For Want of an Ear

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: *headdesk* My apologies for the delay. I've had massive writer's block lately for mostly everything I tried to write (even an original fiction I'm currently attempting to finish), so, I'm really sorry I haven't gotten around to updating. On the plus side, the second task should be coming up soon enough. :)

Chapter 13 - Egg Issues

"Ask Hermione," Fred huffed under his breath, "right, like that's going to work." He rolled his eyes and, hefting his schoolbag containing the heavy egg higher on his shoulder, headed off toward the Great Hall for lunch.

Well, George had been decidedly unhelpful in his advice. He was the real champion, anyway; shouldn't he be trying to prevent Fred from failing miserably?

Oh, wait. They had agreed to this. Fred glowered and walked on. He hardly took notice to someone calling his name until a hand closed on his arm. Fred jumped and whirled around to meet Harry's somewhat exasperated, somewhat amused gaze.

"Potter, fancy seeing you here!"

Harry didn't fall for his wild grasp at nonchalance. "Listen, can I have a word?" He glanced over his shoulder down the corridor as if expecting a teacher to swoop down accusingly on him for addressing the Weasley twin. "It's about the task."

"Ah," said Fred. Immediately his mind was racing: how did Harry know he was charged with the second task in George's stead? George was going to kill him -

"I know George's too proud to admit he hasn't figured out the clue yet," Harry rushed on - Fred's shoulders slumped unconsciously -, "and I still need to repay you two for last time."

"Last time?" Fred repeated blankly.

"You dragged me out to play Quidditch," Harry reminded him with a faint grin. "And thanks to you I got my idea to fight the dragon. So I'll give you a clue."

"All right," said Fred. He wouldn't say no to a bit of help at the moment, he thought as a smirk twitched anew at his lips, and hey, he could always tell George that Hermione had informed him.

"Listen - remember when you fell in the lake earlier?"

"As much as it hurt my ego, yes."

"Well ... you should do it again," said Harry.

Fred cocked an eyebrow. "Fall in the lake? That's your mighty advice, Potter?"

"...Yeah, pretty much."

"Well, that's plenty helpful," Fred said sarcastically.

"You're welcome," said Harry. "And don't forget, you still owe me five sickles."

He left Fred standing there before he could retort, hurrying to rejoin Ron and Hermione who had just stepped out of the Great Hall. Fred watched the three of them join the crowd of students hastening upstairs to their classes for the afternoon.

Fred then reached inside his bag and stared at the curve of the golden egg there, his brow furrowed. Well, he was growing desperate ... If Potter was just pulling his leg now, he would bloody kill him, Boy Who Lived or not.

"George!"

Professor McGonagall glanced up with a disapproving frown to see Fred Weasley burst into her classroom, fifteen minutes late and tracking puddles of water across the stone floor. Ignoring the incredulous stares of every student in the room, Fred promptly dove into his typical seat next to his twin and began whispering excitedly to him.

"I've got it - finally figured it out -"

George at the moment seemed much more interested in the wine bottle he was transfiguring into a swan; currently it just had a slightly twisted neck and had sprouted a lot of white feathers.

"It's the lake," Fred went on eagerly, "I have to go in the lake, and find my most precious possession or something - but I only have an hour to do it or it'll be gone -"

"Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall said, sweeping over to their desk and frowning slightly at the puddle he was making on the floor. "As much as I hate to interrupt what is clearly an important conversation, I must ask why you saw fit to be fifteen minutes late to my class." Her nostrils flared slightly.

Fred grinned up at her. "Ah, sorry about that, Professor, it just so happens that I fell in the lake."

Some of the Slytherins on the other side of the room sniggered; a few Gryffindors joined in as well, realizing he was dead serious, until Professor McGonagall's glare silenced them. She drew herself up.

"Very well ... since you seem to have too much time to fool around, you will be writing me an essay on the finer points of object-to-animate transfiguration for tomorrow; and fifteen points from Gryffindor for..." she glanced down at the puddle again and sniffed, "lack of regard for school property." Then she turned and swept away.

"An essay because I was late," Fred muttered, irritably flipping through a large book in front of him. "Too much time, she says. She doesn't seem to realize I have a task to work out, you know."

"I thought you already figured it out," pointed out George, who was seated across from him and poring over "Fred's" essay. "Shut up, will you, I'm trying to remember this stuff."

