AUTHOR'S NOTE AND DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fanfiction, written and posted solely for the enjoyment of readers of fanfiction. The author makes no claims and receives no remuneration. All characters and locations in this story are from the works of JK Rowling, or derive therefrom. Many thanks to Ms. Rowling for letting us riff a little.
A Mosaic of Warping Mirrors
Chapter Nine
Taking a Walk
Harry Potter put his text in his book bag, double checked around the desk and bench then closed the clasps. He looked at Ron Weasley who was just winding up his own packing.
'You go on, okay?'
Harry conveyed it all with a slight head toss and a raised eyebrow.
'Sure,' said Ron's shrug.
Harry turned to his left, catching Millicent Bulstrode's eye. He gave her a little smile, which she returned.
They had just finished a joint Slytherin-Gryffindor class in transfiguration. Harry noticed Professor McGonagall keeping an eye on Millicent and himself while striving to appear not to be singling the two out for surveillance.
"Next?" Harry asked.
Without really thinking about it, Harry picked up Millicent's book bag and took a step toward the door, Millicent using the moment to shake out her robe and look around for her own lost quills and whatnot. She finished and fell in beside Harry. He had her bag so she was unencumbered.
"Defense," she said. "Professor Moody."
They cleared the doorway and Harry paused to return the book bag, barely noticing Draco Malfoy, down the corridor a bit, looking back at them.
"Here's your bag. I wondered if you'd like to take a walk Saturday—after lunch?" Harry asked.
"Won't you be playing quidditch?"
She meant the weekend informals, all comers welcome, house quidditch having been canceled in favor of the tournament.
"Not if you'll go for a walk with me."
"Sure, I'll take a walk with you," Millicent said. "The bench by the front doors? One o'clock?"
"Perfect," said Harry. "See you there."
"See you there," Millicent repeated and walked away smiling, swinging her weighty book bag.
Harry was walking past Draco Malfoy, expecting to be forced into an exchange of snarls when Draco pushed off from the wall and dropped in beside him.
"What?" Harry demanded. "Just what?"
"Millicent…" Draco tried, only to be cut off.
"Shut…UP, Malfoy," ordered Harry. "Don't you say anything about her. Whatever your problem is with me, Millicent has nothing to do with it."
Draco was quiet, studying Harry while they walked. He saw Harry's face was red and felt the tension between them. Harry Potter was ready to go at it, right there, Draco realized.
"Don't take offense, Potter, none is intended," Draco said.
Harry looked skeptical. Still angry, he appeared willing to temporarily reserve judgment.
"So? Go on, what's on your mind?" Harry asked.
"I'm asking you, as a gentleman, to be considerate of her. Millicent? She's decent. A decent person. A nice person? Nicer than a lot of…nicer than a lot of people in this school," Draco muttered. "She deserves…better…than she gets. That's all."
Draco pivoted on one heel and the ball of his foot, an oddly-military movement, coming from a magical boarding school student still two years shy of his majority. Harry watched as Draco strode off, wondering what Draco's interest was. Then he wondered what Draco thought he had seen. Perhaps picking up the bookbag wasn't perceived as an ordinary courtesy. Perhaps the gesture conveyed an assumption of license. It hit Harry suddenly—Draco was looking out for Millicent! He thought Harry was seeking to take advantage of her.
That struck Harry as very out of character for Draco, who always seemed to be seeking some kind of advantage over whomever was near. He alluded to his family's wealth and influence constantly. It wasn't sufficient that he was a Malfoy, his mother was the former Narcissa Black. The Blacks were very well-off, perhaps not so rich as the Malfoys but old, powerful and of course, 'Toujours Pur.' Besides, Harry had learned enough to know that, past a certain point, additional wealth was a sterile counting exercise, irrelevant to one's enjoyment of life.
Harry's mind worked and worked while he walked. Draco Malfoy asked him, one gentleman to another, to respect Millicent's tender feelings. Draco had conceded Harry Potter gentleman status for the first time. What did that mean? Perhaps it was a temporary, honorary acknowledgment. Draco Malfoy never displayed concern for any other human being, in Harry's experience. He seemed deathly afraid of his father and appeared to strain to be polite and respectful toward his mother, the few times Harry had seen them together in public. Still, he extended himself, deigning to not only speak to, but solicit a favor from Harry Potter.
