Chapter 5: The First Task and Guidance
"So… she's not a Seer then?" Harry asked after he had explained where he been and they had all gotten the chance to sit down and all catch up with each other. "If she isn't then how does she know what she does?"
"As I told you, it is simple and it is complicated," Rowena replied. "Magic is as varied and as adaptable as the universe itself. There is not just one type of wizard but many including Parselmouths, certain types of Werewolf, Elementals, Seers, Oracles and many more. To make matters worse many have gone undetected or have died out and more often than not these… specialists don't even have a name even amongst themselves. Luna is one of those that remain unnamed, though in her case it is likely due to the rarity of her gift."
"Is it the Multiverse? She can see other places, like ours but...different?" Hermione guessed and Ravenclaw smiled at her as she did.
"You are correct, my pupil. Given her unique upbringing and what happened to her mother, she has delved into those possibilities and they often appear just as real to her as the reality in which we live. In a sense, of course, they are. Her gift is rare enough that, if Hogwarts hadn't come across it once before, Hogwarts may not have been able to recognise it and it is no surprise that some might consider it a form of madness."
"Only one other?" Harry asked in surprise.
"In its near one thousand year history? Yes, Hogwart's has only other experience of her gift. It was even the subject of the real Rowena's last Great Work before she died."
"What Great Work?" Hermione couldn't help but ask as she was intrigued, clearly having heard the capitalization (and therefore the emphasis) that she had put on those words and unconsciously copying it.
"She loved to learn simply for learning's sake above and beyond almost everything else. She was working on a way to view and communicate with some of those other places, simply to learn and share knowledge. She died before it could be completed or even fully planned out."
"Rowena, the flesh and blood one, she was the other wasn't she?" Harry asked and, when she nodded, he continued to speak. "Back to Luna, if you don't mind? So what she sees exists somewhere but it's very unlikely to help us in the here and now?" Harry then got a pained expression on his face."How are we supposed to help her then? How do we take the things that she says to us?"
"Not by completing Rowena's work" added Hermione. " We may be many things and, hopefully, we will become many more, but we are not, and we won't, match a Founder in knowledge or skill...not for years if we ever do."
"The answer is simple. There is nothing wrong with her at all, merely accept her as she is or don't. Not everything you come across is a problem that needs to be fixed. As for how you take the things that she speaks of… that presents an interesting philosophical conundrum. If you wish to be her friend take it as interesting but largely unimportant. Most of all take it as fact as, from what I can gather from Rowena's own experiences and the little I can know of hers, she has been ridiculed and dismissed for far too long."
Once they had both taken a moment to digest that idea Hermione's eyes brightened and her voice became excited when she broke the silence.
"I would love to get the chance to try and finish it regardless, once this is all over."
Despite thoroughly enjoying the idea of Hermione tilting at her own personal windmill Harry's face darkened as his thoughts moved to an entirely different subject. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not really. It won't change anything." His voice was terse as if they had danced around this conversation many times before. Ravenclaw, of course, didn't even try to get involved.
"It might," Hermione nearly snapped back at him.
"Really? Alright, I'll play devil's advocate. Granted, Dumbledore is powerful but how would telling him nothing more than a glamour help us? Especially as we used an illegal Ritual to get rid of the damn soul piece."
"All Rituals are illegal these days," she pointed out. "It could change everything. We show him your lack of scar, tell him as much as we think he needs to know. It's not like we would show him the Room or Rowena but, maybe he would help us rather than being in our way."
"The keyword there is could," Harry began pointedly. "Dumbledore could have done a lot differently with Tom Riddle, with Sirius, the Longbottoms, my parents… but he didn't because that is not who he is. You heard Dobby earlier, he is fixated and fanatical about his interpretation of the prophecy and has very clear views on what is acceptable when it comes to magic. He thinks that I have to fight Voldemort his way and that means that, in the end, I have to die. Plus he's Dumbledore and a master of limiting information… if we give him a little I guarantee he'll figure out far more than we want him too and that's not something we can risk."
"Still… are we sure. It's not something we can undo later."
