Eleven
2 Kings 19:34
Mrs. Norris was noted on the Marauder's Map to be patrolling the third-floor corridor just outside the room where Fluffy had guarded the trapdoor that led to the Philosopher's Stone. It was slightly odd, at this time, because that particular area of the castle was empty and still did not see much foot traffic, even three years after the Headmaster's warning. Mr. Filch was scuttling about on the fifth floor near the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower, which was also odd because the Ravenclaws were hardly ever seen to be breaking curfew. Oddest of all though was Mr. Crouch's presence in Professor Dumbledore's office at this late hour of the night.
"He's much more important than Mr. Bagman, I think," said Daisy when Harry had managed his mischief. "A very serious sort of fellow. He's got a whole squadron of wizards writing essays for him." She tucked the Map into one of the low bookshelves set against the wall of the common room and settled Crookshanks into his basket. "I'd bet he's still on continental time discussing international business with the headmaster. Percy says he can speak a thousand languages, you know."
"A thousand?" said Harry, raising an eyebrow.
"I can't recall exactly how many," said Daisy, jostling Crookshanks. "You know how it is when Percy talks about things, you sort of drift away." She waved a hand and waggled her fingers.
Harry snorted softly. "Right. Come here then. And tuck your laces in." He motioned her over. "I've got a charm—it's not nearly as good as the cloak, but it should do in a pinch if we need to hide from Filch."
"Does it turn you invisible?" asked Daisy, tucking her shoelaces under the tongues of her trainers.
"Makes you blend into things," said Harry. "Like a chameleon, here—Mithlalharba." He tapped his wand on Daisy's nose and watched as her face took on the crimson shade and velvety texture of the Gryffindor Tower drapes. Soon, aside from the gentle pulse of her midsection and Crookshanks' disgruntled mrowling, Harry could hardly tell that his sister was standing in front of him. He watched her raise a hand to observe how it took on the color of the rug from one angle and the graininess of the walls from another.
"This isn't jarring at all," muttered Daisy. "Being the same as everything all at once."
Harry cast the disillusionment charm on himself, then accepted custody of Hermione's cat and led his sister through the portrait hole and down the grand staircase to the third floor.
Mrs. Norris noticed them right away. She left her patrol to come and sit a few paces from Harry's feet, sniffing at the air. He knelt to scratch her face and neck. "Sorry to bother you," whispered Harry, his eyes fixed on the door to the pit where he had first met the Dark Lord Voldemort, "but I fear you're the only one in the castle who can help me with this task."
"Cats," muttered Daisy, still flummoxed by his proposal. "In a school for magic and we're using mangy old cats." Mrs. Norris gave the outline of her shape a displeased look but licked Harry's disillusioned hand and followed as he led them down the corridor and away.
The entrance hall was empty but for the Goblet of Fire and its casket set within the Age Line. Harry put the basket down on the steps and pulled Crookshanks from within. Mrs. Norris circled wide around the other cat and turned her head up to glare at him with her large lantern-yellow eyes.
"I think you might be able to understand him better than me is all," Harry explained. "We've got to get this—" He pulled a stack of parchment scraps with his name written on them from his pocket and peeled one off the top. "—into that cup."
Crookshanks looked between Harry's outstretched arm and the Goblet of Fire, as though asking how they, being two cats without hands, were going to get a scrap of parchment into a cup full of fire set on a small casket. Did Harry intend for them to leap up and risk toppling the fire over? Or did he expect them to grow wings and fly?
"I'll make some stairs," said Harry, crouching down to cat level and holding his name ticket out to Mrs. Norris. "If you hold this in your mouth and climb up, you can just drop it in."
Mrs. Norris turned her face away from him and started forward, staying close to the walls and far away from the cup and the golden line in the ground.
"Stairs?" whispered Daisy, joining him in his crouch. "You're going to make the floor grow again?" The fuzzy outline of her forehead wrinkling was difficult to notice. "And Mrs. Norris is old enough so Crookshanks will get her to climb up the stairs and drop your name in for you." She stood in a hurry, her chameleonic robes fluttering. "That might work, Harry."
"Cats," said Harry with a nod. "Now, Crookshanks, can you tell her? You do understand what we've got to do, right? Have Mrs. Norris put this into the cup." Harry put the slip of parchment onto the ground and slid it towards the ginger cat, who pawed at it uncertainly. Crookshanks turned to face Mrs. Norris, who seemed convinced that he was not a pleasant cat to be near and had done a full circle of the room to huddle in the shadow of the doors to the Great Hall.
"Don't be worried, Mrs. Norris," said Harry. "He's an upstanding fellow, look." He dragged a disillusioned hand through the larger cat's fur and ruffled his ears. Crookshanks leaned into his touch and purred. Watching his fingers adopt the semblance of the cat's orangey fur, Harry thought that Mrs. Norris might have been unsettled by not being able to see him properly. He tapped his wand to his temple and dismissed his charm. "Is that better?"
Mrs. Norris sat up a little straighter but did not approach. Harry nudged Crookshanks forward. "Can you pick it up to show her how?"
