Friday 21st April 1995
With his own run through the task completed, Harry was free to sit and watch Fleur's attempt at the challenge as the final competitor. He was flummoxed as to where to sit, though. He wasn't in the mood to sit with Neville and Hermione, and he spotted Krum sitting with Hermione and that made things feel extra awkward. Sitting with Luna in the Ravenclaw stand or with any of his Slytherin friends would make it obvious he was snubbing the Gryffindors, however. Even if they had started it, it would look really bad.
So he avoided the whole social tangle by waving to everyone and going to sit with Sirius in the adults' section. He squashed onto the bench in between Sirius and Narcissa Malfoy, both of whom were delighted to see him join them and happily made room for him.
"Cousin Sirius, Cousin Narcissa," he greeted politely. "Madame Longbottom."
He was complimented and praised, with people calling over (or pushing over) to greet him, until he began to doubt the wisdom of his choice in picking to sit there. He'd just exchanged one set of social difficulties for another, it seemed.
Still, he charmed, and he schmoozed, and was determinedly delighted to see everyone. He thanked his teachers, Neville's gran, and Percy for their congratulations. He was loudly honoured to meet the Minister again, and carefully admired Miss Umbridge's stunning and unique pink hat and was impressed by her role managing the newly expanded environs of Diagon Alley. Sirius made a face, but Narcissa nodded approvingly and smoothed away any rough edges of his conversations with an occasional interjection, which was appreciated.
It was a brief but intense period of socialising, as most of the politicians and socially upwardly mobile types moved on relatively quickly once their greeting and congratulations were done, more interested in talking with other adults. Others who were just roaming around and mingling resumed their proper seats as witches and wizards out on the Quidditch pitch finished resetting things for Fleur Delacour, the last competitor of the day. The destroyed hoop had been replaced, stray Billywigs recaptured, the magic carpet was back in its original position, and charred grass had been hastily encouraged to regrow with an interesting dual approach of spraying some kind of fertiliser or potion on the ground plus the application of spells.
As Harry had gone last in the first task, and all the champions had competed together for the second task, he hadn't had a chance to actually watch any of the tasks yet, so he was looking forward to the new experience.
Delacour chose an Abraxan, and she saddled up and levitated herself onto its back with a wordless charm to the accompaniment of Madame Maxime's commentary full of gushing praise.
"Krum had to use a spell to get his Abraxan to calm down enough to let him put the bridle on," Sirius commented. "They're fractious beasts, aren't they? Krum looked nervous about the Thestrals – I'm not sure if he could even see them. He and Karkaroff called them Helhest."
"Miss Delacour seems to be handling her Abraxan well," Narcissa said. "Still, she does have the advantage that the pegasi are from her school; she has likely interacted with them before."
"That's pretty much the reason I chose a Thestral," Harry admitted, "or you might say that one of them chose me! I spent some time feeding and grooming one of them, and I think it remembered me."
Faced with the roaring wind coming out of the first ring, Delacour circled around to go through the hoop in the opposite direction. She cast a spell that Madame Maxime described as a 'Fireplace Charm' to snuff out the flames, then zoomed through. The wind stopped as soon as she was through, and the Abraxan's powerful wings coped admirably with the remaining spot of turbulence.
"A very clever and unique approach," Madame Maxime praised. "Ze rules only require zat one pass frough ze 'oops in order, and do not say what direction one must take."
"I wish I'd thought of that loophole," Harry said, with an envious sigh.
"Never mind, lad," Mrs. Longbottom said, leaning past Sirius to talk to Harry. "You did very well too. I would wager ten Galleons you get a better score than Mr. Krum, and Miss Delacour may yet flub the other challenges."
Harry was heartened by her support.
Fleur seemed to be moving more swiftly through the course than Harry had. She used Avis to summon a flock of robins who swooped hungrily on the Billywigs that emerged from the second ring, dispersing the swarm, and kept on moving.
The third ring was the only one she spent significant time dealing with. She used the same protective charm that Harry had used to protect herself and her mount from lightning, then moved up close to the ring to study it, casting Aparecium to reveal the runes inscribed on it. She quickly began adding new runes to the golden hoop with intricate waves of her wand, working with a deft swiftness that Harry couldn't help but admire. Inscribing runes with any precision with magic alone was very difficult, and to do so on the back of a pegasus snorting anxiously about the gathering storm would be tremendously challenging. Before she'd managed to finish her task, lightning arced down and hit Delacour with a tremendous crack of thunder, startling some in the audience into screams.
Delacour was alright, but her Abraxan had taken umbrage to being struck by lightning, and was wheeling about in the sky, with Delacour tugging firmly on the reins to try and regain control and direct it back to the third hoop. She struggled mightily with it, and eventually directed her pegasus down to the ground, pursued by the storm cloud which she seemed to be ignoring.
"Why isn't she getting rid of the cloud, do you think?" Harry asked Sirius.
"Hmm, well at a guess the enchantment on the ring makes more clouds appear if you disperse one, in ever-increasing numbers. Krum had a similar struggle to you, Harry, and ended up melting the third ring into slag to get it to stop shooting out masses of storm clouds. It's a good thing they prepared spares!"
"Zere is a student who knows her Abraxans!" Madame Maxime's voice boomed out across the stands. "Delacour 'as transfigured a branch into a drinking trough, conjured some water, and transfigured it into ze finest malt whiskey, which Abraxans are very partial to. Ze transfiguration may not last long, but of course ze Abraxan will not know zat so long as ze taste is correct. 'Er stallion is now calming down, and she will be back in ze air soon, I am sure."
"Krum had to calm his mount again with another spell at this stage of the competition; it almost bucked him off and he barely managed to get back on its back," Narcissa said.
"How did he deal with the Billywigs?"
"He employed the Cold Fire curse to burn any up that tried to attack him, which left his steed and the non-aggressive Billywigs unhurt," Narcissa said. "Effective, but the judges looked disapproving."
"I am fairly sure it's illegal," Sirius added. "It was in the last war, at any rate. It was banned some time during the Global Wizarding War with Grindelwald."