"Forget everything else and just think about what he has done to the two of us. All the manipulations, the potions, the tests, the half-truths...all of it. What do you think the chances are that he would believe our word if we didn't show him this Room? If we do that we lose any advantage, an advantage we might need, against whatever he would do next. More than that, what do you think he would use this Room for if he knew of its capabilities?"
"The chances as you call them, based on the amount of Dumbledore's personality that I can glean and share, are around 8%. Given that same personality, if he knew of this Room, it would lead to nothing good from your perspective." Ravenclaw was the definition of dispassionate in her assessment.
"Fine… I get your point, both of you," Hermione grumbled. She was brought out of her funk when Harry surprised her with a passionate and tender kiss. "It's just, part of me…"
"I know love, I know," Harry said softly. "I don't know whether it was the potions or not but I cared for him too."
"So what does that mean for us now and where has Dobby gone anyway?" Hermione tried to change the subject before it got too morose.
"It means that we will have to work more quickly and start the carving in earnest as soon as Dobby returns with more granite, limestone and mercury. That's where he is, by the way, getting them from Gringotts plus moving the money in my trust vault and putting a tag on it."
"Molly?" Hermione asked, genuinely curious.
"She has my key," was his short response before he sighed and then added, "I don't want to go there but…"
"She's a Dumbledore supporter and she's had your key for years on and off," Hermione finished for him. "So what's your plan for the First Task?"
"Well, I thought of many different ideas," Harry replied even as a slow grin spread across his face. "Many intellectual, well thought out strategies…"
"So," Hermione interjected. "The James Potter Special?"
"The James Potter Special," he agreed.
In short, he was intending to wow the audience while simultaneously make them look utterly stupid.
-HPCOD-
Standing in the tent, while he waited for Bagman to finish his spiel about fortitude and bravery and preparing to pick his dragon he couldn't help but look around at his competition.
Viktor Krum was silent and inscrutable. It was almost like he was a large stone jutting out from a raging river of excitement and, like that rock, the waves of anticipation, fear and excitement flowed around his still form.
'He knows. It's actually the complete lack of reaction that gives him away,' Harry thought. He didn't care if you were a massive quidditch star and used to the crowds, that wasn't natural. If you were about to face fire breathing lizards, not to mention nesting mothers, which were also gigantic there should be some reaction, yet none showed on his face.
Fleur was just as obvious in her own abnormal reaction. She was, in theory, listening to a very real and surprising threat to her life but, instead of the fear and concern she should have been showing, she had a small cocky smile gracing her almost too perfect face.
In fact, the only person that was reacting as should be expected was Cedric Diggory. Though the older boy was trying to present a mask in a very similar way to the Krum, it was paper-thin. His skin was just a shade too pale, too tight around the eyes and his mouth was pressed into a thin line. He was beginning to sweat profusely and he almost reeked of fear and he was staring straight ahead, his gaze almost burning a hole into the side of the tent.
Harry, on the other hand, had prepared himself. He was betting that his now mostly rejuvenated and settled magical core would prove itself up to what he had planned for the Task.
-HPCOD-
As the Hogwarts Champion faced his dragon, Harry briefly wondered if he should have warned Cedric but then thought better of it. Aside from the fact that this was supposed to be a test of bravery, it was well past time that he woke up to the realities of the world in Harry's mind.
Hufflepuffs as a whole group, in his opinion, were in need of one. They were certainly loyal, if only to their own in his experience, but that loyalty was made in a vacuum and it arguably made it a very shallow thing. The real world was far different from the little insulated one that they fostered while in Hogwarts and it was time they realised everything they did had an effect… that it mattered.
It wasn't just the way that they treated him, although Cedric didn't foster it he also didn't stop it. In some ways, his silence helped the persecution along as the others thought that he (as a Champion) would know the truth. Still, no one did more damage in that regard than Professor Sprout herself. Frankly, they espoused fair play and, not only were they not giving the benefit of the doubt to Harry or exposing that in regards to him but, they hadn't realised that the world was rarely fair.
