Chapter 28: The Imposter
"You got thirty seven, a prime number it may be, but not the one you're looking for, I suspect," Septima Vector chided as she made herself comfortable on the two-seater couch in her office. Her best student stood ten feet away from her in front of three large blackboards, each of which were covered in dozens of complex equations.
Fortunately for Professor Vector, being one of the leading Arithmancy experts in Europe, it wasn't difficult for her to understand at all.
"Indeed," Harry quietly agreed with an annoyed frown. He took a quick glance at the middle board before frowning again and waving his hand dismissively at it; the action caused a blackboard eraser to zoom over towards the board and start to clean it of chalk, "do you have any suggestions?"
The way in which Harry Potter could so simply control and manipulate magic never ceased to amaze her. It was part of the reason why she decided to devote a large amount of her time in helping him when he asked her to. The other reason was because, despite how loath she was to admit it, he reminded her a lot of herself as a teenager.
Sure, she was nowhere near as annoying as Harry was when he wanted to be, nor as disrespectful, but they both shared a common drive and determination that was seldom seen in the youth these days.
Septima's teenage years, despite what many may believe, were ones full of loneliness and isolation. That didn't mean she was upset, or depressed by that, it was just a fact. Her passion for numbers and their application in magical theory made relating to others a difficult task, as very few people shared that passion with her, or had any interest what-so-ever in the field.
Her peers were more interested in partying, drinking and sex, for the most part. She was the weird one, apparently, for being more interested in her academic life than her social one. She was the weird one for wanting to do something with her life, and giving it her all to do so.
It may sound sad, but it really wasn't that bad. Septima would not have it any other way, to be honest. Sure, she longed for someone who she could share her passions with, someone she could relate to, but she was fine with the way things were at the moment, she was doing what she loved, and there was nothing wrong with that.
In fact, at the moment, things were better than fine. It is every true Professor's dream to be able to tutor a pupil and watch them escalate to greatness. Harry Potter was that pupil for her. At first, she may have been leery and uninterested in the work he was trying to do, to the point where she didn't even try to understand it – something that him kissing her during his third year may have promoted – but once she started to look at the work objectively, she really was amazed.
The pure complexity of the spell Harry was trying to create was absolutely astounding. A flame that could burn ten times hotter than the sun, but was completely harmless to the conjurer – when she first heard the description, she had, as much as it pained her to admit, laughed in his face.
In the end, the joke was on her, especially since Harry promised to show her his work on the spell so far if she promised to help him with it. It seemed it was just as hard for him to ask her for help as it was for her to admit that the spell was actually a possibility. In the end, as promised, Harry would come to her office once a week to work on his creation under her supervision, and she would help as best she could. Admittedly, spell creation wasn't her expertise – it rather being in ward creation and decomposition – but she was well-versed enough in the field to provide a second opinion should he need it.
Though she may not specialise in spell creation, she certainly had enough knowledge of that area of expertise to be of help to Harry. She wasn't one of Europe's best Arithmancers for nothing, after all.
"Work backwards," she advised him after her moment's silence, "the spell looks like it'll work as long as you discover an adequate control formula to make sure it doesn't blow up in your face," she informed him dryly, "instead of altering what you have already, which probably works, leave it as it is and use some trial and error to come up with a balanced control algorithm."
"I don't like using trial and error when I'm making my own spells," Harry frowned, but didn't outright reject the idea. This spell wasn't like the others he'd created, after all, "anyway, weren't you the one that taught us that trial and error is foolish in Arithmancy?" he frowned, "You were saying something about how only Arithmancers who didn't know what they were doing would do such a thing . . ."
Septima scoffed lightly at Harry, "Yes and no," she began, "while potentially dangerous, I find that with most of the warding spells I have invented, trial and error is quite helpful when trying to fill in those last annoying gaps that refuse to go away quietly. I would strongly advise using it to actually help complete the formula involved in creating the effect and power of the spell, but that isn't the issue here."
"True," Harry agreed before turning back to the board thoughtfully and resuming his work, "balancing out all of these equations with their control counterparts will take forever," he mumbled as he continued to chalk down more numbers and symbols, "should be worth it though . . ."
"That is one of the most complicated spells I have ever seen broken down into numbers," Septima conceded, "I guess you should be proud of that much. Are you going to submit that as your thesis and go for your mastery?"
"No," he immediately replied, surprising the Professor greatly, "I've already done my thesis reports for Transfiguration, Charms and Arithmancy. They should be adequate enough to get me my masteries in their respective fields – besides, there's no way I'm letting someone other than you see the Arithmancy behind the Amaterasu flame."
"Aww," Septima cooed at Harry teasingly, "should I feel privileged?"
"I don't care what you feel like," Harry informed her nonchalantly, "if it weren't for the fact that I was certain you couldn't perform this spell anyway, I wouldn't have showed you either."
Ah, there's the annoying piece of shit she'd come to . . . be annoyed with, "Are you at least going to show me your thesis then? I could go over it, if you like. It always helps to have a second opinion on one's work."
"Suck me off, and I may think about it," he didn't even look at her when he spoke, "in fact, just suck me off anyway, it might clear my head."
"You know, just because Wizarding Britain seems backwards, doesn't mean there aren't sexual harassment laws in place," Septima warned with narrowed eyes, "you're lucky I didn't do anything after that stunt you pulled in your third year."
"I already told you, it was Archades under Polyjuice, not me," he shook his head, glad that she couldn't see his amused grin, "would I ever do such a horrible thing?"
Turning to his Arithmancy professor, he was met with an incredulous gaze, "Do you honestly want me to answer that question?"
"I'd say yes, but I don't need an ego boost right now," he grinned before going back to work, as Septima let out an annoyed sigh, "you said something before about having seen an algorithm as complicated as this one, care to elaborate?"
"Care to share your thesis?" Septima countered, her arms crossed under her bosom as she looked at him pointedly.
"That's hardly a fair trade," Harry chided lightly, "you'll have to offer me more than that."
"You know, if you keep up with the sexual jokes, Miss Delacour might become jealous," she grinned at him as he rolled his eyes, "you two looked quite cute together at the Yule Ball, is there something I should know about?"
"She has a great ass," Harry informed his professor before turning to her with an amused grin, "in fact, I'm certain you noticed too, if memory serves."
Septima suddenly found the ceiling very interesting as she answered, "I don't know what you're talking about," she quickly changed the topic, "I'll owe you a favour, are you going to let me see your thesis?"
"Whatever, fine," he shrugged nonchalantly, "the spell you were speaking of?"
"It was actually a spell I used for my thesis," she informed the surprised teen, "there are other equally, if not more-so complex spells I've seen, but they're usually algorithms combining multiple spells, not just one, like ours'."
"Oh?" Harry asked curiously, "care to elaborate?"
"It's a ward," the Arithmancy informed him, as if he hadn't known already, "an offensive ward, actually. Prove to me that you deserve it by completing this spell, and I'll teach it to you someday."
Harry turned to her with no hidden amount of surprise. To share something so personal with him was no small feat, after all. Harry locked eyes with her for a few moments before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a matchbox sized piece of parchment and tossing it to the equally surprised Professor.
"I was going to let you see it anyway," he told the still shocked professor, "to have my mastery approved of, it has to be proven that I've made a significant contribution to the field in question. Being a ward specialist, I suppose you'd be able to adequately surmise if that particular ward has done just that."
"People hardly ever get Masteries these days in Arithmancy by creating warding spells," Septima informed the prodigious teen, "are you sure you haven't bitten off more than you can chew?"
"You tell me," Harry turned to her with a raised brow, "how many people submit Parselmagic wards for their thesis?"
Septima balked at the admission, "P-parsel?" she stuttered, "as in snake magic?"
"No, as in a package wrapped in brown paper," he rolled his eyes in annoyance, "of course snake magic."
Taking a few moments to compose herself, she said "You don't ever do things in halves, do you?" she let out a weak chuckle, "As impressive as that may be, how do you expect it to grant you your mastery? No one but a Parselmouth will be able to understand anything written in the snake language, that, and no one but a Parselmouth will even be able to use anything you submit. Remember, you have to contribute to the field, I don't think they'll see your input as a contribution if they can't even understand it."
"Anything I've written in Parseltongue in my thesis has been translated into English," Harry informed her as he continued to work on his spell, "not that's its necessary, I intend for my thesis to be a contribution to the field of Arithmancy by helping other Parselmouths further improve on, or begin to learn to harness their powers."
"Wait," Septima tried to comprehend what he was saying, "are you saying that your thesis is a . . ."
"A comprehensive guide on Ward construction using Parsel magic?" he turned to her with a grin, "yeah pretty much. Parsel wards are some of the most powerful wards in existence, well, along withBlood wards anyway. I don't see how helping the training of a whole generation of Parselmouths can't be considered a major contribution."
Septima flicked through the first few introductory pages of the large thesis eagerly as Harry continued to chalk down numerous equations on the blackboards, before rubbing them out and rewriting something else. A half an hour passed in almost silence, only the sound of chalk scraping against the blackboard and pages turning being heard in the room, before Septima spoke again.
"Truly amazing," she breathed out, catching Harry's attention, "I have to admit, I'm somewhat jealous of you now. A lot of these wards can be created using other means, yes, but only another Parselmouth could possibly identify any existing wards, let alone disassemble them . . . that, or someone overloading them with more magic than they could handle."
"That solely depends on the power of the caster of the wards," Harry informed his Arithmancy professor, "of course, not everything I've learned in regards to Parsel wards is in that thesis, merely the basics that can be built upon by another Parselmouth. Besides, if you think what's in there is amazing, you'd probably cream yourself if I showed you my research on what would happen if I anchored any Parsel ward on an actual serpent. I haven't tried it yet, but I am fairly certain that the results will be nothing short of spectacular."