With soothing words and a liberal bribe of transfigured whiskey, her Abraxan was sanguine enough to let her guide him back towards the hoop, even after a second bolt of lightning headed their way, sparking off her shield.
"Good confident shielding," Sirius commented, "it's holding up well. Still only one cloud; that will help."
Harry fidgeted uncomfortably. He suddenly felt that he'd recast spells a lot. He hadn't wanted to risk them wearing off at the wrong time. Had it made him look weak and uncertain? Well, better safe than dead.
Delacour was back at work inscribing runes on the hoop and let out a triumphant whoop as she finished and the clouds inside the centre of the ring dispersed into nothingness, and so did the one above her. She rode her steed through the hoop, and a metallic chime rang out from behind her that made her tug on the reins to halt her pegasus' progress as she looked back worriedly. The hoop was changing, with a panel opening up at the top similarly to the second hoop that had released the Billywigs. Something tiny and golden shot out, zipping straight past her through the air.
"It is a Snitch!" Madame Maxime said triumphantly. "Miss Delacour is ze first champion to properly succeed at zis third challenge and discover its secret. And she is off in pursuit!"
The crowd roared in excitement at this unexpected development. Chasing the miniscule, highly manoeuvrable Snitch on a slow-moving pegasus was no easy task, however, and Fleur got nowhere near it. She pursued it for a while but soon lost sight of it, and subsequently wheeled her pegasus to a halt. It stayed roughly in place, circling like an elephant-sized hawk on mighty wings as she scanned the stadium, looking for that elusive glimpse of gold that sometimes took Seekers hours to find.
"I don't see how she'll catch it on an Abraxan. She might have had a chance with a Thestral," Harry said. "I wonder what it's for? Bonus points?"
Sirius nodded in agreement. "She might have to give up and just head for the magic carpet. Unless she's extremely lucky, or it's just a practice Snitch, she has no hope."
"Avis!" Delacour yelled, raising her wand up dramatically to point at the sky. It let off a noisy blast and burst of smoke.
Instead of robins, this time she summoned a large number of hawks, circling above her before spreading out to all corners of the stadium.
"Oh, that's not legal," Sirius said, tutting disapprovingly. "You can't have animals help you look for the Snitch!"
"Not in Quidditch, but this isn't a match," Harry pointed out.
"True," Sirius conceded, with a nod.
"Ze Bird-Conjuring Charm is very adaptable, if ze caster is strong-willed. Here we see Delacour 'as called forth ze hawks instead of ze usual robins, and zey are obeying her mental commands. I sink zey are hunting ze Snitch for 'er!"
The crowd cheered loudly as a couple of hawks stooped in pursuit of prey.
"That one got a Billywig," Harry said, pointing. "But that one over there… it might have gotten the Snitch. It's hard to see from here."
"I do wish I had remembered to bring some Omnioculars," Narcissa said. "I believe I shall bring some to the final task."
The hawk further away from them returned to Delacour and landed on her outstretched arm, ignored by the pegasus who was no more bothered by its presence than an elephant cared about a gnat.
"She 'as ze Snitch!" Maxime said proudly, as Fleur took something from its claws, and held it up in triumph. "She 'as cast anuzzer Revealing Charm to check ze runes, and has opened ze Snitch up to reveal a small key zat was 'idden inside ze 'ollow shell."
Harry sighed. He'd stuffed up. Well, at least Krum had made the same mistake. "That will open up the chest, I suppose. A nice advantage."
Fleur alighted from her pegasus onto the magic carpet and unlocked the chest, which opened smoothly with no gust of wind. She was startled by the Diricawl that emerged, poking its head out warily, and reflexively shouted a Shield Charm. It was almost as startled as she was and popped away in a puff of feathers.
"Do you think she will summon more hawks to hunt for it for her? Damned elusive things. Krum struggled with his as well, for a while. Then he hid, flushed his out of hiding with some harmless blue sparks, then Stunned it with a nonverbal spell so he didn't give himself away."
Harry tilted his head thoughtfully. "Hawks would work well, I guess. Do you think she could summon a second Diricawl with a Bird-Conjuring Charm, since she's so good at them? That would be a good lure."
"I doubt it. It is a magical creature, not an ordinary bird," Sirius said. "Can you get magical snakes with your Snake Summons spell?"
Harry shook his head. "No, and believe me I've tried. I can customise it a bit like Delacour does with her Avis, though; I'm getting better at calling cobras and the like. She's better at this than I am though."
He sighed again, and Sirius bumped into him with his shoulder. "Never mind, you will get there I am certain. Remember, she has three years of study on you!" he encouraged.
"That you are a champion at all at your age, and a serious competitor at that, is something to be truly proud of," Narcissa said, with a gentle smile. Her husband moved up to sit behind her, giving her a gentle squeeze on her shoulder. Narcissa looked back at him with a smile and gave his hand a little pat, before he let go.
"Well said, my dear," Lucius said.
"Thank you," Harry said. He glanced over at Sirius, who looked more tense than before. He was trying to look like he wasn't watching the Malfoys, but his body was angled more towards Harry, Lucius, and Narcissa than it had been a moment ago, and his functional left hand was buried in a robe pocket, probably clutching a concealed wand.
There was a cheer from the crowd that drew Harry's attention back to the display in the stadium, and to Madame Maxime's commentary.
"Ze palm fruits Miss Delacour retrieved from ze second compartment of ze chest are a favourite of ze Diricawl. She 'as lured it out of 'iding and it is eating ze fruits with much 'appiness! And zat charm was a Confundus, which will confuse it. It will be 'ard for it to 'ide again now."
It looked like the key gave a competitor more of an advantage than just disabling the wind charm that triggered when opening the chest without one. Harry hadn't noticed any fruit-filled compartment in the chest. Then again, he hadn't taken the time to carefully check it!
The disoriented bird stumbled around in confusion, and was easy prey for Delacour, who summoned its message scroll off its leg, then levitated it over to the chest. However, instead of simply dumping the bird inside and locking the chest like Harry had, she climbed down into the chest with the bird bobbing next to her. She emerged a relatively short minute later to a chorus of cheers as she locked the chest behind her with the key. A gong sounded to announce the completion of the third task.