That ideal might work inside the walls of Hogwarts but not, generally speaking, outside of it. The Tournament itself was a perfect example of this as the other competitors had, in one form or another cheated to know what the First Task was.
Cedric, ever the well-meaning and possibly deluded Hufflepuff, hadn't even thought to do the same. What he did not understand was that the only fair world you could have was one that you forced to be fair, in one form or another, and that generally there really was no such thing as an unfair advantage… merely an advantage.
Harry moved his thoughts, with a mental wrench, from the Hufflepuffs (even as Bagman made what he obviously thought was his most enthralling point yet) Harry admitted to himself that his viewpoint was cynical, to say the least. Sometimes he was even pleasantly surprised by people but, sadly, not enough to ever turn him into an optimist.
'Still, then there are people like Fillius Flitwick' he thought while shaking his head slightly.
It had only been a few days but the half-goblin had already come through and taken firm action in trying to protect Luna Lovegood.
First, he had metaphorically torn apart his house until they were near tears and begging for his mercy. Then, once he had gotten the full story from them about what had been happening he had removed every single prefect, official or not, from their positions and docked the House no less than two thousand house points.
The search for replacements was ongoing and, as it was a position of trust and responsibility he had warned them that there would be no replacements any time soon.
He had done far more than that though. It seemed that he had taken Harry's offhand comment about the tradition (now mostly forgotten, used for extortion or publicity if at all) of noble largesse and the run with the idea in his own way.
Though Harry had later assumed that he had said it just to placate him or meant it in a purely ceremonial fashion he was wrong. Flitwick had declared himself her champion, an idea that harkened back to the much darker and bloodier early days of Hogwarts, while she was on the grounds or the Express. Any insult done to her was done to him, any attack on her in any form and it was he who would have first right of response, including any stain on her character whatsoever.
The best part of that to Harry's mind, given Luna's temperament, as she was both a minor and a member of his house was the fact that he didn't need Lunas permission to respond.
The major knock-on effect of this was unsurprising. Not only were the Ravenclaws giving Luna a wide berth and sending Harry glares full of hatred but, they had also thrown their support behind the 'real' Hogwarts Champion. That same champion was currently fighting for his very life against a Swedish Short Snout.
'The utterly self-pitying wankers' Harry's thoughts were uncharitable, if not unkind given everything they had done.
"Oh, that was a daring move!" Bagman's magically enhanced voice intruded on his thoughts and no doubt riled up the dragon Cedric was facing even further. "Too bad it didn't work out."
Harry sighed at Bagman's idiocy as, even though he couldn't see what exactly was going on, he could still hear.
First, it was the roar of the crowd, no doubt soon to do so again falsely for him, and it roared like an angry sea. This noise was soon followed by a shocked silence followed by gasps and, all of that, was suddenly ended by shocked gasps. Every move and act punctuated by Bagman's irritating voice. "He's going for it!" the man's voice reached its zenith even as the crowds own noise swelled to match the level of his own noise. "What a good try… is he? Yes...Yes...oh Merlin No!"
With that last sentence, a resounding crunch shattered the noise of the crowd and Bagman himself even as a high pitched scream rose into the air. "Will he avoid it? Maybe, maybe… just. Good attempt… No! Healers! Healers to the tent, healer's to the tent!"
Harry knew that Cedric wasn't dead, if he was they wouldn't have called for healers, though it was obviously bad. He also knew that whatever happened next Cedric should be grateful that Madam Bones had demanded more healers be available as well as both dragon handlers and Aurors.
Then they brought in what was left of him.
-HPCOD-
The first thing that Harry registered was the coppery taste of blood in the air and the smell, almost like an overdone pork roast, of burned flesh. Then he laid eyes on Cedric who was being brought in (and already worked on) by five healers.
The left side of his face was a burned mess with a healer moving his wand in a blur, clearly trying to save the young man's eye. Another three were trying to fix the bloody ribbon of damaged bones and exposed flesh that his torso had become and the final healer was flittering between a mangled hand and a leg that had been bitten clean off and was the main source of the blood smell in the air.
