It's good to be back! I missed you guys. Hugs! (Crushes readers in giant bear hug) Okay, okay. Here's the chapter, as promised.

That Loser

Chapter 28: A Pigeon-Shaped Hole

"Do…do I really have to touch that?" Hermione daintily sniffed the old boot, which steamed slightly under the midday sun. "Okay, that thing's just unsanitary."

"MAY THE BOOT KING PUNISH YE WITH THE FOOT ODOR OF MANY BOOTS, AS IS BEFITTING OF THE UNRIGHETOUS!" screamed the hobo's voice from the forest.

Ron grinned, "Yeah Hermione, you better take the boot or I'll punish you with the—ow!" Ron massaged his cheek, still stinging from Hermione's slap.

She glared, "Fine, I'll touch it, but if you try anything with foot odor, so help me I'll…"

Bringing up the rear of the pathetic little expedition was Harry and Mr. Diggory, who was still bragging about Cedric.

"You know, Cedric is not only superior to you in every way…he's prettier too! He totally pulls off that Tarzan look. Andat least he doesn't have a hideous scar that looks like a boot. I mean, what would happen if we all ran around with scars shaped like footwear, eh? That's right! Shaped like a boot, that is."

"It's President Lincoln!" Harry blinked. "Uh…I mean, it's a lightning bolt. And I got it when the Dark Lord tried to kill me."

Mr. Diggory chuckled, "Well, of course my Cedric knows not to get involved with Dark Lords. Horribly temperamental people, you know."

Cedric blushed good-naturedly, peering down from the branches of a large tree. "Come on dad, cut it out."

Harry frowned, "Where'd that tree come from?"

"—I once knew a Dark Lord, Otto the Mutilator, but asked us to refer to him as Where's Waldo. Mad as a hatter, that one, went a little funny at the end…" Mr. Diggory snorted.

"Um, dad?"

"…That business with the teacups—"

"Dad, we're here."

Mr. Diggory snapped out of his reverie. "Oh, splendid! And he can see too, what a son!" He reached into the tree and patted Cedric on the shoulder.

Arthur Weasley rounded up the group around the boot. "Now then, as I see that we've got some first-time Portkey travelers, I'll explain the procedure. You simply take a hold of the boot and don't let go until I tell you. Got it?"

Harry, Hermione, and Ron blinked at him.

"Excellent! Then hold on everyone."

Cedric nodded to Arthur. "On three. One…two…"

"And he can count too! What a—"

"THREE!" shouted Harry, and they all grabbed the boot and disappeared into a swirling whirlwind.

The hill was suddenly silent with the absence of the chatter of the two families. The hobo cautiously stepped out of the forest, directly to where the boot had been. He sifted around through the mud with his fingers, desperately searching, searching…

"Aha!"

He lifted a shoelace free from the mud and wandered off muttering with glee.

"And a little o' bit o' molasses…"


Harry managed to pry his eyes open against the gusts of wind pulling at his skin. He clung with a death grip to the boot, watching the green scenery below roll by with increasing nausea.

"All right everybody, let go!" screamed Arthur above the roar of the wind.

Harry shrugged, "Oh well, I'll probably die in three years anyway." He let go, followed by a screaming Hermione, and Ron who was still basking in the somewhat moldy glow of Boot Monarchy.

The three friends landed in a dramatic heap on the hill below with the satisfying crack of broken ribs. Meanwhile, Arthur, Mr. Diggory, and Cedric wafted down slowly.

"Ha! I bet that cleared your sinuses," said Arthur jokingly.

Ron nodded slowly. "Yes, yes it did. And now, if you'll excuse me, I must clear my pants."

"Ha! I did I forget to tell you how to land, didn't I?" Arthur giggled, "Oops, I mean, wow! I may be poor and slightly ridiculous, but this is a low even for me!"

In a piercing retort, Harry spit out a clump of grass.

"Right then, let's get down to the camping grounds. The game doesn't start until tomorrow, so that'll give us plenty of time to settle in."

The group trekked down a hill and into a crowded camp full of bustling witches and wizards. They passed tents decked out in green and shamrocks screaming SUPPORT THE IRISH and other boasting the red and black flag of the Bulgarians. Various people were running around crazily setting off fireworks and screaming "MAGIC! MAGIC! MAGIC!"

Harry frowned, pointing them out to Mr. Weasley, "Why are they doing that?"