"We did it yesterday," reminded Fred. George stiffened slightly but did not reply. "And anyway, I still need a way to stay underwater without dying a horrible death."

"Fred ... do me a favour and don't say that again," George mumbled, and in his distraction Fred missed that he had gone a little pale. Fred shrugged.

"Okay then, what d'you reckon we do?"

"Well," George stopped furiously scratching away at his parchment and tapped the quill against his chin. "There's got to be a way to get you to breathe underwater."

"Oh, hey, I could transfigure myself into some underwater creature," Fred said excitedly.

"...Right," said George dryly. "We don't cover self-animal transfiguration until seventh year, unless you plan on asking McGonagall, and she's not too keen on you right now."

"...Damn it."

"Er, there's got to be a charm for it or something," George pointed out. "Fred, go see if you can get some seventh year Charm texts - and Potions, too, come to think of it."

Fred nodded and moved off among the library shelves. George finished off the essay and read it over critically, hoping he hadn't overdone his slightly suspicious knowledge of the subject, but at the same time ensuring it seemed he had done a little research. He finally nodded to himself, wrote Fred's name at the top, and stuffed it in his twin's bag.

Fred returned, dumping an armful of textbooks on their table. "Here you are, master."

"Oh, no, I already did my dirty work," said George, leaning back with his hands behind his head. "This is your responsibility now."

Fred glared at him. George stared back innocently. After about a minute Fred blinked, losing the staring contest, and with a low oath he pulled the nearest book toward him - Charms - and flipped through the introduction. George smirked, watching him; he knew Fred loathed research - it was always George's job for a reason.

Five minutes later, Fred glanced up at his twin. "You know, brother of mine," he said thoughtfully, "I'm wondering if I could get extra marks for creativity."

George made an indecisive noise in his throat. "Depends what sort of fancy magic you're planning on using."

"Only our own brand of genius," Fred grinned. "What say you we whip up something we can market later - Fishy Fancies or something: breathe underwater and imitate the awesomely handsome Hogwarts champion Fred Weasley -"

"Now that's more like it," said George, grabbing the Potions book and flipping through it, as well. "But it'll be my name on it, you know - remember that."

"...Fine," Fred huffed, but resumed perusing the book for ideas.

Late in February, a familiar sign-up sheet appeared upon the Gryffindor notice board. Fred had noticed it first - when he went to put up a poster advertising their newest product line - and promptly tackled a sleepy-eyed Lee and George on their way to breakfast.

"Okay. Fred, this energetic in the morning? What're you on, mate?" Lee remarked incredulously as George ducked Fred nearly clipping him about the ear with the Vanishing Hats advert.

"Watch it," he muttered ruefully, "only got one, you know..."

Fred ignored him, grinning in a way that would send most sensible people running for cover while he looped an arm about their shoulders. "Apparition, anyone?"

"Appa-?" Lee began, at once abandoning his sleep-ridden daze. "Already? Wicked, man, sign me up -!"

The three of them ventured back to the notice board, where a small crowd had gathered; at the moment Kenneth Towler was adding his name to the growing list. A few fifth years hung about, wistful.

"Wish I could, but you have to be sixteen..."

Fred was closest and grabbed the quill next, scribbling his name followed by George's and Lee's. He glanced at last at his twin. "You did want to sign up, right?"

George rolled his eyes and shoved him into the wall.

As weeks passed, Harry's anxiety grew. Sure, he had solved the second task, but he still had next to no idea how he would survive being underwater for an hour...

On the plus side, the other Gryffindor boys - spurred on by their earlier discover with the egg - chipped in their assistance, and Harry's free hours were spent on evenings and weekends in the library, poring over old manuals of spells while Seamus, Dean, or Ron would offer the occasional suggestion. So far anything that had come remotely close to mentioning underwater breathing was unhelpful.

Harry had also noticed Fred and George Weasley in the library - an odd sight indeed - and Ron, growing desperate, had sneaked over to their table in an effort to see what they were researching. However, he was quickly shooed away by Fred, who threatened him with Budgerigar Bonbons - the newest in the Canary Cream line - in his dinner.

Hermione joined them on occasion, but she did not find anything of use, either. She seemed to be distracted as of late, though Harry was in no mindset to wonder about it, and he was unsurprised when one evening her usual place at their heavily laden table was occupied by Neville Longbottom.

"Hey, guys," he said, to which the others offered brief, "Hi, Neville"s before retreating behind their books again. Neville rummaged in his bag and pulled out a thick Herbology textbook, some parchment, and a quill.