"Anchoring wards on a sentient being?" Septima asked incredulously. No matter how much she wanted to hex him for being so vulgar when describing her possible reaction to the possibilities, she couldn't help but – albeit reluctantly – somewhat agree with him. Wards anchored to a powerful magical serpent, if it were possible, would not only be immensely powerful, but they'd never need recharging!
The room lapsed into an almost silence once again as Septima continued to read through Harry's thesis. The more she read, the more her respect grew for the, normally, smart-mouthed teen. Sure, she always knew he was a brilliant student, his OWL results said as much, but the positives effects this thesis could have on the world, and other Parselmouths in general, was just mind-boggling.
"As amazing as this thesis is," Septima spoke up, she was just over half-way done with skimming through the report, "what point are you trying to make? You need to successfully make a point as well, for it to be a valid thesis."
"The point is simple," Harry paused from his mathematical workings and turned to the Professor, "there is no logical reason to alienate or be suspicious of Parselmouths. Especially considering the significant benefits they can provide society should their abilities be nurtured and respected. If you'd just shut up and finish reading the thesis, you'd see that I prove that using accepted Arithmancy theory."
"Surely it can't be that bad," Septima tried to reason, ignoring his request to continue reading, "I understand Britain's archaic views on such magic, mainly because of Salazar Slytherin's dealings in the past," Harry smirked at the mention of the annoying founder's name, "but surely the rest of the world wouldn't turn their backs on such potentially powerful wizards and witches."
"You'd be surprised," Harry mumbled under his breath, though Septima heard him clearly, "People fear the unknown, and Parselmagic is practically a completely unknown field of magic. Tell me, when I refer to Parselmagic, what do you think I'm speaking about?"
"Well, obviously warding magic and similar such charms," she motioned to his thesis, "Other than that? I'm not sure, battle magic perhaps?" she used the term 'battle magic' instead of 'dark magic' just in case she offended the only Parselmouth in the room.
"Wrong," Harry flipped one of the blackboards around, which was relatively blank, before starting to draw a familiar symbol. A staff with a snake coiled around it, "where have you seen such symbols, and what do they usually refer to?"
"Healing," Septima mumbled under her breath, "are you saying . . ."
"Sure, I can find some 'offensive' or 'dark' uses for Parselmagic, but that doesn't mean it's offensive or dark in nature. All Parsel magic revolves around warding and healing. If people knew this, I very much doubt Parselmouths would continue to be seen in such a negative light," he shrugged, "but then again, people are stupid."
"You can do Parsel healing magic?" Septima asked with surprise, "Poppy would love to pick your brain, you know."
"As high a priority as it is to go play twenty questions with the school's resident nurse, it's a shame I just can't," he replied dryly, "I haven't invested much time in studying the healing aspect of Parselmagic, the warding aspect alone is taking up enough of my time."
Septima sighed and rubbed her temples in a clockwise fashion, "You know, when you first asked me to help you with your private projects, I thought it'd be an interesting opportunity to finally try and crack the puzzle that is 'Harry Potter'. Instead, all I get are persistent headaches and constant surprises."
"I gave you that before I asked you to help me," Harry informed the professor with a frown, "what could possibly be different now to make you bitch about it?"
Septima didn't answer immediately, instead, choosing to let out a long, drawn-out sigh before speaking, "It's not your fault," she rubbed her eyes tiredly, "I'm just getting frustrated lately, I guess. What, withthis ridiculous tournament causing a whole plethora of problems for me, and let's not even mention Professor Moody's non-stop complaining . . ."
"Oh?" the professor had just hit on an issue that had been sufficiently bugging him lately without knowing, "do tell."
"Oh, that insufferable, overly-paranoid man!" she threw her hands up in annoyance, "if he's not complaining about his 'failure' of an apprentice continuously trying to contact him, he's bitching about you, believe it or not," she eyed him with amusement, "given old Mad-Eye Moody a reason to dislike you lately then, Potter?"
"Nothing more than usual," Harry answered absentmindedly, looking out of the large window in Professor Vector's office with a speculative gaze, "Septima," he said, snapping out of his daze, "I'm going to have to call out little study session here short tonight, places to go, people to see, you understand?"
"What?" Professor Vector asked, surprised, "we've barely had time to work on your 'little project'," she replied with surprise in her voice.
"Sorry to ruin your evening plans like this," Harry said dryly, "but I've got to go," with a wave of his hand, the blackboards were scrubbed clean by floating erasers as Harry made his leave.
The second the door slammed shut behind Harry, Septima let out a tired sigh before looking down at the thesis before her. Realising she really had nothing better to do with her time, she leaned back in her chair and started to read.
"How goesss your assignment at Hogwartsss, my loyal sservent?" a raspy, high-pitched voice said to the kneeling figure before him.
"My Lord," the kneeling figure started eagerly, looking up to the weakened form of his master, "The muggle loving fool does not suspect me, and I have been appointed as Longbottom's advisor for the tournament. Everything is moving smoothly."
There was a tense silence as Lord Voldemort peered into the eyes of his faithful servant, cursing this pathetic body he was forced to conjure for himself to obtain a semi-corporeal form. He could see the lack of fear in the eyes of Barty Crouch Jr. There was loyalty, oh yes, a fierce amount of loyalty, but no fear. That was unacceptable.
Fear was a tool he wielded before his temporary downfall expertly to keep his Death Eaters in line. It was useful, terrifying, and a great weapon to use against his foes. He could see it, being a master Legilimens, that Barty Crouch Jr., though immensely loyal, didn't fear him in this state. That was unacceptable, but unfortunately, something he would have to deal with at a later date, when he had his power returned to him.
"I hear thingsss, Barty," Lord Voldemort hissed at the kneeling figure, "How do you intend on getting Longbottom to fall for our trap if he isss not winning the tournament?" his beady eyes narrowed at the figure who, much to his delight, flinched under his gaze, "I will be mosst displeased if, by the end of the Tournament, I am not in possession of Longbottom . . ."
"I k-know this, my Lord," Barty murmured, refusing to meet his lord's eyes as he spoke to him, "It is why I've come to meet with you sooner than expected. I am in need of some assistance to assure Longbottom's victory in the next task . . ."
"Crucio!" a voice roared from behind him, as the beam of red light struck him in the back and caused him to drop to the floor and convulse in agony. Barty knew that it was not his lord who cast the spell, for if it were, there was no way he'd be able to resist the urge to scream in agony, but it hurt, nonetheless.
"Enough, Wormtail," Voldemort ordered his servant sternly, causing the rat Animagus to drop the spell instantly and retake his position by the door of the old, dilapidated room they were in dutifully. Voldemort hated having to rely on the useless rat to do his bidding, but it couldn't be helped in his current state. If nothing else, Wormtail was loyal only to him, even if it was only through fear, and that was useful, "explain, Barty, and if I don't like what I hear . . . I won't be amused . . ."
"O-of course, my Lord," Barty stammered as he retook his kneeling position, his tongue quickly flicked out before speaking, "the next task, it involves besting a Chimera. Longbottom stands no chance without outside assistance, but the Ministry and the old Muggle-loving fool are not taking any risks when it comes to protecting the integrity of the tournament, and the champions . . ."
Lord Voldemort remained silent for a few moments before speaking, "Did the old fool not share with you the nature of these 'protections'?" he asked his servant softly, yet coldly.
"Y-yes, he did, my Lord," Barty stammered a reply, "but I fear it to be a trap. Also, I do not know who else he has entrusted this information to, so if I were to act on it and breach the protections, Dumbledore would know for sure that I am an imposter . . ."
"You sssaid he did not sussspect you," Voldemort hissed in an angry tone, "did you lie to me?" Voldemort knew very well he didn't, but the question seemed to strike a large amount of fear into his servant; something he was more than willing to encourage.
"N-no, of course not my Lord!" Barty replied hastily, "But someone who is able to stand against your might for so long must not be underestimated, surely if I were to act suspicious, it wouldn't take long for one such as that meddlesome old fool to realise something is amiss!" Barty's eyes widened frantically for a moment before bowing his head once again, "My apologies for any disrespect that I just showed you, my Lord."
Voldemort knew this, but he was glad to see his servants were not as stupid to not realise this either. It was then that he was forced to remember that, unlike Wormtail, not all of his servants were incompetent fools.
"You want assistance with the Chimera, then, my servant?" Lord Voldemort asked his servant curiously, "do you seek my superior knowledge and aid to defeat the mighty creature."
"Y-yes, my Lord," Barty Crouch Jr. answered demurely, "this is the last time I will be asking for your assistance for this mission, I swear to you!"
'It had better be',Voldemort thought with disdain as he eyed his grovelling servant through narrowed eyes, "You are lucky I am in a generousss mood," Lord Voldemort hissed dangerously, "should you fail with my help, there will be no sssalvation for you, my servant . . ."
"Of course, my lord!" his tongue flicked out once again, "anything! You are most generous!"
"We shall sssee . . ." Voldemort hissed out to the decrepit room, "My dear Nagini, you have my permission to eat this fool should he return with unfavourable news the next time we see him."
"Thank you Master, I do. Taste good, he will," his familiar hissed, as Voldemort cringed at her poor grammar. The effect hearing the snake language had on his servants was always an amusing one though, it was just fortunate that they couldn't understand what she was saying.
"What's wrong with you?" Stephanie asked Fleur curiously. She and Archie had just come back from a walk around the lake when they spotted Fleur gazing into the fire in the Ravenclaw common room miserably for no apparent reason.
"Other than ze fact zat I'm going to die in ze next task of ze tournament, and I don't know why?" Fleur asked her friend sarcastically, "Not much, really."
"Didn't you say something about having solved the puzzle?" Stephanie asked her friend with confusion, "You said you had it solved, like, the other day."
"I did," Fleur insisted miserably, "but it only gave me anozzer riddle, stupid fucking tournament!" she finished, cursing in her native tongue.
"And what riddle is that?" Archie asked curiously. He had been bugging Harry and Cedric for information on the second task for weeks, none of which ever felt generous enough to spill any details whatsoever.