Arthur explained. "It's a reverse psychology, a Muggle concept. You let the Muggles know exactly what you're doing so they don't come and discover wizard kind."

Harry frowned, "But that doesn't make any sense."

Arthur slapped his shoulder. "Exactly!"

Hermione massaged a headache. "How long are they going to keep that up?"

Arthur stopped a short old man walking past.

"Excuse me sir, but how long have they been running around like that?"

The old man shrugged, "A couple hours or so, I guess. Heard 'em from my house I did, and since I'm off work tomorrow, I'm gonna join in!" He waved around the tree branch, giggling like a schoolgirl. "WHHHEEE! I feel sixty again! MAGIC! UNICORNS! TAX DEDUCTIONS! A WELL POACHED EGG!"

Curious Muggles started to file out of the forest. One tired looking housewife in curlers seemed to brighten up. "T…TUPPERWARE THAT CAN GO IN THE DISHWASHER WITHOUT THOSE LITTLE STREAKY MARKS!"

A man with a beer belly holding a newspaper jumped up and down. "A HOME FACIAL THAT REALLY LIFTS THOSE DEEP-SET WRINKLES!"

While this revelation of optimism hit the sparse population of rural England, the Diggory's parted company with the Weasley's and went to explore the grounds. Arthur led Harry, Hermione, and the Weasley brood to a giant tent larger than any other across the campgrounds.

"Well kids, here's your home for the next few days! It was a bit of a splurge, but I figured it was worth it. It is the Word Cup after all!" said Arthur proudly.

Harry stared at the tent, openmouthed. It larger than most houses he'd seen, with green Irish banners flying from torrents atop the tent. It was decked out in gold and green and seemed to almost twinkle in the sun. It was the biggest place Harry had ever stayed in. He sighed, "I love magic."

Arthur shooed them inside, "Well, go on in!"

Harry pushed eagerly through the tent flaps, feeling silk slide across his palms. Harry opened his eyes, ready for beautiful accommodations fit for a king…not a Boot King mind you, but a real one. What he saw was slightly disappointing.

Inside, the tent was a one-room dump, surprisingly smaller on the inside than it looked from the outside. A rickety kitchen table missing a leg was closest to the door, and next to it was a single dripping sink. Lumpy mattresses were sprawled across the dirt floor, and a cardboard box in the corner gave off the sewer-smell of a makeshift bathroom.

Mr. Weasley smiled. "All the comforts of home."

Ron gasped, "What a posh place, dad. Hey look, it's even got running water!" He turned a rusty handle, which produced only a mildly annoying squeaking sound. "Oh…never mind."

Arthur patted his son on the shoulder, or at least tried to, since with everyone inside the room, it was a little crowded. Harry was mashed up against Fred, who was tryng to set off fireworks through the roof, and Ginny's elbow was digging into his side. Everyone was shifting uncomfortably, trying not to be the one stuck next to the cardboard box. Hermione lost the struggle, and stared at the box with a scientific horror of what sorts of bacteria could be growing in its dubiously shadowed corners. "That's the spirit!" said Arthur, trying to pump his fist good-naturedly, but hit Ron in the eye instead. "I know it's not as big as it looks on the outside, but that's the thing about magic I guess, it's never what it seems to be."

An excited Muggle ran in front of the tent entrance, continuing the battle cry. "A WELL POACHED EGG!"

Arthur shook his head, "See, that's what I mean. Even magic can't make a well-poached egg! It's too runny, or too blackened. I mean eggs are just like cockroaches, they're like…magic or something."

Arthur squinted in thought, while the Fred launched a final firecracker, and the whole tent collapsed around them.

Harry sighed. "I hate magic…I really do."

Ron smiled, "BOOT KING!"


Once they had sent the tent back up, Mr. Weasley delegated chores. Harry was supposed to get the water…and everyone else would wait around doing nothing. Harry stomped through the campground carrying a dented water bucket and mumbling discontentedly. Oh it was typical really; make the weird loser boy with the disfigured forehead get the water. Typical.

Harry waved to people from school as he passed, making the uphill hike to the water spigot. He sighed. If only there were something that could make water appear out of thin air. If only he knew how to make it happen, or if only there were someone smart who would know something like that staying with them. It really was a pity there wasn't something like that. Harry waited patiently as the slightly muddy water splashed into his bucket. He turned off the water and trudged back down the hill.

