He's Not Dead Yet
Hey, guys, sorry for the wait. I've been on vacation in New England for the last two weeks of vacation so I couldn't do any writing for fanfiction. On the plus side, I did start hammering out ideas for my own novel series. I don't want to say too much, but I can tell you it will be a mystery series set in ancient Rome. Anyway, then I had to go back to college, then I got sick for about a week, and during all this I was suffering from writer's block again.
Just want to remind you that I will not be stopping this story, even if I have returned to college. It's going to be great this year because I'm in a special housing arrangement called "International House" where I am living with students from out of the country. I've also got a ton of awesome courses this semester (Greek Art and Archaeology, Roman History, Cultural Anthropology, and Sex and Culture). Wish me luck in the new year!
I don't own Harry Potter.
Extremely Well Not Played, There
It wasn't long after returning to Hogwarts that the second task drew close. In the weeks leading up to the big event, Harry and his friends caused a bit more trouble for Dumbledore, planned some new campaigns for Splunge Enterprise, and even hosted a few festivities to help the foreign visitors and the Hogwarts residents socialize. All in all, it was what one would typically expect to happen in a much longer and more well-thought-out story than the one you are currently reading.
Anyway, the day of the second task was almost there and Dumbledore had yet to find suitable hostages for Ronald and Draco. Hermione had made it plainly clear she would not, under any circumstances, be Ron's hostage and threatened dire repercussions if she was forced into the position; something similar was said by Draco's former associates in regards to being the young Slytherin's hostage.
So far it seemed like there was absolutely no one Draco or Ronald cared about enough to rescue; in fact, the only thing that really seemed to matter to the young Malfoy was his hair care products and all Ronald seemed interested in was food. Dumbledore gave a resigned sigh; at least the rules hadn't specified that the hostage had to be human, or animate in any kind of way.
Then there was the simple fact that the two boys had both procrastinated on figuring out what the task was going to be. Well, since every other school head was giving their champion help, Dumbledore figured he may as well help his students.
"How hard could it be?" Dumbledore thought aloud.
Fawkes looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Some days, the phoenix wondered why he still hung out with the old man.
With a smirk to himself at his cunning brilliance, Draco Malfoy finished signing the letter to his father about the egg and the problem it was presenting to him.
Dear Father,
After having gotten this golden egg from my fantastic display of magical prowess against the dragon, I have yet to discover what clue lies in it as every time I try to open it there is a horrendous screeching sound. MAKE THE PROBLEM GO AWAY!
Sincerely,
You beloved son
As soon as the owl reached Lucius, who was currently treating some sore spots on his body from overexposure to the Cruciatus, the man gave out a belabored sigh. The form of the letter was all too familiar, as Draco often concluded his letters with "MAKE THE PROBLEM GO AWAY!" or something to that effect. Lucius was not a stupid man (well, not in the sense of academia) and quickly deduced that the egg was likely a recording of mermaid voices. He wrote a reply to Draco, telling him that he should try to listen to the egg under the water.
Dumbledore stared back at the red-haired teenager in front of him with a growing pain behind his eyes. Ron did not, in any way, seem concerned about the next task and had no plan whatsoever. It was bad enough that he just didn't know what the task would be, but to not have made any effort at all...
"Mr. Weasley, you do realize that this task is very important?"
"Yep."
"That your performance in the task is a reflection on the quality of the school?"
"Uh-huh."
"Then why have you not made any attempts to prepare for it?"
"Because heroes like me can do anything just by winging it. Like when I beat the dragon in the first task, or when I defeated that basilisk in second year."
Dumbledore felt a powerful urge to bang his head against the desk. He took a deep breath and slowly counted backwards from ten in his head. He then plastered on his grandfatherly smile.
"Ronald, seeing as you are such a wonderful champion, I will allow you the use of the Prefects' Bath."
"Really? Gee, thanks, Professor."
"Yes, the password is 'pine fresh.' And, while you're there, you might want to bring your golden egg along with you. You know, make sure it's nice and clean."
"Uhh…okay."
"Best to submerge yourself under the water at the same time as the egg, too."
"Okay. Uh, Professor?"
"Yes, Ronald?"
"What does 'submerge' mean?"
Dumbledore didn't even try to resist as he collapsed, face-down, on his desk and began to sob. He could only hope that Draco Malfoy wouldn't be so hard to explain things to.
The halls of Hogwarts were dark and eerie as two boys snuck out of their dormitories, both headed towards the same place; each with a golden egg secured under one arm. Draco was the first to arrive, having received permission and the password from Dumbledore as well, and began to undress to take a bath in the luxurious Prefects' Bathroom. Smiling to himself, he relished the thought of when he would be able to use the facility as much as he wanted next year, certain in the knowledge that he would be made a prefect.
No sooner had Draco started setting up a bath when Ron entered.