In the runup to Saturday, Harry returned to his exchange with Draco at odd moments, including while hanging around the bench, waiting for Millicent to arrive. He had some serious thoughts, things on which he wanted to get Millicent's views. Perhaps, if Draco's concerns came up, naturally, he might see an opening for further discussion.
"All set?"
Millicent was dressed for a late winter outdoor ramble. Besides her clothing, Millicent wore an eager smile. Harry's mood, already good, progressed to excellent.
"I was thinking the lake path," said Harry.
"Scene of your most recent brush with glory," said Millicent. "I'm all for it."
"You're having me on," accused Harry.
"Am not," said Millicent.
"Would you ever concede? Tell me, if you were?" Harry asked.
"Never," said Millicent. "Not. Ever."
"Good. You stick to your principles," Harry said. "There is value in that."
Millicent snickered and strode on, a bit of force apparent in her stride.
"Let me know if I'm going too fast for you?" she asked.
"Count on it," said Harry.
With that the two walked on. Harry felt his legs loosening up. He tried to put everything to use in service of a brisk and efficient hike. He sent everything else out of his mind and thought about the length of his stride, the placement of his feet on the ground, the moderate swing of his arms. Everything working together, he'd keep pace with Millicent Bulstrode and anyone else who wanted to come along, all day if necessary. They had been walking between ten and fifteen minutes when he felt the first drop of sweat running down his back.
Bye and by, Harry turned around and looked backwards, still walking, and tried to estimate the distance from their starting point. He guessed they were something like halfway around the lake. Close enough.
"Millicent?"
"Yes, Harry," said Millicent, still walking but more slowly.
"Uh, are you ready for a break?" asked Harry.
Millicent turned to face him and Harry noticed her face was shiny with sweat. It wasn't pouring off and there were only a handful of actual beads on her upper lip. Still, the day's chill probably had more to do with that than the exertion.
"I'm ready if you are," Millicent answered.
They stopped on the path and worked their feet and ankles, hands on hips.
"Feel good?" asked Harry.
"I guess so," said Millicent. "I've been needing this."
It sounded so odd, coming from a witch in her mid-teens. Harry shook his head.
"What? Don't you play quidditch with witches? Why wouldn't one enjoy a hike with a fine athlete like Harry Potter?" demanded Millicent.
"I guess I just never thought of it that way," said Harry. "We live and learn."
"Full marks!" Millicent enthused. "Now, what is our subject matter?"
"Ah…" Harry began, stalling for time while he looked around for a boulder or a fallen log so they could sit.
"Over here," he said.
Harry invited Millicent to pick a place on the log he'd spotted, then sat down beside her.
"I had a great time at the ball," he began.
"Someone had to explain some of these things to me," said Harry. He'd gotten to the gist of a sanitized version of his chat with Sirius.
"The way you make me feel when you're nearby. That's all new. When we stood outside and you let me put my arm around your back…"
"Yeah, your back felt good to me, too," said Millicent.
The conversation paused for close to a minute.
"Okay, so I know I'm not fifteen until the thirty-first of July and we have to at least reach our majorities before getting really serious. Are we close enough for us to talk about things?" Harry asked.
"If you want," said Millicent. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Do you have plans?" asked Harry. "Education, career, family?"
"I always assumed I'd do my seventh year and take my NEWTs," said Millicent. "Magical creatures, you know?"
"Yes. Great rapport with Chuck and Griselda. I'm sure you'll do well," said Harry.
"I enjoyed myself," Millicent said. "Anything else?"
"Oh, uh…" Harry began.
"You want to know about this, don't you?" said Millicent, standing up and swinging one leg, then another over the log, then letting herself down on his lap.
Millicent hugged Harry to herself, putting her chin on his shoulder.
"Comfy?" asked Millicent.
"Mm-hmph," Harry answered.
"We can't sleep together and I'm not going to experiment with the standup variety in a Hogwarts broom closet, no matter how many horny wizards argue the Founders put them there for a reason," said Millicent.
"Oh, no," said Harry, visualizing himself conveying wordless agreement with Millicent's terms.
"Do you have a problem if I insist you accommodate my views? As you said, it will be a year or two before society thinks we're mature enough to handle certain…responsibilities," Millicent went on.
"Of course," Harry assured her.