Crookshanks blinked at him, then seeming to resign himself, twisted around Harry's legs and gently scooped the ticket up in his mouth. He approached Mrs. Norris with his tail held high in the air. The smaller cat arched her back and puffed her fur at his approach. But Crookshanks knew exactly where to stop, and exactly what to say, for he made a little grumbly meow and dropped Harry's name ticket and flopped onto his stomach just near the far boundary of the Age Line. Claws out, he snagged the parchment and slid it towards the golden line.
Intrigued, Harry kept in his crouch and watched as Mrs. Norris settled herself into her normal too skinny size and approached the ginger cat with her tail level behind her. She lowered her face to the parchment, sniffing. She picked it up. Harry resisted the urge to shout in victory. He stood and crossed to the Age Line, keeping away from the cats, and whipped his wand forward, transfiguring the flagstones again into a spindly stairway.
"Crookshanks," called Harry. "You won't be able to cross—at least I don't want to risk it—but you'll have to get Mrs. Norris to climb up there and put my name in."
He couldn't tell exactly what transpired between the cats, then, but after a moment of peering and glaring, and moving their bodies oddly, Mrs. Norris crossed the Age Line and sat, facing the stretched-out stone stairway to the Goblet of Fire.
"Excellent work, Mrs. Norris!" whispered Harry.
"She did it," said Daisy; her disillusioned hand appearing at his shoulder. "She actually crossed it!"
But even as they praised her, Mrs. Norris did not approach the stairway or the cup. The scrap of parchment was barely held in her mouth, and she was glaring between Crookshanks and Harry in turn, as though saying that she had already done a tremendous amount of work for them by crossing this strange line and would not be going up any odd twisty stairs tonight.
"Crookshanks," whispered Harry, sidling carefully around the Age Line towards the pair of cats. "Can you explain it to her again? She's got to get up the stairs."
Crookshanks did not look pleased, but he approached the older cat, meowing. He circled the Age Line to stand before the bottom step of the stone stairway that Harry had transfigured and flicked his tail into the air. It was almost like he was directing Mrs. Norris with it.
But he wasn't.
Harry only had a moment's warning; he only had the chance to suck in one anxious breath; there was just the hint of Crookshanks settling onto his hind legs, gathering himself up. He jumped across the Age Line.
"No!" cried Daisy. "He's not old enough!"
Crookshanks landed, with a grace belied by his size and the bandiness of his legs, onto Harry's transfigured stairs and mrowled, glaring down as Mrs. Norris.
Daisy grabbed Harry's shoulder and sighed. "Or maybe he is old enough. Looks as though we didn't need Mrs. Norris at all—"
The Age Line flared, glowing red-gold.
Crookshanks was yanked from his place on Harry's stairs by an invisible hook, swung around, and then shot in an arc from his place within the circle as though he was a shell loaded into an unseen magical mortar. He did not land with full grace this time, but crashed into the flags on his furry orange bottom, and slid, screeching, into the Great Hall, where he thudded into the bench of the Slytherin house table, stunned.
Mrs. Norris's eyes, which were already wide, grew wider as this happened. Just as Crookshanks was launched, she threw herself from within the golden ring and ran for the dungeons, dropping Harry's name ticket as she skittered away.
"Grab her!" yelled Harry.
"Idiot cat!" cried Daisy, her blurry form blasting by as she threw herself into Mrs. Norris's path. The disillusionment charm worked to her advantage, for just as the caretaker's cat hesitated on which direction she should dodge, Daisy's snatched her up by the legs and pitched her back towards Harry.
"Daisy!" hissed Harry, hurrying to catch Mrs. Norris.
"She would have scratched my eyes out!"
And Harry reckoned she was correct, because the cat was spitting, and writhing and swiping, claws extended, as he pulled her from the air and hugged her about the middle. He knew he didn't have quite the same relationship with her that Mr. Filch had, but Mrs. Norris had only ever shown him affection, and he was truly sorry to have forced her to help him, but he couldn't stop now. "I'm sorry!" he said, hopping away from his place near the Age Line and approaching the marble steps. "Daisy, go get Crookshanks."
The ginger cat had taken his shock well, though, and had already stalked back into the entrance hall. He came to rest with his paws and squashed face right on the edge of the Age Line, his tail kinked and held high in the air.
"He's as mad as you are," muttered Daisy.
It took the better part of an hour to calm Mrs. Norris down.
She clearly wanted to be let away, but Harry couldn't risk her escape. Keeping his voice soft, he tried to explain this to her as he held her on the steps, and did his best to pet her in the ways that she liked to be petted. Nevertheless, Harry's robes became slit and torn as the cat fought, and he could feel the fiery pinprick stings of the many interlacing scratch wounds on his shoulders and arms, and chest. "It's all right, Mrs. Norris," he murmured, shoving the pain away. "You're all right. It won't hurt you."
"I really don't think she'll go for it again, Harry," said Daisy, sitting nearly invisible behind him on the banister. "I know we nearly had it, but she's just a cat. She doesn't understand that it won't throw her out like it did Crookshanks."