Thankfully Cedric was already unconscious thanks to the potions that they had clearly already forced down his throat as traces remained on his cheeks and neck.
"Don't just stand there Boy! Help me!" Barked the female healer dealing with his leg and hand.
"What do you need?" Harry asked, putting aside the bile rising in his throat and springing to help.
"Cauterize his hand," the healer commanded and Harry tried to follow that order.
"His hand keeps spasming, I can't do anything until it's still."
"Then cut the fucking thing off, then cauterize it," the Healer snarled. "I can try and fix it later."
Harry obeyed and Cedric's broken and battered hand fell to the floor with an oddly loud (to him anyway) wet thump. "Come here now," the sharp voice of the Healer broke through any rising revulsion he might be feeling. "Hold the top of the leg steady...that's it…" her tone turned more conversational even as she muttered out spells too fast for Harry to catch. "This is a dragon bite. It's more tricky to deal with than the hand because that was only a glancing blow with the tail. Thankfully this was a clean bite that went through him but, it's saturated with the dragon's magic."
Harry would never forget her compassionate, almost pitying glance, as she looked at him then. "I don't envy you Mr Potter and I hope you are very careful and remember this. Mr Diggory will never get his leg back… it's too saturated and beyond all magical healing. Bloody fucking dragons."
"Understood Healer…" Harry gravely answered and half asked even while his face paled being confronted with the very real possibility of dying in the next few moments.
"Tonks. Master Healer Tonks."
"Thank you, Master Healer Tonks, for the lesson… and the warning."
"Mr Potter" Bagman interrupted, his usually jovial voice now bleak, "it's time."
Apparently, he had been so absorbed working on Cedric's body that he had missed the other champions attempts at their own dragons and Bagman had to come in personally to retrieve him to face his own.
As if to highlight that point, he glanced around and saw that the others were being checked over by healers, though none were seriously injured from what he could see.
"Fine," he snapped at the man "let's go."
Then, in a fit of pique and anger at him for participating in this whole mess, he brought his wand up in a mocking salute. "We who are about to die, salute you...you prick."
Ignoring Bagman's gaping look and Healer Tonks's shocked chuckle he strode from the tent with an angry purpose motivating his limbs.
'Time to face the Dragon.'
-HPCOD-
The crowd was deathly silent as he entered the arena. Most were fearful but some, he had no doubt, were eagerly awaiting what might happen to him.
Cedric Diggory was older, in theory, wiser and was supposed to know more magic than him. On paper (as in the general knowledge of most people and his school records) he was also a better student than him, more knowledgeable and far better trained when it came to any sort of offensive magic. The crowd had no idea of the potions that had once inhibited him, his true history or the rituals he would have to soon perform and the depth of his will.
They would be getting a glimpse of the last right now.
Before him was the largest, meanest looking and belligerent black dragon Harry had ever heard of. It was nothing less than a magical killing machine, chained over its eggs in a damp Scottish field and only blocked off from the spectators by strong magical shields.
It was also only facing one small human interloper, whose only salvation was currently a thin chain around the dragon's neck and five tall and thin granite obelisks spread around the beast. It should not have been anywhere close to a fair fight.
However, he was Harry Potter. Not the title that he so loathed or Dumbledore's weapon. Here was a young man who fought unfair odds almost all of his life, who survived despite the odds and was ready to begin to show what he truly was.
He was a young man that was finally on the cusp, despite all obstacles, of coming into his power and his place in the world. He had the skills of his father to complement his own, a wonderful and understanding (not to mention ancient) teacher and the most intellectually challenging, maddening and supportive girlfriend that anyone could ever ask for.
So no, it really wasn't a fair fight.
The audience waited with bated breath and they almost missed what Harry did next. He moved so fast that, to the few who saw it, it seemed that almost burst from perfectly still and into full motion in a blink of an eye.
With a flick of his wand, a pebble rose from the ground and hovered in the air and then, like a conductor he moved his foci shaping the pebble with his will to suit his purpose even as he still moved forward. His steps were slower as he did this, with the intention of confusing the dragon with an uneven pace. If he ran the dragon would have bitten him, if he slowed to a stop within range it would roast him.