"We really ought to put our studies before everything else," she continued. "While we've got the chance."
"You're so right," said Harry. "Yes. That's right. Studies."
"Oh, that's nice," said Millicent. "That's so nice. It sounds like we just naturally agree on some very important things. You know, I have never been this close to anyone, like this I mean. I'll just do this, now that we are comfortable with one another and agree on those basic, very important things."
Millicent lifted a leg and slid toward Harry. Then she held on with that one while she lifted the other and slid toward him on that side. Wiggling a little, left, right, left, Millicent settled down and gave a long, contented sigh.
"That is?" Millicent asked, her cheek on Harry's and her lips next to his ear. She moved her pelvis, forward, up and down.
"That right there?"
"Me," Harry choked out.
"Oh, so THAT is what happens there, on wizards, I mean," said Millicent. "I always wondered. There was a chapter in Magical Health, one of those lessons where they split up the witches and wizards. The illustrations weren't nearly as informative as you are, you know?"
"Uh-huh," Harry managed.
"So glad you asked me out for a walk today. Everything works, doesn't it?" asked Millicent as she slowly moved a quarter inch left then a quarter inch right.
"Y-yes," said Harry. "Too well, at times."
"Piffle, Harry Potter. Your anatomy is very much like the theoretical bits we discussed in Magical Health class. Everything works, you definitely like witches, I like wizards," said Millicent.
"No broom closet," Harry gasped.
"Too bad it will be one or two years before we're considered responsible enough for those future things," Millicent observed.
Millicent swung her right leg, then her left, off Harry and over the tree trunk, then she stood. Her jeans had crept up some so she pulled them down, pivoted and sat back down next to Harry, snickering to herself. She took Harry's nearest hand and held it between both of hers.
"There is one more thing," said Harry. "I was advised to have a conversation. I don't have the words so I'll quote: 'If there is any chance at all of you two ending up in bed you'd better…'
"I knew it!" exclaimed Millicent, punctuating with a flat-handed slap to her thigh.
Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He had done everything Sirius had advised and it had been going so well. They'd even established via Millicent's ingenious fully-clothed exploration that Harry liked witches and Millicent liked wizards. Then he'd blown it sky-high.
"Birth control? The potion? Who will do what?" demanded Millicent.
"Oh, Millicent, I am sorry!" Harry began. "I didn't mean we had to start…It's too soon, is that it? I'll drop it."
"What? Oh, well. At least you're thinking about it," Millicent said. "You brought it up so I didn't have to. My aunt told me to expect to be the one that had to ask you. She has a lot of experience in these matters. Yes, there are things that need to be done. We aren't going to be exploring in the broom closets and we have lots of things to do. We are in agreement, aren't we?"
"Yes, of course! We agreed. I agreed," Harry confirmed.
"There are measures we can take," said Millicent. "Not everything is a potion, or magical. The muggles have been very ingenious about these things, believe it or not. Your assignment will be to read up on all the different methods."
"And report?" asked Harry.
"No. So you can handle your end of a serious conversation," Millicent said. "I've done my homework, don't you worry. Will you put a little work in on your part? This is where you tell me yes, and I'm darn well worth it."
"Yes, and you're darn well worth it," Harry affirmed. "Millicent? There is one more thing."
"Just one?" Millicent protested.
"Yeah, for now. Draco came up to me in the corridor after I carried your bookbag and asked me nicely to show you some consideration," Harry began. "A polite, concerned Draco. It was like discovering a new species. I don't know what he thought I was going to do that was so awful. Anyway, is there anything there I need to know about?"
"Oh, that's sweet," said Millicent, not squeezing now, gently threading her fingers into Harry's. "I don't know when Draco and I first met. So long ago I can't remember. As children he was always looking out for me. My mother is much more attractive than me. Physically. You know? My father is very kind and generous. He always had time for me and gave me lots of little surprises. Mother…it feels like rejection, sometimes."
Millicent stopped talking. She squeezed Harry's hand, suddenly, until it hurt. A joint made a popping sound and Millicent apologized, over and over.
"It's okay, it's okay," Harry assured her. "Happens all the time."
Millicent was sniffling by then, sniffling, swallowing, tears leaking from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks.