Fleur threw the sheet of parchment with the code written on it to Archie, who caught the scrunched up piece of paper easily. Working around his girlfriend, who was once again sitting on his lap, he flattened out the scrunched up piece of paper to see what was written inside. To his surprise, underneath the gibberish code written on the piece of paper, there was a much more legible one.
"It is a combination of three creatures," Archie deadpanned, looking at Fleur, "could they be more vague?"
"Zat is my problem!" she sighed in frustration, "I can think of lots of creatures of ze top of my head zat fit ze description . . ."
"Could be a Manticore," Archie offered helpfully, "Head and body of a lion, wings of a dragon and a scorpion's tail – they're so cool!"
"And deadly," Stephanie deadpanned, "what about a Runespoor? They didn't exactly say it had to be three different creatures . . . a Runespoor is basically three snakes combined into one big three headed snake . . ."
"Yeah, but that isn't as cool," Archie logically reminded her, causing his girlfriend to roll her eyes in annoyance, "There's a Chimera, which are pretty cool as well . . . not as dangerous as a Manticore though . . ."
"Is that the one with three heads, a lion, a goat and a dragon?" Stephanie mused, as Archie nodded enthusiastically.
"Yeah, they're kind of like Manticore like that, with the dragon and lion parts and all, but these guys have hind legs of a goat, and a tail of a dragon, instead of wings. They also breathe scary hot fire, from memory, from the dragon head only though . . ." Archie lectured his girlfriend as Fleur sat, seemingly forgotten, glaring at the two in frustration. If they were supposed to be reassuring her, they were doing a shitty job!
"How do you know all this?" Stephanie asked with a grin, "I didn't think you were so interested in magical creatures."
"Hey, I need to know about the creatures I'll be fighting heroically one day for potions ingredients, don't I?" Archie said with a cheesy grin, "Oh, I just remembered, there's a Nue as well . . . they're kind of weird and funny looking though."
"I know about those!" Stephanie interrupted her boyfriend's explanation, "Head of a monkey, body of a graceful tiger and a huge anaconda for a tail. I thought they were extinct though . . ."
"Supposedly, they were artificially created by wizards," Archie reminded her, "though, if that were true, they'd just make more. No, the country that they're native to probably has a tight control on them or something. I think they were causing a lot of trouble in the Vietnamese jungles during some muggle war, and the local magical government were forced to reign them in."
"Hmm, that sounds about right, hey, speaking of Vietnam, what about Qilin?" Stephanie asked curiously, "they're made up of three creatures too, I think, and they're from around there."
"They're from China, I think," Archie corrected, "they're kind of small though, dog size small I'm pretty sure . . ."
"Yeah, but there could be more than one, just like the first task," Stephanie reminded Archie, reminding them of the Gorpack, "they'd be pretty deadly in groups, and they can survive underwater, I think; they're part fish, from memory.
"Yeah, Dragon heads, fish-scale bodies and ox hooves, hey, wouldn't it be cool to have one? Raise it like a dog or something . . ."
"No," Stephanie told him firmly in a 'no nonsense' tone.
"Oh, but come on, wouldn't it be cool if . . ." Archie tried to reason.
"Absolutely not," Stephanie cut him off once again, "stop being stupid."
"Oh, come on," Archie whined, "How come Harry gets to have his own little attack-pet and we don't?"
"Stop referring to my sister as zat buffoon's pet!" Fleur snapped, but she was mostly ignored. She didn't mind Harry manipulating her sister to be his personal little attack-Veela . . . thing, but to call her his pet was a bit too degrading.
"Oh, so the Qilin would be our pet now, would it?" Stephanie asked with a smile, as Archie flushed in embarrassment, "is this our first 'argument'."
"No," Archie sighed, "I just thought it'd be cool if we could train one to kick Harry in the balls, see how he likes it for a change," he tried to coax Stephanie, "come on, you can't honestly say he doesn't deserve a good kick in the testes . . ."
Fleur was shocked to see Stephanie actually considering the proposal for a very brief moment, "Still no," Stephanie finally said, "and that's only because Harry will get Gabby to kick you just for thinking about it, and I, well, that won't be good . . ."
Both of their faces flushed as Stephanie showed her newfound protectiveness of Archie's genitals, as Fleur rolled her eyes in annoyance. These two were so stupid that it wasn't even funny anymore.
"Hey, there's those Indian creatures too," Archie broke the awkward silence, "Feline head, elephant tusks and a feathery, bird-like tail?"
"Oh yeah, Yeeley, Yarlu, Yali, yeah that's it, Yali," Stephanie mused, "They're funny looking creatures from memory . . . not too dangerous . . . "
"Will you two shut-up!" Fleur snapped once again, fed up with being ignored, "now that you 'ave sufficiently proved 'ow useless you both are, can you stop talking about ze dangerous creatures that could all maim and kill me in ze next task?"
"Merlin, there's no need to snap at us," Archie said with an affronted tone.
"Just ignore it Archie," Stephanie said as she made herself comfortable in her new favourite seat, "she's just frustrated because Harry won't respond to any of her advances," she said in an overly sweet voice.
"You are comfortable to poke fun at my love life now zat yours isn't so pathetic, yes?" Fleur snapped at her friend, crossing her arms and glaring at her friend angrily.
"What happened with you two at the ball?" Archie quickly changed the topic and asked the blonde part-Veela, "Apparently you two danced together all night, that's more than anyone else could boast . . ."
"I 'ave not spoken to 'im since ze ball," Fleur said dejectedly as she slumped further into her chair, "Did I do somezing wrong?"
"Holy shit," Stephanie breathed out in realisation, "you really like him, I mean, really, really like him . . ."
"I would not be putting forth such an effort if I did not," Fleur said miserably, "If I try any'arder, 'e will think me to be like one of zose scarlet women that lust after 'im so shamelessly."
"Well," Archie spoke up, "if it makes you feel any better, I haven't seen much of him since the ball either," he shrugged, "actually, I don't see much of him at all unless he needs me for something, or I need him."
"Zat doesn't bother you?" Fleur asked with a frown, "Friends, especially ones as close as you two, should be spending more recreational time together . . . at ze very least, share some non-school related 'obbies so zat they can relate somewhat."
Archie shrugged nonchalantly, "Harry's a busy guy, and so am I, usually," he squeezed Stephanie a little tighter in a reassuring gesture, "you have to remember though, where I'm just going for my Potion mastery after I graduate, Harry's going for Transfiguration, Charms and Arithmancy . . . it keeps him busy, you know."
"He's what?" Fleur and Stephanie chorused incredulously, as Archie shrugged again.
"You expected something less?" Archie asked with amusement, "what do you think he does during all that time he's 'mysteriously' disappeared? Shave his ass?"
"He shaves his ass?" Stephanie asked as she tried to hold in a laugh.
"Yes? No? How the hell should I know?" Archie looked at his girlfriend with a troubling frown, "It was just an expression, I don't look at Harry's ass . . . stop looking at me like that Fleur, I don't!"
"Anyway," Fleur smirked off that awkward moment, "I just thought 'e was working out in 'is spare time . . . you don't get a body like zat with just, 'ow did you say it? 'Shaving 'is ass'?"
"Notice that, did you?" Stephanie asked with amusement, "you two joke about it all the time, but have you actually seen him naked?"
"Of course not!" Fleur snapped, " 'Arry just likes to annoy Madame Maxime, or so 'e says . . ."
"Yeah, I believe that," Archie grinned, "So why don't you just grow a pair and tell him what you think about him? You did have a good time with him at the ball, right?"
"Of course she did," Stephanie answered for her friend, "you should have seen her the next day, she had this ridiculous smile on her face that just wouldn't go away," Stephanie leaned in a whispered loudly to Archie "Madame Maxime thought she was high, but don't tell anyone I said . . . oomph, bitch!"
Fleur, who had thrown a pillow at her friend's head, just grinned mischievously at her, "Maybe you should keep your mouth shut?"
"No way," Stephanie grinned right back, "after all the shit you gave me about Archie before we got together, you deserve everything you get."
"And what is she getting, exactly?" Harry's voice spoke up from behind them, causing the three chatting teens to let out simultaneous, high-pitched exclamations of surprise, "okay, that wasn't weird or anything . . ."
"What the hell Harry?" Archie said first, recovering from his shock, "can you stop sneaking up on people like that, for fuck's sake!"
Harry looked around the noisy common room before turning to Archie with a raised brow, "Right, whatever, I need to speak to you."
"Speak," Archie countered, motioning to an empty chair beside them, "You're not interrupting anything."
Harry rolled his eyes in annoyance, "In private, you moron."
"Hey now, that's not very . . . oh fine, just stop glaring at me," Archie sighed in exasperation before giving Stephanie a peck on the lips as he slid her off of him and following Harry to a secluded corner of the common room.
"Since when are you avoiding Fleur?" Archie opened up the conversation, much to Harry's confusion.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry shook his head, "Never mind, I don't care. Have you noticed anything strange about Alastor this year?"
"Moody?" Archie asked curiously, his thoughts about Fleur leaving his mind at the mention of the ex-Auror, "Possibly, why? Is he giving you a hard time?"
"Not particularly. So, have you noticed anything, or not?" Harry asked his friend.
"Nothing much," Archie mused as he scratched his chin thoughtfully, "there was that time where you left the Defence class where he tore into your old man, calling him a coward, a poor duellist and what not," Harry's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of his father, "I guess you could call that strange, personally, I'd never heard him speak of your old man before, let alone insult him like that . . ."
"He called him a poor duellist, did he?" Harry mused quietly, a contemplative look on his face, "that's interesting . . ."
"This is one of those things where you realise something cool, but aren't going to tell me about, isn't it?" Archie asked with a grin.
"Pretty much," Harry returned the grin, "you notice anything else interesting? Think back to what you noticed about him whenever he'd drop by with Nymphadora at Moony Nights."