It was then that he saw her, her long black hair flowing in the wind, her sparkling Asian eyes dancing. The beautiful goddess was walking with a group of normal boring girls and laughing musically. She looked beautiful in a giant red and black hat screaming KILL THE IRISH, so peaceful, so kind. She suddenly stopped and smiled at him.

"Oh, hello Harry, had a nice summer?" said the goddess named Cho Chang.

Harry sputtered for a moment and took a small step forward, tripping on a small rock and landing in his own bucket. "Uh…turkey?"

Cho shrugged, confused. "Oh…all right then. See you Harry."

"Turkey!" Harry blinked as Cho faded behind a tent. He slapped himself in the forehead. "Turkey?! What's wrong with me!"

A chorus of voices sounded from all over the campsite.

"Knobby knees—"

"Boot scar—"

"Weird hairstyle—"

"Pathetic loser—"

"No one asked you!" He screamed, rammed the bucket over his head, and ran back to the Weasley's tent, leaving muddy footprints all the way.


Hermione raised an eyebrow as Harry came in the tent, dripping and wearing a bucket as a hat. "So you got the water, then?"

Harry's voice echoed from inside the bucket. "Don't look at me! Don't look at my shame!"

"Looks like the water got him. Aha ah ha ha!" Ron shouted in laughter, then stopped when no one joined in. "Um…he's mental?"

Hermione patted Harry's soggy shoulder sympathetically while Ron searched his limited vocabulary for a joke that's actually funny. "What happened?"

Harry sniffled. "Well…I saw Cho Chang while I was out getting water, and it was like I was seeing her for the first time. I mean, I know I don't really hang around with girls much—"

Hermione cleared her throat. "And what am I, a duck?"

Harry smiled. "No silly, that's a duck." He pointed to the cardboard box, where a small mottled-gray duck was waddling happily in the…well…

She frowned. "How'd that get in here?"

"Well," Ron laughed nervously, "you know I was missing Scabbers and all, so I thought that maybe a duck would fill the rat-shaped hole in my heart."

"So…you chose a duck?"

Harry still looked confused. "A duck in a rat shaped hole…?"

Ron grabbed the filthy duck and held it protectively to his chest. "Well like they say, A Duck Is A Man's Best Friend."

Hermione blinked, "Ron, they don't say that."

"Well…well I do! You're just jealous!" Ron tried to run into his bedroom dramatically and slam the door, but since his bedroom happened to be two feet away, and have no door, the exit was much less effective.

Hermione turned back to Harry. "So what were you saying?"

He shrugged, suddenly smiling through his dripping bangs. "I dunno. You know, I feel much better about myself now. But that duck thing…how would a duck fit into a rat-shaped hole? Wouldn't a duck fit into a duck-shaped hole? Or maybe a pigeon-shaped hole…would a duck fit into a pigeon-shaped hole?"

"Uh…you just hold onto that feeling." She patted his shoulder, frowning at his dripping enthusiasm. "Hold onto that."

Arthur stepped into the tent, smiling broadly. "All right everyone, it's time to head down to the stadium! Fred, George put that down, you can harass the Diggory's cat later. Ginny, Hermione, and Harry, get your shoes on; we've got to go. We're going to walk up there with a friend of mine, Ludo Bagman. And Ron, let go of the duck and let's go!"


"Harry Potter? The Harry Potter? I bet you're joking!" Ludo Bagman punched Harry's shoulder good-naturedly.

Harry rolled his eyes, reciting the same thing he did in this line of questioning. "Yes, I'm really Harry Potter. No, you may not look at my scar or gawk at me like I'm a deranged monkey holding a stick of dynamite. And no, I will not sign whatever scrap of paper you push at me. No, I'm not rude really, just Harry Potter, Boy Loser."

Ludo grinned boyishly, "I bet you're not."

"So then Ludo," said Arthur, directing the conversation away from Harry, "you were just telling us…extensively…about your Quidditch career?"

"And yes, now that you ask," he laughed deeply, "I was a Beater on the famous Quidditch team—"

George protested. "But we didn't—"

"You know, anything for the fans!" Ludo Bagman wiped a tear of mirth out of the corner of his eye with a thick finger. "Ah yes, but now I work for the ministry. Terribly important job you know. I've got to make sure the games are organized and the Muggles are taken care of and all."