"She always dressed it up as Mum and her little angel playing makeup or dress-up or a day with the beauty witches," said Millicent. "I used to think it was the most fun ever. Then, the summer before we all came to Hogwarts, she came out with it. 'If you would just take your appearance seriously, Millicent…' Oh, Merlin and Morgana, I am an embarrassment to my beautiful MOTHER! She thinks I'm ugly! I arrived, as a first year, with a huge sense of inferiority. I didn't say anything to Draco but he sensed something and gave me little bits of encouragement. Not flirting. Just that he thought my essay was good or a well-done on a potion."
"Draco Malfoy," Harry mused. "I never saw that. Well, we wouldn't, would we? Even so, he chatted me up last week so I'll give him credit. You seem to think it is due. I'll defer to your judgment."
They sat, silent, thinking their own thoughts, holding hands. Harry stood up and looked down the path, both directions, not seeing anyone either way.
"Suppose we could go back, unless you have further business," said Harry. "This was a very productive walk."
Millicent laughed, hard.
"A good use of my time," she said. "How about you?"
"One more thing?" asked Harry.
"What?"
"As long as there is no one around, can I give you a kiss? A proper one? A proper snog?"
"Only if you will quit talking and get to snogging," said Millicent, closing her eyes.
With all the students back at Hogwarts and their closer friends in two rival houses, Harry and Millicent had escaped being identified as walking companions. As soon as the castle was in sight, Harry dropped Millicent's hand. It wasn't anything they did consciously but the conversational topics veered away from the sweet, private and personal and toward generic or academic. They took the path that went by the greenhouses so they could have been seen as simply coming in from working on some herbology assignment.
In any event, no one brought up their joint excursion or asked intrusive questions about where they had gone or what they had gotten up to. The first thing that came to mind, for Harry, was standing by the far end of the lake, snogging Millicent Bulstrode. Actually, there was a good possibility that it was Millicent dispensing the greater quantity of snog. No matter. He needed an alternative story, to guard against inadvertent disclosure.
The first time Harry saw Malfoy alone, he walked over and asked if Malfoy had a minute.
"Sure, Potter, I'll spare you a minute," said Malfoy.
'The sneer is back,' thought Harry. 'I wonder what makes that come and go? That could be useful information.'
"I agree with you about Millicent. She is very special and shouldn't be subjected to rough handling. I will treat her with respect. Your gestures of support were very important to her, if you didn't know."
Harry left without waiting for an answer.
They'd agreed, during their walk, to make the most of their classes. Fourth year was racing by. Many students ended formal study at the end of their sixth year. Then there was the tournament.
That ridiculous tournament that seemed sure to kill one or more of the participants in a way that would let the organizers cry crocodile tears while they talked about examples and bravery and the tragedy of losing one so young. Harry had picked up a history book in the library once, opened it at random and read about how the city-states around the Mediterranean all practiced some form of human sacrifice to please their gods. The victims ranged from infants to youth in their teen years to prisoners of war. The account creeped him out so thoroughly he closed and shelved the book and consciously avoided the subject ever since. It was unfortunate but the Tri-Wizard Tournament was causing Harry to think about the subject again, whether he chose to or not.
The champions hadn't heard what the final challenge would be. Harry thought, on the basis of the first two tasks, that there would be an element of surprise—something they couldn't anticipate and prepare for in advance. That meant some thinking on one's feet or some improvisation. He thought it might be a good idea to ask Hermione about her reading on the subject of earlier tournaments. He knew she had done some, based on her comments. If she didn't know specifics they might be able to identify useful patterns.
As with so many of their joint adventures, the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall was crucial.
"Hermione, can I ask you something?" Harry began.
Hermione was sitting across from Harry, ideally positioned to respond with a mix of interest and suspicion.
"About?"
"Well, I picked up a book in the library once and it talked about all of the city-states around the Mediterranean…"
Harry got to the end of his synopsis of the city-states' deplorable behavior and how some dressed it up with festivals and athletic contests.
"Ughhh…I think I'm going to be sick," said Hermione. "Just a minute. No talking."
Harry gave her some time while Ron sat, looking on, puzzled by Hermione's reaction.
"Okay," she said when the sick feeling had passed. "You read about the city states, two thousand, three thousand years ago, and you wondered if there is a connection with this tournament?"
"I don't know about connection but there are similarities. The Romans had gladiator competitions right in London. I read about an arena the archaeologists dug up. It wasn't all there in Rome. It was just football to them," said Harry.