Archie frowned at Harry in confusion, "Why are you asking me? You're usually the observant one, that's what you bring to this relationship – I bring the looks, the smarts and the general coolness, and you bring the wand, and the observational skills . . ."
"First," Harry interrupted his friend, "don't refer to our friendship as a relationship, and secondly, you bring none of those things to our mutually beneficial partnership."
"Mutually beneficial partnership sounds like something the Ministry would use to formally describe gay relationships," Archie deadpanned. Harry grimaced at the thought, Archie was probably right.
"So, you got anything?" Harry quickly changed the topic, before things became even more awkward.
"Now that you mention it," Archie frowned, "I don't remember Moody drinking so much on the job, I mean, I knew he had a flask to drink from because he doesn't trust people to not slip him something, but I'd never actually seen him drink out of it until we started school . . ." Archie scratched his chin in thought, "didn't he mention something about Firewhisky being in that flask? With the amount of times he drinks from it, you'd expect him to be a little tipsy, at the least . . . and let's not mention how McGonagall would rip into him if she found out he was drinking on the job . . ."
"Is that right?" Harry looked to be lost in thought as he processed that information. Archie didn't even want to know what was going on in that crazy head of his.
"You and Stephanie seem to be attached to the hip again, as always," Harry suddenly mentioned, much to Archie's surprise, "either that, or she's already got you on a tight leash."
"Wouldn't have it any other way, mate," Archie grinned, "so are you going to tell me why you're avoiding Fleur, or are you just going to keep being a dick to her?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry asked with a frown, remembering that this wasn't the first time Archie had brought that up in this conversation, "Not that I care if I am, but how am I avoiding her?"
"You haven't spoken to her since the ball?" Archie suggested, "Not that it's my business, but I thought you, at least, had a good time at the Yule Ball, despite the fact that you try your damned hardest to not have a good time as often as possible."
"Yes, and you are the king of good times – how was your shack that night, by the way?" Harry countered dryly.
"Excellent, mate," Archie grinned, "I was with Stephanie all night with no interruption; Who needs to go to some stupid ball when you can spend a whole night like that with the girl you're crazy about?" he asked with a huge grin as Harry rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, sounds like fun," Harry said in a very uninterested manner, "and how does not speaking to Fleur since the ball construe as avoiding her? That was like three days ago . . ."
"It was two weeks ago, what the fuck is the matter with you?" Archie asked his friend incredulously.
"Really?" Harry asked, sounding genuinely surprised, "I guess I've been kind of busy, shit happens, what do you want me to say?"
"Well, say something to Fleur if you actually like her, she sounds miserable," Archie advised.
"What the hell for?" Harry asked incredulously. Archie resisted the urge to slam his head against the wall in annoyance.
"You know, for a smart person, you're the dumbest motherfucker I've ever met!" Archie said in exasperation, "by the way, do you know which creature the champions will be facing in the second task?"
"Fleur knows all she needs to know to figure that out herself," Harry said dryly, avoiding the question, "she doesn't need to send her best friend's lapdog to fish for answers."
"I'm not fishing for anything, I'm just asking in a very congenial manner completely out of self-interest," he tried to lie, lamely, in Harry's opinion.
"You know, for a dumb person, you're the dumbest motherfucker I've ever met," Harry reworded his friend's insult and sent it right back at him.
"That's not very nice," Archie said as he walked back over to Stephanie and plopped down on her lap, "hey sexy-legs, you miss me?"
Harry looked away as the couple shared a kiss to Fleur with a raised brow, "Did he just say what I think he said?"
Even Fleur had a limit when it came to fluffiness, "Zey 'ave been calling each ozzer zose ridiculous names all day," she rolled her eyes at their general behaviour, "I don't think zey realise 'ow stupid zey look, or sound."
"Probably not," Harry agreed, taking the seat beside Fleur as he propped his feet up on the coffee table nearby, "So I hear you haven't figured out what exactly you'll be facing in the next task," he said conversationally, ignoring the glare Fleur sent Archie's way, "but you know it's a combination of three creatures."
"So it would seem," Fleur answered curtly.
"You have all the information you need," Harry shrugged, "especially if you've come this far."
"What are you talking about?" Fleur snapped, gaining Stephanie and Archie's attention in the process, "I 'ave 'ad enough of zese stupid riddles, if you want to speak wiz me, do so in English."
"You know you needed a shift cipher to get that little message you have," Harry said, ignoring her attitude, "you didn't find it peculiar that each word had a different key?"
"It was probably to make it a little more difficult so smart asses like you could not gloat so easily about solving it," she said grumpily, "I don't see why else . . ." Fleur's eyes widened as realisation dawned on her, "Archie, give me ze sheet of paper I gave you . . ." she stopped mid sentence as Harry lazily started to trace the English alphabet with his wand after giving it a quick twirl. Much to the onlookers' amazement, his wand was writing on the air as if he were using a quill, except, each letter was written in a very thin flame.
"How the fuck . . ." Archie began to question, only for Harry to cut him off.
"If you don't know how I'm doing this, explaining anything more will just be pointless," he pointed out dryly, as he finished writing out all twenty-six letters of the alphabet for Fleur to see.
"Amazing, it is a combination of ze Incendio charm and ze Levitation charm," Fleur pointed out, earning an annoyed frown from Harry, "You are controlling ze weak flames you conjure wiz ze levitation charm, forming letters in ze process."
"I believe I did this for a purpose," Harry deadpanned, snapping Fleur into action. Using her code sheet as a reference, she aligned the number of each word's key in the shift cipher to a letter in the alphabet, writing each letter down as she discovered it.
"Oh shit," Fleur cursed in French, much to Harry's amusement, " 'Ow did I know it would be something like zis?"
"What is it?" Stephanie asked impatiently, "What did you find out?"
"Well," Fleur began, "A shift cipher is basically a coding technique where each letter of a word is shifted, or changed wiz another letter of ze alphabet based on a certain key number," she explained to the uninformed duo, "So, if ze first word was 'apple', and ze key was four, you would change each letter in ze word with ze ones four characters after ze originals. Zerefore, 'apple' would become 'e.t.t.p.i', do you understand?"
"Yeah, you already used that method to find out the message 'it is a combination of three creatures', didn't you?" Stephanie asked with a confused frown.
"Yes, I did," she answered, "but zere was something weird with ze message. Each word 'ad a different key, which is most unusual wiz a shift cipher."
"Oh, I get it," Archie suddenly realised, "the answer to the little riddle-message thing is obtained when you assign each key to a letter in the alphabet," he pointed out, "so, what does it spell already? Don't keep us in suspense!"
Harry sighed and with a flick of his wand, seven of the fiery letters floated together to create a familiar fiery word.
"Chimera," Archie and Stephanie breathed out in unison, "wow, sucks to be you Fleur," Archie said sympathetically, earning a punch to the gut from his girlfriend.
"What he means is," Stephanie sent a glare at Archie, "that you'll do spectacularly, so there's no need to worry."
"Right, whatever," Harry rolled his eyes, "now that my good deed for the day is done, I need to go and meet someone."
"Off to devise another 'cunning stratagem' for your champion then?" Archie asked with a grin, as Harry walked away.
"No," was his simple answer, as he left the common, leaving three subdued teen in his wake.
"Chimera, huh?" Archie chuckled, "better check in with Maxime and see if she can help you with anything."
"Yes, I suppose," Fleur agreed as she gazed into the fire with a blank expression.
"What's her problem?" Archie whispered to Stephanie, "Shouldn't she be a little relieved, at least?"
"Harry still didn't speak to her just now, just at her," Stephanie informed her clueless boyfriend, "I think she's a little upset."
"Wow, she really does like him," Archie observed his part-Veela friend with a sympathetic expression, "I don't see why though, but I'll see what I can do."
"Thanks," Stephanie gave him a tight squeeze, as he was still lazing on top of her, "it'll mean a lot to her."
"I don't think Harry's doing this intentionally though," Archie spoke up, "when we were speaking before, he was asking all these really weird questions, and he thought the Ball was only three days ago . . ."
"He actually lost track of what day it was?" Stephanie asked sceptically, "I didn't think that was actually possible."
"It's happened to me a few times," Archie said with a shrug, "I can get carried away sometimes when I get a new idea I want to test, it can be pretty exhilarating"
"What were you speaking about?" Stephanie suddenly asked him, interested in what Harry wanted to talk about in privacy.
"I'd tell you if Harry wouldn't hunt me down and kill me for blabbing again," Archie chuckled nervously, "He already gave me a huge grilling for telling Fleur about his mum."
"Ouch," Stephanie winced sympathetically, "where did the bad man hurt you, want me to kiss it better?" she cooed to him as if he were a baby.
"You have no idea how hard it is to resist the urge to point to my penis right now," Archie joked, yelping as Stephanie pinched him, hard.
"Have you got a plan for the next task yet?" 'Mad-eye' Moody asked the boy in his room in a gruff voice. Neville Longbottom looked up from his seated position with a defiant look.
"I'll think of something," Neville assured his advisor unconvincingly, "I thought of something last time."
"Don't be stupid," Moody said with a scowl, "you got by in the last task because of Dumbledore's wards, and a shit load of luck, it won't happen again. Especially considering what the next task entails!"
"I've got Hermione trying to find out as much about Chimeras as she can," Neville said dejectedly, "there isn't much in the Library that we can use, just some information on how they were created, and from what creatures . . ."
"You're not going to find what you need in a Library!" Moody barked, "Chimeras are an extremely rare and powerful dark creature, do you think Hogwarts would stock any information on them? Much less in a school library?"
"I had to try," Neville mumbled in an annoyed tone, "what else was I supposed to do?"
"Practice those spells I told you to practise!" Moody barked, "your opponents have two years on you in schooling, and even without that, they were all much better students than you are at this age, why, Dumbledore was telling me the other day that in his fourth year, Diggory could transfigure a whistle into a watch and have it sing the time to you!"
"He doesn't seem that great," Neville mumbled sourly, "if it weren't for Potter, I doubt he would have done so well in the first task . . ."