"She's got to do it," said Harry softly. "I haven't been able to work anything else out."
"I'll do it," said Daisy. "I've decided." She slid down the banister and grabbed onto his robes to keep from falling off. "When Cedric enters tomorrow, I'll bump into him and swap his name for yours. I can't think of anyone else that the Goblet would choose to be the Hogwarts champion."
Harry leaned back to regard her blurry form. He was certain that if he could see her, she would have been blushing. "Really?"
"Yes, all right—aside from you."
Harry sighed. "Somehow," he said. "I don't think that will work."
"We can try it, at least," said Daisy. "We've tried the bloody cats and it hasn't worked." She hopped off the banister and circled to face him at the foot of the steps. "And will you take this stupid charm off, please. I'll be sick if I have to keep looking at myself like this."
Harry dispelled the charm and motioned for her to join him on the steps. He watched Crookshanks circle the Age Line, edging his large paws close to the boundary, then sliding his claws out across it, then dashing away as the line glowed red, threatening to throw him again.
"He's absolutely captivated," grumbled Daisy. She glanced at Mrs. Norris huddled down against Harry's chest, but still on high alert. "If Professor Moody had taught us more Legilimency, I bet I could have gotten Mrs. Norris to think that the Goblet was interesting enough to cross the line."
"That's not a good idea," said Harry. "Playing with people's minds is as close as you can get to dark magic. Professor Moody's said as much."
"He's also said that it's the intent that matters with magic," said Daisy. "I'm not trying to make her do anything that could hurt her, just help us out and get your name in the cup. She's just a cat—she won't know the difference. Maybe I can try it."
"No," said Harry firmly, pulling Mrs. Norris close. "What happens if you jumble her brains up? You've got it right—she's a cat, not a person. We've only ever practiced on each other, and we'll know the difference, Daisy. It's not right."
"You're not letting me help!" said Daisy, suddenly furious. "I'm just sitting here and trying everything that you want to try, but you won't listen to any of my ideas. Nothing you've thought up with your colossal brain has worked. You can't figure this one out, Harry." She crossed her arms. "I've had enough practice. I can do it."
"No," Harry repeated. "It's not right." He looked down at poor Mrs. Norris, stiff and frightened, and a terrible thought crossed his mind after all of Daisy's talk of Legilimency and intent. It was about intent, after all. And conviction.
"No," he whispered. "I can't."
"Can't what?" asked Daisy, still angry, with her hair hanging wildly around her face. "You do all sorts of dangerous things for me. I can help this time."
It wouldn't be evil, to do it.
Unforgivable, perhaps, but not expressly evil.
And Harry needed to be the champion of Hogwarts School. He needed it more than he had ever needed anything.
And it would only be a suggestion: Maybe Mrs. Norris should pick up his ticket, and maybe she would like to climb up the spindly stone stairway, and perhaps being up there already, she would not mind dropping his name into the Goblet of Fire.
And it didn't hurt. It felt like you were floating and happy. Relaxed. Without care. Without fear. And she was afraid now, wasn't she? All rigid and nervous. It wouldn't hurt her. It would ease her suffering.
He could do it.
It wouldn't be evil.
"The Imperius Curse." Harry scooped Mrs. Norris up and placed her on the step between his legs. "I could get her to do it with the Imperius Curse."
Daisy was quiet.
Harry was quiet.
They watched Crookshanks circle about, playing with the Age Line, teasing it. Mrs. Norris pressed herself against his calf and refused to face the Goblet of Fire.
Harry put his head in his hands, looking at her through his fingers. The use of an Unforgivable Curse carried a life sentence in Azkaban if cast on a human being. Mrs. Norris was an animal, but what was the difference really? She was still alive, and forcing her to do something against her will was wrong. The only thing she lacked was a voice with which to protest. Or accuse.
Why had he even thought about using it? He could see no other way now. The sun would rise in a few hours. Someone would enter Daisy in the Triwizard Tournament; she couldn't match up to the skill of fully educated wizards; she wouldn't be able to fight creatures like dragons and kelpies and basilisks alone. He had always been there to protect her. Apollonius Carrow's bloody tear-stained chained-up head stared at him from a pit in his soul.
He had to do something.
It wouldn't be evil, just unforgivable.
"It's not fair," said Daisy at last, her voice barely a whisper.
"Daisy, I can't let you fiddle around in her head, and I can do the spell. I've seen Professor Moody do it half a hundred times by now—"
"It's not fair that you're always the one who's got to do the unpleasant things." She looked at him, anguish drawing her lips down, stretching her eyes. "Because of me."
"You're my sister," said Harry. He reached over to further ruffle her tangle of dark hair. "I have to."
"She's just a stupid cat," said Daisy, grabbing his hand as he pulled it back. "But you like her."
"I do," said Harry. He drew his wand. The motion came easy. He'd watched Mad-Eye Moody do it every week for nearly a month.
The intent was easier. He wouldn't hurt her; he just needed some help.
Conviction was easiest.
"Imperio."