"Harry, are you suggesting that the ministry, Dumbledore, two other schools of witchcraft and wizardry, and the faculty of Hogwarts conspired to put on a gladiator show with students?"
Hermione didn't ask—she demanded.
"No, not exactly. The similarities are troubling, though," said Harry. "The first task was human against animal. The Romans did that. They used lions and whatever they could buy from the markets in North Africa. We used dragons."
Ron looked at Hermione, who looked back at Ron.
"He's got a point," said Ron. "Harry versus a dragon. I'd call that questionable."
"Right, okay," said Hermione. "Could have been irresponsibility, though. Not intentional."
"Inherently dangerous," declared Harry. "At least as dangerous as tying charmed students to a rock on the bottom of the lake and going away, leaving them down there."
"I'm kind of angry about that one myself," said Ron. "You?"
Hermione took in a slow, noisy breath, then nodded.
"It all worked out, so no harm done, so far," said Harry. "What if it doesn't stay that way? What if someone is seriously hurt, or worse? Who will be responsible?"
"Maybe no one," said Ron. "The champions are supposed to be of age and volunteers."
Harry sat there, looking at Ron.
"Oh," said Ron. "That's right! You aren't either one!"
"And yet…" said Harry.
"Oh, Harry," said Hermione. "Don't think that way, please! You can't be thinking it was all set up to get you into a vulnerable position."
"I don't have a choice, Hermione, and I have no facts to disprove it," Harry said. "If you have some I'm listening."
This time Hermione crammed her napkin into her mouth and bit down, threw her legs over the bench and walked double time to the exit closest to a girls' bathroom. Ron watched her go, then turned to Harry.
"I wonder if someone…you know?" he asked.
"Go," said Harry. "Even if you can't help, it's good for points."
Ron gave Harry a funny look and stood up to follow Hermione. Before he turned back to his plate Harry noticed Professor McGonagall dropping her napkin on her chair and striding off the dais. He had to give it to Hermione. She brought the drama.
Harry focused on studies that spring. Ron tried several times to get Harry out of the books and into an excursion to Hogsmeade but Harry wasn't interested. They did go down to the quidditch pitch from time to time. Harry knew Ron was interested in playing keeper so he assumed the role of a chaser and let Ron hang around the goals, blocking Harry's shots. Harry explained, more than once, that the third task loomed and that he would not have time to read in once it began. That meant he had to show up the day of the match with all of the knowledge needed to complete the task then walk away under his own power.
Ron acceded to Harry's reasoning while expressing a desire for the tournament to go away and give him back his friend.
"I understand and I'm very appreciative, Ron," said Harry. "I mean that sincerely."
Ron seemed satisfied with that until Harry excused himself to stop at the intersection of two corridors for a brief word with Millicent Bulstrode.
"I was wondering, will there be any Harry time available for a needy witch anytime soon?" Millicent asked.
"I could make some," said Harry. "I'm not exactly a Hogsmeade fanatic, although a bench and a butterbeer are nice for twenty or thirty minutes."
"I'd take it, if that was all that was available," said Millicent.
"So you're not all that enthusiastic, either," said Harry. "We can always go to the library, if that is of interest."
Millicent's face lit up. Harry began to think studying together was, indeed, of interest to Millicent Bulstrode.
"My last class gets out at three forty-five, dinner isn't until five," said Harry.
"That works," said Millicent as she sent just the slightest, most discreet wink his way.
Harry was sitting and reading at an out-of-the-way table when Millicent arrived. Greetings were restricted to an exchange of smiles and Harry's movement of some scattered books. As long as his feet were underneath the table, Harry had loosened his shoelaces, eventually slipping out of his shoes altogether. Millicent had noticed when she came in. She sat, removed her shoes and placed her stockinged feet atop Harry's.
Harry smiled and looked across at Millicent, who sent a little 'What?' expression back. Harry took a little square of parchment he'd been using for a bookmark and picked up his quill.
"Nice to see you again. Broom closet?" he wrote.
Millicent squinted across the table. It was a look of serious brutality, Harry had to admit. Then she folded the square in half, twice and reached under her school uniform blouse. Harry saw some movement around the center of Millicent's torso followed by a slight snapping sound.
"Cheek," was all Millicent said.