Moody ignored him though, "That French girl? She may look like a fairy princess, but she's as much of a princess as I am. You can be sure that she'll have a plan long before she steps foot in that arena to fight those beasts!" he barked at Neville, "Krum's head also may be full of sawdust, but Karkaroff's is not, you can be sure that they're already got some spells that'll work on Chimeras, and that Krum's already mastered them!"
"So what am I supposed to do?" Neville cried out angrily, "I've been trying to learn those spells you've given me, I've got two of them down already, what more do you want?!"
"Some effort you useless boy!" Moody hollered at the angry fourteen year old, causing him to shrink back into his chair, "You think this is some game? Do you think Dumbledore will be able to just jump in front of the Chimera and stop it from incinerating you with its fire breath?" he sneered at the Boy-who-lived, "You've survived thus far in life mainly because of Dumbledore's help and a lot of luck. While you and your little idiotic friends were proud of your victory in the first task, your opponents were laughing at you behind your back!"
"They weren't laughing . . ." Neville began to reason, but Moody cut him off instantly.
"And they were right to do so!" Moody roared, "You looked like a complete idiot, running around like a weak chicken with your head cut off! Throwing around blasting curses like it was a new craze? What were you thinking?!"
"I'm not weak!" Neville protested vehemently, but Moody completely ignored his childish rebuttal.
"What would you have done had one of your spell accidently killed one of the Gorpack?" Moody asked in a deadly calm voice, "do you think you could have held off two murderous Gorpack that were out for your blood, if they wanted you dead?"
"They were already out for my blood," Neville reminded his advisor, who seemed to be doing little advising right now.
"Are you a complete idiot?" Moody asked incredulously, "Those Gorpack were playing with you! They weren't serious! If they were, they would have killed you first, not captured you! Then they would have mounted your head on a pike and paraded it around the forest like a trophy! As I said, you have Dumbledore to thank for saving your worthless hide!"
Rightfully shamed, Neville clenched his fists angrily in his lap as his face flushed in embarrassment, "What do you want me to do?" he asked bitterly, "the other champions are miles ahead of me in skill, I have no way in keeping up with them, let alone catching up to them," Moody grinned as the boy swallowed his pride. It was obviously a huge thing to swallow, but he didn't need the boy killing himself because of his over-inflated ego, after all.
"Good," Moody said in a calm voice, his magical-eye was whizzing around in his skull as he spoke, "Now, there's something about Chimeras that many people tend to overlook, can you tell me what that is?"
Neville levelled a blank stare on Moody, the ex-Auror should have expected as such when asking the question.
"Of course you can't," he nodded his head distractedly, "What is the Chimera's unique characteristic?"
"Err, it has three heads?" Neville ventured a guess, though not entirely too far off.
"Three different heads," Moody corrected, "and each of these heads has its own personality. In essence, the dragon head acts like a dragon, the lion head like a lion, and the goat head like a goat, it has no 'single' identity," Moody lectured, "It is, in essence, three different creatures sharing the one body!"
"That must be confusing," Neville mumbled under his breath, "I may not have known that, but doesn't everyone else?"
"Some might," Moody nodded, "but not many would put much stock into it. The trick is to get the three heads fighting with each other, each of them wanting to do different things with the one body," he advised his champion, "you see, if all three heads of a Chimera are solely focused on you, then you're in trouble. The dragon can roast you, the lion can use its magically empowered roar to immobilize you and the goat can you its large horns to skewer you – truly, a deadly creature."
"So, all I have to do is make sure the three heads are more preoccupied with each enough to completely ignore me," Neville guessed with a large smile, "how are we going to do it?"
"Right, good lad," Moody nodded in approval, "but it's easier said than done. It only takes a second for the Chimera to do away with you with either one of its many offensive abilities, so if you're not quick, the 'Boy-who-lived' is going to be the 'Boy-who-got-his-ass-handed-to-him-by-a-Chimera', you get what I'm saying?"
Neville nodded mutely as Moody described the severity of the situation. What was he supposed to say? Cool? That's awesome? Unsurprisingly, words failed him.
"If a Chimera's heads are all focused on one goal, or one thing, then there is little that can stop it getting what it wants," Moody said in a deathly calm voice, "which is why we can't let that happen!"
"Yes sir," Neville meekly replied with the only thing he thought appropriate, "what am I supposed to do?"
"We've established that!" Moody barked, as he rummaged through his desk, searching for something. Finding what he was looking for, he pulled it out of the drawer and deposited it on the desk before the 'Boy-who-lived', "the question is, 'how' are we going to do it. We're going to use those ingredients to help us brew a potion that will help us, are you ready?"
"Yes sir," Neville obediently answered, before paling when Moody dropped a thick tome on the desk before him.
"Read that," Moody gruffly ordered, "find your ingredients in that book, and find out what we can make with it!" he ordered the student, who was still looking at the book in shock. Grabbing his cane, he slammed it on the desk right beside Neville, startling the boy out of his stupor "Quit wasting time! Or you can leave and not get my help laddie!"
"Yes sir," Neville grumbled sourly, the idea of having to read any book for himself, instead of delegating such tasks to Hermione not sitting well with him.
Albus Dumbledore sighed warily as he ascended the stairs to his office. Ever since this Tournament had begun, and young Neville's name called from the Goblet of Fire, his life seemed to have become infinitely more complicated. Constant meetings with foreign ministries and organizations to set up these tasks and make sure they ran smoothly, frequent letters and correspondence with Augusta Longbottom, ensuring her that her grandson was safe, and two foreign schools to accommodate to the best of his abilities even wore down one such as himself.
"Good evening Humphrey, old friend, would you please grant me access to my office?" Dumbledore cordially requested of the loyal stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to his office. Without a second thought, the large stone gargoyle came to life and moved out of the way, allowing Dumbledore access to his office.
If Dumbledore was expecting a pleasantly quiet evening to himself with a nice glass of Firewhisky, he was sorely mistaken. It must have been too much to ask for, apparently, for standing by his faithful familiar was none other than Harry Potter, resident prodigal student and general troublemaker extraordinaire.
Harry wasn't a troublemaker like his father was, no, that kind of trouble would be simple to deal with. Harry, seemed to like to cause trouble in a way that not only didn't break any serious rules, but it also caused much more headaches – Dumbledore at least assumed he liked causing trouble, either that or the boy just had a natural affinity for it. Almost every authoritarian figure the boy had come into contact with had something negative to say about the boy; Minerva McGonagall, Cornelius Fudge (though Dumbledore didn't sympathise with the minister in the slightest), Septima Vector, Severus Snape, Olympe Maxime, Igor Karkaroff and Alastor Moody were only some of the people who had at least some issues with the boy, and that wasn't even mentioning the students or other children his age.
Yes, Harry Potter was quite the enigma. The boy was the perfect student in every sense of the word, - studious, attentive when necessary, determined, incredibly gifted and a willingness to lean that Dumbledore had only ever seen on rare occasions as a headmaster of Hogwarts – yet, quite possibly, at times, the most frustrating individual to deal with on the planet.
How in the name of Merlin's crooked staff did the boy manage to get into his office without him knowing?
"Your bird let me in," Harry answered the venerable headmaster's unasked question, as he pocketed something and turned to the elder man, "I think he likes me."
Fawkes let out a pleasant trill as Dumbledore sent a disapproving glare to the magnificent creature. If the Phoenix was bothered by his bonded's opinion or apparent disapproval though, he certainly didn't show it, "Is there a reason you have seen fit to break into my office, Mister Potter?" Dumbledore asked with a neutral face, "if it is anything other than an issue of the utmost importance, I am afraid I cannot overlook such an offence and must impart on you a severe punishment."
Harry brow raised in surprise at the declaration, "Well, I guess I should feel glad that it is a matter of utmost importance then," Harry looked around the cluttered office curiously before continuing, "that is, of course, if you consider a possible imposter within your school a matter of utmost importance – actually, 'another imposter' is probably the correct way to describe it."
"Indeed?" Dumbledore inquired curiously, ignoring the obvious jab against his person, as he strode towards his desk and took a seat in his large and comfortable looking chair, "where are my manners? Can I offer you a seat Mister Potter? Perhaps a Lemon Drop?"
Harry had taken the seat before it was offered and declined the offer of sweets, "I'm sorry, something about accepting candy from weird old men just doesn't sit well with me," Harry dryly replied, "I'll take a glass of coke though, if you're offering."
"Oh, you must be referring to that muggle fizzy drink you seem to like so much," Dumbledore pointed out in realisation, "Unfortunately, we do not stock it here at Hogwarts . . ."
"Of course," Harry nodded, taking a swig of his flask before pocketing it once again.
"I'd offer to get one of the elves to fetch you a glass," Dumbledore said with amusement, "but it seems such an action would be unnecessary."
"It does seem that way," Harry agreed, "wow, you look tired."
"I was actually planning on retiring for the evening," Dumbledore informed him merrily, "it seems I had an unscheduled meeting to attend to first, however."
"Oh well, sleep's overrated," Harry said as he reclined further into the chair opposite the headmaster, "you get many visitors in here?"
"Usually Professors in need of my assistance, or the odd student who has been misbehaving more than usual," Dumbledore said as he popped a small yellow sweet into his mouth, "The Minister used to frequent my fireplace regularly, though we have had somewhat of a falling out recently, I'm sure you understand."
"Yeah, he's quite the dip-shit," Harry replied, ignoring the disapproving frown the headmaster sent his way.
"I wish you'd refrain from using profanity in the presence of other professors, Mister Potter," Dumbledore said to the amused teen, "If nothing else, it would stop them complaining about needing to punish you to set an example that such behaviour is not accepted."
"Severus been complaining about me again, has he?" Harry asked with a raised brow, "I'll consider listening to him when he gives me a valid reason for missing the Imperius curse cast on one of his students, really, that's just silly."