Confusion was his ally as he made his shield.
Once that was done though, the time for confusion was over and he moved forward at a steady walk with his new shield, enlarged and hovering before him, a small and comforting drain on his magic.
The Hungarian Horntail took a deep breath and so did the crowd even as Harry braced himself. The fiery stream launched from the gaping maw seemingly in an unending burst. Harry was not stupid and hadn't just enlarged a rock to take the brunt of the attack. Though he lacked the gift for the art of enchanting he had done what everyone who didn't had done for centuries.
He had added several runes to it and, knowing that no simple rock could take the power of the fire head on he angeled the side facing the dragon. As soon as the fire began to hit his shield, Harry went one step further and set it spinning in the air.
The fire bloomed around him and seemed to cocoon around the boy and the crowd thought, for a brief moment, that he had been consumed by the flames. Almost all imagined the famed Boy-Who-Lived dying a painfilled and excruciating death, they imagined the flames licking at his flesh, his screams as the very air burned into his gasping lungs and far worse than that.
Few thought of the real Harry Potter.
Harry couldn't hear any of that of course, nor could he hear Bagman's largely useless (and purely speculative) commentary on the supposed action. He was far too busy simply surviving and hoping that the intense heat didn't either cook him alive simply from the heat of the air around him or use up all of the oxygen. Given that the fire was slowly turning the enchanted stone into a hissing and boiling liquid that landed at his feet, it was a real concern.
With the dragon eventually stopped for breath, the fire ceased. Taking advantage of his opening he launched the superheated rock at the dragon, its purpose as a shield complete.
He had certain ideas drilled into him though, such as one to never waste an opportunity and so he easily (as it was saturated in his magic by this point) transfigured the rock into a muzzle. That was all he did though and it was still far, far too hot even for a dragon.
The dragon screamed in absolute agony and the crowd gasped even as its sharp claws reached up in a panic and tried to remove the object of its pain.
While it was distracted, Harry's wand came up and literally dripped sparks as it seemed to dance in the air. Anyone with a magically enhanced view, say like Mad-Eye Moody or Dumbledore, would have either been amused or shocked by Harry's expression as he did this. He wasn't afraid or weeping, muttering prayers to God or even laughing hysterically, he was grinning at the challenge.
Slowly at first, like slow-moving treacle and then faster the five obelisks changed shape. They grew more sinuous and devolved muscle definition on their cracked dead stone being. They developed fully into arms that ended in hands that, if not for the obvious fingers at the end, would be more akin to massive shovels than anything else.
Then they began to move, more like shark fins in the water than the stone they were made from, towards the dragon. Thanks to its muzzle the dragon was distracted and didn't see them coming. They managed to strike just as it freed its nostril and saved itself from a burning suffocation.
Two pulled at its back legs, two its forelimbs and the crowd heard something that they thought they never would. A dragon's high picked squeal as the power of nature combined with magic came very close to crushing its bones.
The final fist slammed itself over and over into the dragons head before it could try and react by biting or flaming its enemies. Thankfully, while dazed the dragon could not consciously use its fire and the only enemy he could see moved unnaturally quickly, too quickly to bite. The bodies of the first two also pinned its tail.
Then, not wanting to literally smash the beasts head wide open, the final limb forced the dragons head into the ground and though it struggled the arm merely pushed harder and starved the dragon of air.
Instead of showing the strain of splitting his attention in five directions and his body Harry pretended that it didn't affect him. He also refused, aside from a light sweat, to show the almost incalculable strain on his magic and that was too far away for the audience to see anyway.
To them, it looked more like he was walking through the park on a lazy Sunday morning rather than in a fight that could easily lead to his death. He moved to the eggs like that, casually took his prize and then strolled away as if he didn't have a care in the world.
Only when he had stepped inside the tent did that mask drop. He staggered and almost collapsed as he was nearly spent. The fact that he was completely unmaimed and the shockingly short amount of time was evidence enough of his skill and power.
The grin though, that was unnecessary and all him.