"What are you all studying?" he wondered, peering upside down at whatever Ron was reading, a book that was very old and very worn and had very graphic pictures of people dying in various gory fashions. Ron looked pale.

"We're not studying, Neville, we're trying to help Harry with his task," put in Seamus, rubbing his eyes and squinting at his own book. "No, this one's no good either - it's if you want to raise Grindylows -"

Ron snorted, "Hagrid'd like it, then."

"Oh," said Neville, and his ears went pink, "I thought you had started a study group with Hermione ... that's why I came..."

"Sorry to disappoint you," said Harry miserably. "Maybe once I figure out how'm gonna survive underwater for an hour on the twenty-fourth."

"Fat chance," muttered Ron, "I'm not studying any more than I have to."

Neville nodded and quietly collected his things to leave - then as if struck by a thought, he hesitated. "I thought I read something once about a plant that helps you breathe underwater," he supplied in a sudden rush.

The others glanced up.

"Brilliant, what is it?" said Ron, since Harry seemed to be momentarily speechless.

Neville dug a book out of his bag labelled One Thousand Herbs and Fungi and flipped through it, brow furrowed. "It's ... here it is, Gillyweed."

"Gillyweed?" The Gryffindors looked wonderingly at one another.

"Bet Snape has some," Ron said quietly, and Neville went pale.

That Friday, during double Potions, they put their plan in effect. They were working on a tricky sort of potion designed to heal small cuts and burns; Snape had spent five minutes lecturing them on how the slightest mis-timed addition could cause it to react. Sweat formed along Harry's brow as he and Ron peered into the orange-coloured concoction; it was steadily thickening as it stewed and raising his head Harry squinted at the instructions written out on the board in Snape's spiky print.

"Right then," Ron gulped, a bit ashen in the light of the boiler. "You should probably grab some more shrivelfig, Harry, we'll need a cup of shredded leaves for the next step..."

Harry nodded and started across the room for the open potion stores; as he did he passed closely to Neville's cauldron, which he was sharing with Hermione today. Their gazes locked; Neville, very pale, was trembling as he picked up the Billywig stings that he was supposed to be adding next.

Harry went to the stores and quickly found the shrivelfig; he plucked a handful of leaves and started back toward Ron and his desk; as he did he noticed Neville quickly adding in the stings to his cauldron while Hermione was distractedly reading over the instructions she had copied down -

"No, Neville, you're supposed to stir it first -!"

Hermione's horrified gasp was cut off as the surface of the potion bubbled menacingly; Harry was right next to them now and could only look on as the bubbles lapped up over the edges of the cauldron, Hermione hastening to attempt to stir it, but it was too late: scorching liquid dribbled down the side of the cauldron, bubbles hissing and popping and sending off little spurts like sparks. Hermione gave a small whimper - some had hit her hand and she drew back, nursing it; Harry could see her skin had gone bright red. Harry ran forward as if to help them recuperate the potion and felt a spatter burn his cheek.

Professor Snape swooped down on them in an instant; with a lazy flick of his wand he vanished the ruined concoction. "Ten points from Gryffindor for sheer incompetence," he said coolly. "I told you, did I not, that perfect timing was necessary? Miss Granger, Mr Potter, the hospital wing."

Harry and Hermione hastened out of the room. His cheek was beginning to burn painfully; he could see the back of Hermione's knuckles had started peeling, like a blister.

"Oh, I thought I told him to let me put the ingredients in," she muttered ruefully as they started across the corridor. Harry caught hold of her arm, glanced both ways to ensure no one was looking, and pulled her off to the side hall where he knew Snape's personal stores lay.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped out. "We're supposed to -!"

"I need Gillyweed for the second task, Neville figured it out," Harry said stubbornly. "We've got maybe fifteen minutes of class left, Ron'll stall if we need him to."

Hermione was staring at him with a mixture of horror and admiration. "If you get caught, Harry -"

"I won't," he said determinedly. "Stay here and give me a warning if anyone's coming."

At her nod he hurried toward the door to the storage, opened it with a swift mutter of "Alohomora," and dove inside, leaving Hermione fidgeting as nervously as a bird in the open hallway.

Five minutes later the duo were hurrying up the stairs to the hospital wing, Harry clutching a small bulge in his robe pocket; despite the fact that his heart was pounding he felt that, for once in the Tournament, something had at last gone right.