"Professor Snape has expressed his deepest apologies already to the Zabinis for letting such an incident go unnoticed, you needn't hold a grudge against the man for something that largely didn't concern you," Dumbledore chided Harry, "managing the students in the Slytherin house is difficult enough a task for Severus without adding on an incident as horrendous as the one we all had to endure with young Stephanie."
"How did the Zabinis take that apology, I wonder?" Harry curiously asked, "I don't imagine they'd be sending a Christmas card to Professor Snape anytime soon, if you get what I mean?"
"While what happened to the Zabinis was a tragic incident," Dumbledore conceded, purposefully dancing around the issue of how Antonio Zabini had decked Snape the second he saw the man "that does not make Severus' apology any less sincere . . ."
"That's really fascinating and all," Harry said, "but I came to talk to you about other issues."
"Yes, an imposter," Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples, "I have an idea of whom you speak of, but tell me what you have discovered regardless, it may help to prove my suspicions."
"Alastor Moody," Harry immediately said, only slightly surprised that the headmaster didn't seem all too shocked, they are old friends, after all, "Just a few little things that the real Alastor Moody would never do that separately, don't mean much, but when you add them all together, one can't help but get suspicious . . . add Longbottom's name getting into the Goblet of Fire into the mix, and you can't be all that surprised . . ."
"What 'little things' do you speak of?" Harry seemed to now have Dumbledore's full attention.
"The man hasn't complained about me referring to him as Alastor ever since he saw Nymphadora's reaction to me referring to her as such," Harry said, leaning back in his chair, "something about if I was able to get away with calling her that, he wasn't sure if he'd want to try getting me to stop calling him 'Alastor', it became a non-issue eventually," Dumbledore smirked at that.
"Yes, Alastor would most likely prefer it if people referred to him as 'Mad-eye' these days," the headmaster said with a rueful shake of his head, "he often complains how the name doesn't instill fear in the younger generation these days like it used to during Lord Voldemort's first reign."
"There's that," Harry nodded, "and the fact that Septima complained to me only today about how he has been bad mouthing Nymphadora around the school," Harry tilted his head curiously, "now either Nymphadora spiked his flask again – which I doubt, merely because Alastor would just curse himself for falling for that again – or our imposter did a poor job at assessing Alastor's feelings towards his most recent protégé apprentice."
"I was not privy to the depth of the relationship between the two," Dumbledore conceded, "However, if his attitude towards his protégés in the past is any indication, I, too, don't believe our imposter has done his or her homework regarding my old friend."
"So you agree," Harry mused, "and I haven't even gotten to my most convincing argument yet, which is his sudden profound dislike for my father, and his sudden branding him a coward and a poor duellist."
"He said that about James?" Dumbledore asked with a troubled frown, "that is most suspicious, most suspicious indeed."
"Especially considering Alastor would often use my father as a measuring stick whenever he'd tutor Nymphadora," Harry dryly said, "she wasn't too pleased with that, let me tell you."
"Not many would be pleased with being compared to James Potter," Dumbledore thoughtfully added, "not many could boast the fact of being as skilled as your father was, I assure you."
"Which is why I think our imposter is not only a Death Eater," Harry continued, "but one who had a grudge against my father. This imposter seems to take a perverse pleasure in trying to smear my father's name in front of the class as often as possible."
"Does that bother you?" Dumbledore asked gently, straying off the issue slightly, "I know it would bother me if I were forced to listen to someone besmirch my father's name during classes, especially if it is as regularly as you portray it to be."
"Not really," Harry shrugged, "It just means that, whoever this imposter is, my father must have embarrassed him or her really badly. The more they insult him, the funnier it is, to be honest."
"Ah yes," Dumbledore said with an amused twinkle, "Amusement is such a useful tool in dealing with our enemies. Fear, anger, hate, they know how to respond to these things, but laughter is a reaction they find hard to comprehend more often than not."
"Right," Harry rolled his eyes, "also, unless Alastor has become an alcoholic – which wouldn't stretch the imagination too far, seeing as he's been forced to teach at a school," Dumbledore didn't seem amused by that one, "he's also taken a liking to regularly drinking out of the flask of his. I can't be certain, but I think it's a fair assumption that he'd take a healthy swig every hour or so . . ."
"You assume it to be Polyjuice?" Dumbledore asked with a frown, "Severus has reported incidents where his ingredients cabinet has been looted on more than one occasion, the ingredients reported missing do fir the profile. I am sure he'll be pleased to know that young Neville was not the one behind the theft of his precious ingredients."
The two sat in silence, as Dumbledore seemed to be processing the information brought to him by the teen sitting before him.
"If I may I ask?" receiving a curt nod from Harry, Dumbledore continued, "why is it you felt a need to report your findings to me? I was under the assumption that our relationship, if one between us exists at all, was rather strained after your short stay in Azkaban."
Harry shrugged, "I pissed off the wrong people, that wasn't your fault. They were going to get revenge regardless of what you wanted, I thought it better to only let it happen under my terms, not theirs."
"No amount of money is worth being forced to endure the horrors of such a place," Dumbledore said sadly, "especially for one as young as yourself."
"I guess," Harry shrugged, not willing to discuss how royally that plan exploded in his face with present company, "Why I chose to tell you though? Call it curiosity."
Dumbledore observed him over his half-moon glasses briefly before allowing a small smile to grace his features, "You wish to know the identity of the one who still harbours a grudge for your father, and why."
"You're thinking too much into it," Harry deadpanned, "it's no coincidence that the imposter is here during this time, and that Neville's name got called out of the Goblet. The imposter wants Neville in the tournament, and he or she is going to be screwing with it so that either Neville dies, or wins," Harry assumed, "Better to let the imposter carry out his plans under our scrutiny than let him retreat, and devise a new plan we could be unlucky enough to not be aware of."
"That is very wise of you," Dumbledore said in approval, "and you avoided my original question with remarkable skill, and for that I applaud you Mister Potter," Dumbledore said with a merry twinkle in his eye, "unfortunately for you, I have been in the practise of using half-truths and twisting words to my advantage for many years, you will have to do better than that to fool me."
Dumbledore actually didn't seem like such a bad guy, Harry thought with amusement as he replied "Peter Pettigrew escaped from right under our noses last year. I'm sure that if this imposter is a Death Eater, not only will good old Wormtail be involved somehow, he may very well be the imposter himself."
Dumbledore frowned at him over his half-moon spectacles, "There is no revenge so complete as forgiveness."
"I'll forgive Wormtail after he's dead," Harry tilted his head curiously at Dumbledore, "anything I would do to him would be infinitely kinder than whatever Sirius or Remus would do to him anyway, so I don't know why you're so bothered."
"This is a discussion for another day," Dumbledore said in a calm voice, "Tell me, what do you think we should do with the information we have?"
"You're letting me decide?" Harry asked incredulously, "and why, pray tell, would you do such a thing?"
"While you and I may be privy to there possibly being an imposter in the school, others are not as fortunate," the wise headmaster said, "There are too many unknowns in this equation. There are not many wizards in Britain who could boast about having gotten the better of Alastor Moody; whoever is able to boast such a thing must not be underestimated. We must assume that, until we have proof otherwise, that this imposter has ways in which to learn if they have been discovered."
"You're worried about Karkaroff," Harry surmised, as Dumbledore nodded curtly.
"Fear is a powerful motivator. Igor may have changed his ways, or he may not have, we cannot be sure," he said morosely, "but were his old master to return to power, or be close to doing so, it would not be hard to manipulate him into doing anything they wished him to do."
"So what do you want me to do about it?" Harry asked the headmaster again, "I'm just a student, after all. You're the headmaster here, I'm sure you have ways in which to monitor Moody."
"I have, but while the evidence seems compelling, I'm afraid it isn't enough to warrant anything further than suspicion on my part," Dumbledore said regretfully, "I have imparted on Alastor some information that no one else is privy to last week, though he does not know this. I can be certain of the existence of an imposter if the man acts unfavourably with that information at his disposal."
"You suspected him too then?" Harry asked curiously, "for how long?"
"Give me some credit, Mister Potter," Dumbledore chided amusedly with a twinkle in his eye, "As you no doubt have surmised, I have known the man for a very long time. We have worked together intimately on several occasions, one does not do such a thing without getting to know the person they are working with just as intimately."
"Fair enough," Harry shrugged, "though I very much doubt this imposter would fall for such a trick. He may not have you fooled just yet, but he has everyone else fooled."
"Regretfully, I must agree with you," Dumbledore said with a wary sigh, "So, another way in which to glean the information we desire would be prudent, if you have any suggestions?"
"I still don't buy the fact that you're trusting someone like me with a delicate situation such as this," Harry deadpanned, "you have to have a valid reason."
"Do not sell yourself short, Mister Potter," Dumbledore said with a smile, "you are a very brilliant young man, and I value your opinion, despite how crude and unnecessary it often may be."
"Stop, you're making me blush," Harry dryly responded, "I guess you could force him to make a mistake, make him slip up in a way that would almost give away his identity to anyone who was already suspicious of him . . ."
"That list only consists of the two of us, as far as I am aware," Dumbledore agreed, "go on."
Harry stared into the fireplace in silence as he ran through the entire situation in his mind, in an effort to find a solution to this annoying little problem. Finally, after only two minutes of silence and Dumbledore observing him curiously, the teen spoke up.
"What kind of a leader is Riddle?" Harry suddenly asked the surprised headmaster, who was unaware that the boy knew of the Dark Lord's origins, "I mean, how does he treat his Death Eaters? How does he respond to failure? How does he respond to success?"
"Tom does not take to failure very well," Dumbledore said after a moment's pause, "in fact, he becomes quite . . . angered . . . when such a thing occurs."
"Has your resident Death Eater been zapped by a few too many Cruciatus curses in his time, then?" Harry asked unsympathetically, "I'd love a Pensieve memory, maybe I can ask Riddle one day?"
"That is not funny, Mister Potter," Dumbledore said in a warning tone, but Harry paid him no mind.