-000-
Percy stood tall and proud, puffed up with his own importance as he announced the current point standings, in advance of the judges' revelations of the latest scores to the waiting champions and the crowd. The Wizarding Wireless reporter held a microphone up nearby to catch his words, so all their listeners could hear his speech too.
"In the first task our competitors faced fiery dragons to rescue their princesses, and all acquitted themselves admirably. In first place was Viktor Krum from Durmstrang, with eighty-one points. In second place, Harold Potter from Hogwarts–" – he paused here for the cheers to abate – "with seventy-seven points. In third place, Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons, with seventy-four points. A very close match!"
"In the second task our champions rescued someone important to them from a watery doom, under strict time pressure. In first place, Harold Potter with eighty-two points, closely followed by Viktor Krum with eighty points, then Fleur Delacour with sixty-seven points. Well done again to all!"
Percy hurried past the scores this time, speaking over the cheers and applause from all the schools and the various spectators.
"That puts the overall totals at one hundred and forty-one points for Beauxbatons, one hundred and fifty-nine for Hogwarts in second place, and in first place we have Viktor Krum for Durmstrang with one hundred and sixty-one. Any of our competitors could still win this closely run Tournament! Let us see what scores our illustrious judges will give our fine champions for today's tempestuous efforts!"
Bagman went first, and after some blathering about what a wonderful day it was and how well everyone had done (that Harry listened to with impatience smothered with a practiced smile) he finally got to the point.
"Firstly, the point allocations for the rapidity with which you progressed through the challenge. We have agreed to award Miss Fleur Delacour with the full ten points, eight for Mr. Viktor Krum, and five for Mr. Harold Potter."
The audience applauded politely and settled down rapidly to await the individual judges' scores.
"For an impressive navigation of the course, if a little repetitive in choice of spells, twenty-four points to Miss Delacour. For a fine start but with a difficult struggle at the end, twenty-two points to Mr. Potter," Bagman announced. The crowd murmured unhappily at the relatively low points (for Bagman) but applauded politely. "For exceptionally powerful spellcasting and a decisive run through the field, twenty-eight points to Mr. Krum."
The cluster of Durmstrang students roared their approval, boosted by some amplification charms, and were joined by Quidditch fans and the courteously polite in some enthusiastic applause.
Scamander went next, and Harry lost his spot as favourite to Delacour, who had impressed Scamander this task with her skilled handling of her pegasus, and exceptional knowledge and care of the Diricawl. He did get praised for his open-mindedness in selected one of the 'sadly misjudged' Thestrals for his mount and protecting it (though Fleur had done similarly so it wasn't a major point of distinction), and for sparing the Billywigs. She was awarded twenty-two points to Harry's twenty.
"Mr. Krum, you struggled with your Abraxan and resorting to control over coaxing," Scamander said disapprovingly. "Like in Mr. Potter's case I have deducted points for trouble with the third ring, however, you also lose some points for the use of the Cold Fire Curse, Protego Diabolica, against the Billywigs. This curse could have instantly killed your mount along with the hostile Billywigs if it had held more animosity towards you, and was thus a very risky choice. The audience should note that this curse is illegal in Britain, and while we must assume it was an innocent error, Mr. Krum will still receive an official warning from the Ministry. The Bluebell Flames Hex, Protego Daemon, is a milder legal alternative. I award fifteen points for this challenge for Mr. Krum. I advise all champions study up on the local laws before the final challenge."
There were a lot of murmurs mixed with the applause, this time.
Professor Marchbanks started off loudly and disapprovingly talking about the same problematic curse, and its employment by Grindelwald to kill his enemies while sparing his allies, awarding Krum a meagre sixteen points. "Poor spellcasting choices this challenge, Mr. Krum. I know we can see better from you than some repetitive spells relying on brute force that caused damage to your surroundings. A little more creative thinking would not go astray."
Krum scowled, his thick eyebrows drawing together. Some quick mental maths by Harry proved that it was Krum's lowest total for a challenge yet, and despite Bagman's favouritism he'd earned only a meagre sixty-seven points.
Marchbanks gave Harry a relatively good twenty points for a good variety of well-cast spells, and some common-sense advice to avoid unnecessary repetition of spells and not to persist with a course of action that wasn't yielding results.
Her highest points were awarded to Delacour, who earned an impressive twenty-eight points.
"A near-perfect navigation of the course, with effective use of spells, excellent management of all creatures, and careful study of the third ring to bypass it successfully and uncover its secret. Work on your silent spellcasting and stay calm under pressure, my dear, that is all you need to win the Triwizard Tournament," Marchbanks said loudly.
Percy announced the overall totals. "That leaves Messrs Potter and Krum tried in second place with sixty-seven points, and Miss Delacour comfortably in first place for this challenge with an impressive eighty-four points. Congratulations!"
Fleur beamed at him before waving to the crowd and blowing kisses, and Percy stood in a daze for some time before concluding the ceremony with the overall points totals.
"Ah-hmm. Yes, well. Overall, the standings remain as they have for the past two challenges. However, the lead has shrunk with only a few points separating all the champions. Mr. Krum is in first place with two hundred and twenty-eight, followed by Mr. Potter on two hundred and twenty-six, and Miss Delacour in third place with two-hundred and twenty-five. Thank you everyone for attending, I hope to see you all at the final task on the twenty-first of June!"
All the champions said a few words for the benefit of the audience and also the Wizarding Wireless listeners tuning in from home or work. Harry squashed down his nerves and pretended he was as confident as Lockhart as he spoke about what an honour it had been to compete and how great his fellow competitors had been, how fantastic all the judges were, and added a token bit of praise for how awesome the flying carpet was. It was the truth and would also hopefully would endear him to the persistent importers seeking his patronage and assistance, who perhaps had supplied the rug used today.
