Author's note: I'm back! (And with the next chapter, which is probably more important than me.) This one is a bit of a filler, I'm afraid, but there are quite a few bits in it that are necessary to strands of the ongoing plot. Should also just mention that I've gone back and inserted a brief new scene at the start of chapter 18. It kinda feeds into a plotline that will be expanding, but it's probably not absolutely necessary to go back and read. Anyway, it's only a few hundred words if you fancy it, and is right at the start of the previous chapter.
Hope this one is ok. Much love.
-XIX- Resistance-
Harry felt slightly dazed as the glass box simply vanished around them and the sound of twenty thousand voices filled the freezing air. He and Dimitry stood in the centre of the arena, Gang slumped in a heap on the sand between them. The cheers went on and on, and Harry wasn't quite sure how to respond. Did he wave? Bow? Smile modestly?
Luckily, before he could do than contemplate his options, and stand there uncomfortably, a group of figures stepped out onto the sand and walked over to join them. When Harry caught sight of Cedric he found himself examining his boyfriend minutely for injuries. To he relief, he couldn't see much. The other boy seemed to have a darkening bruise on his jaw, but he was walking easily and his duelling leathers seemed fairly unmarked. When Harry's eyes rose he found Cedric staring at him as well. They exchanged a quick smile and looked hastily away from one another as Crouch came up and made sure the champions were standing in their teams. He eyed the boy slumped between Harry and Dimitry.
"Madame Pomfrey!" He called sharply.
Hogwarts' matron, who'd trailed after the champions looking somewhat irate, marched over and crouched down next to Gang.
"The mist?" She asked briskly, glancing up at Harry.
He nodded.
"Yes. I think he inhaled it."
Madame Pomfrey tutted disapprovingly and began running her wand over the boy's neck, muttering, before pulling a vial of something that looked like double cream from the pocket of her apron and pouring it down his throat.
"Enervate!"
Her attempt to rouse the Chinese champion had more effect than Harry's. His eyes opened and he tried to groan, but it came out as more of a croak. One of his hands rose to clutch his throat and he coughed for a while as Madame Pomfrey continued prodding at him with her wand.
"He's fine." She declared eventually, before standing.
"You both feel fine?" She asked Harry and Dimitry.
They nodded. She swept a beady eye over the other champions
"They'll all live for the next few hours, but I ask that you each visit me for a checkup in the next couple of days to make sure there are no lingering effects." With that, she shoved her wand away and strode off.
Crouch clapped his hands together sharply.
"Champions! You will now hear the results of the task. Firstly, the times for each team will be announced, after which the scores for the remaining competitors will be given."
He tipped his hat in the direction of the stands, which seemed to be a signal of some kind, as Ludo Bagman started shouting.
"Congratulations champions! A fine effort from all of you!" He paused as until the cheers died away. "Whilst the judges discuss their individual scores, I will announce the times for each team. The slowest will be removed from the tournament!"
He paused, and the shuffle of papers could be heard over the microphone. Harry held himself still, keeping his expression frozen. Whatever happened, there was nothing he could do now.
"Guiying Ma, Kamali Bigombe and Akihiko Higasho: sixteen minutes and fourteen seconds." The crowd clapped. "Isadora Araya, Cedric Diggory and James Waters: nine minutes and fifty-one seconds." The crowd cheered now, though whether it was because of the shorter time or because Cedric was from Britain Harry did not know. "Fleur Delacour, Ignazio Rossi, Harald Normundson: nineteen minutes and fifty-eight seconds." Applause again, accompanied by an undercurrent of groans. When Harry glanced in Fleur's direction he saw that she looked disappointed, though she tried to mask it. "Gang Pan, Dimitry Vasnetsov and Harry Potter-Black: eight minutes and four seconds, which means that Fleur Delacour, Ignazio Rossi and Harald Normundson are eliminated."
Harry blinked, relief and elation bubbling in his chest as the crowd roared. The fastest time. By a margin of almost two minutes. His face relaxed into a broad grin, and when he turned to exchange a nod with Dimitry he saw that the surly Russian was smiling slightly as well. Gang was looking slightly confused. Harry saw that Cedric and his teammates were hugging one another, and though the sight of his boyfriend wrapped in someone else's arms lifted an instinctive swell of jealousy, he grinned back when he caught his eye over Isadora's shoulder.
