The next morning, Harry swallowed his pride, headed over to the Ravenclaw table, and asked Luna Lovegood, "Can I join you?"
Luna glanced up from her copy of the Quibbler, shrugged, and looked back down again. "I'd rather you didn't."
Harry sat down anyway and poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice. "How are you?"
"Well, no thanks to you," said Luna, spooning sugar over her sausages. "Can you go away, please? I'm trying to concentrate."
"I saw that," Harry said. He took a sip of pumpkin juice to soothe his dry throat, not that it helped much. "I – Professor Dumbledore spoke to me and Michael Corner yesterday. I just wanted to apologise. I never thought he'd go that far."
Luna looked up, wide-eyed. "Go how far?"
"He had one of his cronies put scorpions in your bed," Harry admitted. "And – I can't remember all of it. I think he might have put thumb-tacks in your shoes."
"I didn't notice," said Luna.
"You don't notice anything, Luna," Cho Chang said, depositing herself next to Luna. "Hello. Cho Chang, not at your service. Kindly fuck off."
Harry stared. "I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm allowed to be here. It says so in Hogwarts: A History."
"Yes, but I don't think I like you very much," said Cho, smiling. She had a beautiful smile, but Harry didn't think it was much on Ginny's. "Cedric told me the Quibbler has the right of things, and Padma Patil said you and Michael Corner got very cosy at the Yule Ball. Guess who immediately started bullying Luna?"
"Cedric's a liar," Harry lied.
Cho levelled him with a deeply unimpressed look. "Tell it to the marines, Potter. What're you doing here, anyway? This isn't your table."
"I came to apologise," said Harry. "I really didn't think he'd go that far."
"Have you met Michael Corner?" Cho asked. "He wouldn't know restraint if it hit him in the face. How is Ginny Weasley, by the way?"
Harry glanced over at the Gryffindor table, where Ginny was chattering away with Demelza Robins and Colin Creevey. Demelza, who seemed to disapprove of Michael Corner at least as much as Harry himself did, had told Harry in confidence that, beneath her copious make-up, Ginny's cheeks and neck were a tapestry of nasty-looking bruises. "He doesn't know his own strength, she says. I've set Rita Skeeter on him. She's a bit busy at the moment, but I'm sure she'll dig up something."
"That's very spiteful of you," said Luna vaguely.
"I think you may be the last person on earth who's qualified to discuss whether spite is an appropriate motivation for journalism," Harry snapped. "I've set Rita Skeeter on the git who's been bullying you for the last fortnight. Show a bit of gratitude."
Cho glared. "You're the one who set him on her in the first place, you only stopped because Dumbledore gave you a slap on the wrist, and you're only doing it because he's hurting your friend. Besides, nobody deserves to have Rita Skeeter after them. What if she doesn't find something? Will she make something up?"
"I trust Madam Skeeter to tell the truth," said Harry.
Cho raised her eyebrows. "That makes one of you. Why on earth would you trust her? Didn't she write a rude article about Hagrid last week?"
"She's got to make money," Harry pointed out. "And it wasn't a lie. He is half giant. She's … she's done me a few favours. Oh, and I did an interview with her about Hagrid, so it'll all blow over soon."
Cho and Luna exchanged glances.
"What's going on?" asked a girl with curly reddish-blonde hair, sitting down on Luna's other side. "And who, pray tell, is this?"
"This is Harry Potter, Marietta," said Cho, faux-sweetly. "He was just leaving, weren't you, Harry?"
Harry turned his attention to Luna, who was engrossed in her magazine again. "So, do you accept my apology?"
"Not really," Luna said, without looking up. "Look, Marietta, Daddy's got another article about the Rotfang Conspiracy."
"Is it?" Marietta said fondly.
Harry took the hint and returned to the Gryffindor table.
"Well?" Ginny said.
"She doesn't accept my apology and Cho Chang hates my guts," Harry said miserably. "Oh, and by the way, you'll have to find someone else to sit with in the library. I've got detention, remember?"
It was quite possibly the least pleasant detention Harry had ever had, including the time he'd run into Voldemort in first year. Professor Flitwick spent two hours reading to him various of the less pleasant letters which had been written to the Quibbler, then made him write I will not incite bullying. I will not call people unkind names. I will solve my problems by discussing them with a professor, not by enlisting other students to harass people I dislike until his hand ached. They took a break for lunch, after which Professor Flitwick presented him with two foot-long lengths of parchment, one of which was to be filled with an essay on what he'd done wrong and the other with a letter of apology to Luna.
"All that just for calling her what everyone calls her?" Ginny said, at dinner. "That's a bit ridiculous, don't you think, Colin?"
But Colin Creevey was deep in conversation with one of the other third-years.
"Suit yourself," said Ginny, rolling her eyes and moving along a good six seats. Harry followed her. "So, Harry, how's your prep for the next task going?"