"Make this imposter think he's failing his mission," Harry shrugged, "If Riddle becomes as violent as you say he does when his little minions fail, I'm sure you'll notice 'Moody' become increasingly jumpy and agitated."
"If they were to be put in such a state," Dumbledore picked up on Harry's idea, "they'd also be more likely to make a mistake, which can only be beneficial to us until we discover what it is exactly, that they want."
"Yeah, sure," Harry nodded, "you know how you're going to do that? You've had a little bit more experience with fighting against these guys, I imagine," he added sarcastically.
"I know how, yes," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye that Harry didn't like very well, "but it is not I, who will be doing anything."
Why did he even bother? Harry mused tiredly, as Dumbledore kept looking at him with that damn twinkling eye.
Stephanie had known Fleur for a few years now, being her best friend for most of that time, and she could honestly say that she'd never seen the part-Veela like this before. The situation between Fleur and Harry was quickly becoming ridiculous, and the annoying thing was, Harry had no idea that there was even a situation.
For as long as Stephanie could remember, and for as long Fleur has been dating on and off, the girl would never bother to ask a boy on a date. Why bother? Whenever they'd be allowed into the local town for breaks at Beauxbatons, the guys would line up around the corner just to say a few words to her, Fleur had never needed to make any conscious effort on her part.
This is how things would usually run with Fleur in regards to boys. They'd approach her, strike up a conversation about the first thing they could think about, and if Fleur was anything more than completely bored by them, she'd let them buy her a meal, or a drink. If the guy was really lucky, Fleur would let them do it again on another occasion, and maybe even let them kiss her, but nothing really more in depth than that. These relationships never lasted long though, the boys trying so hard to date her always showing their true colours sooner or later and ending any chance they could have for anything serious.
To see Fleur actually miserable because of a boy, or simply pining after one rather than beating several away with a stick was definitely something new for Stephanie.
Lately, Fleur would often zone out in the middle of classes, meals and conversations and go off into her own little world. Not only did it cause her to get in trouble with the Professors for not paying attention in class, but her grades were suffering also as she suddenly found it very hard to focus on anything.
Stephanie finally understood how Fleur must have felt being a spectator to the whole episode between herself and Archie before they had gotten together. It was ridiculously frustrating and annoying, just watching her best friend continue to wallow in her misery, especially when it seemed the solution to all her problems was so simple.
"Look, Fleur, this has got to stop," Stephanie finally snapped, deciding to do something about this rather than get frustrated.
"What are you talking about?" the French girl inquired as her best friend grabbed her attention, "You're already over Archie?"
"No!" Stephanie huffed angrily, "I mean your moping around! It has to stop. If you really like Harry so much, you've got to go and tell him or he'll never know something's up!"
Fleur seemed to get her back up at the insinuation that her problems resolved around the green-eyed teen, "I 'ave not been thinking about 'Arry!" Fleur snapped, "it may surprise you, but finding out zat you could die in a month's time to a Chimera can be quite ze buzz kill!"
"You and I both know that it isn't the Chimera you're moping around about!" Stephanie snapped as she dragged her friend by a nearby statue, "look, I'm not telling you what to do, nor am I judging you, I'm just concerned. It's obvious that you like Harry, you've already admitted as much, I just want you to go and confront him about it."
Giving up on denying it anymore, Fleur threw her hands up in frustration, "It is not zat simple!" Fleur angrily replied, "Ze boy is either completely uninterested in 'aving a relationship, or completely uninterested in me, zere is nothing I can do!"
"Spend some time with him then!" Stephanie suggested, "alone, without Archie or me around. Go on those runs with him he takes so often, try and track him down whenever he disappears or something. Get some alone time with him and try to get to know him . . ."
"We do zat often," Fleur sighed, "Ze ball for instance, we talked all evening while we were dancing!"
"Did you really talk?" Stephanie asked sceptically, "or did you just make jokes and laugh at other people's expense?"
"Well . . ." Fleur gave a small smile for the first time in a few days, "It was more of ze latter, but it was nice regardless."
"I'm sure it was," Stephanie returned her friend's smile, "but we both know that Harry isn't like other boys. He's definitely not as easily impressed as they are, and he's a lot more complicated than you seem to think."
Fleur sighed wearily and scratched her arm nervously, "Sometimes I think 'e looks at me like some stupid little girl, you know?" she asked sadly, "like 'e knows exactly what I am going through, but 'e does not care, because 'e is not interested."
"Look, that's just ridiculous," Stephanie reassured her friend, "we both know he's attracted to you physically, shit, there isn't a boy on the planet who wouldn't be!"
"Archie?" Fleur remarked with a grin.
"Well, Archie's special," Stephanie said imperiously, before the two collapsed into a fit of laughter, "okay, that sounded wrong, but you know what I mean."
"I envy you two," Fleur said suddenly, "what you two 'ave, it seems so wonderful!"
"It is," Stephanie grinned happily, "which is why you should go and track Harry down as soon as possible, force him to notice you on your terms, and maybe have a few honest conversations with him. Ones that don't involve crude jokes or insults, I mean."
"I don't know," Fleur grinned at her friend, "that sounds like a lord of 'ard work."
"Yes, you are rather insufferable," Stephanie snorted in amusement, "look, let's just go to class and we can talk more about this later, but are we at least agreed on the fact that you are now head over heels for Harry Potter?"
"It sounds so depressing when you put it like that," Fleur said weakly, but she definitely did not deny it.
"Oh shut up, will you?" Stephanie said jovially as she linked her arm with Fleur's, "besides, Harry takes himself far too seriously most of the time – he needs someone like you in his life."
Fleur allowed her friend to drag her off to their next class; a small smile tugging at her lips as the two practically skipped through the Hogwarts corridors.
"This is hopeless!" Neville cried, wincing as Madame Pince glared harshly at him for raising his voice in her library.
"You can't stop trying because it's become difficult," Hermione said curtly, "I'll not have you kill yourself out there because you were too lazy to read a couple of books!" she whispered at the 'Boy-who-lived' harshly.
"I bet Cedric doesn't have to put up with this," Neville said miserably, flipping through the pages of the large tome before him carelessly, "it must be nice to have Harry freaking Potter as an advisor."
"Potter," Ron snarled harshly, "I knew that guy was no good the second I laid eyes on him!"
"What are you talking about?" Hermione almost yelled in frustration, her good standing with the librarian the only thing keeping her from getting kicked out, "it was only the beginning of the term that you couldn't even form words when he was in your presence. You worshipped him!"
"That was before, Hermione," Neville lectured, as if she was some retarded child, "everything's different now."
"Yeah," Ron agreed, "stupid prat takes all the girls for himself and leaves us 'regular' folk with absolutely nothing!"
"Oh my goodness! Are you still moping about the whole Fleur Delacour thing?" Hermione asked in exasperation, "I don't see what the big deal is, what's so special about her?"
Ron and Neville looked at each other in shock before turning the look onto Hermione, "You can't be serious," Ron said incredulously, "do you purposefully look away when she's in a room or something? How can you not understand what's so special about her?"
"What are you talking about?" Hermione snapped irritably, "You two are both being completely illogical!"
"She's a Veela!" Neville whispered loudly, as if such a thing were the most important fact in the world, "that means everything!"
"That means nothing!" Hermione snapped in irritation, "she's just a regular girl, like the rest of us. There's nothing special about her."
"Now who's being illogical?" Ron asked Hermione with a sly smile, "I think someone's jealous. How does Vicky feel about this?"
"Oh, don't be stupid, I am not jealous!" Hermione snapped before realising what Ron had said, "And his name is Viktor, and I'll have you know, at least he knows how to treat a girl, unlike some buffoons I know!"
Hermione slammed her current book shut and was about to storm out of the Library until Neville grabbed a hold of her hand, "Look, 'Mione, we didn't mean it," Neville said sincerely, "we're sorry okay? Times are just a little stressful right now, we didn't mean to sound mean."
Hermione thinned her lips before sending an impatient look towards Ron. Neville elbowed the boy under the table so he could get the message.
"Right, sorry," he mumbled under his breath, "still doesn't mean Potter isn't a no-good prat . . ." he grumbled angrily.
"Whatever," Neville grinned at his best friends, "Look, I'm done with this book. I'm going to go look for another one – try not to kill each other while I'm gone?"
His friends glared at him heatedly, but he just ignored them with a happy smile before returning the book he had finished reading on exotic Potions to one of the many aisles of the Hogwarts library. So immersed was he in searching for another useful tome that he did not hear the person in the shadows approach him stealthily and stun him silently before everything went black.
"Did you hear?" a worried second year asked her friends, "I heard Neville Longbottom gone missing; some say he may be dead!"
"That's horrible!" one of her friends, a Gryffindor, replied, "who could have done it, and why would someone want to hurt the 'Boy-who-lived'?"
"Don't be stupid," one of the boys in the group said snobbishly, "It's obvious that someone wanted him out of the picture for the Triwizard Tournament. I bet it was Krum, probably thought he posed too much of a threat, so they took him out!"
"I don't believe it!" the second girl spoke up again, "Headmaster Dumbledore just wouldn't let something like that happen!"
"There's nothing much he could do about it," the snobbish boy said with a shrug, "You know what they say about Durmstrang, they're all evil and practise dark magic," he said in a loud whisper, "what can anyone do against foul magic like that?"
"Neville Longbottom defeated You-know-who!" the first girl yelled in Neville's defence, "I doubt some scumbag from Durmstrang could defeat Neville Longbottom when He-who-must-not-be-named couldn't!"
"What's going on here?" Moody came limping into the corridor the group of second years were blocking and growled angrily, "Why aren't you all in class?"
"Haven't you heard, Professor?" one of the girls asked innocently, "classes have been cancelled. They said it was because a student has gone missing, but everyone thinks he could be dead!"
"What are you going on about?" Moody asked incredulously, "I heard no such thing!"