"Oi, Malfoy, what are you doing here?!" Ron snarled. "Dumbledore gave me special permission to use this bathroom."
"Piss off, Weasel," Malfoy retorted. "I got permission, too, and I was here first!"
The two boys quickly got into an argument that escalated to a full-blown fight. As Ron lunged at Draco, he tripped over his bathrobe and instead collided with the blonde, sending them both toppling to the floor. It was at this moment that Moaning Myrtle emerged from the pipes to see what all the ruckus was about. As soon as she saw the compromising position the two boys were in, she darted back down the drain. By the following day, news of the alleged liaison between Ron and Draco would be all over the school.
After shaking themselves from their momentary, shocked stupor, Ron and Draco began to fight and accidentally ended up falling into the large tub, inadvertently knocking one of the golden eggs in as well.
"Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching, ponder this:
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,
An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour- the prospect's black,
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."
The two resurfaced, sputtering and spitting out water as they tried to catch their breath.
"Did you hear that, Weasel?"
"The song thing?"
"Yes, you moron!"
"Yeah, I heard it. Sounds like a load of gibberish to me."
Draco smacked Ron upside the head.
"It means that they've taken something from each of us. Something we'd both really miss."
Ron nodded blankly, not really understanding.
"As I, through tremendous cunning and guile, have discovered the voices in the egg are that of mermaids, it would be only natural to assume the task will take place in the Black Lake. All we have to do is find a way to breathe underwater."
"Yeah, you do that, Malfoy. As for me, I'm going to finish bathing and polishing my egg."
It was the day of the second task.
Everyone had settled into their seats as they awaited the arrival of the champions. Harry was yet again seated amongst his friends, this time in the front row. While Harry knew there would be nothing to see, as whoever planned this task was stupid enough not to realize that no one could actually see into the lake, he did want to be ready in case something should go wrong. After all, as the official owner of Hogwarts it was Harry's responsibility to see that no lasting damage was done to anyone.
Cedric, Krum, and Fleur were the first of the champions to arrive, with Malfoy hastily following after them. Ron was nowhere to be seen yet. Fleur glanced over in Harry's direction and gave a flirtatious look, flipping a strand of her silvery-blonde hair over her shoulder. Harry gave no sign that he had noticed, though Daphne was now furiously glaring daggers at the French champion. It wasn't so much that she was jealous, not at all, she was perfectly happy to let Harry decide who he wanted to be with; the problem Daphne had was that the part-veela couldn't seem to take a hint. That was the difference between water and fire creatures; fire-based creatures like veela were accustomed to getting their own way and not allowing anyone to tell them 'no,' whereas most water-based creatures like sea nymphs were willing to compromise, even though they had just as much power as veela.
After several minutes, Ron finally arrived, not at all concerned about the fact that he was late.
Bagman pointed his wand at his throat, said, "Sonorus!" and his voice boomed out across the dark water toward the stands.
"Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One...two...three!"
As the other three champions dove into the water, Draco Malfoy withdrew the large packet of gillyweed that his father had sent him and swallowed it. Thinking himself brilliant for 'his' idea, the blonde boy jumped into the water, only to realize that he had no idea how to swim. Despite the fact that he now had gills and could breathe underwater, Draco began to thrash about in the lake yelling, "Help! I can't swim! I'm drowning!"
Ron, on the other hand, hadn't bothered with any sort of magical substance or charm at all. It happened that Ronald had overheard a conversation between some Muggle-borns in Gryffindor about how Muggles breathe underwater and had decided to use something like that to show everyone how clever he was. And so, Ronald Weasley produced a snorkel and jumped into the lake. Now, snorkels are fine if you just want to look into water from the surface; they are certainly not suitable for going deep underwater.
The crowd watched the display of the two "chumpions" with undisguised amusement until, after a few minutes, Fleur shot up from the depths, coughing up water and screaming something in French. As she reached shore, she frantically tried to explain something to Madam Maxime. Shortly afterwards, Cedric emerged with Justine, the latter of whom looking none too pleased about having been kept hostage at the bottom of the lake. They were quickly followed by Viktor Krum an Iris Moon. As the scores were tallies up by the judges, Harry realized that something was wrong. The merpeople hadn't brought up Fleur's sister and the young woman in question was becoming more hysterical. Daphne, who was sitting right behind Harry in the stands, suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Harry," she said breathlessly, "remember how I told you that water-based creatures have a feud with fire-based ones?"
Harry met Daphne's eyes and the two came to a horrible realization. The merpeople weren't going to return the little girl.
Without thinking twice, Harry leapt from his seat and sprinted to the water's edge, Daphne following close behind him. Harry used his Metamorphmagus abilities to form a set of gills on his throat and Daphne allowed her sea nymph form to take control as they both dove into the water. The two swam down, down into the murky depths of the Black Lake. Harry led Daphne to where he remembered the merpeople's village was. As they approached the place where Gabrielle Delacour was still held prisoner, several mermen guards accosted them.