More moving paper could be heard over the microphone.
"And now the points. The champions have been judged by an international panel of impartial judges. The marks are out of fifty. Guiying Ma, thirty-eight. Kamali Bigombe, thirty-one. Akihiko Hagasho, thirty-six. Isadora Araya, forty-four. Cedric Diggory, forty-four. James Waters, thirty-five. Gang Pan, twelve. Dimitry Vasnetsov, forty-one. Harry Potter-Black…" Bagman paused and cleared his throat before continuing, "pending an investigation, forty-eight."
What? Harry wasn't sure whether he was more startled by the score or the prospect of an investigation. Bagman was thanking the crowd for their support now and talking about when the date of the next task would be announced, but Harry barely heard him.
"The judges request that Mr Potter-Black present himself to the committee immediately." Harry could hardly miss that, and before he had a chance to work out where on earth he was supposed to go, Lord Crouch was standing in front of him.
"Follow me, if you would."
Harry trailed after him, glancing at a worried looking Cedric. He did not attempt to make conversation. He did not know what Crouch thought of him, but doubted he was considered kindly for publicly embarrassing the man over the Sirius affair. Wanker deserved it. He couldn't help but think, even if he hadn't been the main criminal.
The main criminal stood beaming at him just outside the stadium.
"Harry!" Headmaster Dumbledore exclaimed, lifting the arms of a turquoise robe that was by far the brightest thing in the rapidly darkening day.
"Good afternoon, headmaster," he replied politely.
Dumbledore led Crouch and him into the champions' tent, where they found half a dozen aurors under the command of a captain Harry didn't recognise, and a group of expensively robed witches and wizards who were huddled together engaged in what looked like an argument.
They all looked up as Harry and his escorts came in, a mixture of expressions on their faces.
"I'm sorry, headmaster, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave." The captain of the aurors said, stepping in front of Dumbledore.
The headmaster blinked and twinkled merrily.
"But Harry here is my student," he began, as though confused, "surely—"
"He does not need his headmaster defending him in a competition he has entered under his own name, and not as a member of his school. This is a nonpartisan inquiry and your being here is inappropriate." A miserable-looking witch with a round face finished.
Dumbledore stared at her helplessly for a few moments, though Harry suspected he was merely trying to read the strength of the resistance arrayed against his presence. Eventually, he nodded and sighed.
"I will leave you, then." He declared. He glanced around, as though expected someone to protest his departure. When no-one did, he exited the tent.
"Mr Potter-Black," he witch who had got rid of Dumbledore continued, "please take a seat."
Harry did so, feeling the sagging canvas of the fold-up chair creak beneath him.
"My name is Agnetha Roscoff, and I am a member of the International Wizarding Sports and Competitions Governing Body. You have been asked to join us because of your use of an unrecognised spell during the Second Task of the hundred and seventeenth Triwizard Tournament." As she spoke, a blood red quill scraped against a floating parchment, recording her words. "A suggestion has been made that either your use of the spell or its effects were against either the rules of the tournament or the laws of this country."
Harry steeled himself.
"Which is it?"
She frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"Raise a charge against me and I will answer it." Harry challenged. "Rather than flinging about 'suggestions'."
"We would like to deal with this as efficiently as possible." She replied. "I do not think making formal charges would be in your best interests."
Or yours. Harry added, frowning to himself. By 'efficiently' she clearly meant 'quietly'. He wondered who had raised the objection, whether it was someone truly trying to enforce the rules, or someone with something more personal against him.
"Might I meet my accuser?" He asked sweetly, examining her expression.
She looked slightly uneasy for a moment.
"You may not." Came the curt reply.
It's likely personal, then. He thought heavily. At last the shadows were moving behind the curtain, extending their ghostly knives to interfere with him; to distract, to divert, to weaken. He wondered what their aim was here. Clearly, someone had decided that a public inquiry would not be in anyone's interests. Did they want him quietly removed from the tournament? He supposed he had no choice.
"Release me without punishment, or charge me and give me a trial. Informal proceedings have no weight in the face of such serious allegations." He challenged.