It took thirty full seconds after his exit for the crowd to get over their shock given what they had just seen. When they did their roar drowned out whatever Bagman was going to say.
-HPCOD-
The next day Harry was on a very light exercise regime. No matter the advantages he had already gotten and ones that would come in the future, he was still young and his body and power still not fitting together quite as they would later in life (as with any other magical teenager). So he ate like a horse, carved as much as he could and rested under the watchful gazes of both his girlfriend and his teacher.
Hermione, being who she was, wouldn't let him simply relax during this time though. She ran him through the theory that he was uncertain of from their years of schooling and that she knew exceedingly well. After that, he had a blunt lecture on the Unforgivable Curses from Rowena including their symptoms (where appropriate).
Only after all of that was he left to blessedly rest and then have a small amount of cuddling with Hermione before finally sleeping.
It was over the next two days, as Harry was recovering, that three articles came out courtesy of his favourite reporter for the Daily Prophet. These articles, if anything, were more groundbreaking than the first and would change many peoples views on the couple and the course of their own lives forever.
The Power of Potter: Beware Dragon for the Wizard is Coming.
The youngest (and lest we forget unwilling) Champion of the Triwizard Tournament has defied all the odds in a way that left professional Dragon Handlers scrambling. The crowd was speechless several times at the young man's audacity and bravery even as we must note the simplicity of his very effective strategy.
Still, no one can deny that many could not have done so as the power involved would make most wizards swoon and this coming from an as yet mature wizard. The debate for how powerful he will become has officially begun and, if only one thing is clear, it is that you should never bet against Harry Potter.
If the wizarding world was shocked by the first headline, the second turned that same confusion into a fit of righteous anger at their very own Ministry.
Sirius Black: Taken by the French and Found Innocent!
In a stunning move, that once again thumbed their collective noses against our great country the French arrested the known and convicted murderer Sirius Black early this morning.
Or did they?
The reason that we have rushed this special second edition Prophet for you today, my dear readers, is because what we believed has turned out to be a lie according to the French Ministry.
It turns out that Lord Black (yes, I said Lord Black), under truth serum no less, was found not to be a mass murderer at all. More shocking than that though, my friends, was that he didn't even have a trial.
The then Heir of an Ancient and Noble didn't even get the courtesy of a trial? Think about that dear readers. All other Death Eaters did, even Barty Crouch Jr got a trial. So are we left to believe that an Ancient and Noble House merely slipped through the cracks, that its venerable and proud traditions were set aside in the name of expediency or is something much darker going on here?
The Ministry has refused to comment on whether Lord Black (presumptive by their official measure) has ever had a trial but, they did stand firm in stating that he was still a wanted man in Britain with an unnamed source stating…
...How long will this stance last, especially as France has appealed directly to the I.C.W.? Will Britain bow under the weight of international pressure that will bring, not to mention the evidence that has come to light? Was the Ministry, accidentally or not, party to the attempted murder of the Heir to a pureblood Ancient and Noble House? Will Fudge rescind his kiss on sight order or allow the mistakes of the past to define the present?
These answers and more as the situation develops, brought to you as always by the only voice you can trust…
Many would have been forgiven in thinking (especially those in power) that the headlines couldn't get more upsetting of the status quo but, it was the third headline that had the greatest effect even though many did not know it at the time.
In most peoples defence, compared to the others, the third article seemed relatively benign at first blush as it was both after two previous bombshells and below the fold of the explosive article on Sirius Black.
Hermione Granger: Genius Advisor and the Brightest Witch of the Century?
Everyone is aware by now, unless they were living under a rock all of this time, that the Triwizard Champions are required to have advisors and that they are often the Heads of the Schools they represent. What then, dear readers I hear you cry, about our beloved Harry? The fourth and unwilling champion has been through enough that special care and attention would be paid to him surely?
With the fact that the school tuning against him due to vicious rumour and the teachers free only to be picked to help the Hogwarts Champion (Harry was picked, in theory, by a fictitious fourth school) he seemingly had nowhere to turn.
