze, and if it's the last thing I do." he answered, and McGonagall's eyes widened slightly, when she saw the determination and fire that burned behind his green emeralds.
She had seen it once before, only once, when Albus Dumbledore had gripped his wand tightly and had been only moments away from dueling Gellert Grindelwald.
"That's good. I wish you the best of luck, Mr. Potter." she said, as they halted in front of the other champions. She probably hadn't intended for him to hear her words as she left him, but he heard them nonetheless.
"And go thee with Merlin's strength,
For thou will need it all the length.
Thou will need it where thou goes,
To slay and maim thine foes."
Wherever she got the poem from, it fits, he thought as he walked over to his fellow contestants.
He gave Fleur a friendly nod and didn't bother with Cedric's, and Krum's angry stares. Why they couldn't just let him be, he'd never know.
"Hey, Fleur." he said cheerfully, and embraced her in a hug that she immediately returned. Tough, not without angling her a bit to the side so that no one could see how he copped a short feel of her ass.
"You're incorrigible, 'arry." she said and swatted his shoulder.
"Am I?" he asked.
His lewd grin, and his even lewder actions made her smile, and the tension that had found its way into her body vanished. She wondered if that had been his aim all along, and if it was, then he was simply one of a kind.
"Are you ready, 'arry?" she asked.
"Mhm," he hummed, and nodded. "It's not going to be easy, but I think I'll manage. Remember, Fleur, as soon as you have problems with one of Hagrid's pets forfeit. They are deadly, hell, the whole thing is deadly. No lousy cup his worth your life."
It was a promise he had wrought from her weeks ago, and while he himself wouldn't heed his advice, it was only because he had a better understanding of Hagrid's ways and was better equipped to deal with anything the friendly half-giant could throw at him.
"I know, I told you that the second task has made me change my priorities." she said, and leaned over to whisper in his ear. "By the way, you should take your hands off my ass now. My father has spotted you, I think, and he looks rather furious."
Like he had been struck with lightning, Harry reared back and frantically looked around trying to spot her parents, but it was a futile, and he knew it. There were thousands of faces staring at him, some curious, some happy, most of them, however, expectant.
Fleur laughed behind him, and as he turned around and saw her sly expression he had to laugh as well.
"You minx! Your father didn't see me, did he?"
"Non, not as far as I know, but your face was priceless."
He was about to retort, when Ludo Bagman's voice echoed throughout the premise, amplified by his Sonorus charm.
"Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards! I'm pleased to welcome you to the final, the third task of the Tri-wizard Tournament!"
His voice was as obnoxious as always, and as expected the crowd became even more rowdy, either cheering for their favorite, or cheering just for the sake of it. The atmosphere was eerily similar to the first, and second task, and he wondered if the underlying theme were the roman games. There was no emperor, no tribune to decide his fate with the simple movement of his thumb, but the deadly, bloody, and dangerous part... those they got right in one go.
"To win, our champions have to make their way through this maze, and touch the cup that's hidden in its center." he said, and left the crowd in suspense for a bit. "But the path is perilous, and many dangers await them if they want to earn eternal glory. So, who will make it? Who will become the new champion?" he cried out.
"Champions, get ready! You know the order, and as soon as the gong sounds, the entrance will reveal itself."
Harry stretched his arms, and looked towards the dark, and menacing looking hedges that hid everything behind them. His first idea had been to burn them down, but after standing only a few minutes near them, he abandoned it. They were practically saturated with magic, magic that made him highly uncomfortable. It wasn't dark per se, but it had a slightly sinister feeling to it.
He patted his basilisk armor absentmindedly as a breeze rustled his red cloak. It would protect him from most of the damage, or so he hoped, but that was by no means a guarantee that he would survive the maze.
Well, if I go out, then with a bang, he thought, and readied himself. As he had accumulated the most points, he would be the first to enter and had a head start of roughly two minutes. It wasn't much, but each second would help.