Two days remained until the second task when at breakfast that Monday a familiar brown owl landed near Harry's plate. Eagerly he removed the proffered scroll from its leg, glad at last to hear from Sirius -

Ron and Hermione peered over his shoulder as he unfurled the small scroll and read out in an incredulous whisper the single line. "Send date of next Hogsmeade weekend by return owl...?"

Hermione's eyes had suddenly gone wide, but before Harry could ask what made realization dawn suddenly on her face, a red-haired figure approached and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Granger," Fred Weasley said brightly, "mind if we borrow your brain for a minute?"

"Oi," said Ron, glancing up at him with his eyes narrowed, "you'd better not expect her to help you two with the task -"

Fred waved him off. "We figured that out ages ago. Anyway, you coming?"

Hermione glanced one last time at the other two; Harry nodded, and she got up and followed Fred from the Great Hall. Her curiosity started to get the better of her when he led the way upstairs and down a side hall until they stood in front of the second floor girls' washroom. Hermione raised her eyebrows but Fred nonchalantly held the door open for her.

"Our laboratory," he said with a grin. With a last uncertain look at him, she stepped forward into the deserted washroom.

Glancing around, Hermione saw in the place she had concocted Polyjuice Potion in second year that there was a cauldron bubbling merrily; it seemed Myrtle had left several of the sink taps on and they were filling rapidly with water. George grinned at her from where he was crouched over the cauldron.

"Just finished it this morning! I think it's one of our more genius inventions, if I do say so myself."

"Finished what?" Hermione said warily, approaching to view the potion at a distance. Grinning, George showed her a small flask.

"Our underwater breathing serum. See, I'll stick it in a candy later, we're planning on marketing them as memorabilia after the second task."

"As our favourite critic, I thought you might like to see our brilliance in action," added Fred with a grin. "We're thinking a teaspoon of this'll be enough to last an hour underwater."

"You think?" Hermione repeated, looking around at George.

"Well, theoretically that's what it came down to," George nodded. "We still have to test it. Thus, the guinea pig."

Hermione got a very suspicious look on her face and stepped quickly away from Fred, who was standing beside her; both twins burst out laughing.

"No, not you, of course," Fred said, "I'm testing this one. You're just here in case something goes bizarrely wrong and George can't fix it."

"You seem rather confident for - ah - the risks," Hermione accused.

Fred shrugged. "What can I say, I'd trust him with my life."

Behind him, Hermione saw the sudden pained look that flashed across George's face; then he was smiling again.

"All right, Fred, it's nearly eight o'clock - you ready?"

Fred nodded and took the small vial from him, uncapping it. "Ready when you are."

George kept an eye on his watch. "Okay - three - two - one - go."

Fred threw back the potion, gagging a moment; it seemed very potent. Then without a moment's hesitation he moved to the sinks and plunged his head under the water. Hermione hastened to his side and saw to her immense surprise thin slits on either side of his neck - gills. She shook her head; well, whatever worked.

A few moments passed and Fred gave George a thumbs-up; it was working.

"Great, just keep it up for fifty nine more minutes," George encouraged at his shoulder. Fred's hand gesture changed into something slightly less kind, and George raised an eyebrow.

"Thanks, you too." He glanced at Hermione. "Now, to amuse ourselves for an hour."

Hermione shook her head at him, but as they withdrew she remembered what had occurred to her that morning; checking that they were far enough away from the currently submerged Fred, she lowered her voice.

"We have a date to meet our old friend."

"Lovely," said George, catching on immediately. "When?"

"Next Hogsmeade weekend."

George did the math. "That'll be March sixth ... but Harry and Ron are going, too, aren't they?"

Hermione nodded, troubled. "We'll have to catch him alone afterward, I guess - at least we'll know where he is."

George nodded, "And since he's of age we'll be able to start collecting the you-know-whats of you-know-who."

"Yes."

George leaned back against the counter. "Finally," he sighed. "It feels like we're actually doing something. And don't forget I'll be of age in another month and a half, so that'll speed things up a bit."

"Don't get cocky yet," Hermione warned. "There's still another task before we can start on that ... and decide what to do about the third..."

George nodded distractedly, watching Fred's head bob in the sink.

To be continued...

Meh, not my favorite chapter, but all the smaller sections had to happen somehow. Next chapter we'll see some action, I promise. :P

Please review!