It was utterly non-existent, but Harry didn't plan to admit that. "Alright, I suppose."
"Excuse me."
It was Luna Lovegood, with Cho Chang in tow.
"Fuck off," Harry told them.
"I apologise if I made you feel uncomfortable," said Luna, as if he hadn't spoken. "I have morals, you see, and not everyone –"
"Luna, I think that was all Flitwick wanted from you," Cho said, folding her arms. "Right, back to Ravenclaw you go, before Gryffindor immorality infects you. Oh, and Potter, Cedric asked me to tell you to take your egg for a bath."
Harry stared. "A bath?"
"He says that's how he worked out the clue," said Cho, not looking at all impressed. "I'm not sure myself, but … well, you know, it'll make something for your pet reporter to write about, won't it?"
"Madam Skeeter isn't my pet reporter," Harry snapped.
Cho snorted and departed, Luna trailing after her like a dreamy puppy.
"Are you going to give it a go?" Ginny asked.
Harry shrugged. "It's worth a try, I suppose." He certainly didn't have any better ideas.
"Alright," Ginny said. "I'll ask the twins for the password to the prefects' bathroom. It's much bigger, and you're way more likely to be alone."
"Am I allowed in the prefects' bathroom?" Harry asked.
"Beats me," said Ginny. "We could ask Hermione, if you like. She's literally right there." She pointed at Hermione, who was sitting next to Ron, their heads so close together it looked like they were kissing.
Harry snorted. "I think I might take my chances, thanks." He leant in, lowering his voice as far as he could; Hermione and Ron, who sat nearest, were several place-settings along, but he wasn't sure he wanted anyone to overhear the rest of the conversation. "Do you want to come with me? I'm about ninety-percent sure it's the egg I'm meant to put in the water, not me –"
"Well, in that case, you could just nick a pot from the kitchens and use that," said Ginny, wrinkling her nose.
"It'll be an adventure," Harry pointed out. "We'll go under the cloak and – and I've got this wicked map your brothers gave me that shows you where everyone is. It'll be a laugh, Ginny, not like last time, a proper laugh." His main consideration, though, was that he didn't know where the kitchens were.
"Alright," said Ginny dubiously. "When?"
Harry checked his timetable. The next day was a Monday, so his timetable consisted of Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, and double Divination, hardly anything strenuous. "No time like the present. Tonight? After curfew? Even prefects aren't meant to be in there after curfew."
Ginny groaned. "Can we just loiter in an empty classroom? I don't fancy climbing out the portrait hole in the cloak again."
After dinner, therefore, Harry went up to the common room, retrieved the invisibility cloak, the Marauder's Map, and the golden egg, and joined Ginny in the library.
"I just spoke to the twins," she told him, as she pulled pile after pile of Ancient Runes notes from her bag, "and the password's pine-fresh. It's near the statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor."
"Great," said Harry, and threw himself into his own homework; the combination of a Hogsmeade weekend and an all-day detention had conspired to put him worryingly behind.
Ten minutes before curfew, Madam Pince came round and shooed everyone out. Harry and Ginny dawdled after the flood of harried-looking seventh-years, but instead of joining one of the twin streams of people (one upstairs towards Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Towers, one downstairs towards the Slytherin and Hufflepuff dormitories), they ducked into the Ancient Runes classroom.
"Ooh, the egg's really pretty," said Ginny, helping Harry unfold the cloak. "Can you show me how this map of yours works?"
"Yeah," said Harry. "Just a sec – let's get under the cloak – hold the egg, will you? – right. So, this is the map. Lumos! I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The map erupted into its usual representation of Hogwarts, full of tiny dots streaming towards their common rooms.
"Wicked," Ginny breathed, her pretty face alight with curiosity. "How does it work?"
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "The twins weren't very clear. Shall we head off?"
It was surprisingly easy to work their way through the school, now that they had the Marauder's Map with them. Every time they heard footsteps, it was the work of a moment to find out where it was coming from and choose a different route to the statue of Boris the Bewildered.
They arrived at the prefects' bathroom just after curfew.
"Pine-fresh," Harry whispered. The door creaked open. They slipped inside, and Harry bolted the door.
"Wicked," said Ginny again, doing a little twirl. "I have a sudden urge to work harder and behave better."
Harry had to agree that the prefects' bathroom was absolutely glorious. The glittering golden chandelier threw the white marble walls into relief and painted shadows across the bottom of the empty swimming pool in the middle of the floor. There were about a hundred bejewelled golden taps around the pool's edges, and there was also a diving board. A blonde mermaid stared blearily at them from inside the room's lone painting.
"Well," Harry said awkwardly, "shall we run a bath?"
Ginny took a fluffy white towel from a pile in the corner, set the egg reverently on it, marched over to the pool, and started turning on taps. Each tap contained a different kind of bubble bath, but not the sort of bubble bath Aunt Petunia kept in the bathroom at Privet Drive; it was just the sort of over-the-top, colourful, ridiculous bubble bath Harry had half-expected the prefects' bathroom to have.