A loud, metallic sound made its way to his ears, and without paying Bagman any attention, he ran into the maze, ready to draw his wand at a second's notice. After a while, maybe three or four minutes, he halted in front of a junction that offered him three possible ways to take. Seconds ago he had heard the gong again, and knew that the next champion had entered the maze, just a few steps behind him.
Nevertheless, he couldn't allow himself to make mistakes because he wanted to hurry through the task, so he decided to take it slow for the rest of it, not running, but walking instead.
Harry turned to the right, and as he stepped onto the path that probably led to his first obstacle, he noticed how the hedges behind him moved, and entangled themselves until the entrance was no more. The maze really was alive, he thought in wonderment and walked further along the small path.
It made sense he supposed. The crowd was watching them through the small runic devices they had also used during the second task, and it would become boring quickly if each champion took the same route, and encountered the same threats. Threats, and riddles that might have already been solved by other contestants.
As he walked around a corner, a very, very familiar gurgling resounded, and for a second Harry flinched as if he had been struck.
Please, don't let it be a-, he thought, but jumped away quickly, and dived out of the way of an incoming humongous body.
"I hate you, Fate!"
He rolled out of the dive and drew his wand, while unsheathing the Sword of Gryffindor that was clasped to his belt. In front of him stood the probably ugliest creature in the history of breeding: gray, shiny scales that served as an armor for its repulsing, red flesh; a large stinger on its back, and on its rear, a slimy bubble that looked like it could explode at any second.
In short, a Blast-Ended Skrewt.
The thing had grown since he last saw one of them, and now it looked even more lethal with the stinger that was as long as he was tall. Why Hagrid considered them cute, he would never now. According to some books, breeding like that, the grotesque mixture of a Manticore and a Fire crab, was illegal, and he wondered what idiot had given him the permission to do so for the tournament.
The stinger shot forward, and he jumped out of it's way, barely noticing how it impaled itself deeply into the spot he had stood on. Skrewts obviously didn't like their prey escaping, and with a resounding boom the bubble on its rear exploded, propelling it toward Harry.
He saw the large mass of disgusting flesh coming his way, and barely had the time to raise his wand.
"Conduro!"
A pebble on the ground was transfigured into a slab of stone that stood between him and the monster, and was quickly charmed to be more resilient to physical impacts. Whether the charm he had used to harden his knife when carving runes had any effect, he didn't know, but if it had he was thankful for it. Even charmed, the slab was turned into rubble by the impact, and he quickly rolled backward in the desperate attempt to evade the various pieces of rock that flew his way.
Those things were bloody impossible!
He tried to charm the hedges to entangle the beast, but as they were saturated with strong, foreign magic, they didn't heed his command. The seconds his try had cost him were valuable indeed, and he had wasted them. Again, the stinger was on the move, and rushed toward him with incomprehensible speed.
"Accio rubble!" he screamed, and piles of stone flew in its way, barely halting the advance.
But once again his luck held true, as the Skrewt had overestimated its reach and the deadly looking spike stopped barely inches away from Harry's face. Was that poison he saw dripping from it? When had Hagrid added that particular feature? His revulsion only grew, as he saw that the bubble on its rear, that had exploded to make the Skrewt's quick movement possible, slowly regrew. If his estimation was right, than he had to evade another body slam in the next minutes.
The stinger was about to retreat, trying to rearrange itself for another attack, but Harry had none of it.
"Oh no, you don't!"
With a roar he swung the sword in his left, and tried to cleave through the thick tail, only for his eyes to widen as the blade rebounded on the hard scales. He had to take a step back to get the vibrating sword back under his control. It was enough time for the Skrewt to launch another attack, and Harry started to get frustrated with the lack of progress in the fight.
"Sagitta! Percutere! Debiles Fulmen!"
He sidestepped another swing of the stinger, and flung curse after curse, and spell after spell at the creature that posed such problems to him. "Reducto! Aquapilatum!"
Of course, the scales had to be magic resistant, he thought, and became thoroughly annoyed with the beast in front of him.
The boom was all the warning he got, and with reflexes honed in years of playing as a seeker he whirled out of the way, performing a strange looking pirouette, the cloak billowing behind him. The sweat on his brows was cooled as the large body shot past him, mere inches away from his face.