She removed her feet but kept one toe in contact with one of Harry's as she turned to her chosen textbook. Harry had to work to stay focused so it was a good thing Millicent was completely absorbed by her subject matter. She was also watching the time. She began getting her books together and back in their bag at ten before five so Harry followed her lead. Millicent propped her arms on the bag and her chin on her arms and waited while Harry tied his shoelaces.
"Worried?" she asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
Harry looked across at Millicent, her face serious, eyes steady and locked on his own.
"Yeah. A little," he muttered.
Millicent when she saw Harry had finished with his shoes.
"You'll do fine," she said.
"You sound confident," Harry answered.
"Maybe. Maybe it's because I am," said Millicent. "These bureaucrats don't know what they're dealing with. They drafted, or let someone draft Harry Potter for a magic contest. I don't think that is very smart. Enjoy dinner."
Millicent gave Harry a smirk of a farewell and strode off toward the stairs and the dungeons. Harry watched her until she disappeared down the staircase, wondering why it was so exciting just watching her from the back while she walked. He filed the thought with so many others like it whose solution was said to be among those things one learned, in time.
Days passed, then weeks. The spring term was ebbing away. Harry pushed himself, and his partners. He used spare minutes, here and there, for study, becoming proficient in turning off distractions and sinking instantly into subject matter. He would have liked to come up with a new commercial venture but neither he, nor Pansy nor Daphne seemed to be able to identify anything promising. Harry attributed his funk to the sense of doom that came upon him when he first thought of the Tri-Wizard in connection with the Greeks and Carthaginians and all their vile practices. Ron was useful mainly for some refreshing distraction. They grabbed brooms and flew around the pitch two or three times a week. Even twenty minutes of flying was very effective for clearing out the overworked brain.
"Merlin's ineffective birth control!" exclaimed Ron one spring morning. "What is THAT?"
They had taken their brooms to a handy balcony and kicked off, headed for the pitch, which they saw had been requisitioned for what appeared to be a forest.
"Why'd they need to import a forest?" Harry asked as they looked down.
"Look closer, Harry," said Ron. "That's not a forest. That is a maze."
They sat on their broomsticks, studying and pondering.
"Has to be for the final task," said Ron.
"So it would appear," Harry agreed.
"The task involves a maze," Ron went on. "Are you any good at those?"
"Couldn't say," answered Harry. "The only ones I ever did were on the comic and horoscope page of the Daily Prophet."
"This one doesn't look like it is for little kids," said Ron.
He looked at Harry.
"I don't feel like flying," said Ron.
"I'll come in soon, after I take a look around," said Harry. "Can't hurt."
He rolled right and went looking for the border of the maze. Harry flew for ten minutes and did not reach a boundary. He reversed and went back the way he had come, reaching an end to the maze somewhere around the boundary of the pitch. With just a little more time aloft Harry determined that the maze was conventional within three straight boundaries with two right-angle corners. The length was odd. It appeared to stretch on and on. The maze disappeared from view in that direction. It might have gone on to infinity.
Harry returned to the castle and put his broom back in the broom cupboard. His mind was spinning as he walked the corridors back to Gryffindor, trying to make sense of the maze. It was an ordinary example on one end and would have been at home in any large public park or garden. Then it took off for the horizon and didn't look back. What did that mean? How would that figure in the task?
"Potter."
Harry heard his name just as two hands grabbed him by the forearms. He looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing before him.
"Be careful, Potter," said Draco. "You weren't looking where you were going. Didn't even see me, did you?"
"Uh, no," said Harry. "Thanks. I guess that is appropriate."
"If you say so," said Draco. "Listen, Potter. There are moving staircases and suits of armor with pikes and ridiculous, dangerous crap everywhere in this castle. Not telling you what to do but you wouldn't do yourself any harm by being more careful."
Harry looked at Draco, not understanding what he was seeing, or hearing. Draco Malfoy had shown uninterrupted hostility toward Harry since their first trip on the Hogwarts Express. Harry always assumed Draco would try to set him up for a fatal accident if he thought he could get away with it.
"Thanks, I'll do that," Harry said, otherwise at a complete loss for words.
Harry took Draco's advice and waited until he was back in the Gryffindor wizards' dormitories before he returned to his subject matter.