"Professor McGonagall just told us," A quiet boy at the back of the group spoke up, "we just found out, but there are rumours flying around already of what happened to Longbottom."
Moody did a double-take when he heard the name, "what did you just say, laddie?"
"He said that Longbottom was the one supposedly kidnapped," the snobbish boy clarified to the shocked professor, "some say he was killed by the Durmstrang competition though, because they thought he posed too much of a threat in the Triwizard Tournament!"
The children watched in shock as the crippled ex-Auror limped off hurriedly towards Dumbledore's office at incrediblespeeds, not even waiting around to hear the rest of their theories.
"Albus, what the bleeding hell is going on?" Moody roared as he barged into the headmaster's office. The old man was standing by the fireplace with a grave look on his face as he entered the office.
"If you are referring to young mister Longbottom," Dumbledore began, turning to his old friend with a wary face, "it would seem that someone has kidnapped him, or worse, killed him from right under our noses. It is as we feared, Lord Voldemort must be on the move."
"That's not possible!" Moody roared, before correcting himself quickly, "You and I both know that Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain, there's just no way the Dark Lord could get his spies in here to abduct the boy from right under our noses like this! He must be playing some sort of joke on us! Maybe he's hiding with that cloak of his!"
"Alas, I have already considered such a possibility," Dumbledore assured his old friend, "Young Neville disappeared from the middle of the library, during the day, mere feet away from miss Granger and mister Weasley. Mister Weasley also informs us that Neville's cloak is still in the boy's trunk."
"There has to be an explanation for this, there's no way that the boy could have been kidnapped, or hurt," Moody roared angrily, a wild look in his eyes, "Search the castle, he has to be somewhere!"
"Calm down, my friend," Dumbledore said in a soothing, yet commanding voice, "you are helping no one by being angry."
"You think I'm angry? You have no idea the meaning of the word, and you'll see what I mean if that boy isn't found you old . . ." Moody collapsed into a coughing fit as the tone of his voice hitched towards the end of his speech. He seemed to collect himself and take a swig of his flask to right himself.
"Are you alright, old friend?" Dumbledore asked with a frown, "perhaps a lemon drop will ease your throat?"
"I don't want a fucking Lemon Drop!" Moody roared, "I want you to find that boy, and I want you to find him yesterday . . ." their heated, one-sided conversation was interrupted when a relieved looking McGonagall burst through the door, gave Moody one queer look, before turning to Dumbledore.
"We found him, he was unharmed and dumped in the girl's bathroom on the second floor," she informed the headmaster with elation, "someone dumped him on one of the toilet seats and put his hand down his pants while the poor boy was unconscious, it is clear that whoever did this doesn't think much of Mister Longbottom."
Dumbledore hid the small annoyed twitch in his eye well, especially since not even Moody picked up on it with his magical eye, "This is good news," he said with a jovial tone, "Alastor, perhaps you should go tend to your champion while I inform Augusta that her grandson is fine and relatively unharmed."
Both professors nodded, Moody hesitating slightly, before they both left the headmaster to his own devices. The room lapsed into silence as Dumbledore made no move to contact the Longbottom matriarch like he said he would.
Suddenly, a black cat with green eyes stalked out from underneath Dumbledore's desk and transformed into a very familiar green-eyed, spectacled teen.
"Did you really have to leave him in such a compromising position?" Dumbledore asked with an annoyed frown.
"No," Harry answered, "but I believe we know all that we need to know."
"Alas," Dumbledore said gravely, "it would seem that we have irrefutable proof that an imposter has kidnapped Alastor Moody and taken his place on my staff, it would also seem, though I am not sure if this is a blessing or not, that they do not wish to kill the boy," he popped a small yellow confectionary into his mouth before continuing, "Alastor would have never lost his temper in a situation as grave as the one we were just presented with."
"Neville's health definitely seemed to be Moody's main concern," Harry agreed, "What are you going to do now?"
"I will wait, and observe," Dumbledore said with a sigh, "there is not much more I can do, less I scare off our enemy and give them a chance to regroup, and come up with another, potentially more dangerous, plan."
Harry observed the headmaster curiously for a few moments before leaving through the door silently, returning back to his cat form in case someone spotted him leaving the office.
"We are in for a troubling year, my friend," Dumbledore said to his phoenix warily. Fawkes trilled sadly to his bonded, letting him know that he too agreed with the headmaster.
"There you are," Archie said in a delighted tone, "I've been looking for you everywhere!"
"You mustn't have been looking to hard," Harry said dryly, "I've been in here for a few hours now."
Archie looked around their dorm room with a blank expression before chuckling nervously, "Heh, yeah, anyway, there's something I wanna show you."
Harry, who was lazing around on his bed and reading a book, moved the small tome out of his face to get a good look at Archie, "You look absolutely ridiculous."
"You're just jealous that you can't pull off the 'smock' look like I can," Archie said with an infectious grin. The boy's face was covered in what looked like soot, while his face was covered with protective eyewear and his body and hands in dragon hide protective gear.
"You've figured me out," Harry said dryly, looking at the two vials in Archie's hands, each of them a different colour, "what've you got there? A new addition to MBMC's inventory?"
"Not quite," Archie said with a grin, as he sat down on his desk and cleared it before motioning Harry over, "I was just working on that werewolf thing when I accidently discovered something."
"Werewolf thing?" Harry asked humorously as he approached his friend to see what he wanted to show him, "so, what's so important that would actually make you leave Stephanie's side for more than three seconds and run around the school looking like a complete idiot for?"
"Alright, watch this," Archie said with excitement, "You see this?" Archie swirled the vial of purple liquid in his left hand, "absolutely harmless on its own," he proved his statement by putting a drop on the desk and slamming a book onto it, with no effect whatsoever.
"What's amazing," Harry deadpanned, "you've finally done it. You've created something as useless as you are . . ."
"Ye have little faith," Archie grinned as he carefully held out the other vial, filled with orange watery liquid, and dipped the tip of the quill in there so only the smallest drop was extracted and placed at the tip of the writing tool, "you might want to stand back."
Warily, knowing that anything was possible with Archie when it came to Potions, Harry stood behind his friend and watched the show.
As carefully as humanly possible, Archie scraped up some of the first liquid from the table with the quill, before raising it up into the air and before his face almost reverently.
"Now, both potions are mixed together on the tip of this quill," Archie whispered softly, yet the excitement was easily discerned in his voice, "watch this, take another step back . . ."
Before Harry could comply, Archie pelted the quill at the thick stone wall on the opposite side of the room as hard as he could.
The second the tip of the quill made contact with the wall, an explosion as loud asshotgun fire erupted from the point of impact as a small cloud of dust obscured their view. Not having expected the sudden explosive noise, Harry had been temporarily deafened, as a small ringing was the only thing he could hear right now, despite the fact that he could see Archie's lips moving.
" . . . On their own, both liquids are completely useless, but together," Harry picked up Archie saying as his hearing returned to him, "well, KABOOM!" he giggled happily, like a toddler who just impressed his parents, after his little demonstration.
"You are a disturbed little child," Harry said in disbelief.
"Is everything alright in there?" A voice called out from the other side of the door, much to both the boys' amusement.
"Just one of Archades' experiments," Harry called out, as if it were supposed to explain everything . . .
"Oh, okay."
. . . fortunately, it did.
"You can't honestly tell me that that wasn't the coolest thing ever!" Archie grinned, "and, I found it by accident! I mean, I already knew of many combinations of ingredients and potions that could have similar effects, but nothing of this magnitude!"
"Okay, so that may have been pretty cool," Harry relented, "is that all you wanted? I'm actually kind of tired . . ."
"No, actually," Archie smile dropped as he leaned back in his desk chair and observed his friend curiously, "If I were a girl, or smarter in general, I'd be all subtle about this – but seeing as I'm clearly neither of the two . . ."
"Clearly," Harry agreed with a grin, interrupting his friend briefly.
"I'm just going to come out and say it," Archie shrugged, "You do know, for some strange fucking reason that I cannot comprehend, that Fleur likes you," seeing Harry's raised brow and that he was about to speak, Archie raised his hand to stall his protests, "I don't mean the kind of like your fan girls have for you, I mean the kind where, she knows what kind of fucked up asshole you are, but she doesn't care, and genuinely likes you."
"I don't know what you want me to say to that," Harry rolled his eyes, though Archie supposed that the fact that he didn't drop the subject entirely was a bonus.
"An exclamation of surprise would probably be appropriate," Archie deadpanned.
"Right," Harry did his best to mimic a surprised face, much to Archie's amusement, "is this good?"
"Perfect," Archie grinned, "look Harry, I don't know who you're trying to fool, but even I can tell that you think Fleur's attractive, at least," he sighed in exasperation, "I'm not asking you to marry her, or anything, just don't snap at her, or bite her head off if she approaches you one day and just wants to talk, or something."
"Why the sudden interest in Fleur's love life?" Harry inquired, neither confirming or denying his friend the knowledge of whether he'd do as requested, "it doesn't seem like you."
"Mate, believe it or not, but I think Fleur's the best thing that's happened to you in a long time," Archie sighed, "I like to think we're friends you know, hell, best friends. But I haven't seen you smile so much in a long time since Fleur and Stephanie came into the picture, granted, it may be those evil little grins you share with her when joking around, but it's something, right?"
"Right," Harry replied dryly as he retook his position on the bed, "if Fleur is really as interested as you say, she would have done something about it. Fleur's the kind of girl that knows what she wants, and goes and gets it when she wants it."
"Oh Harry, my friend," Archie sighed wistfully, "so young, so naïve, was I ever this stupid?" he waved Harry off before he could answer, "don't answer that, of course I was . . . these things just become clearer once you're in a relationship, I think."
"Whatever," Harry sighed, "I'm going to bed. If you wake me up with one of those explosions, I'm sending Gabrielle after you."
Archie ignored the cold shiver that run down his spine at the mention of the little blonde terror, watching his friend slowly drift into the land of dreams with a thoughtful look on his face.
