The next day, Harry told us what he had been up to the previous night. Apparently, not only did there seem to be something odd going on between Moody and Snape, but he had also figured out the egg's clue. So far, all we knew was that something he valued would be taken from him, and that he had to….go underwater?
We pored over numerous books in the library for days, but none of us could figure out how Harry could survive in water for an hour.
It was finally the day of the second task. I sat on my own at the spectators' stands now facing the lake, jiggling my leg nervously. Hermione's bed had been empty when I woke up, and I hadn't seen either her or Ron at breakfast. The stands were packed full, and the other champions were beside the judges' table. But Harry was late.
To my relief, Harry appeared, sprinting to the judges' table. I frowned slightly as Bagman moved closer to him and whispered something, which Harry nodded to.
"Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle," Bagman announced, straightening. "They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One...two...three!"
The whistle echoed shrilly in the cold, still air, and the stands erupted with cheers and applause. Viktor Krum brandished his wand hastily around himself, then jumped into the lake. I caught a glance of a shark's head before he sank below the waves. Similarly, Cedric and Fleur moved their wands across their heads, then leapt in.
Harry, on the other hand, had stuffed something into his mouth and waded out into the lake. Waist-deep in the water, he stopped. I chewed on my lip in anxiety. The Slytherins were jeering now. What was going on?
Harry clutched at his throat, gagging. Without warning, he dived into the lake.
All was silent as we watched the surface of the lake. It had been an hour. None of them had returned. Suddenly, someone burst from the surface, holding onto another person. The stands erupted into cheers. It was Cedric, with Cho. A few minutes later, Viktor emerged with Hermione. Next, was Fleur. Except...she had returned with no one else. I grimaced at the numerous cuts on her skin and her torn robes. What had happened down there? Nearly twenty minutes later, Harry broke the surface of the water, dragging two people with him. Ron and Fleur's hostage, I assumed. I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Bagman's voice boomed loudly. The stands went quiet. "We have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows…"
"Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points."
There was applause from the stands.
"Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour." The Hufflepuff section in the crowd cheered loudly. "We therefore award him forty-seven points."
"Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage. We award him forty points." The Durmstrang boys roared in triumph. Nikolas caught my eye from their area of the stands, and winked. I stifled a smile, blushing lightly.
"Harry Potter used gillyweed to great effect," Bagman continued. "He returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Merchieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages," I felt my heart swell in pride, "and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own." Oh, of course. That idiot would never take a break from being the hero.
"Most of the judges," and here, Bagman gave Karkaroff a very nasty look, "feel that this shows moral fiber and merits full marks. However...Mr. Potter's score is forty-five points." I clapped my hands wildly along with the rest of the crowd, grinning widely.
Thank Merlin that was over.
One of the best things about the aftermath of the second task was Ron's enthusiastic retelling of what had happened in the lake. At first, he gave what seemed to be the truth. At least it tallied with Hermione's story—Dumbledore had put all the hostages into a bewitched sleep in Professor McGonagall's office, first assuring them that they would be quite safe, and would awake when they were back above the water. One week later, however, Ron was telling a thrilling tale of kidnap in which he struggled single-handedly against fifty heavily armed merpeople who had to beat him into submission before tying him up. It was actually rather amusing.
"But I had my wand hidden up my sleeve," he assured Padma Patil, who seemed to be a lot keener on Ron now that he was getting so much attention and was making a point of talking to him every time they passed in the corridors. "I could've taken those mer-idiots any time I wanted."
"What were you going to do, snore at them?" said Hermione waspishly. People had been teasing her so much about being the thing that Viktor Krum would most miss that she was in a rather tetchy mood. Ron's ears went red, and thereafter, he reverted to the bewitched sleep version of events.
As we entered March the weather became drier, but cruel winds skinned our hands and faces every time we went out onto the grounds. There were delays in the post because the owls kept being blown off course. The brown owl that Harry had sent to Sirius with the dates of the Hogsmeade weekend turned up at breakfast on Friday morning with half its feathers sticking up the wrong way. Harry had no sooner torn off Sirius's reply than it took flight, clearly afraid it was going to be sent outside again. Sirius's letter was almost as short as the previous one.