A surprisingly short time later, the bath was full.
"What do we do now?" Ginny asked.
Harry shrugged. "Stick the egg in the water?"
"Fair," said Ginny, and lowered the egg in the water. "It's not doing anything."
Harry sat down on the edge of the pool beside her. "Give here."
Ginny handed the egg over. Harry dropped it; it landed in his lap, soaking his robes, and rolled into the pool with a plop.
"Fuck," said Ginny, in a small voice.
"Not to worry," Harry said, putting a brave face on it. "Accio golden egg!"
Nothing happened, although perhaps that was because some of the bubble bath was quite probably thick enough to support Harry's weight.
"You're going to have to go in," Ginny said glumly. "I'll turn around." She did so.
Harry, feeling very self-conscious, undressed and slid into the pool. It was deeper than he had thought it would be; his feet barely touched the bottom. "You can look now."
Ginny turned back around again and sat down on the edge of the pool with a towel over her lap. "Go on in, then."
Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and forced himself beneath the water, past the bubbles, then opened his eyes again. The golden egg twinkled smugly at him from the base of the pool. He dived, grabbed it, returned to the surface, and deposited it in Ginny's lap while he got his breath back.
"Oh, look," said Ginny, who had been fiddling with the egg, "there's a groove here, see? Maybe you have to open it."
"You do it," Harry said. "My hands are all –" He waved his wet hands around for emphasis. Ginny ducked away from the resulting shower of water, laughing. "And you've got long nails anyway."
Ginny, still giggling, ran her nails all around the groove in the egg and opened it. Inside, it was completely hollow and empty, and from it came loud screaming, the wails echoing off the marble walls. Harry snapped it shut.
"Maybe we need to open it and stick it in the water," he suggested, heart racing. If Filch caught them … he'd been caught out of bounds after curfew once before, and it hadn't been a pleasant experience. He didn't even want to think what would happen if he was found out of bounds, after curfew, cheating on the Triwizard Tournament and in possession of contraband, while naked in a bathroom with a third-year girl.
"Maybe," said Ginny, handing him the egg. "Don't drop it this time."
Harry held the egg under the water, and Ginny opened it, her small hands uncomfortably close to Harry's own. A gurgling song now emerged from the egg.
"Oh, that's mersong," Ginny said, eyes lighting up. "Bill listens to it at home because Mum won't let him listen to … death metal, I think he called it. You have to listen to it underwater, though, so it's just that, on repeat, all the time. I'd almost rather Celestina Warbeck."
Harry took another deep breath and slid under the surface. The gurgling song immediately became a quite understandable – although rather eerie – chorus:
Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching, ponder this:
We've taken what you'll surely miss,
An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour – the prospect's black
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.
Harry let himself emerge.
"Well?" Ginny said, biting her lip.
"It's a poem," Harry said. "I – do you have parchment and a quill?"
She did, it turned out, so Harry ducked under the water over and over and recited the poem to her.
"What do you think it means?" she asked, once they were done.
Harry shrugged. "Now's probably not a good time to think about it. We've got until the twenty-fourth of February, and we should be in bed."
"Mm," said Ginny. "I – I'll dry the egg, then. Shall I bring you a towel?"
"Please," Harry said relievedly.
He dried himself off as quickly as possible and wriggled into his clothes, then joined Ginny under the invisibility cloak.
"I love this map," Ginny said happily, prodding the Marauder's Map with a slightly damp finger. "Look, there's Filch – and Mrs Norris – and Peeves – and – what's he doing in Snape's office?"
Harry squinted. There was a single dot in Snape's office, but it wasn't Snape; it was Mr Crouch, Percy Weasley's boss. "I thought he was ill."
"Me too," said Ginny. "If he's not ill, he could've told Percy. Saved us all putting up with him at the Yule Ball – what d'you think he's up to? Snape's not even in there."
"Dunno," Harry said, checking his watch. It wasn't even ten o'clock. "Want to go and check?"
Ginny beamed and hugged the egg closer to her chest.
And so they crept through the school, heading in completely the wrong direction, towards the dungeons. It was dark outside, and the corridors were full of moonlight and not much else. Harry took the opportunity to show Ginny a narrow staircase which doubled as a useful shortcut, mostly because it was covered by a tapestry –
And then halfway down the staircase, Harry's leg sank through the trick step which made the shortcut so rarely travelled, and Ginny, swearing, fell right after him and dropped the egg. It clattered down the stairs, banging away loud enough to wake the dead, and the cloak slipped – Harry caught it, but dropped the Map in the process, and the Map fluttered away from him, so far he couldn't reach it.