"You are not the champions," one said. "Leave at once."
"The contest is over," Daphne explained, her voice a rich lilting sound that echoed through the water. "Release the unclaimed hostage."
"The hostages for the two boys who did not even reach our village are being returned," explained the other guard. "Strange that they needed a box filled with hair-care products and another filled with chocolate frogs when the other champions had living hostages."
"And the girl?" Daphne continued. "Let her go."
"As a sea nymph, you of all people should know we don't take kindly to fire-beings," said the chief of the merpeople who had since joined the gathering. "This creature must remain to suffer the fate of all fire-beings who cross our path."
"She is an innocent!"
Daphne and the mer-chief seemed to lock gazes. Harry, having lost his patience, removed his wand and pointed it at the rope holding Gabrielle and shouted, "Relashio" causing a bubble to come out of his mouth and sending the sensation of Déjà vu through him. The guards began to advance on them, but Daphne floated at Harry's side.
"This is the master of the territory on which your lake sits," she snapped. "Harm him and there will be dire consequences."
The chief signaled the guards to stay back.
"Wait," she said to them before returning her gaze to Daphne. "Remember, child of water, veela are not to be trusted."
"Well, it's a good thing she has human blood in her, too," Daphne retorted.
The mer-chief then looked at Harry.
"Be good to this child of water," she said to him with a knowing smirk.
Harry and Daphne worked together to pull the little girl back to the surface. Harry had always thought it strange that such a small girl would be so heavy in the water; but then, he remembered that Gabrielle was essentially petrified, making her stone-like, plus he had read that those of veela heritage tend to have bad reactions with water.
Finally, they broke the surface and made for shore, unaware of the joyous shouts from the crowd. As they walked up the shore, Fleur raced over to them and pulled her sister into a hug, both talking rapidly in French. Fleur then looked back at Harry and Daphne; gone was the gold-digging flirt and the condescending veela; instead there was a young woman who was sincerely grateful that her sister had been returned safely.
"You saved 'er," she said. "I am deeply sorry for my behavior towards you both. Thank you, thank you both." Here she gave both Harry and Daphne a grateful hug, after which she escorted her sister over to Madam Pomfrey.
"Thanks, Daph," said Harry.
Daphne gave Harry a gentle kiss on the cheek.
"My pleasure," she replied. "Now, there's one thing left to do."
Both shared a look that revealed they were both thinking the same thing. Dumbledore was really in for it.
A young and very attractive blonde woman dressed in a crisp, white dress-suit that brought out the best aspects of her figure sat at her desk and tapped her fingers against her forehead, her eyes pinched closed in concentration as she tried to comprehend what the two men in front of her had just reported to her.
"All right," she said at last. "Let me get this straight. The six girls Lord Potter needs to marry are right there waiting for him, all willing to share him, and he is completely oblivious to all of it?"
"Yes, ma'am," said the taller of the two men. "It seems young Lord Potter is either too noble or just a bit too naïve to make romantic overtures to the young ladies."
"This is a nightmare," the woman said with a frustrated sigh.
"Can't you just soul-bond them or something, ma'am?" said the shorter of the two men.
The woman levelled a glare at him.
"What could possibly make you think that something as ridiculous as a soul-bond exists, Terry?"
"Nothing, it's just the only line I have in this whole fic."
She immediately picked up a paperweight and chucked it at his head.
"No breaking the fourth wall!"
"What do you want us to do, Shirley?" said the tall man.
"Never bring Terry in here again," said the woman.
"No, no, I mean about Lord Potter."
"Oh, that. Well, as I said, soul-bonds do not exist." That's when a devious smirk spread over her face. "But that's not to say there aren't other ways of helping to speed things up a bit."
"Now, Shirley, you know you're not allowed near the Tapestry of Fate again, not after what happened last time."
"One little mix up and I never live it down!" She threw her hands up into the air.
"Two words, Shirley: Fourth Crusade."
"It's not my fault. How was I supposed to know the Crusaders would ransack Constantinople?" Shirley gave a huff and sat back in her chair, her arms folded. "Besides, this is a totally different situation. I just need to twist things a tiny bit."
"As long as you're not interfering with free will or major events in history."
"Yes, yes, I get the picture. Now get out of my office."
Author's Note:
Sorry it's so short, but I was feeling rather rushed to get this done. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I'll try to update soon; at the very least it won't take as long as this update did. And now, here's an omake for XandricTheBeater who wanted the "Dirty Fork Skit."
Omake (set outside of the main story):
The Golden Trio was sitting down to dinner in the Great Hall one evening. It had been a typical day (probably sometime during sixth year as that was a largely pointless year) and they were enjoying themselves, chatting with some other students from Gryffindor (which was odd as the Trio rarely socialized with anyone other than each other). That's when Hermione picked up her fork and realized that it hadn't been washed properly.