That was it, that was the chance he had been looking for!
He ended his twirl, his wand rising in tandem, and sent a powerful Depulso at the Skrewt that was still in mid-fly. It pushed the creature away, and toppled it, until finally, with a resounding thud, it landed on its back.
Harry noticed how it tried to get itself in an upright position with the help of its tail, but it was too late, and with a primal scream he took a running jump and stabbed the Sword of Gryffindor right through its unprotected belly, moving and turning it for good measure.
For a few moments, the only sounds that could be heard were emitted from the hedges, and the screeching of his dying foe. They lasted until he pulled out the sword and slumped to the ground.
That, had been one hell of a fight. Curse Hagrid, and his blasted breeds. He really needed a minute to gather his breath before he could continue. Hopefully, there wasn't another Skrewt somewhere in the maze.
The crowd was excited as it watched how Harry made his way through the maze, and the people cheered loudly when he managed to slay the creature that had blocked his way. Counting to them were also the foreign dignitaries that had visited Hogwarts during the second task, but this time around, they were joined by many of their colleagues, be they from a ministerial level, from other political factions, or from other nations altogether.
Many of them came to see another spectacle like the one Harry had conjured in the lake, but even if the magic he had used to defeat the Skrewt was basic, it entertained them nonetheless. There simply was something alluring to a desperate fight to the death, or so they thought. The hope that the boy-who-lived would pull another incredible ace out of his sleeve was high, and many waited for the moment when he was forced to reveal his powers.
It was a shame, really, that only a few of them watched how the other champions fought their way through the maze, braving the obstacles on their path.
Asmund Hálfdan, who had rescheduled many important political, and business meetings as soon as words of the third task had reached his ears, was concentrating on the young Potter. He had been mesmerized by the lad's power during the second task, had looked incredulous when he had read the reports on the first task, and now waited eagerly to see what kind of tricks the young man would show him.
"Young Potter's skill has increased considerably, has it not?" asked Einarr Hallstein, Norway's minister, who had programmed the runic device to constantly repeat the scene when Harry had twirled out of the way, and simultaneously casted a banishing charm at the Skrewt.
"That it has, Einarr. That it has. I wonder though, where the limit of his potential lies."
"Who knows, but it's clear that we haven't seen everything yet." the minister said, and scratched his beard. "It might be prudent to have our eyes on him. I don't think he'll delve into the darker aspects of magic, but one can never be too careful."
"True, but remember he's Dumbledore's favorite. I can't imagine that the old man would allow his disciple to study something like Necromancy, or black magic."
"Old man? As if you're one to talk, Asmund. Might I remind you that you yourself are ninety-seven years old?"
The minister was deeply amused by the cross look that appeared on the Earl's face. "And you know that Dumbledore's knowledge isn't just constricted to light, and gray magic. If the situation calls for it, I'm sure that he can use dark spells many of us haven't even heard about."
"No, you might not remind me. You're the minister now, but don't forget that I taught you how to walk when you had barely reached the age to do so. What you say is true however, and I can't say that I find the image of him becoming a dark wizard particularly pleasing."
"Well, anyway. For the moment he seems to have an excellent grasp on his powers, and emotions. We'll see what happens, but there's no need to fear him."
"Right you are, dear friend. Look, it seems like he's finally ready to continue." the Earl said, and with a twitch of his finger the privacy bubble that had surrounded them collapsed.
Harry, who had finally gathered his wit, and whose breath had evened out during the short period of rest, rose to his feet, and sheathed his sword. At the first junction he had randomly decided which way he would go, but after encountering something as lethal as the Blast-ended Skrewt, he felt that it might be prudent to use a locator spell when he reached another one.
For now, however, there was only one way, and that was forward.
"Fieri Inolens. Lenis Planipes."
Cautious he moved alongside the hedges, his wand tightly grasped in his right hand. The two charms that had helped him to remain undetected at Hogwarts finally found their use in the tournament, and he was glad that he had learned them.