The egg clattered through the tapestry at the bottom of the staircase, burst open, and began wailing in the corridor below. Harry pulled out his wand and tried to summon the Map, but he couldn't think straight with the egg wailing away – beside him, Ginny was muttering Silencing Spell after Silencing Spell, but either she couldn't think straight either or the egg couldn't be silenced without closing it – sweat poured down Harry's face and steamed up his glasses –
"PEEVES!"
It was Filch.
"Shit," said Ginny miserably.
Harry shushed her. If they could just keep quiet, there was a chance they'd get away with it … and after all, being caught out after curfew with contraband objects and a girl was certainly a better prospect than the last time the egg had screamed, but it still wasn't exactly going to endear him to the professors.
"What's this racket? I'll have you, Peeves, I will – and what's this?"
The wailing stopped; evidently Filch had closed the egg.
"This belongs to a Triwizard champion," said Filch, to himself. "Stealing now, eh? What that poltergeist won't do –" He ripped back the tapestry below and stared up at them, pale eyes bulging. "Peeves! Come out, you filthy pilfering rat –"
"What's going on?"
Filch turned around. "Professor Snape!"
Snape joined Filch in peering up the staircase. He was wearing a long grey nightshirt which made him look utterly ridiculous. Harry could hear his heart beating away in his ears, and Ginny's quick breathing inches away.
"It's only Peeves, professor," Filch whispered gleefully. "Threw this down the stairs."
"Peeves?" Snape repeated, the picture of confusion. "But Peeves couldn't get into my office – there was screaming just now. Did you happen to find out what it was? Was it one of those screaming books in the Restricted Section?"
Filch shook his head. "This thing screams when it's open, seems like. What was that about your office? Students been at it?"
"I presume so," said Snape, folding his arms. "It certainly wasn't Peeves. Come, let us search for the intruder. They can't have gone –"
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
It was Moody. Harry had never been so glad to see someone in all his life.
"Evening," said Moody, squinting up through the tiny gap between Snape and Filch. "What's going on here, then? Little reunion?"
Snape went white. "I heard screaming," he said stiffly. "It turned out to be this wretched egg."
"And someone's broken into Professor Snape's off –"
"Shut up!" Snape hissed.
Moody elbowed his way between Snape and Filch; Snape fled several steps up the stairs, and Filch, after a second, joined him. Moody stumped after them, stopping a step below them. The three of them were now worryingly close to Harry and Ginny, who had screwed her eyes shut and appeared to be about five seconds away from bursting into tears. And Moody's magical eye was on them, right on them …
It's for the tournament, Harry mouthed, praying Moody's magical eye could see through invisibility cloaks.
Moody turned to Snape. "Someone broke into your office? Who'd want to do that?"
"A student," said Snape, in a very cold, stiff voice. "They often steal things. Revolting little rats."
"Hmm," Moody said, grinning. "You've dropped something, Snape." He pointed past Snape at the Marauder's Map.
It's mine, Harry mouthed frantically. It's mine, it's for the tournament, don't let them see it.
"Accio!" Moody said, and the Map flew past Snape and Filch into his hand. He opened it and examined it with obvious interest. "Oh, no, never mind, this is my to-do list – got a few sixth-years to disappoint, Snape, you know how it is. Off you two trot, now. I'll take the egg, if you don't mind, Filch."
Filch handed the egg over and marched off, Mrs Norris the cat at his heels. Snape made a face and stormed off in the opposite direction, swearing audibly. A door slammed somewhere in the distance.
"Evening, Potter," said Moody, climbing the last few steps towards them and dragging them bodily out. "Miss Weasley. Nice sort of time to go wandering about. What's this?"
"Map of Hogwarts," said Harry, massaging his legs. "Can – d'you mind if we go?"
Moody shrugged. "Did you happen to see who broke into Snape's office?"
"It was Mr Crouch," Ginny said, her voice quivering and choked.
Moody looked like he'd been punched. "Are you sure, Miss Weasley?"
"Yeah," Harry said, irritated. "I saw it too."
"Alright, keep your hair on, Potter," said Moody. "Can I borrow this?"
Harry shrugged. "If you like. Can I have it back at the end of the year, though?"
"Don't see why not," Moody said, grinning. "Get along with you both before someone realises you aren't tucked up in your beds."
The next morning, Harry woke up to find Ginny sitting on his bed.
"Hi," he managed, putting his glasses on. "What're you doing here?"
Ginny beamed at him. Her eyes were heavily-lidded, and her face was horribly bruised; Harry presumed she hadn't put on her make-up yet. "I couldn't sleep, so I lay in bed thinking, and it's got to be the Black Lake, Harry. Think about it. There's merpeople in the Black Lake, Charlie says so, and they have to have the tasks in the grounds, don't they?"
"Yeah," Harry agreed, sitting up. This had the unfortunate effect of precipitating Ginny practically into his lap. "Great. I – you don't mean I'll have to swim, though?"
"Of course I do," said Ginny matter-of-factly. "Why?"