Be at stile at end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Dervish and Banges) at two o'clock on Saturday afternoon. Bring as much food as you can.
"He hasn't come back to Hogsmeade?" said Ron incredulously.
"Obviously," I rolled my eyes, just as Hermione chorused, "It looks like it, doesn't it?"
"I can't believe him," said Harry tensely, "if he's caught..."
"Made it so far, though, hasn't he?" said Ron. "And it's not like the place is swarming with dementors anymore." I exhaled deeply, shaking my head. Sometimes, Ron could be really insensitive.
The final lesson of that afternoon was double Potions. Wonderful.
Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in a huddle outside the classroom door with Pansy Parkinson's gang of Slytherin girls. I was glad to see Blaise wasn't with them. All of them were looking at something we couldn't see and sniggering heartily. I sighed inwardly. What was it this time? Pansy's pug-like face peered excitedly around Goyle's broad back as we approached.
"There they are, there they are!" she giggled, and the knot of Slytherins broke apart.
She had a magazine in her hands—Witch Weekly. The moving picture on the front showed a curly-haired witch who was smiling toothily and pointing at a large sponge cake with her wand.
"You might find something to interest you in there, Granger!" Pansy said loudly, and she threw the magazine at Hermione, who caught it, looking startled. At that moment, the dungeon door opened, and Snape beckoned them all inside.
We headed for a table at the back of the dungeon as usual. Once Snape had turned his back on them to write up the ingredients of today's potion on the blackboard, Hermione hastily rifled through the magazine under the desk. At last, in the center pages, Hermione found what they were looking for. We leaned in closer.
A color photograph of Harry headed a short piece entitled:
Harry Potter's Secret Heartache A boy like no other, perhaps—yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss.
Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has "never felt this way about any other girl." Come again?
However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys' interest.
"She's really ugly," says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, "but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it." Pretty, my arse. That stupid slag.
Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart on a worthier candidate.
"I told you!" Ron hissed at Hermione as she stared down at the article. "I told you not to annoy Rita Skeeter! She's made you out to be some sort of—of scarlet woman!"
"Holy Helga," I gagged. "That is one of the most ridiculous things I've ever read."
Hermione stopped looking astonished and snorted with laughter. "Scarlet woman?" she repeated, shaking with suppressed giggles as she looked around at Ron.
"It's what my mum calls them," Ron muttered, his ears going red.
"If that's the best Rita can do, she's losing her touch," said Hermione, still giggling, as she threw Witch Weekly onto the empty chair beside her. "What a pile of old rubbish."
She looked over at the Slytherins, gave them a sarcastic smile and a wave. Then we started unpacking the ingredients for our Wit-Sharpening Potion.
"There's something funny, though," said Hermione ten minutes later, holding her pestle suspended over a bowl of scarab beetles. "How could Rita Skeeter have known...?"
"Known what?" said Ron quickly.
"Have you been making Love Potions, then?" I questioned, appalled.
"Don't be stupid," Hermione snapped, starting to pound up her beetles again. "No, it's just...how did she know Viktor asked me to visit him over the summer?"
Hermione blushed scarlet as she said this and determinedly avoided Ron's eyes.
"What?" said Ron, dropping his pestle with a loud clunk.
"Ah," I smirked knowingly, turning back to my bowl of beetles.
"He asked me right after he'd pulled me out of the lake," Hermione muttered. "After he'd got rid of his shark's head. Madam Pomfrey gave us both blankets and then he sort of pulled me away from the judges so they wouldn't hear, and he said, if I wasn't doing anything over the summer, would I like to—"
"And what did you say?" said Ron, who had picked up his pestle and was grinding it on the desk, a good six inches from his bowl, because he was looking at Hermione. I turned away to hide a delighted grin at his obvious display of jealousy.
"And he did say he'd never felt the same way about anyone else," Hermione went on, blushing deeply, "but how could Rita Skeeter have heard him? She wasn't there...or was she? Maybe she has got an Invisibility Cloak; maybe she sneaked onto the grounds to watch the second task..."