The Skrewt hat caught him off-guard, and now he'd hopefully get a good chance for a first shot at his next target. He trekked along the path, not bothering with the menacing sounds the hedges made, until a sudden smell assaulted his nose.
A smell that he knew all too well, and had encountered once before. Had they really- were they really dumb enough to do something like that? It couldn't be, it just couldn't... He took a deep whiff, trying to ascertain that it was indeed the smell he thought it was; his nostrils flaring as he did so.
No bloody way...
They couldn't have chained a dragon into the maze, right? They just couldn't be so monumentally stupid, but why else would the distinctive smell of sulfur assault his nose? It was nearly the same he had encountered when he had fought against the dragon, and the thought that he had to do it once again made him shiver.
With tentative steps he walked around the corner, already preparing himself for another bout of mortal combat, but what he saw made him sigh in relief.
No dragon...
The area in front of him was something akin to a swamp, acid bubbles building on its surface, popping whenever they reached their boiling point. It wasn't nice, it wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't a dragon either, and that alone made him relax his tense muscles.
A swamp was far easier to deal with, but still, it needed consideration. Just for the fun of it, he threw a pebble into it, looking on in amazement how it didn't even sink, but dissolved the moment it touched the liquid.
Well, walking across it with a charm was out, as was his initial idea of transfiguring something into a boat to row through it. No, he would be dead before he even reached the middle point that was marked by a small speck of land, where a gnarly tree stood tall and proud.
He sat down cross-legged, and thought about his options. It wasn't that hard of an obstacle, but he wanted to solve it without any damage to himself, and unfortunately that also excluded his crazy idea of jumping across it, propelling himself forward with the Venti Flamini spell that had helped him tremendously during the second task. Well, he had another idea. It might be a bit taxing on his reserves, but it would definitely get him to the other side.
The decision made, Harry stood up.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
One of the many stones that littered the ground rose, and he levitated it over to the other side, where he positioned it in a precise manner. The next part would be a bit harder, as multiple transfiguration, or better said, transfiguration that started at two points and ended in one, was rather difficult.
His wand was in constant motion for the next thirty seconds, and he did his best to gauge exactly how much magic he needed for this little feat; the result became clear shortly afterward. From both sides, pebbles transformed into steps that evened out at some point and connected in the middle of the swamp, around three feet above the acid, and with enough width to make the passage over his self-made bridge comfortable.
It definitely wasn't his best piece of transfiguration, and he considered adding some guardrails, and pillars to make it look more imposing and refined, but in the end he decided against it. The bridge was simple, and it served its purpose perfectly. He didn't know what would await him further into the maze, and it would be rather pointless if he exhausted him at such an early stage.
When he reached the other side, he collapsed the bridge with a flick of his wand. Some of his fellow champions might have found a way to circumvent the maze's mechanisms, and it just wouldn't do to leave evidence of his solution for them. Let them think for themselves.
He wondered which of the teachers had implemented the swamp. There were many possibilities after all, but he'd bet on Snape for that one. Acid swamps that devoured anyone wanting to pass was exactly the bat's style. Then again, it could also have been the headmaster who just had to apply some of his alchemy knowledge, transmuting a normal body of water into what he just had crossed.
Harry arrived at another junction, and shook his head. This was no time to engage in idle thoughts, even if the obstacles were fairly interesting – interesting, and lethal.
"Monstrate Locus Triwizard Cup."
Unfortunately, the location spell didn't work, and no directions entered his head like they had done in the second task. Had he done it wrong?
"Monstrate Locus Triwizard Cup!" he said again, this time a bit more forceful.
The result, however, left him wanting. Had they really charmed the maze against such spells? How juvenile!
"Should have know..." he grumbled, and pulled a Galleon out of his pocket. "Well, ugly Goblin head is right, and Gringott's symbol is left."
The coin whizzed through the air, and as it descended he caught it expertly. "Ugly Goblin head it is." he said, and walked towards the right path.