-000-
Harry wanted to speak privately to Sirius, but after Dumbledore congratulated him for his performance in the Tournament, he ducked his head 'shyly' as he had a sudden moment of paranoia about the eavesdropping enchanted hatpin he'd been entrusted to safeguard until the fourth task. Harry put on all his best charm as he asked Professor McGonagall to store it on his behalf, out of an alleged concern that he might lose it or that a curious dormmate – implicitly Hermione – might try and unravel the spells on the hatpin and accidentally ruin it. She promised kindly to keep it in her office until he needed it and tucked it away in her reticule.
Before Sirius headed off home, Harry circled back to him and made a whispered plan to meet up with him on Saturday. One way or another the whole thing about his truce with Voldemort was likely to become gossiped about within the next couple of days, and he wanted to know how Sirius was likely to react.
"A Hogsmeade weekend already?" Sirius asked, looking a little puzzled.
"No," Harry whispered. "The next one's not until May. Can I visit anyway? To talk about something? If it's not too much trouble?"
Sirius winked at him. "Don't sweat it man, sure you can. We could chat now though, unless you have to trot off to class? Did you want to talk about being a Metamorphmagus? It's so groovy you got the family talent! Tonks is still thrilled, you know! She promises to do some training with you over summer. Oh, and my mother's portrait overheard us talking about it and will not shut up about the family Heir having the talent, boasting non-stop. Andy and Tonks keep arguing with her about how Tonks is just as good at it, if not better, and how they are part of the family too, but it is to no avail. She is as bad as a Fwooper and we are all going mad. We have had to resort to keeping her portrait covered most of the time. Old Phineas Black's portrait sends his congratulations too, but he had the wisdom to keep it short and not rant about the advantages of pure blood, despite this being, if anything, you and Tonks both being clear exemplars of the benefit of new blood entering a family line."
"Wow, um… please send my thanks to everyone, including the portraits. I'd love to do some training over summer. Sorry your mum's portrait is being a pain about it all and won't stop boasting."
"Eh, I'm pretty used to it. If it wasn't this it would be something else she would plague us with."
"Well, I'm sorry anyway. Uh, so that wasn't the thing I wanted to talk about though, and there isn't really time now. I have classes in the afternoon, and there's a post-task party in the club room I have to go to. I mean, I don't have to go, technically, but it'll look really bad if I don't..."
"Later then," Sirius promised. "I will see you on Saturday."
Harry knew that half the school was likely to hate him soon enough, one way or another. There was no point worsening matters and offending people by skipping a celebratory party in his honour.
The party was raucous and loud, and Hermione unbent from her social shunning of Harry enough to crowd eagerly around with the more Ravenclaw-inclined students keen to help decipher Harry's latest clue. The scroll was easily unhexed by Fawcett from Ravenclaw and McManus from Hufflepuff, who deciphered the runes that would trigger a whirlwind if the scroll was opened precipitously. Harry was given the honour of opening the scroll once it had been made safe, then he handed it back to the research team almost instantly.
"It's not in English," he said. "I know some of the symbols from my maths studies; I think this is Greek or Ancient Greek. Anyone here know that language?"
"Applebee!"
"Where are you, Tamsin?"
The call went out, and the brown-haired Head Girl pushed her way through the crowd. Star at Ancient Runes though she was, Ancient Greek unfortunately wasn't among the languages she'd mastered.
She shook her head. "I know some of the individual letters, but not enough of the language to read this."
"Daphne!" Harry called, and his friend squeezed through the throng to him. "We need someone who can read Greek or Ancient Greek. Do you know anyone? Can you find someone?"
She nodded determinedly. "I am sure I can."
The word spread through the crowd like a rippling wave, and eventually it was a Slytherin firstie who was led to the front by Daphne, tugged along through the crush by one hand.
Malcolm Baddock, his smile almost as big as his ears, proudly came forwards to help, with his friends Mafalda Prewett and Eleanor Branstone tagging along to share in his fleeting moment of glory.
"My family is very traditional," he said, and Harry knew there was a double meaning there; Baddock was a confirmed pagan Traditionalist. "My parents insisted I learn both Latin and Ancient Greek from a tutor, to help with my spellcasting and so I could read all the classics, both wizarding and Muggle."
He looked over the scroll while the room waited with an expectant hush, before clearing his throat and slowly translating for the crowd, "Discover… Find the… belly or heart… and raise the white canvas… probably sail… for victory. Unless it's the witch Nike, but I do not think it is. I would say the best translation is: Find the heart and raise the white sail for victory.'"
Murmurs and chatter broke out.
"You must surrender to win?"
"How does this relate to the element of earth?" Neville mused.
"It must be referencing something. The 'heart' is probably metaphorical."
"Do you think you have to stab a creature through the heart?"
Pansy snorted. "That does not seem likely with Scamander as a judge."
"I think it's a mythological reference!" Hermione said excitedly.
Baddock nodded in agreement. "Clearly a reference to Theseus!"
"The Labyrinth!"
"Heart of the maze!"
"I don't understand the bit about the sail. Will there be a boat to sail across the Black Lake?"
"Who or what is Theseus?"
Hermione leapt eagerly into an explanation of the myth and looked like she couldn't decide whether to be fascinated or irritated when others interjected with corrections of the story from the wizarding point of view. Baddock, and occasionally Pansy, seemed the most outspokenly determined that the 'right' version was told.
"Prince Theseus of Athens, the grandson of Poseidon–" Hermione started.
"An ancient Greek Squib hero," Baddock added. "Not that he could help being a Squib."
"–sailed to Crete with seven men and seven women–"
"Five maids. Two were young men in disguise," Pansy corrected.
"–who were to be the yearly sacrifice cruel King Minos of Crete demanded for the Minotaur, the son of his queen and a bull. The blood-thirsty Minotaur was imprisoned in a cunning labyrinth, a maze, built by Daedalus."
"It was a Great Year sacrifice, only every seven years, and the minotaur's name was Asterion. He was a sacred minotaur, not a singular unique creature, though some say he was the progenitor of the race," corrected Baddock. "He was the son of the witch-Queen Pasiphaë of Crete and a sacred snow-white European Sky-bull. A magical creature vaguely similar to our British Moon-calves; fond of dancing in intricate patterns. Daedalus was a wizard too. It is not clear if Minos was a wizard or not, he was a son of Zeus but maybe a Squib, and legend says he objected to some of the traditional sacrifices."