"And what did you say?" Ron repeated, pounding his pestle down so hard that it dented the desk.
"Well, I was too busy seeing whether you and Harry were okay to—"
"Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger," said an icy voice right behind us, making us jump, "I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor."
Snape had glided over to our desk while we were talking. The whole class was now looking around at us. Oh, rats.
"Ah...reading magazines under the table as well?" Snape added, snatching up the copy of Witch Weekly. "A further ten points from Gryffindor...oh, but of course..." Snape's black eyes glittered as they fell on Rita Skeeter's article. "Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings..."
The dungeon rang with the Slytherins' laughter, and an unpleasant smile curled Snape's thin mouth. To my dread, he began to read the article aloud.
"'Harry Potter's Secret Heartache...dear, dear. Potter, what's ailing you now? 'A boy like no other, perhaps...'"
Harry's face was flushed. Snape was pausing at the end of every sentence to allow the Slytherins a hearty laugh. The article sounded ten times worse when read by Snape. Even Hermione was blushing scarlet now.
"'...Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart upon a worthier candidate.' How very touching," sneered Snape, rolling up the magazine to continued gales of laughter from the Slytherins. "Well, I think I had better separate the four of you, so you can keep your minds on your potions rather than on your tangled love lives. Weasley, you stay here. Miss Granger, over there, beside Miss Parkinson. Miss Selwyn, next to Mr. Malfoy. Potter—that table in front of my desk. Move. Now."
Sighing in annoyance, I threw my ingredients and satchel into my cauldron, and carried it over to Draco's table.
"I hate you," I grumbled, setting my things down with a thump. "You stupid Slytherins just enjoy making our lives miserable, don't you?"
"She's only written about Potter and the Mu—" he cut off hastily as I glared at him, "—Granger. So far. At least she hasn't written about you and your...Durmstrang lover." He almost spat out the word. My eyes widened, then narrowed. I stomped on his foot.
"Merlin!" Draco said through gritted teeth. "What was that for?"
"He's not 'my lover', you prat," I hissed back, cheeks flaming.
"Well, you're awfully defensive about it," he shot back, sneering.
"Why would you care, anyway?" I rolled my eyes.
"I don't," he muttered quietly, turning away. "Whatever." I frowned, having expected another jibe. But Draco didn't say anything for the rest of the lesson.
...
We left the castle at noon the next day for Hogsmeade. The food Sirius had told them to bring was in Harry's bag. We had snuck a dozen chicken legs, a loaf of bread, and a flask of pumpkin juice from the lunch table.
We went into Gladrags Wizardwear to buy a present for Dobby in return for his assistance with the second task—apparently, he had given Harry the gillyweed (genius!) just before the task, where we had fun selecting the most lurid socks we could find, including a pair patterned with flashing gold and silver stars, and another that screamed loudly when they became too smelly.
Then, at half past one, we made their way up the High Street, past Dervish and Banges, and out toward the edge of the village.
We met up with Sirius, and he told us about Barty Crouch and his son, who had been associated with death eaters. I felt a wave of sympathy rush over me as I noticed how skinny and undernourished he was, still wearing the raggedy clothes he had when he had escaped from Azkaban.
Not for the first time, a myriad of confusion and guilt stabbed through me. With just a word, I could tell my parents everything and betray my friends. Everything they had worked to hide would fall apart in a second. After all, wasn't blood thicker than water? I shook the thought away in horror. How could I? My friends had been nothing but accepting to me, despite my family's reputation for being one of the mostly-bigoted pureblood families. I couldn't betray their trust. I wasn't a Slytherin, no matter what anyone said.
LOOK WHO'S BACKKKKK after a year hahah :) i dont know how many of y'all are actually still following this, but i decided to add on a new chapter for fun cuz it's CHRISTMAS BREAK.
it's been a long year of adjusting to public school but it's cool. and i just really felt like writing. so here we are. enjoy!
catastropherika xo