"Fat lot of good he did," mumbled Fred to George. Harry and Ron snickered. "Bet even Ron's duck could do better."

Ludo perked up, "Did someone say bet? I'll put in twenty!"

Fred shrugged, "I was just kidding."

Ludo's eyes narrowed, "I'll bet you were."

Fred started panic, "Really, I was only joking!"

"I'll bet you weren't."

"You're on!" Fred smiled. "I win. I was joking, pay up."

Ludo snapped, "Aha! You're a tricky one Larry!"

"Fred."

"Whatever. Ah…let me get back to you with that money. Here's an IOU. Ten was it?"

Fred smiled carnivorously. "It was twenty."

"Twenty right! Right…so then, Arthur, how much can I count you in for?"

Arthur, who had been hanging back in the casual anonymity of a minor character, blinked. "Count me in for what?"

Ludo laughed raucously, "Why the bet of course! The bet! How much do you want to bet on your favorite team? I've got a tidy little pool going, and I'd be glad if you'd join in."

Arthur's smile faltered. "Oh, well, I suppose you could put me down for one galleon on the Irish."

"Oh, come now Arthur, I know you're cheap but…one galleon?"

All three Weasley boys turned bright red and looked as if they'd like to strangle Ludo. However, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were totally fine with the situation, so that was all right.

Arthur blushed.

Ludo sighed, "Well fine then, one galleon it is on the Emerald Isle. Well, thank you all. Arthur, I'd better go and officiate or whatever it is I do. I'd bet my liver this is going to be an exciting game!"

"You're on!" said Fred.

Ludo nodded, "Loser loses his liver, deal. Well good bye all!"

Harry hugged his stomach protectively. "No one's getting my liver!"


"Wow Dad, how high are we?" Ron shouted over the roar of the crowd. They were in the stadium, climbing the endless flights of stairs to their nosebleed section seats.

"Well, let's put it this way, if it rains you'll be the first to know," said a familiar drawling voice.

Arthur sighed, "Oh, hello Lucius."

Draco, standing proudly beside his father, smirked. "We're sitting in the Ministry Box, by personal invitation of the minister himself!"

Lucius suddenly paled and began beating Draco over the head with his silver-knobbed cane.

"How many—times have I—told you—NOT to—boast!"

Arthur sidled out of the awkward situation, and everyone else followed suit. They hurried up the stairs and into their seats high above the action of ant-like officials on the green Quidditch field below.

The Bulgarian side of the stadium suddenly held up signs with the picture of a flying Quidditch player and the word MURK.

They chanted in unison. "MURK! MURK! MURK! MURK!"

A lone voice called out across the stadium. "'Ere now, that's not right. Flip it!"

The sign flipped.

"KRUM! KRUM! KRUM! KRUM!"

Ron cackled. "Not the brightest bunch, the Bulgarians. But that Viktor Krum, he's one of the best Seekers ever!"

Harry held up a pair of omniculars that he'd purchased earlier. Something large and green skimming across the field. "Ron, what's that?"

Ron squinted, "Oh that? That'll be the Irish's mascot."

Harry frowned in thought. "Hmm…now what would the Irish use as a mascot? A duck possibly?"

"Works for me," said Ron, petting his duck.

"Maybe a wildebeest—wait, Ron, it said no pets allowed. How'd you get him in?"

Ron's eyes darted shiftily, "I know a guy who knows a guy who's got something on the security guard."

Hermione suddenly jumped up. "Look, here comes the Irish!"

A group of green-clad Quidditch players soared across the field in a V-formation, and behind them danced a giant leprechaun.

Ron snorted, "Looks a bit like Fudge, eh Harry?"

At first Harry was amazed by the spectacle of dazzling green as the Fudge look-alike jigged down the field. But in five seconds he and the rest of the audience was ducking for cover as a hail of heavy gold coins pounded down from above, pock-marking the cement floors. Harry slid under his seat at the last moment, huddling in fetal position beside Ron and Hermione.

"You know, this is the first time I've been afraid of money. Money, why have you betrayed me?!" Ron screamed as the stream of coins pinged to a halt.

"What next?!" He panted. "Medieval torture devi…ces. Whoa." Ron and every other conscious male, and some unconscious ones, felt their attention drawn to the Bulgarian mascots floating down the field.

"They're…" Ron drooled, "…so beautiful."

Hermione snorted. "Veela. They think they're so pretty, and smart, and alluring, and…oh who am I kidding? Ron, I love you!"