On the day appointed for the final task, Harry rose and ate a good breakfast before going with the other champions to a conference room in the castle. There they would meet with faculty and Ministry officials and get their instructions. Harry had made up his mind to listen to the briefing while taking it all with a nice grain of salt. If the maze was a large as it appeared, he ought to be able to go in a little way, find a nice quiet cul-de-sac from which he could find his way back to the start, then sit down and let the others work it out. An additional advantage would be absenting himself from competition with Cedric Diggory, whom Harry thought deserved to win much more than he did.
Harry looked around the room. In addition to the competitors he saw Mad-Eye Moody, Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sprout, Snape and Flitwick, along with Ludo Bagman, presumably representing the Ministry.
'Still no Barty Crouch, Sr,' thought Harry.
The rules were simple enough. Sure enough, the new forest was a maze. The enchanted goblet was in the maze. First one to the cup wins. Oh, and the maze is enchanted so don't be surprised if it moves.
"What do you think?" Cedric Diggory asked Harry as they walked out of the castle.
"That we should be playing quidditch," said Harry, earning a guffaw and a clap of approval on the back from Cedric.
Mad-Eye took Harry aside as did the advisors to the other champions.
"Keep your head about you once you're in there," he said. "Keep moving, right? Keep moving. There will be false trails and dead ends. The hedges may close behind you after you pass but don't worry about it. It's all in the design. Understand? It-is-all-in-the-design."
Mad-Eye stopped talking but held Harry's eyes with his one good one, then gave a single wink. Harry nodded and turned for the entrance to the maze.
Harry drew his wand as soon as he felt the magical boundary that always made his skin crawl. He was inside the equivalent of the pitch. Just as the rules of quidditch applied when he was aloft chasing the snitch, the maze would have rules, established by the witches and wizards who created it. Unlike quidditch, Harry would have to discover those rules as he went along.
He continued and soon came to the first junction with a cross-path where he stopped, turned around and looked back toward the entrance. Harry was aware he was making his final contact with what was the semi-rational world of the witches and wizards. He had a feeling he and the others were about to leave cause and effect behind. Mad-Eye used his body to conceal the hand with the pointing finger. Harry needed to go left.
'Fine,' Harry thought. 'Just a little walk through the maze. Someone gets to the cup. We all come in. Tri-Wizard Tournament over for another three hundred years.'
The first obstacle Harry encountered was little more than an annoyance. The shrubby plants that made up the maze sent runners across the path to wrap up ankles and impede his progress. He took the first one lightly and was nearly captured by it as he attempted to break it by swinging his leg forward. The runner was too tough for him and was holding Harry fast when he used his wand and slashed at the vegetation until he had cut his way out. He discovered the meaning of Mad-Eye's advice. As long as he kept moving out smartly he was there and gone before the runners could wrap around his leg.
Harry tried to keep his mind on the task before him. Keep moving. Get to the cup. That was it. The trouble was one thing kept nagging at him.
'What are we doing here?'
He heard Hermione's protest and saw her dash out of the Great Hall, followed by Ron and Professor McGonagall.
'Don't think that way!'
He didn't want to yet here he was, the maze moving more, the light growing dim. He saw someone ahead of him, Fleur Delacour. She stopped moving and before Harry could get to her she was wrapped in growth from plants in the maze and disappeared from the path.
Harry shook his head and kept moving. The smell of the air changed. He wondered if there was stagnant water nearby because the scent put him in mind of the crenellations around the edge of the lake, a dark brown distillate of decaying leaves and little water dwellers. He thought the maze must be near the lake although he hadn't seen it that way from his broom. Was it possible he had gone so far? The maze had seemed to continue on, further than he could see.
Something hit Harry in the shoulder, knocking him into the shrubbery, instantly putting him in danger of being captured. He didn't know where that would send him but after watching Fleur he was determined not to let it happen to him. Viktor Krum was his assailant. Once he passed Harry he jogged straight ahead. Harry freed himself and fell in behind Krum. Let the big Bulgarian plow through the woody stuff.
Things began to happen much too fast. Harry cast a blocking spell when Krum tried to cast something at Cedric. Krum went down. The shrubs took care of Krum. Cedric and Harry saw the cup ahead.
What they needed to do, of course, was to walk away from the cursed cup. They could have told the collective of pompous officials that they'd tied and left the cup in the maze. If the officials wanted it back they could go get it themselves.