"Do you want to tell this?" Hermione asked, clearly frustrated by the interruptions. "I could just take notes instead. I don't mind, really."
"Well…"
"I think it would be interesting to hear both the Muggle and the wizarding versions," rumbled Greg. "You should all tell it together. There might be clues for the next task in both versions of the story."
"King Minos' daughter Princess Ariadne–" Hermione began
"High Priestess of the cult of the moon," Baddock interrupted to add. "Famous for leading the sacred dances and acrobatic bull-leaping exhibitions."
"–fell in love with Theseus, and agreed to help him defeat the maze and slay the Minotaur."
"More fool her," added Pansy. "He never married her as he promised, in the end he abandoned her on the island of Naxos, where luckily she met the wizard Dionysus and he gave her a beautiful crown with metal roses and they married and had a family together."
"Aww," Colin Creevey sighed, disappointed. "You ruined the end of the story."
"Oh! I do apologise," Pansy said contritely. "Pray continue, Hermione."
"Very well. Ariadne gave Theseus a ball of string to help him find his way through the maze, and a sword with which to kill the Minotaur."
"Some say it was a goblin-forged xiphos, a bronze shortsword made by the famed goblin smith Hephaestus himself," Baddock added, "while other tales say it was a poisonous iron sword. Even the wizarding versions disagree on the details. Most say the labyrinth was the temple-palace complex, but in other versions it was the sacred dancing court with white marble patterns on the ground which dancers followed to weave spells for the rites of spring, and Asterion – the Minotaur – was no prisoner nor beast but an honoured general in one version of the tale."
"He tied the string to the lintel of the entrance to the underground labyrinth, made his way to the centre – you might say the heart of the maze – slew the Minotaur, and then escaped on his ship with Ariadne and the fourteen prisoners–"
"Who'd been rescued by the disguised young men who had killed the guards," Pansy added.
"They sailed back to Athens, and the Muggle version of the myth has Dionysus demanding Ariadne be left for him on Naxos. There was a signal that Theseus was supposed to put up for his father Aegeus when he sailed home. If he'd died on his adventure, the crew was to leave up the dark sails, but if he'd succeeded then they should put up white sails on their ship. He forgot to change the sails, though, and Theseus' father thought his son was dead and threw himself off a cliff into the ocean. Or maybe fainted and fell… I don't remember exactly. And that's why it's called the Aegean Sea."
She turned expectantly to Baddock, awaiting additional titbits of information.
"'Tis much the same in most of the wizarding versions, though some say that Theseus abandoned Ariadne when he learnt that it was the Queens who ruled on Crete, with the Kings naught but their consorts, and he refused to wed her when he would gain no power from the match. The wizarding version I suspect is kinder to King Minos, who is regarded as a great and just ruler, and whose spirit lives on as one of the three judges of the Underworld."
The party had to end not long after that, while Hermione was writing down more detailed notes from various contributors about their versions of the myth. Branstone was chattering away brightly about variations of the myth she'd heard in the Muggle world, speaking reverently about the sacred labrys (a double-headed axe), the matriarchy of Crete, and the sacred snake-wearing priestesses of Ancient Greece.
"Why didn't you volunteer this information earlier?" Hermione asked, frantically scribbling down the additions, trying to get it all down before she had to hurry to Potions.
Branstone shrugged. "Enough people were interrupting already, and they were sharing things I had not heard before. Also, I cannot be sure which parts are true and which are rumour. Still, something in the stories may help Potter."
"Greece didn't have any good Parselmouths," McManus corrected, butting into their conversation. "Only wicked ones like Herpo the Foul."
"A breeder of Basilisks and creator of some of the Darkest curses known to wizardkind," added Applebee. "Any stories about nice snake-priestesses must have been about gorgons. If they're even true."
Branstone's face looked stormy, and her eyes darted to Harry, who was once again wearing Storm as a sleepy serpentine scarf, having retrieved him from Millicent during the party. "Whatever you say," she agreed, with false meekness.
Applebee caught her sideways glance, and added, "It's a Dark talent. Potter is handling it well so far, but temptation must be always fought against."
Harry didn't visibly react to her slander. There was no point arguing with someone who was that biased against you.
As the bell chimed for students to move to their classes, Harry slipped a note to Draco to meet him later after classes ended, then scurried after Branstone.
"Hang on a moment, Branstone," he said, then made his best attempt at casting the anti-eavesdropping charm. "A quick, private word, please. Muffliato."
"Was that the word?" she asked, with an amused grin.
"No!" he laughed, leading her to a windowed alcove off the hallway. "Just a spell to deter eavesdropping. If I cast it right. Look, I just wanted you to know that you were right; Ancient Greece did have Parselmouth priestesses. Slytherin's line doesn't descend from Harpo that I know of – though they might be related, I suppose. It descends from one of the Parselmouth Pythia of Mount Parnassus. The Pythias were great Seers who gave advice to many, and they were not at all evil, unless you count serving intelligent Nagas or Gorgons – we're not sure which – as their priestesses as being an evil act in of itself. Which I don't. They weren't dangerous, they weren't even great warriors or duellists. Most of them were killed, in fact. Like in the myth about Apollo killing Python and claiming their sacred site."
"Wow!" Branstone said, and her small brown eyes lit up with delight. "Is there a book about this I can borrow? There's not much about the Old Ways in the library."
Harry shook his head. "It's not written down. It's a family secret. I mean… it's not secret secret. There's no vows or anything. Just… I don't think anyone else knows. It hasn't even been in the Daily Prophet and they've been dredging up every bit of Slytherin family history they could find. But I thought you might like to know; it seemed really important to you, and I didn't want you to listen only to one side of things."
"It seems harmless information to me, important to share even, but I shall keep your secret," Branstone promised, "until such time as you give me leave to share it with others. I have learnt the value of discretion. Did you know the last headmaster of Hogwarts, Headmaster Dippet, was so long-lived that he lived through the years when witches were still publicly executed in England and Scotland? 'Never again the Burning Times.'"