The woman's round, pale face tightened. A trial would be messy, would be public, and he would win. He had broken none of the tournament's rules, and even if they weren't yet certain of that, his confidence would give them doubt.
"Mr Bagman! Leave us!"
Harry barely stopped himself from starting with surprise as her voice lashed out, though clearly it was not directed at him. He heard the tent flap slap shut behind him, and wondered whether Bagman had come and try to help him again by speaking in his defence. If so, he was grateful the man hadn't had a chance to open his mouth.
Agnetha Roscoff's steely gaze returned to his face.
"You may go."
He left.
He found his family waiting a short distance from the tent, talking animatedly to Lord Crouch. Their conversation broke off as he came over.
"Well?" Sirius demanded. For once, he looked serious.
"They let me go." Harry replied. He couldn't help but note Crouch's expression freeze at his words, even as his family looked relieved.
"Excellent." His grandmother declared. "Now come, we will have dinner together in Hogsmeade. I'm sure your celebrations can wait an hour or two." She said sharply when he made to protest.
Harry nodded, wondering why she was being so firm.
They left Lord Crouch standing on his own in the snow as they made their way across the school grounds to the wardline. A junior-looking enforcer stood guard by the gates, but he rushed to open them without question at their approach. Five minutes and a short apparition later and they were seating themselves comfortably around a table in The Hippocampus, what seemed to be the nearest thing Hogsmeade had to a smart restaurant.
"What happened?" Harry's grandmother asked as soon as they were ensconced at a table in a sheltered corner.
Harry shrugged. Their journey had to the restaurant had been silent, and he felt a little unsettled by the urgency of the sudden question.
"Apparently someone thought I'd used an illegal spell. I knew I hadn't, so I challenged them to charge me properly and they backed off."
"They wanted it kept quiet, then." Dorea murmured.
"Harry, what was that spell?" Remus asked, sounding slightly nervous.
"Like the Imperius curse, but it doesn't affect the mind of the subject, only the body." Harry replied. "It's legal." He assured them quickly, when Remus blanched and Dorea frowned. "At least, it's legal according to the rules of the tournament; I'm not sure whether I'd be allowed to cast it outside of a task."
"Can you teach it to me?" Sirius asked eagerly. "I could knock Scrimgeour out and make him do… things." He finished weakly when Dorea turned her frown on him.
"Harry, do not teach that spell to your godfather." She instructed.
"Umm, I'll do my best." He replied, trying not to make a promise.
"I brought you here to let you know that the tide is beginning to turn." Dorea continued, brushing past the previous matter and looking deadly serious.
Harry was astute enough to know what she was talking about. He leant back in his chair and closed his eyes for a brief moment.
"I had hoped for more time." He said softly. "But I suppose even the dealer cannot control the cards for the whole game." Although Dumbledore tries his best, he added silently.
"More time?" Sirius asked, leaning in and looking concerned.
Harry smiled at him.
"Don't worry; I'm not ill or anything, that I know of, at least. Granny just means that people are beginning to manoeuvre against me."
"Manoeuvre against you?" Remus asked.
"I returned to Britain with a famous name and immediately came into wealth and power. I am a significant token in the political game." Harry explained. "I arrived and did everything in my power to make myself seem unaligned. I did all I could to gain advantages whilst no-one was willing to resist me and risk me turning against them. I gained my seats on the Wizengamot, I bargained successfully for Sirius' freedom, and for the establishment of a new house at Hogwarts, all because of a lack of opposition. Now, either I have alienated some powerful people enough for them to turn against me, or have become enough of a threat that they seek to weaken me, whatever they believe of my motives."
Dorea nodded.
"Exactly, although it is less developed than that, at the moment. I feel the impulse at the moment is to stop you expanding your influence further, rather than actively weaken you. That explains the inquiry after the task. I doubt they would have removed you from the tournament. It would have been deeply questionable, and a public outcry would have been inevitable. I suspect they merely desired to cast a shadow over your candidacy. It was not necessary to announce the investigation to the crowd, but doing so ensures it will be talked about."
Harry nodded, feeling slightly relieved that his grandmother thought he had not yet made any new mortal enemies.
"What were you talking to Crouch about?" He asked curiously.