Harry and Cedric, alone before the cup, tried to defer to the other.
"You deserve it."
"You were here first."
"Just take it. All I want is out of this damned tournament."
"How about this—get ready and we count down and each take a handle on One?"
Harry woke up, once again, in Madam Pomfrey's hospital wing. He was in pajamas. The bed was surrounded by moveable screens. Harry rolled to his left and spotted his glasses on the bedside stand. Glasses on, he saw that someone had poured him a glass of water from the carafe. From the taste and temperature of the water he guessed it had been there for some hours. Muffled voices sounded from somewhere. Wearing glasses, Harry could see that there were layers of screens around his bed. He could see, over the tops, patches of sunlight on walls. The room was otherwise softly-lit. Harry deduced the drapes on the ward were closed against the full daylight outdoors.
Stray bits of conversation came back.
"MY SON!"
"No, Headmaster, you most certainly cannot talk to him…Yes, you can overrule me and I will prepare my resignation letter immediately afterwards!"
"He CAN'T be back, Dumbledore. That is not acceptable."
Harry lay back and tried to relax. He wondered what had happened. Little bits appeared, rising out of the confused hours, bubbles that formed then popped out of existence when he tried to hold onto them. He wasn't dreaming just then. He was sure he was awake and
in the hospital wing. He wondered about the other things. Not exactly memories, they had the feel of memories as opposed to dreams.
"Mr. Potter, you're awake."
Madam Pomfrey told her patient what he already knew.
"What happened this time?" Harry asked.
"Shh…" said Madam Pomfrey.
She was taking Harry's pulse, fingertips on both wrists, while she watched a tempus charm count down from sixty. Once finished with the pulse she noted the time and rate on a clipboard hung on the foot of the bed. Harry heard the great wooden door open. It occurred to him that it said something about him and his experiences that he recognized the sound, inside the layers of screens.
"We're here for the body?" someone called out.
For just a moment, Harry saw a mix of grief and heartache pass across Madam Pomfrey's face before she pushed screens out of her way, then back in place, leaving him alone. He still couldn't hear well enough to understand most words but the conversation was tense, that much was intelligible, as was a clearer response.
"Yes, mum. Very sorry, mum. Didn't realize…"
Footsteps sounded, then the door closed.
Harry looked at Madam Pomfrey when she returned. She was furious, that much was obvious.
"Body?" he said, or asked.
"Mr. Potter…Harry…I'm sorry to be the one to tell you. Cedric didn't make it back from the maze," she said. "It's all very confused at the moment. You were injured badly, but you lived. It appears you brought Cedric's body back to the school. I've been asked not to talk about it, when you wake up. I've been, well, you could say I've been keeping officialdom away from you until you had a day or two to get some strength back. You were pretty badly beaten up."
"Thank-you," said Harry. "I could tell. So that was Cedric?"
"The undertaker and his helpers," said Madam Pomfrey, a sob escaping at the end.
"Merlin."
"Yes," Madam Pomfrey spat, the contempt fairly tactile.
Harry's confused thoughts replayed his conversation with Hermione. They had sacrificed a youth, hadn't they? An outstanding athlete, leader and student, enticed to walking willingly to his death in a blood-soaked ritual disguised as play. A tournament. Glory forevermore.
"Bastards," Harry muttered.
Madam Pomfrey's head snapped around.
"Potter?"
"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey. I must keep my opinions to myself," Harry said.
"Yes, you do. These are troubled times. Loose lips will not serve you well, even if you are correct in your assessment," she said.
The medi-witch pulled the pajama top aside and looked a Harry's chest. His skin felt hot, as if he had a bad sunburn. Then she pushed up a sleeve and inspected his inner arm, where Harry saw a new scar had been added to his collection. He had a brief moment of terror when a vision flashed of a rat-like face and a man with a knife. Peter Pettigrew? What made him think of Pettigrew. In a cemetery?
Finished with her examination, Madame Pomfrey reached into the patch pocket of her skirt and pulled out a vial of something, holding it up so Harry could see it.
"If you wish, you can have ten to twelve more hours of peace and quiet, Mr. Potter. I recommend it. I think you can count on some long, unfruitful conversations with a variety of officials when I can't protect you any longer. It's the best I can do for you," she said.
"Sure," said Harry, reaching out for the vial.