"Thank you for your discretion, I'd appreciate your silence for now," Harry said, with a smile, before breaking the spell and hurrying off to class.
-000-
"I do hope you realise I am risking my reputation meeting you like this, Harry," Draco said, as he slunk into the abandoned old Potions classroom later that afternoon. "A mysterious private note and then an unchaperoned tête-à-tête? Pansy would be within her rights to cut me cold. This had better be important."
Harry slapped his forehead. "Right. Pure-blood etiquette. Sometimes I forget. I just want to talk privately."
"I presumed so. You have shown no signs of ahh… anything else," Draco finished, delicately vague. "Nor am I receptive to such advances. No offence."
"None taken. So, how, under etiquette, can two people meet privately to plot and talk, without it seeming romantic?"
"Is that what we're doing?"
"I hope so. I was wanting your advice," Harry said, assuming a straight-backed pure-blood pose since Draco was being all formal, "as my amicus, on a matter of some delicacy. Speaking of which… Colloportus. Muffliato." Harry's didn't want to get caught again by invisible eavesdroppers. The door's lock clicked into place and hopefully any eavesdroppers would hear nothing but the buzzing of bees.
Draco looked pleased, and thoughtful. "I think it is alright, especially since we are both young men, which is a little less ahh, fretted over. Technically a third party should be informed that I am meeting privately with you, ideally a parent or patron, without needing to know what it is about. Similarly to how I told Pansy I was going to go look for you at the Yule Ball, for instance. Of course, the most important rule is the simplest one – do not get caught." He smiled conspiratorially.
"We didn't do so well at the Yule Ball," Harry said, with a sigh. "Hopefully the spells will help."
"How could we have known to worry about how Skeeter was hiding there? Still, father used that information well to ensure her silence."
"What?"
"Oh, right. You did not hear. I will tell you the blackmail material father has on her in exchange for repayment of the medium favour I owe you from Yule," Draco whispered, his voice falling into low confidential tones out of habit, despite the theoretical safety of the Muffliato Charm. "Mayhap it will prove very useful for you one day."
"Deal!" Harry said eagerly.
Draco explained how Skeeter was an unregistered Animagus with a beetle form, an offence that could land her in Azkaban, and they both laughed over how quickly she must have scurried off when Storm went hunting for snacks.
"Seriously though, you should not let him eat her," Draco warned, as his laughter gently trailed to a halt.
"Oh right," Harry said, his own laughter stuttering to a guilty stop. "She is a person, after all, and not that bad."
Draco blinked. "I meant because when an Animagus dies they turn back into their human self. Storm could have gotten hurt if he had swallowed her. Uh, but yes, it would still be wrong, and so on. You should not set him to killing someone. Obviously."
"Ohhh, duly noted. Not that he's planning to eat anyone," Harry said, then winced. "Unless I ask him to, and he's bigger. Don't tell anyone, but he's kind of bloodthirsty. No, that's not the right word. He's just… not human in his thinking. Practical. People who aren't of use to him are either prey, threats, or to be ignored. Mostly the last category."
"He likes me though, right?" Draco asked nervously. "Where is he, anyway? Still in your bag?"
"Yes, the sleepyhead," Harry said affectionately. "Nocturnal pets are tough, sometimes. We don't get to talk as much as we'd like. He's very open to bribes of food if you want to make friends with him more."
Harry sighed. "You know, I asked Storm's advice about the same thing that I want to ask you about. You know what his solution was? To kill Neville, because that would be the easiest solution."
Draco's eyes widened. "Well now. The breach must be worse than I thought."
"Not for me, obviously I'd never do that. Storm's just… practical. Anyway, I guess you can see why I want a second opinion. Out of everyone… I think you will understand the best. But I don't want you to gossip about it with anyone else–"
"My tongue is tied," Draco promised, with a mimed wand wave.
"–Until Tuesday," Harry concluded. "Pledge on your House's honour to not chatter about it until then, please."
"What? Why Tuesday?" Draco asked, his head tilted in curiosity.
Harry sighed. "On Monday some time Neville and Hermione will be talking to some people about the topic, they've only promised silence until then. Everyone will know about it sooner or by later, and I think by Tuesday the rumours will probably have spread. I know you will want to talk about it then, and I think – I hope – that I can trust you to show some discretion in what you share and what you don't. To ask you to stay silent even then… it feels overly optimistic, maybe asking a bit too much. So I'm being practical here, in hopes you will respect that."
Draco, his curiosity awakened to unbearable levels, could do naught but pledge his temporary silence.
"It is something to do with the Dark Lord, isn't it?" he asked eagerly, the formality done. It might not be magically binding, but socially it was a big deal to make such a promise, and good enough for Harry.
Harry nodded. "It's my truce with him. Neville found out about it. He figured it out from what some of the Death Eaters were saying – and doing – during the Battle of Hogsmeade. Lestrange ranting about how the true Dark Lord had a truce with his Heir. Pettigrew screeching back about how he's not a lackey and doesn't care about the truce. Various Death Eaters not fighting kids to their full effectiveness; being soft on them."
"Your truce protected people," Draco observed.
"Yes. They don't see it that way, though, especially Neville. Hermione gets it a bit, but still doesn't like it. I'm… a traitor. Like Pettigrew, they think. Not how he is now, obviously. Like when he started. Making the safe traitorous choice instead of the brave one."
"Gryffindors." It wasn't praise.
"So, Neville is that angry about it? I have not seen him give you the cut direct, but I would wager he is not far off it," Draco observed.
"Worse. He is going to tell Dumbledore and the Aurors on Monday. Unless I break the truce."
"Merlin's beard! Some friend."
"I know. I do… I do understand, of course. I just wish he wouldn't."
"This proves you most justified in not sharing the information with him earlier."
"I suppose. Maybe if I had talked earlier… keep him more in the loop, he would understand better…" Harry trailed off.
Draco looked at him, leaning his chin in one hand, elbow propped up on a desk. "You don't believe that."