Harry swallowed. He didn't want to admit it, not to her, but he was going to have to; Ginny was the only person he could fully confide in, and his pride wasn't worth his life. "I can't swim."
"Oh," Ginny said, her face falling. "I – it's fine. We've got over a month. I'll ask Mum to send my swimming costume on, and – do you have a swimming costume? I mean, we could ask Mum to buy you one. I'm sure she'd understand."
"I'll send her the money," said Harry.
Ginny coloured. "No, it's fine, she doesn't want –"
"I want to pay for it," Harry insisted.
"What the bloody hell's going on?"
It was Ron. Neville, too, was awake, eyes wide as saucers.
"Nothing," Ginny said defiantly.
Ron's eyes flickered to Ginny's lap, then up to her face. "What the hell do you think you're playing at, Harry?"
Harry knew how well how bad it all looked; if he'd had a sister, he wouldn't have wanted to find her sitting, with bruises across her flushed face, in a boy's lap (in his bed, no less). "Ginny wanted to tell me something."
"Doesn't look like it to me," said Ron, scowling. "Get off him, Ginny. What's up with your face?"
Ginny stuck her chin out. "It's nothing. See you at breakfast, Harry. I'm going to put my make-up on now." She left, nose in the air.
"What did happen to Ginny's face?" Neville asked, in a small voice.
Harry explained.
"I don't believe you," said Ron, scowling. "What really happened? And where did you two go last night? Hermione said she caught you two sneaking in after curfew."
Harry fled into the bathroom.
After dinner that night, Harry dragged Ginny to Moody's office. It was dark, and full of various Dark detectors.
"We think we know what the task is," Harry explained, handing Moody their copy of the poem. "It's in the Black Lake, and they're going to steal something of mine. So I need to find out a way to breathe underwater for an hour – and learn to swim."
Moody snorted. "Can you swim, Miss Weasley?"
"Yes," said Ginny, in a small voice. "I'm asking my mum to send my swimming costume. And she's going to buy Harry one, I think. It'll be Gryffindor red, probably, Harry, is that alright?"
"Of course," Harry said indignantly. He liked Gryffindor red.
"Alright," said Moody, "then you can teach Potter and I'll leave you two to it. As to how you're going to breathe underwater, well, we used to use Gillyweed, in the war. Ask Longbottom, he'll know where to find some. Nobody like the Longbottoms for Herbology. And the task – nasty one, this. It's not a something, Potter. It's a someone."
Harry stared. "But who – no. Not Ginny. You can't let them take Ginny. She'll drown!"
"I don't intend on doing any such thing," Ginny said tartly, but nevertheless she slipped her small hand into Harry's. He could feel her fingers trembling. "I'm no fainting maiden."
Moody raised his eyebrows. "Well, I hope you're a maiden, at any rate. Don't worry, Potter, arrangements have been made. I'm rather more worried about Fleur Delacour and her little sister, if I'm honest with you. Veela. Water. Not pretty. Well, off you two go. Speak to Longbottom, there's good children."
To do this, though, they would have to find Neville. Harry didn't know where Neville went when he wasn't in lessons, and although Ginny insisted Neville was her friend, she didn't seem to know either. They tried the common room, Harry tried his dormitory and the boys' bathrooms, and they searched the library from top to bottom. They even tried Professor McGonagall's office, but they needn't have bothered; Neville never got in trouble, and McGonagall wasn't even there.
"We could try the greenhouses," Ginny ventured. "Or – or we could wait until curfew."
Harry thought this sounded by far the most pleasant prospect, so he and Ginny settled down in their usual chairs to await Neville's return. Neville, so far as Harry was aware, was unlikely to break curfew; he'd done it twice that Harry knew of, both times in first year, resulting once in an unpleasant encounter with Fluffy and the second time in the world's scariest detention.
Sure enough, Neville arrived five minutes before curfew, panting and red-faced.
"Hey, Neville!" Harry called. "C'mere a second!"
Neville hurried over. "What is it, Harry?"
"I was wondering if you could get me some Gillyweed," Harry said.
Neville stared at him. "But – what for?"
"The tournament," said Ginny.
"Oh," said Neville, paling. "I – you'll want it fresh, I suppose? It works better when it's fresh – I'll speak to Gran. But – I didn't know you knew I liked Herbology."
"Do you?" Harry asked, with interest; he'd never paid that much attention to what Neville liked and disliked.
Neville opened and closed his mouth several times. "I – excuse me, I've got a lot of homework to do." He rose and scurried over to join Ron and Hermione.
Two days later, a large parcel arrived for Ginny at breakfast.
"Ooh, what is it?" Demelza Robins asked, peering over Harry's shoulder.
"It's my swimming costume," said Ginny. "And Harry's, I think – look, Harry, didn't I tell you it'd be red?"