Enter the bright mind and strong will of his classmate and, if the rumours are true, his girlfriend Hermione Granger.
The muggle-born girl, once considered the brightest witch of her generation is surely much more than that if the performance in the First Task is any indication. Surely the rumours of her intelligence and beauty are at the very least understated? Could she really be the greatest witch of the entire century? How could any student, if true, compete against such genius? It is said that…
For more on the Granger family see…
For a history of Harry's rumoured conquests of the fairer sex see…
Reactions to that article were mixed, to say the least.
The main bulk of the student population was simply in shock and the few smart ones, obviously not that many, were re-evaluating every interaction that they had or could remember involving the often missing couple.
The teaching staff were doing the same thing, though they were also glad that they had got off relatively unscathed for the present. McGonagall more than most was doing that as she could help ut wonder how she had missed such a prodigy in her field.
No matter what the papers said, no matter how brilliant Hermione Granger actually was, no one could learn that much that quickly from any teacher she had ever known. Her years of experience, plus her knowledge of both James Potter and Sirius Black, also backed up the idea as, though Harry's spell selection was limited, it was the power and (more than that) the creativity that told her he could go far in her chosen field.
Professor Sprout was simply ashamed of herself and wallowing in self-pity. Her emotional state was partially justified by the fact that she had just returned from the Hospital Wing. Not that she was able to see Cedric there, merely that she had used it as a convenient connection to Saint Mungo's.
Seeing the depths of Cedric's wounds really brought home the dangers that awaited both of her students. The antiseptic of the ward had burned her nose as she stared at the mangled and bandaged form of her favourite student. She realised standing there that no fourteen-year-old wizard would choose to enter and that, even if they did, they would never have been chosen to compete.
With that realization came her guilt and self-loathing over how she had treated Harry in the past. More than that though, she feared that he would soon die because of the Tournament and, in not helping him and worse than that hindering him in some ways, she would be partially responsible for it.
She had forgotten just what type of boy Harry Potter was and her duties as his teacher, she knew that now. He did not need the Tournament as not only was he the Boy-Who-Lived but he was also rich (and that was just counting the Potter inheritance that she knew about), he was also a quiet easy-going boy who never once sought out what seemed to find him. He also hated his fame and clearly didn't want more of it.
In hindsight, she could see it in her mind's eye. Every concealed flinch when he was called The-Boy-Who-Lived or someone asked to see his scar, every time someone mentioned the books or told him that they had read all about him. Even back when the Chamber of Secrets was a school fiasco, she should have realised it and acted on it then, if not before.
To make matters worse she had failed to apologise, both then and now. Granted none of the students had done so back then either but, that was not an excuse. Teachers should be held to a higher standard than the students that they taught.
Despite all that, she still hadn't learned properly from her mistake as she was currently too busy wallowing to make amends and apologise even now.
Professor Snape was less conflicted. He was angry at the attention that the Potter brat was getting even as the hatred of his school nemesis clenched viciously in his gut. As far as he was concerted the talentless waste merely got lucky again or he had cheated somehow. It was inconceivable to the man that the idiotic Potter child could have used any skill to win as, as far as he was concerned, the boy had none to begin with.
How he dearly wished to find the boy and wring the truth out of him, with his bare hands if possible, but for the moment he was held in check by the Headmaster. So he stewed, glowered at the hall and fantasied about his very personal revenge on the Boy-Who lived.
Dumbledore himself was clearly fighting the urge to call Harry to his office. He was a very cautious and careful man, by nature, and as much as he wanted to learn many things from the boy right now he dare not. Harry seemed to be becoming brasher by the day, upfront and visceral where he, in turn, liked to work his true business away from the spotlight.
At his heart, Dumbledore believed Harry to still be the same impulsive boy that was sorted into Gryffindor as a child. In fact, he would go so far as to say that Harry was the quintessential Gryffindor as it was he that managed to draw the man's sword for the first time in centuries.
Given that, what he feared most of all was Harry making a rash magical oath in his office that would scupper Dumbledore's plans for the future. Given that risk, he couldn't afford to call him in now.