Ron didn't even blink. "Yeah, uh huh, I agree, wear the brown one."

"But—"

"Yes, it is lovely out. Now Hermione, stop bugging me with trivial questions, I want to impress them!" Ron stared.

Harry, who was too thick to be snared by the Veela's charm, was holding up the Omniculars, replaying 'Hermione gets denied'.

He elbowed her, excited. "Hey look Hermione, this is the part where he ignores you…and there it is again! Isn't this Omnicular thingy cool?"

Hermione gritted her teeth. "Do you know where you can put that Omnicular, Harry?"

He beamed, "In the customized carrying case!"

While Hermione explained to Harry about the carrying case she had in mind, every male in the stadium had the same idea of impressing the Veela that Ron did. Shouts rang out across the stadium.

"I'M A FAMOUS AUROR!"

"I'M THE MINISTER OF MAGIC!"

"I'M RICH AND I'M SITTING IN THE MINISTER'S BOX UNLIKE POTTER AND WEAS—OW FATHER!"

"HOW MANY—TIMES DRACO? HOW—MANY—TIMES?!"

Ron joined the shouts, "I…I'M HARRY POTTER!"

Harry, confused, finally looked away from the omniculars and saw the Veela. "Oh wow, I suddenly want to impress them! I'M NOT A LOSER…AND…AND I'LL PROVE IT TOO! BONZAI!" Harry attempted to jump off of the balcony, but was pulled back just in time by Hermione and Ginny.

"You idiot!" shouted Ginny.

"Aha! But at least I'm not a loser!" Harry smiled proudly.

"I'M SECRETLY A VERY SENSITIVE, CARING INDIVIDUAL! I MEAN, UH, GOOD AFTERNOON EVERYONE; I'M CORNELIUS FUDGE, MINISTER OF MAGIC, AND WELCOME TO THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP! UM…LET THE GAME BEGIN!"

Hermione and Ron stared at the Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum, with little lacy hearts fluttering around them.

They both sighed and said simultaneously, "Isn't he gorgeous?"

Hermione blinked in surprise and raised an eyebrow at Ron.

Ron blushed. "I mean, uh, he's a great player."

"Right. Sure you did."

The Quidditch players spread across the field, flying faster than any Harry had ever seen. The game moved so fast he had to replay some of the more intricate plays on the Omniculars, and it was only a few minutes into the game.

The announcer, however, seemed to have no problem following the action. "Oh, and another nasty spill for the Irish Seeker. It seems that he was forced off his broom by rival Seeker, Viktor Krum. And, by Jove, he's done it again! The Irish Seeker has tripped over his own broom and fallen once more. Oh, he's back in the air now, and the Quaffle's with the Bulgarians again. Ireland's Seeker moves in to block the goals for their Keeper, who's out of the game because of an injury due to falling, but oh! He's fallen again! Bulgaria takes an early lead."

Harry replayed the Irish Seeker nose-diving into the dirt. "Hey look, it's got a slow motion feature too!" Harry zoomed in and watched in slow motion as the Seeker's nose broke the dirt, then a tooth came flying loose, and his mouth filled with mud. "Wicked."

Ten minutes later…

"Well, that's all folks. Due to injuries involved with some of the worst consecutive falls seen in Quidditch history, the entire Irish Quidditch team is unconscious and being rushed to St. Mungo's. By the book, their alternates on the bench would have been able to take the injured player's places, but it seems that they all fell and broke something on the way to the field. So the World Cup goes to the Bulgarians by default. Bulgaria wins!"

The Irish fans were so embarrassed that they got out of the area as quickly as possible, while the Bulgarians celebrated not their victory, but the fact that they weren't as pathetic as the Irish team.

On their way out, Fred, emerged from the shame of his favorite team's pathetic loss. "Dad, have you seen Ludo Bagman?"

Arthur frowned, "Well yes, I saw him leaving in a hurry as soon as they announced the winner. Why?"

"Because he owes me twenty galleons and a liver."


Later, back in the Weasley tent, Ron ranted about Viktor Krum.

"I mean, did you see Viktor Krum? He's not just a Quidditch player, he's an artist."

Fred elbowed George.

"Viktor I love you!"

"Truly I do!"

Harry laughed and joined in with everyone else on the twin's mocking song. "When we're apart my heart beats only for you!"