"Oh dear, are there any extra forks available, mine's a bit dirty?" she said.
Suddenly, there was a 'pop' and a house-elf appeared.
"Begging your pardon, Miss," said the elf in its squeaky voice. "But what was yous saying about the fork?"
"Oh, no, I've just got a bit of a dirty fork. I was just asking for another one."
"Oh, Miss! Tizzy does apologize!"
"No need to apologize. It doesn't worry me."
"Oh, no, no! Tizzy does apologize, Miss! Tizzy will fetch head serving elf immediately!"
"Oh, there's no need to do that," Hermione insisted.
"Oh, no, no, Tizzy is sure the head serving elf will want to apologize to yous himself. Tizzy will fetch him at once."
With that the elf popped away.
"Well, you certainly get good service around here," said Harry.
Before Hermione could retort with some spiel about house-elf rights, Tizzy the elf popped back in with another elf. The new elf was taller than the average house-elf, with pointed ears and a serious expression.
"Excuse me, sirs and miss," said the head serving elf. The elf looked over at the fork beside Hermione's plate, his eyes widening, and turned sharply to Tizzy. "It is filthy! Tizzy, find the elf that washed this fork and see they is given clothes immediately!"
"Oh, no, please," Hermione said worriedly.
"No! Better still, we can't take any chances. See the whole washing-up staff is given clothes!"
"No, look, I don't want to make any trouble," said Hermione.
"Please, Miss, it is no trouble. It is quite right that yous should point these things out," the elf said brightly before rounding on Tizzy again. "Tizzy, tell the head elf what has happened immediately." Tizzy popped away.
"Look, no, please, I don't want to cause any fuss," said Hermione desperately.
"Please, it is no fuss. We's simply wanting to make sure nothing interferes with your complete enjoyment of the meal."
"Oh, I'm sure it won't, it was only a dirty fork."
"I knows," said the elf solemnly. "And I's sorry. Bitterly sorry. But I knows that no apology I can make can alter the fact that, in Hogwarts school, yous has been given a dirty…filthy…smelly piece of cutlery."
"It's not smelly."
"It is smelly! And obscene and disgusting! I hates it, I hates it!"
There was another 'pop' and a new elf appeared.
"That will do, Gilly," said the new elf. "You can go now."
The ranting elf disappeared with a furious 'pop.'
"Good evening Sirs and Miss, I is the head elf of Hogwarts. I has only just heard. May I?"
Hermione scooted over, allowing the elf to stand on the bench.
"I woulds like to apologize humbly, deeply, and sincerely about the fork."
"Oh, really, it's only a tiny bit of dirt," said Hermione. "You couldn't see it."
"Oh, yous is very kind, fine lady to be saying so, Miss. But I can sees it. To me, it's like a mountain, a vast bowl of puss."
"It's not as bad as that."
The elf then clutched his chest.
"Oh, it gets me here. I can'ts make any excuses to yous, there are no excuses. I has been meaning to spend more time in the kitchens recently, but I hasn't been too well. Things hasn't been going very well back there. Several of the cooking elves has been given clothes, and some of the older elveses that does washing up can hardly moves their poor, old fingers, and then there's Gilly's war wound. But they's good elvses, and they's kind elveses. And together we was beginning to get over this dark patch. There was light at the end of the tunnel." Here he picked up the fork. "When this -! When this happened!" The head elf collapsed in sobs on the table and Hermione exchanged an awkward glance with Harry and Ron.
"Can we get you some water?" said Harry.
"Is the end of the road," the elf continued to wail.
There was another 'pop' and one of the cook elves appeared. She took a look at the sobbing head elf and glared at the Trio.
"Yous bastards!" she shouted. "Yous vicious, heartless bastards! Look what yous done to hims! He's worked his fingers to the bone to make this place what it is, and you come in with your petty feeble quibblings and you grind him into the dirt. Oh, it makes me mad. Mad!" The elf slammed a meat-cleaver into the table and Gilly the elf reappeared.
"Easy, Mungo, easy" he said. "Mungo…ah, the war wound!"
"The wound! The wound!" Mungo cried.
"Is the end!" the head elf declared.
"Ah, they's destroyed him!"
"The end!" The head elf seized up the fork and stabbed himself in the stomach with it.
"He's dead! They's killed him!" Mungo shouted, grabbing the cleaver. "Revenge! Revenge!"
Gilly snapped to attention and grabbed Mungo.
"No, Mungo, never kill a student. Ah, the war wound!"
"The wound! The wound!" Mungo made to lunge for Hermione. "Revenge!" Luckily, Tizzy reappeared and tackled Mungo to the ground.
And now… the punchline
"It's a good thing you didn't say anything about that dirty knife, Hermione," said Ron.