"He's one of the ones I suspect is seeking to clip your wings." Dorea commented. "We were asking him about the inquiry, and he almost went as far as accusing you himself."
Crouch would make a formidable opponent, Harry thought regretfully. But then, in freeing Sirius he'd managed to humiliate the man in from of his peers, and so it was almost inevitable that he would bear something of a grudge.
"However," Dorea continued, smiling slightly now, "I must compliment you on your handling of the matter, and congratulate you on your performance."
Sirius nodded eagerly.
"You were great, pup."
"Very impressive." Remus agreed.
"What were the others like?" Harry asked. Really, he wanted to know about Cedric, but seeing as no-one apart from the two of them knew about their relationship, he did not want draw attention.
"Well, your boyfriend did pretty well." Sirius acknowledged, smirking at him.
Harry just rolled his eyes at his godfather. He couldn't deny Cedric was his boyfriend without lying outright, which he also didn't want to do.
"He managed to stun the chimera his team got." Sirius continued, sounding almost admiring. "Got it right in the eye, damn good shot."
Harry walked slowly back up to the school much later that evening, full from the excellent meal and feeling slightly sleepy after the exertions of his day. The cold air roused him slightly, but all he could wish for as the lights of Hogwarts came into view was the warm embrace of his bed. It was not to be, however, for he was stopped half a dozen times in the corridors by excited fans congratulating him on his performance and asking about the results of the inquiry. Once he reached what he hoped would be the sanctuary of the Blackleprickle common room, he found his six housemates waiting for him.
"At bloody last!" Liram called, throwing a Fizzing Whizzbee at his head. Harry caught it and bit into it.
"Thanks." He said to his friend, walking over to join them, only to start levitating halfway across the room. It was a strange sensation, trying to walk whilst the hovering effect of the weird bubbly-sherbet was still in effect, like paddling against air.
"See how our mighty champion had fallen!" Liram mocked.
Harry tried to swim with his arms as well, drawing a laugh from the group around the fire. Shortly afterwards, the enchantment dissipated and Harry found himself gently set back down upon the carpet.
"You decided not to eat with us?" Daphne asked.
"I wanted to eat with you guys, but my family had other ideas." Harry replied, shrugging. "Sorry if I missed the party."
Tracey snorted.
"What party? The Puffs are probably getting drunk right now." She muttered, looking annoyed.
Harry felt slightly inadequate then, like the house he'd created couldn't provide the celebrations that one with a few hundred more members could. He shrugged off the duelling jacket he hadn't had a chance to remove since the task, and raised a hand to summon a couple of bottles of wine from his chambers.
"Fancy a glass?" He asked Tracey, who'd grown wide-eyed.
"Umm, yeah." She replied. It sounded like of course.
"I doubt the Hufflepuffs have alcohol." Daphne reassured her, reaching out to take the conjured goblet Harry offered. "They're far too well behaved, and they wouldn't want to disappoint Professor Sprout."
"Yeah." Liram agreed. "Whereas Slughorn is more likely to be disappointed if we don't have booze hidden away."
Harry relaxed slightly, sinking into the soft cushions of the sofa he was sharing with Blaise. In truth, Slughorn had worked out even better than he'd expected. The man didn't get in his way, and was always helpful when Harry needed a member of staff
"I was actually hoping you guys might help me plan a party." He began casually, sipping his wine.
"When?" Tracey demanded eagerly, half her glass already gone.
"Hmm."
It took all of Harry's considerable restraint to make such a noncommittal sound. Liram looked up from his spiced porridge and leant in to read the Prophet's front page.
"What?" He exclaimed. Harry was happy to note he sounded indignant.
'BOY-WHO-LIVED PENALISED FOR USE OF ILLEGAL SPELL IN TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT!' Ran the headline.
"I thought you said they let you off?" Liram asked.
"I thought they did." Harry answered, frowning slightly as he scanned the article.
…Lord Potter-Black's use of an unrecognised spell with effects eerily similar to the Unforgivable Imperius curse was observed during the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament, currently taking place at Hogwarts School. An anonymous complaint was brought to the governing body for Wizarding sports, and a decision has been issued that Lord Potter-Black be docked ten points from his provisional first-place total of forty eight…
The article ran on for several further paragraphs, and even raised the possibility of Harry being prosecuted for his use of a curse that should clearly be illegal. The byline, however, managed to drag his attention away from even the prospect of prosecution.