The swimming costumes, though, were not what Harry would have called a swimming costume; they were made of wool, not stretchy plasticky material like the enormous orange-and-maroon trunks Dudley had to wear at Smeltings. Ginny's swimming costume was just a dress which happened to be very slightly shorter and clingier than her uniform robes, and Harry's resembled a T-shirt and a pair of shorts which had been sewn together.
"I never knew Muggles had different swimming costumes," Ginny said, when Harry told her this; they were walking down to the lake, with their clothes rolled up inside their towels. "Is it true they have indoor lakes?"
"Pools," Harry corrected. "Yeah. My cousin had lessons at one when we were small. I think at Stonewall they make you have lessons, but I came here instead."
"Well, of course you did," said Ginny, looking mystified. "Where's Stonewall?"
Harry explained the concept of a comprehensive school. Then he explained what a grammar school was, and why the eleven-plus happened – well, it didn't happen in Little Whinging, but he was pretty certain it happened … where did Hermione live, anyway? He was pretty certain she was English, and she pretty obviously wasn't from anywhere further north than the midlands or from Cornwall or anywhere with an obvious regional accent, but that still didn't narrow it down much.
"She's from Winchester, I think," said Ginny, at this point. "Right, so let's start with treading water."
The day before the second task, Neville came up to Harry and Ginny in the common room and dropped a large box on the table they were resting their work on. Water slopped out of the box and onto Harry's half-finished Charms essay.
"Thanks, Neville," Harry said, not bothering to hide his irritation; he doubted Neville, who was widely rumoured to be a misplaced Hufflepuff, would know sarcasm if it hit him in the face. "Really good of you, mate."
Neville's round face flushed. "Professor McGonagall wants you in her office, Ginny."
Ginny went white as a sheet. "Harry – Harry, don't let them –"
"It'll be fine," Harry told her, with confidence he didn't feel. "You'll be fine. I'll rescue you, it'll be a laugh, everyone'll be fine, and fairies will frolic through the meadows and blah de blah. I can swim now and everything."
"Alright," Ginny said, not looking reassured. "See you tomorrow."
She leant over, hugged him, and left. Neville stayed where he was, staring at Harry like he'd never seen him before.
"What?" Harry said. "I suppose you want me to look at it?" He opened the box and found himself confronted with a very large pile of what looked like green worms. "How much do I need to take?"
"A pound should do," Neville said stiffly. "That's a large handful, I'd say. What – what was that about? Why is Ginny so scared? Is this about those bruises on her face?"
"No," said Harry. That reminded him; Rita Skeeter was still writing, but she hadn't published anything about Sirius or the Dursleys or Michael Corner, and he wasn't sure whether to be thankful or not. Michael had not, after all, grown appreciably less creepy, and Ginny's interest in him was reaching worrying levels. "Do you mind? I've got to finish this before six. Ginny says I need to get a good night's sleep."
Neville retreated, looking slightly more anxious than usual.
The next morning, Harry got up early, changed into his swimming costume, and dawdled down to the lake with the Gillyweed and the knife Sirius had sent him in one hand and his wand in the other. Stands had been set up along the bank of the lake furthest from the school, and the judges were ranged along a gold-draped table at the water's edge. Fleur Delacour was already there, whispering at Cedric Diggory and Viktor Krum.
"Good morning," said Percy Weasley, who was sitting in Mr Crouch's place at the judges' table. "How are you this morning, Harry?"
Harry shrugged. It was a rather cold morning, hardly the best for a swim. You'll catch your death of cold, he remembered Aunt Petunia telling Dudley, after every swimming lesson Dudley had ever had; she always made Harry sit with her and watch. "Nervous?"
"Potter!"
It was Michael Corner. He looked angry.
"Haven't I told you to call me Harry?" Harry asked.
Michael folded his arms. "I'll call you whatever I like, thank you very much. Where's Ginny?"
"I don't know," said Harry, with perfect truthfulness; the lake was very big, and he had no idea where the merpeople lived, even assuming they were involved.
"Yeah, right," Michael said, pursing his lips. "Padma's just told me her sister says she overheard you and Ginny having a very odd conversation with Neville Longbottom last night. Something about her being scared to go to McGonagall's office. You've not been making any … suggestions?"
Harry stared. "You – you mean about you 'not knowing your own strength'? No. No, it was – it was something different. It's her business."
"I don't believe you," said Michael.
"Is there a problem, boys?" Dumbledore called.
Harry took a step away from Michael. "No, sir. We were just chatting."
"You know where she is," Michael pressed. "You know, Potter. I'm not an idiot. Where is she?"
Harry swallowed and glanced at the other three champions, who were chattering away in French. "I -she's in the lake. That's the second task. I have to rescue her."
What little colour there was in Michael's face drained away. "This is ridiculous. This is – you will rescue her, do you understand? If she's hurt – or if she dies, Merlin forbid – I will make what I did to Luna Lovegood seem like a merry frolic in the gardens of delight."