Unbeknown to him, Fleur, who had shot red sparks into the air mere seconds before, was checked by Madam Pomfrey and two other healers they had on stand-by. Her first obstacle, a field of golden mist that inverted directions, had been easily cleared, but later on she fell prey to the incredible difficult question of a sphinx. Now, she, like many others, watched as Harry made his way through the maze.
The maze was huge, Harry concluded after he had walked on his current path for the last fifteen minutes. The only problem he had encountered so far, were the rowdy hedges that sometimes decided to edge closer toward him, but he quickly constricted them with a few wooden constructs he had transfigured without breaking his stride.
Fire spells, at least the commonly used ones, proved to be rather useless as the hedges had been charmed to be fire proof; definitely Professor Flitwick's work. It was only on the next clearing, that movements caught his eyes, and within seconds the drums of war, once again, pounded in his ears.
He knew that he shouldn't enjoy fighting as much as he did, but he didn't care. The Blast-Ended Skrewt had been grotesque, and it was a beast he didn't really know how to handle, but this... these enemies were equally ugly, but they were also familiar.
He knew exactly how to deal with them, and a feral grin split his face. That was it, that was the feeling he had missed during all the months of preparation. Adrenalin pumped through his body, and he unclasped his sword.
"Come at me, you hideous beasts!" he shouted eagerly, not bothered at all by the sound of pincers hitting together.
Four Acrumantulas.. Now, that were odds that he liked.
"Rumpii Ignem!"
The Sword of Gryffindor was bathed in flames, and without even considering the risks, Harry ran towards the arachnids, his sword leaving a fiery trail behind it.
"Albus..." Professor McGonagall massaged her throbbing head, and turned to the venerable headmaster that sat next to her.
"Yes, Minerva?" he asked, his eyes twinkling like twin suns.
"What exactly have you taught Mr. Potter?"
"I? Why does everyone insist that I was the one who taught him?" he retorted.
The Bulgarian minister, Savolski, who sat next to McGonagall wasn't impressed by the innocent facade, and snorted. "Don't be a fool, Albus. We know that you had a hand in it. He's good, granted, but not that good."
"I think you underestimate him. Harry, like his father and grand-father had, has unbelievable potential. Besides, you know that the oaths prevent me from helping him."
"I concur." came a voice from behind them that many instantly recognized as Madam Bone's. "The boy has an incredible aptitude for combat magicks, at least that's what his marks suggest."
Dumbledore turned to her, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. "You accessed his records, Amelia?" he asked, and the Director of the DMLE shrugged.
"He interested me, so I looked at them. Very good on the practical side of things, but rather weak in theoretical matters."
She narrowed her eyes when a laugh resounded to her left, and the group looked towards Sven Stigr, the Swedish minister, and the only man that was even close to Dumbledore's age. "We always underestimate such people as they're usually rather bad at school. If I remember correctly, and please interrupt me if I do, Albus, you were the same until Master Flamel took pity on you."
"He didn't take pity on me." Dumbledore countered serenely. "Rather it was me, that thought the man was getting to old and needed to leave a legacy."
Talking about his former mentor Nicolas was seldom a happy occurrence, especially as he was now deceased due to his mistakes, but he didn't let it show on his face. They were friendly, and jovial, but they were politicians nonetheless.
"As if!" laughed Stigr. "Wasn't it you, who nearly failed his OWLs because you exploded your cauldron as your examiner was directly next to you?"
"All lies, I assure you." he answered.
"Anyway, your student is a bit reckless though. Look, he's running at them."
And everyone, Dumbledore, the teachers, the ministers, and anyone who listened into their conversation turned toward their devices, their eyes firmly glued on the shape of one Harry Potter, who had just charged into a small group of Acromantulas.
Harry never knew that he was the favorite topic of the most influential people in Europe as he evaded the angry Acromantulas, and weaved through them, sword and wand moving in a flurry of motion.
"Sagitta!"
An arrow shot out of his wand, and missed the incoming spider by inches, but he didn't worry and instead continued to frighten the one to his left with his sword. The Arachnids were rather adverse to fire, and it showed as they back away each time his sword came even close to them.