"Not really, I guess. He's more… righteous than me, I suppose. He said he'd rather die than be protected by my truce."
"I cannot say I feel the same." Draco paused. "You did get a guarantee of my safety, did you not?"
"Yes, in January."
"Good," Draco said, then hesitated, biting at his lip. "What happens to me if you break the truce? Or you?" Draco clearly had his Slytherin priorities straight.
"Well, that's the problem here, isn't it? What will the Dark Lord do if I broke the truce, and what will the authorities do if I don't? Either way, come Monday half the school is going to hate me, and someone will be out for my blood, and maybe everyone on my safe list, to boot. Do you know if I would be liable for time in Azkaban? I tried researching it, but the library is utterly useless about the minutiae of legal matters. I don't know who to ask, Draco!"
"I see your dilemma."
"I kind of had a truce with him before, that I broke. A less official one. This one's a proper written contract, we both signed in blood and everything. It's got a bit of magical binding to it; enough to make us stop and think."
Draco whistled, high and impressed. "Blood quill?"
"I didn't have one; didn't dare ask Sirius for one! I just made a cut until I had enough blood to dip my regular quill in."
"Ow."
Harry shrugged. "It was no big deal. Look the point is that last time I broke a truce he was angry, but he just kind of… wrote cross and disappointed letters. He said if I didn't set up a proper formal truce we'd be in an official feud."
"No threats of torture or murder?"
"It was implicit, I think, that he might try to kill me. He didn't say it outright, but I got the message. It was all very civil for someone hinting murder, though. How do you think he'd cope if I broke this truce?"
"Oh, I am sure he would send you a pet kitten with a satin bow around its neck and a nice letter about how there are no hard feelings," Draco said, eyebrows arched.
"Don't be silly. He'd send a frog."
"What?"
"He sends snacks for Storm, sometimes. If he sent an animal it would be something for Storm to eat, like another frog." Harry smiled in brief amusement.
"I was being sarcastic! I do not know what you did the first time to anger him, but you do not seriously think he would take a second betrayal well and send snacks for your pet! And mark my words, that is likely how he would see it, as a betrayal."
"Yeah. I know, I was joking too. I'm mostly worried he'll threaten people; the people on my safe list. Or do some attack and then write to me about how it was all my fault."
"You would know better than I how he would react, Harry. My knowledge of his character is thankfully second-hand at best. So… you tell me how he will react."
Harry hummed thoughtfully. "He's going to be pissed off. He'll write to try to get me to change my mind, then if I don't, he'll be furious. I think he rarely gives second chances; he's not going to want to give me a third chance."
"I can hardly believe you got that much. Father says…" Draco started, before leaving his sentence unfinished, not meeting Harry's eyes.
"Was he ever under the Imperius?" Harry asked softly.
Draco sighed. "That is what he used to tell me, when I was younger. He did not trust me to keep my mouth shut, perhaps with some justification. He really was under the Imperius though… but maybe only a couple of times. Enough for the Healers to vouch for him at his trial. There were some things he did not want to do, but he was already in with his hands dirty, so… too late. You do not refuse the Dark Lord and live. Your choices are the Cruciatus, the Imperius, or death. Refusing his orders is not an option, and neither is leaving. Honestly, father was happy enough with him gone; he was trying to change the mess of a Ministry through subtler means. Bring in better laws about Dark magic and creatures, and keep Muggles from threatening our society.
"He is back now though, and so father doesn't truly have a choice, do you understand that? None of his people do. Not if they want to live. His patience only lasts so long. It's not a coincidence that Karkaroff is hiding at Hogwarts in Dumble-bore's shadow this year. Madame Maxime Portkeys to and from France all the time, but Karkaroff doesn't even dare venture out to Hogsmeade. Father says he is living on borrowed time."
"I… I guess I understand. But if they all turned against him, he'd have no army."
"Not everyone wants to, and those who might dare to leave will surely not risk talking to anyone else about the topic," Draco said. "You do not know how lucky you are, Harry. He is treating you like… like Fenrir. Or a vampire lord. Someone you bargain with. I do not know if him considering you his Heir is a blessing or a curse. 'Twere it not for your blood relation I imagine he would just be ignoring you. Or trying to kill you. Maybe he saw you as a threat to the family line even when you were a baby? Did you hiss at a snake when you were in swaddling, or something?"
Harry didn't want to tell Draco about the prophecy. The information would probably go straight to his father.
"How would I know if I hissed at snakes as a baby? I can't exactly ask my parents now, can I? He killed them. And I have to make nice with him or he'll kill me."
"Sorry," Draco said, looking genuinely apologetic.
Harry let out a huff of breath and changed the subject back. "It's not your fault. Look, I still don't think the 'Heir' thing is a big deal. I think he's just cranky that I'm magically recognised by that title, since so many people believe in it now, and most don't even believe he's alive so he's lost the claim. He's just saying he's the Head of House so he outranks me. Me being his Heir is just one-upmanship."
It was obvious to Harry, but Draco disagreed. "I do not understand why you are so stubborn about this. There is public acknowledgement there that is getting close to binding. He doesn't have to recognise you as his Heir, he could recognise someone else. We talked about it after the Hogsmeade attack – Father thinks he's figured it out; Pettigrew wants you dead because he wants to be the Dark Lord's Heir, and Pettigrew has been passed over in favour of you. He has lost status – he has no secure place or family rank. He does not get to lead, and he does not want to follow. He fears for his life like an out-of-favour Death Eater and it is driving him literally mad."
Harry slumped in his old wooden chair and nodded slowly. Yes, that would do it. Tom's spirit, in Pettigrew's body, being ignored in the succession in favour of the boy who'd defeated him? Being passed over as Voldemort's closest kin in favour of an enemy? If he wasn't out for Harry's blood before, he certainly would be after that.
"But what should I do?" he said plaintively. "I know Volde–"
Draco hissed a warning interruption.
"–I know the Dark Lord will be angry if I break the truce, and the new lord already wants me dead, but what will the other side do? Can they throw me in Azkaban? Would they try?" Harry finished.