Ron blushed fiercely. "Oh yeah, real cute guys. What'd you do, have choir practice?"

Harry's eyes darted shiftily, "Maybe. I mean no! No! We just all started singing this song that we all know the words to at the same time in three-part harmony. Happens all the time."

Ginny quickly stuffed a choir robe behind her back and nodded hastily.

Ron looked at him doubtfully. "Right."

The explosions of fireworks outside increased in intensity.

George smirked, "Looks like the Bulgarians are getting their pride on." Screams and shouts resounded outside.

Hermione peeked outside. "Uh no, those would be screams of pain and terror."

Ron sighed, "Well, just tell them to keep it down, okay? I'm in the middle of daydreaming about my Viktor!"

Arthur rushed to the tent flap, his eyes widening. "No, I think this is serious. All right everyone, we've got to get out right now! Go!"

Harry, Ron, and the Weasley's stumbled out of the tent and into the mêlée of frantic people running from a group of dark figures with tall pointy hoods.

"What's the KKK doing here?" asked Ron quizzically.

"No Ron, I think those are Death Eaters," said Hermione.

Ron laughed out loud. "Death Eaters? Death Eaters? What kind of a name is that! They eat death? You can't eat death. They should be the Cake Eaters, or the Death…death people, or whatever."

"The Death Death-People? Oh yeah Ron, that's brilliant. So much better than Death Eaters. Nice job." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Now now Ron, Death Eaters are not a joking matter. The Death Eaters are He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's servants. We thought they'd all disappeared long ago." Arthur muttered darkly, herding their small group towards the closest exit.

Harry frowned, "What's that they're chanting then?"

Hermione squinted. "Hmm…sounds like German. I think I can translate."

"Don't Hermione! It's probably something dreadful!" Ron shuddered.

Hermione moved her lips along with the chant, then stopped in surprise. "Um…"

"What? What're they saying?"

Hermione tried to keep a straight face. "They're saying, and I quote: "I tippy tippy toe through my garden, where all the pretty flowers dwell. And when I tippy tippy toe tippy toe toe I feel swell."

Harry snorted. "Well that's intimidating."

The Death Eaters suddenly changed direction, coming straight toward them. Harry felt himself being pulled away by the crush of panicked people.

"Harry!" screamed Hermione.

Harry tried to call back, but was knocked down. Frustrated, he tried to get back up when a foot came flying towards his face. He flew backward,

"Hey! Watch—"Above him someone was shouting.

"Hey, yeah! Kick him! Kick him again before he gets up!" A flurry of excited tramplers stomped on Harry. "It's not as though he's someone famous we all blatantly stare at!"

"That was exciting! It's my first real experience with mob rule."

The mob calmed a bit.

A lone voice called out. "What now?"

The leader of the kicking chants seemed at a loss. "Um…we kick him some more!"

Harry slipped into the black fog of unconsciousness.


Harry woke with a start. He was alone on a deserted battlefield. The ground was littered with blackened debris and still smoldering DOWN WITH THE IRISH posters wafted on the ash-thickened breeze. This wasn't a battlefield, it was a Quidditch campground!

Suddenly, a lone man stepped out from behind the debris and raised his wand. Green light shot out of the end and lit the sky with a horrible emblem. A skull hung in the sky smiling obscenely, a snake protruding from the mouth in twisted coils.

"This is definitely someone I don't want to find me," thought Harry. He tried to sink down lower into the rubble.

"HARRY? HARRY WHERE ARE YOU!?"

Harry stiffened. The man who'd cast the spell turned to the sound of the shouts.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER, THE BOY WHO CAUSED THE FALL OF THE DARK LORD WHO IS AT THIS MOMENT ALL ALONE AND DEFENSLESS? WHERE ARE YOU? HARRY?"

Despite the fact that the man was two feet away from Harry, he suddenly decided to run away from two fourth year students so stupid that they would give away the position of a known enemy of Voldemort rather than kill the enemy that was close enough to spit on. Lucky break, that.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Hermione and Ron came into view.

"Harry! Harry are you all right?"

Harry nodded, brushing ash off of his jeans. He wasn't exactly sure what was going on here, but things didn't fit. It was like the pigeon-shaped hole, and all he had to fit in it was a duck right now, but with any luck he would soon be able to uncover the mystery of the skull in the sky. All he had to do was wait for a pigeon.


Oddly