It held them at a certain distance, but it was also unsatisfying, and he had to resort to his spells for the battle. Spells of which the most misses due to their quick movements. Acromantulas were fairly resistant to magic, but that didn't mean they couldn't be hurt by it like the Skrewt, or a dragon. It just took more power, or physical force for them to have an impact.
"Incendio!"
The stream of fire held back two of them, but he wasn't finished; this time he would get one, he swore.
"Petrae Ictui!"
He flung the spell instantly after his Incendio had ended, and a large stone rose out of the earth, smashing into on of them, nearly splattering its innards all across the clearing. He was about the slash through the one to his right, finally having got close enough to do so, when it heaved itself upwards and jumped over him.
That... was the more annoying trait of Acromantulas. Despite their rather large size, those eight legs they possessed packed quite some power, and it made for a lethal attack when they engaged their prey in aerial combat.
The spider that was currently several feet above him, dropped a large package of silvery, gray substance, and Harry quickly jumped aside. That he knew how to deal with them didn't exactly exclude that he could die should they catch him.
It descended, and he took precise aim with his wand.
"Sagitta!"
This time the arrow hit home, and impaled the spider as it was just about to land. He snapped another Incendio toward the two remaining Arachnids that were about to attack him, and made them back off, until he finished with the second one.
The time he bought himself proved to be valuable, and he fired more arrows at the still moving body, until it was peppered with them.
Nice, he thought. That left only two of them, and now that the main threat had lessened, he noticed how the pounding in his ears became weaker. Slowly, but surely, the excitement was wearing off, and what remained was the tedious work of a clean-up job.
With his flanks cleared he had more options to do it, and in the end he decided to make it quick. With trained movements, Harry flung two Reductos at them, heavily damaging two of the eight legs that he had aimed for.
"Depulso."
A flick of his wand later, and it was down to him and the last Acromantula, as its brethren was lying upside down and jerked its remaining six legs around.
"Well, that's it." he said, and suppressed the sudden urge to ask the spider if it had any last words.
He took aim, ready to fire off another Reducto, and-
His head spun around so quickly, one could have thought his neck had snapped. That was definitely not the sound of trampling hooves when a group of centaurs neared. No, this was trampling, but of a heavier kind. Thumping sounds echoed through the clearing, and he considered himself to be a specialist in reading animal's emotions as he thought that the Acromantula looked as confused as he did.
Maybe it even felt hope?
The sounds got louder and louder, and Harry readied himself mentally for another enemy – an enemy that was probably more lethal than the spiders. That seemed to be his fate, after all.
What happened, however, was unexpected and surprising, and the Acromantula, hadn't it been dead already, might have felt the same. A small path had suddenly opened in the hedges, and it clearly revealed the cause of the weird thumping sounds.
The spider had no time to consider its bad luck as it was instantly speared on the two gigantic horns of the bull like creature that had trampled through the small passage. It was truly massive, he thought. Definitely as big as Aragok, and those large horns it possessed didn't really do much to assure Harry of his survival.
"A Bicorn, really?" he said, his voice an odd mixture of incredulity, exasperation, and excitement.
The massive beast just moved its head to the side, and the impaled body of the Acromantula slid of his horns. Either this already was Voldemort's yearly attempt on his life, or the organizer of the tournament really wanted to kill them.
Hadn't Ainsley, the guy from the Hunter guild, spoken about them during the yuletide ball? They weren't as dangerous as Basilisks, or dragons, or a lot of other beasts, but they still needed a team of at least three hunters to take down. An imagine ran through his mind, and somehow he got the feeling that it was that sodding, bowler head-wearing pile of dragon dung, that had thought it would be a splendid idea to include a Bicorn in the tournament.
Anyway, now he had to concentrate on the fact that he had to fight it. It wouldn't be easy, but it was doable, or so he thought, and he even had an idea to avoid the fate that had befallen the Acromantula. Being speared didn't sound all that good to him.