Draco sighed. "I do not know. They cannot accuse of you of following the Dark Lord without admitting he survived his defeat at your tiny chubby hands a decade ago. Does your written truce name Lord Missing Finger?"
"No. Just You-Know-Who. And me. Oh, and our pets."
"Your pets."
"Storm insisted, and Nagini didn't want to be left out if Storm was named."
A startled incredulous laugh burst out of Draco. "That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. Hmm. I wonder if father can use that?"
Harry tilted his head. "Maybe. He loves Nagini. If your father ever meets her, he should bribe Nagini with lots of treats – small magical animals or eggs – and try not to sssmell-taste of fear when he does it," Harry said, with an accidental word in Parseltongue that he didn't notice slipping in there. "He could use a Calming Potion on himself if necessary, or a Cheering Charm. Praise her if the Dark Lord will translate. She'll probably hesitate to hurt him if he is a favourite, and the Dark Lord has complained in some of his letters about how people don't appreciate snakes enough. He had a pet snake when he was young that someone killed, and he's still bitter about it, and frets about Nagini. A bit of appreciation for her won't hurt and might help him ingratiate himself with both of them."
"Do I have your permission to relay this information to my father?" Draco asked eagerly. "Immediately?"
Harry thought about it. "Sure. Go for it, but don't mention me by name." He made a mental note to write to Snape about it, too. "In return, can you tell me – or discreetly find out – how much trouble I'll be in legally if news gets out about the truce, whether it's cancelled or not?"
"None if the Ministry won't officially acknowledge he exists. They might think you mad though, or slander your name. So long as your Regent refuses to commit you to St. Mungo's you will be safe. You cannot have a truce with the ghost of a man you killed."
"And if they do acknowledge he exists, and accept that the truce is valid?"
"They shan't. It does not suit anyone's agenda except the Headmaster's to do so, and he has lost too much of his political influence. He has been trying and failing all year to get the wizarding world to acknowledge the Dark Lord's return; Lord Missing Finger and Lupin are scapegoats too convenient to pass up. You are safe on that account, at least. Your social reputation might end up in tatters, and the Dark Lord might rage, but no-one will throw you in Azkaban over it."
"Well, that's a relief!" Harry said. He had all his most precious belongings cached once more in the Chamber of Secrets, or stuffed in his capacious Healer's Bag, just in case he needed a quick getaway.
Draco looked thoughtful. "Even if it was acknowledged he was back… I don't think a truce is something that would merit imprisonment. Some people tried to stay neutral in the last war, and I do not believe anything happened to them. I could discreetly gather gossip on the topic for you? As a purely historical query?"
"I would appreciate that."
"You haven't… done anything illegal, have you? Or taken his Mark?"
"Welll…" Harry started shiftily, and when Draco looked shocked, he hurried to explain. "Oh, not the Mark, and I haven't done anything for him. But illegal? Sure, and so have you. Rituals and the like. Some stuff I would not want to admit to in court. No… you know… missions or anything."
"Right. So… what are you going to do?"
Harry sighed. "I still don't know. What do you think I should do?"
Draco smirked. "Lie through your teeth. Tell Longbottom you've seen the light and broken the truce, but actually do nothing at all and preserve your neutrality."
Harry shook his head. "Won't work. Spies. Someone will blab. Even just another mouthy Death Eater in a fight would be enough."
"Then you have a Puffskein's chance in a dragon's den of coming out of this well."
"Great."
"Do you want me to ask my father what he thinks you should do?"
"No, definitely not."
"Alright. Well, buck up. Not everyone will turn against you. If you stay loyal to the Dark Lord–"
"Not loyal. Neutral."
"–Fifty Galleons says he thinks of it that way, Harry. Anyway, if you refuse to turn against him he will protect you, and order others to do so likewise, if you plead your case to him. They stick together – they have to, more than ever now. And if you turn against him no doubt the Light will do something similar. Either way you'll have supporters, and either way," Draco concluded, puffing out his chest, "I will remain your friend and amicus. I am no fickle friend like Longbottom."
Harry harrumphed. "Ron turned against me when he found out I was a Parselmouth. Pansy and Millicent barely talked to me in second year because of Black. Now Neville and Hermione are shunning me and I did it for them! Not for me. I made this truce to protect people and it's working but they don't appreciate it! Who's to say you won't be next to throw me over?"
"I say!" Draco said grandly.
"And if your father orders you to shun me because I've angered the Dark Lord and painted a target on my back?"
"I am sure we can find some way to justify a continued association." Draco's face was conflicted, but his words sounded confident, at least.
"And if you cannot, and your family is threatened?"
"Then we shall be friends discreetly in private, like the girls were in third year. Would you want to publicly associate with me if it meant my mother might be tortured for it?"
"No, of course not."
"So, we are in agreement then. At least you know now that you can count on me as a friend, whether you keep or break the truce. I do not envy you the choice before you; it is a difficult thing to face, and try it keep as quiet as you can for otherwise social ruin will be a distinct possibility no matter what you choose."
Harry sighed. That about summed it up.
-000-
That evening behind the safety of his drawn bedcurtains, Harry stared with disbelief at the new letter he'd just received from Lord Voldemort to his 'Gryffindor Knight'.
After detailed nattering about how well Harry had done in the last task, as well as some fulsome praise for his actions in the Battle of Hogsmeade, the final part of his letter was almost like a slap in the face.
The Dark Lord had flatly refused to let Harry add Professor Trelawney to his 'safe list'.
I never guaranteed I would spare those whose protection you asked for. If you review the terms of our truce you will note that it is only specified that you may ask for someone to be sheltered from harm each month. However, rest assured that I will honour my promise to continue to spare all those we have previously discussed and agreed to. Provided you continue your correspondence as required, I will generously permit you to nominate another person in her stead, for the month of May.
A damned loophole. That changed things. The truce he'd worked on wording so carefully, and had thought so solid and binding, was barely worth the parchment it was written on.
EloImJosh – Walburga's reaction for you on learning Harry is a Metamorphmagus.
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