Rita Skeeter.
"What a bitch." Liram commented, in a remarkable echo of Harry's own thoughts.
"Yeah." He agreed shortly, trying to push his anger to one side and turn the information over in his head.
She's been freed, then. He concluded. He'd thought he had Rita Skeeter and her editor under his thumb, but apparently either someone sufficiently powerful had come to release and protect them from his ire, or they had decided they were willing to dance with fire alone. He would have to find out which, but the more pressing concern was the fact that the Wizarding Sports people had also seemingly decided to challenge him. He supposed that his dismissal the previous day hadn't quite been an explicit agreement that he was free and innocent, but it had been close enough.
So, someone has put more pressure on them. He decided. Enough pressure for them to run the risk of the threat I made. It took him a further few moments, during which more and more heads in the hall turned from their own copies of the Prophet to stare at him, to work out the cleverness of their plan.
They haven't really punished me. He realised. At least not seriously. I'm still in the tournament, still have enough points from the task to put me somewhere in the middle of the pack. They probably want me to complain about this, then they can just have Skeeter tear me apart for moaning about losing a few points when I used an almost-Unforgiveable on a foreign student. She'll use it as a platform to claim I got off lightly, to try and turn people against me, paint me as dangerous, as out of control.
The thought that he had worked out the intentions of the anonymous person or persons behind the attack did not cheer him. He would have to accept the punishment without complaint. It irked him, because although he felt guilty for taking advantage of Gang, even risking the other boy's health to gather the gold snitch, he knew he had broken none of the tournament's rules, and also knew that Gang was only too grateful for an opportunity to stay in the competition.
"You know," Liram began, breaking into his train of thought, "I could vouch for you, for your spell. That it isn't, like, the imperius or anything."
Harry considered the notion briefly. He'd needed a human to test the spell on before using it in the tournament, after it had worked as intended on mice. A slightly nervous Liram had volunteered. His feedback had been invaluable in tweaking the last few bits of arithmancy, and had assured Harry that whilst his curse might be able to move a person's muscles, it had no control over their mind. Liram, when conscious, had been able to wrest control of his limbs back with no effort.
"I don't think it's worth it." He answered regretfully. He had to pick his battles, and he suspected that this one would cost him too much to win to be worth fighting.
"No holiday work for you, Mr Potter-Black." Professor McGonagall graced Harry with a rare smile as she made her announcement.
"Professor!" Ron Weasley exclaimed, turning round in his seat, a look of outrage on his freckled face. "How come he gets to escape?"
He quailed under her gaze.
"Because, Mr Weasley, he currently has a teacup sitting in front of him. As soon as your own chicken discovers its ceramic form I shall be glad to exempt you from the extra reading."
Harry wasn't really sure why Weasley bothered, to be honest. He seemed to resent the achievements of every other student in all of his classes. Harry supposed that it couldn't be easy following a string of older brothers who had all done well at Hogwarts, when Ron himself seemed to struggle. The redhead had developed a particular dislike of Harry, never quite living down their encounter on the train in September. He alone at Hogwarts had loudly voiced his outrage at Harry's being selected as one of the Triwizard Champions. The existence of a competitor his own age had done much to undermine his own boasts that only Dumbledore's age line had prevented him from representing Hogwarts.
The youngest Weasley son, however, did not merit much of Harry's attention. The school term had officially ended several days before, on the Friday before the Second Task, but Professor McGonagall had taken the continued presence of so many of her students in the castle to arrange for some additional tuition. Harry had wanted to ignore the sessions, but Liram had dragged him along, and so he found himself locked inside poking various species of poultry with his wand when he'd much rather be flying over the frozen lake or kidnapping Cedric again.