"If she dies, I'll let you," Harry promised.
Michael, seeming satisfied, retreated to the stands.
"Hello, Harry," said Ludo Bagman amiably. "Stand here, please … Viktor? Oh, Merlin, well, if you're going to be like that, avec moi, s'il vous plait – Fleur, sweetheart, if you go here, and Cedric at the end, that's it, oh, good, it's nine-thirty – sonorous! Well," he continued, his voice magically magnified, "all our champions are ready for the second task, which begins on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three. One … two … three!"
The whistle sawed at Harry's nerves. He ignored it, and the rising applause from the stands, in favour of taking off his shoes and socks, stuffing the Gillyweed into his mouth, and heading out into the lake. He had been swimming in the lake for the past two months, but that didn't make the shock of the cold water and slimy bottom any more pleasant.
When he was waist-length in the lake, he stopped, swallowed, and started swimming. Belatedly it occurred to him that he should have had Neville procure him several batches of Gillyweed, so he could at least be sure how it worked; they'd looked it up in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, but the description there, while detailed enough that Ginny had copied it into her latest Herbology essay (Give detailed descriptions of the magical properties of ten plants we have not yet studied) and scored herself twenty House points, didn't explain what actually happened – it was as if an invisible pillow had been clapped over his mouth and nose. He carefully put his face below the water and got the best surprise of his life; it felt like he was breathing air.
Harry, unable to stop himself from grinning, struck out, going further and deeper into the lake, searching for the flashes of colour which would mark the other champions or the hostages amongst the greys and blacks of the lake. He wondered what the audience were watching. Surely they weren't just watching the surface of the lake; even Harry knew that would be hideously dull … something was holding onto his ankle.
"Hi," Harry said, or tried to say, but no words came out. He turned around and got a nasty shock; it wasn't one of the other champions. It wasn't even Ginny. It was a Grindylow. Harry nearly laughed. He knew how to deal with Grindylows from Professor Lupin's lessons last year, and even if he hadn't, it was hardly rocket science. "Relashio!"
Instead of sending sparks at the Grindylows, his wand pelted them with a jet of seemingly boiling water. Harry swam on, marvelling at the weirdness of magic – and then he had an idea. "Quaero Ginny Weasley!"
His wand jerked around like a mad thing for several seconds before settling on a direction. Harry followed it, smugly reflecting on knowing the right Latin; being friends with Hermione Granger for three years did have its benefits. On he swam, on and on and on until he was sure he must have muffed the spell after all … but there it was again, haunting mersong. It had the exact same words and tune as the mersong from his egg. Perhaps they didn't know any others.
"Great," Harry said to himself, and swam on, past what appeared to be the mer-equivalent of suburbia. He wasn't sure he liked the merpeople much; they resembled something out of Uncle Vernon's beloved horror videos more than the mermaids they'd learnt about in primary school.
At long last, he came to what looked like a village square. A choir of merpeople were singing in the middle of it, and behind them rose a statue of a merperson, so badly carved Harry couldn't tell if it was meant to be male or female. Four people were bound tightly to the tail of the stone merperson.
Ginny was tied between Hermione and Cho Chang. There was also a small, silvery-haired girl who Harry reckoned had to be Fleur Delacour's sister. They all appeared to be in a very deep sleep, and Ginny didn't look hurt.
"Right," Harry said to himself. "Time to get you out." The ropes binding Ginny were of wide, slick seaweed, but the knife cut through them like they were no more than cobwebs. Ginny floated, unconscious, a few inches above the lake bottom. Where were the other champions? Surely Harry couldn't be first. The other champions were much older than he was, and probably had much cleverer methods of finding people and breathing underwater … he imagined they were all hiding in one of the merpeople's stone houses, laughing at him. He checked his watch, but it had stopped.
Around him, the merpeople were pointing excitedly at something. Harry looked up and saw Cedric swimming towards them, with a shark beside him – no, it wasn't a shark, they didn't have sharks in the Black Lake. It was just a human body with a shark's head, wearing swimming trunks. Krum. Harry had thought Krum was too good at Transfiguration to end up with such an embarrassing mishmash of bodies, but then again … Harry belatedly noticed something pale and white between Cedric and Krum. Fleur. But why wasn't she swimming?
"What's going on?" he mouthed.
Cedric made a face, or at least Harry assumed he did; the enormous bubble around his head made it rather hard to tell. "Grindylows," he mouthed back. "You take yours and Fleur's. Viktor's taking the other two. I'll take Fleur."
Harry stared. "Are you sure she's alright?"
Krum made threatening snapping motions with his new mouth.
"Alright, alright, I'm in," Harry said hastily. "Off you go, then."
Cedric beckoned Harry over and hitched Fleur's limp arm over Harry's shoulder. She was surprisingly heavy, and Harry barely managed to keep his grip on Ginny's foot.