Yes, that could wo-
The Bicorn decided to interrupt his inner monologue, and reared back on his legs, making itself ready to charge at him. Harry, however, had long lost his fear of impossible odds, and how couldn't he after all that had happened?
"Agumenti Scutum Tholus!" he cried out.
Once again, he overpowered the shield and used one of its lesser known applications. This time at least, he had a good control on how much of his reserves went into the shield, and unlike the last time it wouldn't drain him as much.
Torrents of water sprung forth from his wand, and instead of forming the usual protective dome around him, it flooded the clearing. He was ankle-deep in water, but he knew that he had to be quick, or the ground would soak it up and his advantage would vanish.
"Glaciei!"
It was a charm that most students learned in their second year, and that was often used to prank someone, but despite its inherent simplicity it served him wonderfully at the moment. The water in front of him, or to be more precise, the water that the Bicorn was running on, turned into ice, and it didn't even take a second for the mighty creature to land flat on its face.
Harry's expression of determination didn't change though, as even if shortly made immobile, the Bicorn was still dangerous. It was quite warm in June, and the ice already started to melt away. Anyway, there was no need to kill such a magnificent beast, he thought, and with some swishes of his wand the next two spells, two layered Incarcerous ,took hold on it.
He turned around and walked away, wondering what the next obstacle would be. It couldn't be much more, as he had already spent quite a lot of time in the maze. Suddenly, a sound reached his ears that he desperately didn't want to hear.
Thundering thumping.
"What the-"
He turned around, barely noticing the remnants of his binding spells, and only had eyes for the really mad looking Bicorn that ran his way, becoming bigger and bigger by the second.
Shit, shit, shit... Magic was useless unless it affected its environment – a fact that he became painfully aware of as the creature was barely thirty feet away. He had to do something! He couldn't die just yet, speared by a fucking Bicorn of all things...
He was desperate, and the idea that he just got was equally as crazy and desperate, but what else could he do? It had worked once, even if under slightly different circumstances...
In one motion, Harry pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of its sheath, and threw it with all his might at the incoming thing. His scream echoed throughout the maze, and time seemed to have slowed down. If it didn't work, he was sure that he'd die a painful death. People often said that during the last moments that a person spent on the living plane, they saw pictures of what had happened, or could have happened in their life; images of what could have been in the future.
Oddly enough, the only thought that went through his mind was about the lack of sexual activity he had in the last few months.
Time sped up again, and he roared in triumph as the sword embedded itself deeply into the Bicorn, the tip going all the way through until it left on the backside of its head. It had worked! Or had it? The mad beast didn't stop its advance and still thundered toward him.
Twenty feet.
Ten feet.
Five feet.
Harry became nervous again, and nothing remained from the feeling of triumph he had felt a second ago. Would he die, even if his plan had worked?
And just like that, three or four inches away from him, the Bicorn toppled to the side, dead, and lying in a pool of its own blood.
Relief flooded him, and he fell backwards into the grassy ground, laughing hysterically. He didn't care whether or not the spectators thought him crazy at that moment. He was alive...
He was alive!
The crowd of spectators was stunned. There was no other way to describe how they looked at the moment, and rightly so. What the Potter heir had just gone through was as incredible as it was gut-wrenching. Many times during his fight with the Acromantulas, or his bout of mortal combat with the Bicorn did they feel like their hearts had stopped.
Would that be the end for the famous boy-who-lived, a question permanently etched into the forefront of their minds.
Fleur, who sat between her parents with Gabby on her lap, had cycled between being red in anger at either the organizer of the tournament, or Harry's reckless decisions, and being as pale as a ghost whenever it looked like he had finally met his match.
"He is the one that took you to the ball, mon cherie?" the incredulous voice of her father sounded to her left.
"Oui." she said, and nodded her head, smiling slightly at the starstruck expression on her little sister's face. Harry was her hero, and what he just had done hadn't only been incredibly foolish, but it also cemented the belief of the little girl that he could do no wrong, and that he was the greatest, just behind her father.
"He's... a bit unhinged, isn't he?"
"Oui..." she answered, and nodded again.