The Yule Ball was two days away now, and the talk around the school had been of little else. Several scandals had erupted regarding who was supposedly taking whom. Harry had been amused to learn that he was supposed to have taken pity on Ron Weasley's younger sister and be. Apparently she had announced her intention to ask him to some of her friends, who had seen the rumour spread. Whatever truth lay beneath the whispers, Harry had only seen the redheaded girl across the Great Hall at mealtimes, staring at him and blushing violently whenever he caught her eye. It was a little discomforting, truth be told. Not nearly so discomforting, however, as Daphne had proved for Draco Malfoy. His father had apparently not told him that arrangements to betroth him to Lord Greengrass' daughter had been quietly dismissed, and so Draco had valiantly attempted to smooth along the abandoned process by inviting her.
Harry had not seen the event in person, though he would have paid good money to have done so, but Daphne told him that Draco had seemed confused by her refusal, as though he had not even considered it an option.
Apparently he was now taking Pansy Parkinson, which Harry thought was probably even more embarrassing than being dismissed by his first choise. Liram had ended up taking Daphne, she having invited him after refusing the advances of half of Slytherin's smuggest purebloods. Anthony had managed to screw up enough courage to ask Padma to go with him, and Tracey was going with Blaise, which Harry thought was a remarkably strange pairing. He also couldn't help but think it made Blackleprickle look a little incestuous, but that couldn't be helped. The Black family had been marrying cousin to cousin for a thousand years, and sibling to sibling before that, so he supposed the house named in its honour was somewhat ironically continuing a proud tradition.
"'Arry, might I 'ave a word wiz' you?'"
Harry thought that Fleur's accent sounded stronger than normal when she caught him as he left the Great Hall on the morning of the ball. He turned and smiled at her, nodding Daphne on. She looked slightly reluctant, but left, and Harry was alone with his date for the evening.
"How can I help you, my lady?" He asked courteously, smiling playfully.
She laughed softly and returned his expression.
"We must talk about this evening, oui?" She asked. "We must prepare our entrance."
"Prepare our entrance?" Harry echoed, amused.
"I am not in 'ze tournament any more!" She exclaimed, and although her perfect pink lips continued to smile, Harry could detect the hurt in her voice. "So I must make sure that people do not forget me!" She declared emphatically.
"Impossible." Harry assured her.
She smiled.
"Well, we will be making sure. I would like us to be 'ze last champions to enter 'ze Hall. We must stand at the back of the group to go in. Also, do not wear anything that clashes with green or silver."
"Green and silver? Have you become a Slytherin?" Harry asked.
Fleur tossed her hair, stopping a couple of passing fifth years in their tracks.
"I 'ope not." She answered. "I would not like to live in a dungeon. But anyway, I 'zink that is everything you must know. You may collect me from the Beauxbatons' carriage at quarter to eight." She informed him, before sweeping off.
Harry shook his head, setting off back towards the Blackleprickle common room through corridors gently dusted with snow. Hogwarts' army of house elves had been engulfed in a flurry of activity over the preceding week, draping great garlands of holly and ivy and other greenery about the castle, perching festive hats atop the many suits of armour and installing a tree so large that it dwarfed even Hagrid and Madame Maxime in the entrance hall.
When he brushed open the door to the common room, he found himself facing the broad rear of Professor Slughorn.
"Ah, Harry, my boy!" The man greeted cheerfully, turning ponderously. Harry wondered how the man had detected his entrance, before he saw his other six housemates sat in front of the man, looking in his direction. "Sit down, sit down. I was just talking about the ball this evening." Slughorn continued, waving Harry to a sofa.
He sat down next to Daphne, who lifted a faint smile in his direction before returning her attention to their head of house.
"As I was saying, Minerva, ahem, Professor McGonagall," Slughorn corrected himself hastily, "has instructed me to ensure that my students do not let the side down, as it were, this evening."
"Let the side down?" Padma asked, sounding confused.
Slughorn smiled genially.
"That's what she said. I expects she means no drinking, no practical jokes, not saying anything embarrassing in front of our guests, and so on."
"She should focus on her Gryffindors." Daphne muttered. "We all know exactly how to behave."
Author's note: As ever, comments and follows are much loved and appreciated. Always want to know what you guys think (good or bad). Also a couple of milestones with this chapter: 100k+ total words, and 100k+ total views on this story. I'll pat myself on the back for the first (though it's taken a while), and all of you guys for the second. Much love, and next chapter will be the Yule Ball :O