"Stay," said Cedric, taking Harry's knife, and struck off towards the statue. He freed Cho easily, returned, and handed the knife to Krum, who exchanged it for Fleur's other arm and freed Hermione. Then he turned around and mouthed something at Cedric. Cedric shrugged. Krum shrugged too and turned his attention to the ropes holding Fleur's sister. The merpeople batted him away.
"I think she has to do it," Harry said, mouthing exaggeratedly; Krum's English was bad at the best of times.
Cedric made a face and muttered a spell, and Fleur jolted awake.
"Fleur," said Cedric, gripping her by the shoulders. He said something in French, too fast for Harry to catch. Fleur, who looked almost as dazed as she had the time she'd fainted, nodded, took the knife, struck off towards the statue, freed her sister, and then, seemingly exhausted, drifted towards the bottom.
"Are we going now?" Harry asked.
Cedric nodded, hitched his arms under Fleur's armpits, and mouthed something at Krum. Krum grabbed Cho and Hermione, Harry worked his arms through Ginny's and Fleur's sisters, and together the three of them swam up towards the surface. The merpeople swarmed around them, looking interested. Up and up and up they swam, until at last they broke the surface. The crowd were screaming and shouting and cheering.
"How come you three were together?" Harry asked Cedric, who looked exhausted.
"We make plan, da?" said Krum, who had managed to turn his head back. "We make … how you say? Group? Three more good than one."
Harry stared. "And you didn't think to fold me in?"
"Forgive me if we didn't think you'd be much help," said Cedric dryly. "Oh, look, they're awake! C'mon, everyone, Madam Pomfrey must be itching to get at us."
Krum helped Hermione and Cho out, and Ginny, who was an excellent swimmer, followed them, dragging Fleur's little sister with her. This left Harry stuck in the middle of the lake with Cedric and Fleur.
"Can I have a bit of help?" Cedric asked. "I – she really is very heavy. Don't tell her I said that, though."
Harry was tempted to leave them; he was still smarting that none of them had even thought to tell him they were planning on working together. But Fleur really didn't look well, so he grabbed one of her arms and helped Cedric tow her to shore.
On the bank, Madam Pomfrey awaited them with a pile of thick blankets. Percy was there too, fussing over Ginny, and Michael Corner stood off to one side, looking irate. Ron had come down from the stands too and was talking awkwardly to Hermione and Krum.
"Oh, I don't know," Madam Pomfrey said crossly, removing Fleur from between Harry and Cedric. "What were they thinking? Veela blood, water, it's a wonder the poor thing's not more badly hurt – what happened to her, do you know?"
"Grindylows," said Cedric apologetically. "Fleur's no good underwater, and Viktor couldn't help much, he can't talk with that stupid shark head."
Rita Skeeter appeared out of thin air. "Shark head? Tell me more."
Cedric pointedly turned to Cho, who was sniffling away.
"Hi, Madam Skeeter," Harry said, glancing around; nobody appeared to be in earshot. "How're things going?"
Rita shrugged. "I've not had much luck on Michael Corner yet. Anything that might help?"
"Speak to Cho Chang," Harry suggested. "The Chinese girl who's all over Cedric Diggory. And Luna Lovegood, if she'll let you. Oh, and, um, Demelza Robins and – you know Colin Creevey already. He fancies Luna. He'll talk to you. But I meant about – about the thing we discussed up by the Shrieking Shack."
"I'd have more luck searching for Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem," Rita said morosely.
Harry swallowed. "Try looking up Tom Riddle. He was at school here in the forties. In Slytherin. He was Head Boy, and he won a Special Award for Services to the school. That'll probably be enough to help you get on his trail."
"On his trail?" Rita repeated, looking sceptical. "What do you know about Tom Riddle that I don't?"
Harry knew she'd never believe him if he just came out and said that Tom Riddle was really Voldemort. "I – just look him up. His dad was a Muggle, if that helps."
"It doesn't," said Rita, grimacing. "I don't know if you've noticed, but rather a lot of people are Muggles. Now, if you'll excuse me – Mr Weasley! Mr Weasley! Yes, I was wondering if you could give me a quote about Mr Crouch's unfortunate illness –"
Harry sat back and watched Rita hounding Percy, revelling in the few minutes before she inevitably decided to interview him.
"I was really scared, Harry," Ginny said, throwing her arms around him. Her long red hair was still damp. "Please don't let them do that again."
Harry wrapped his own arms around her. "Don't worry, I won't."
"Ahem."
It was Professor Dumbledore.
"Hello, professor," said Harry.
Dumbledore stared reproachfully at him. "Would you like to come up to my office, Harry?"
AN: yes, I know the incident with Filch, Snape and Moody took place on a Thursday. I have taken artistic license to move it to the Sunday before it actually occurred. The depiction of the second task relies much more heavily on the book version than my depiction of the first task.