On another platform, the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore smiled so brightly that the people in his vicinity feared to be blinded by it.
"Well, Albus, I see that you're happy with your student." said Stigr, and his eyes shone with amusement.
"Why yes, dear sir, I am. It was truly a remarkable show, wasn't t, Minerva?" he answered, and turned around to the deputy headmistress that was still chalk white.
"Mr. Potter, why- I never – I!"
Amelia Bones, who felt a bit squeamish herself, rested her hands on the Scot-woman's shoulders. "Don't worry, Minerva. I know exactly how you feel right now." she said.
"He does have remarkable luck though..."
"Luck? There vas no luck in thiz! Thiz vas pure skill, and instinct!" came the rough voice of Salvoski.
"I agree. By the way, where is Barty? I assumed he would sit with us."
Amelia looked around, but when she didn't find whatever she searched for, she turned to the headmaster. "Barty became sick, but I haven't seen his assistant Weatherby either."
"Weatherby?"
"Yes, flaming red hair, and freckles. A lot like Arthur, I believe." she said.
"Oh, you mean Arthur's son Percival. That's curious... I would have thought that he'd relish in the chance to talk with us."
Dumbledore frowned, and his happy mood vanished quickly. Something strange was afoot, he could feel it in his old bones, but he didn't know what it was and that made him edgy.
Harry, who looked like he was fast asleep, opened his emerald eyes, and jumped into an upright position. The shock of having been only inches away from certain death had finally worn off, and now he had to concentrate on finding the cup. It couldn't be far away now. He could feel it!
He resumed his walk through the maze, and two times he had to use the Galleon to decide which way he would go. It was silent, and creepy as he walked alongside the hedges, but in his opinion, creepy was way better than dangerous, lethal, or deadly.
He should really learn to keep his thoughts to himself...
The air was saturated with a disgusting stench, and it was the kind of stench he had last smelled three and a half years ago. Really? Another situation like that? The existence of one Harry Potter was really miserable sometimes, and the further he got into a new school year, the more miserable it became.
A mountain troll, as tall as it was ugly, stood in his way, and he just knew it with every fiber of his being that this would be last the obstacle he had to beat until the cup would be his. Fuck eternal glory, fuck the thousand Galleons... if he did it, he did it to get one over people like Viktor Krum, and Malfoy, who had done nothing but ridicule him since the whole thing started.
Given his first-hand experiences with the fugly creatures, his first look was aimed towards its club, and he did a double take when he saw it. What the-
…
Now, they had really outdone themselves. Someone, and he'd bet nearly all of his vault on Snape being that someone, had come up with the brilliant idea to secure the club to its hand with thick ropes. The bat had probably remembered how Ron, Hermione, and him had taken out their last troll. Miserable git!
Now, he could probably try the same thing as he did with the Bicorn, and transfigure water into ice, but somehow that felt cheap, and Harry Potter was many things, but definitely not cheap, or uncreative.
"Let's get this show on the road!"
That was it, the last obstacle, and by Merlin, he would make mincemeat out of the smelly thing!
"Reducto! Petrae Ictui! Pungo! Pungo! Aquapilatum! Reducto! Debiles Fulmen! Reducto! Impedimenta!"
Spell after spell crashed into the resistant hide of the troll, who just looked on dumbly at first, but was soon getting annoyed with it. Harry, though, didn't care about that, and with a blood-thirsty grin he threw magic around like candy. Various small pebbles were transfigured into large stones, and he banished them at the ugly creature, smashing them against every possible part of its body.
The troll was a disappointment, at least in comparison to the Bicorn, Harry thought. It couldn't withstand the onslaught, and with each rock that met its mark, it became weaker and weaker.
In the end, that was all it took, and after the troll had fallen to the ground, obviously dead, Harry walked on.
On towards his prize. The prize he knew had to be around the next corner!
AN: And there we go. I know, it's a rather evil cliff-hanger, but you have to let me have some fun :P
New spells used in this chapter were:
Rumpiis Ignem - Sets a sword ablaze
Glaciei - Turns water into ice