What he did do was add his new questions (and commands, not that he would see them that way) to a list of things that he would be discussing with Harry at the end of the Tournament when they had the discussion that the boy had bound himself to. He would also (if Dumbledore had anything to say about it) be unable to use his wand, one way or the other.
For now, as much as he disliked it, Dumbledore accepted that things would have to travel a small way down a path he did not want before the true correction could be made.
Others were not so calm.
-HPCOD-
The rage in him moved sluggishly, like molten lead pumping around his veins and it had reached such a strength that, if he dwelled on it too long, his body would begin to shake as he tried to contain it.
The recent headlines had upset him deeply because of what he thought of as their obvious bias and pandering to the mudbloods, blood traitors and unwashed savages that were infecting his homeland like plague rats.
The only headline that hadn't upset him was the one involving Sirius Black. Of course, he knew that the man was a blood traitor of the worst sort and he felt it was a shame that Black's once-great House had fallen so far, but he was still the rightful Lord of an Ancient and Noble House. Its bloodline stretched back, pure and unbroken, as far back as the Founders, before being lost to history.
'There was a Black in the court of Camelot for fucks sake. They were the poster children for the might of magic in their heyday and now, thanks to the divisions in this world, they were shattered into shadows of their former power. Damn the mudbloods and muggle lovers.'
He knew that the blood of the Blacks should be preserved although, if there were more worthy members available to produce Heirs, if Draco was strong and wise enough to pass the traditional tests before Sirius that the Blacks had for Lordship (he had no idea what they were but he had heard partial horror stories, around secrecy spells) or if Draco wasn't an only child his thoughts would have run in a different direction.
At the start, the headlines (or at least the first one) had made him snort in derision.
'As if Potter had never received special training when it was obvious to anyone with half a brain that he had. There could be no other reason why he has succeeded so many times. Luck would only carry you so far. All those ridiculous rumours about him were obviously a simple cover for that and he was close to Dumbledore… how everyone can't see the obvious answer is beyond me. The lying bastard.'
But they didn't see it, no one did.
Then came the true cause of his anger 'Brightest witch of the century indeed' he couldn't even stop the flare in his emotions at that thought. The idea that the know-it-all mudblood could best any of the purebloods in the school was just so ludicrous especially when she didn't even have the good sense to know her place.
She was only powerful because Potter was and, as far as he was concerned, she was only getting the same training as him because she was spreading her legs for him and further sullying Potter's already murky bloodline.
'Why is it that no one else can see what is right in front of their faces? Is the legend of the Boy-Who-Lived really that powerful?' He mused to himself while he strode from the Great Hall in a huff.
"Hey, wait up!" A voice called and, without turning, he knew who it belonged to. He paused because of that in an empty hallway (but only after making sure that he knew it was empty with not even a portrait in sight).
"What do you want Malfoy?" He asked, even when small children they hadn't got along and so his tone was sharper than it might otherwise have been. Even as he asked he couldn't help it as his mind flashed back to his father's letter to him in his first year.
What you have described of the Malfoy Heir coincides with my network's observations of him. His father is pureblooded, though of French stock, and very wealthy. Be warned the father is far more slippery than wealthy and anything you say to the son will no doubt be reported to him. The son will no doubt make a play for the leader of your year group and eventually Slytherin as a whole. Allow him that, unless it is absolutely necessary for you not to do so, but remember the reason that you allow this. His power begins and ends with his father's gold, both in the school and out of it.
'Malfoy is a broken thing now. His father has rushed to try and secure as many assets from Potter's wrath as he can. That fact, combined with the obvious disgust that the new Lord Black holds that entire family in means that Draco's star is fading fast.'
That knowledge couldn't help but bleed into his sharp response.
"What do you want Malfoy?" He asked again, slowly and deliberately this time.
"Easy." Even after everything that the other boy had been through he was still sounded so arrogant and cocky. "Don't bite my head off when we have the same problem."
"We do?" The boy asked, barely succeeding in holding back a chuckle at the idea they were in any way equals.
"Potter…" Malfoy said even as the other boy shrugged. He was less concerned (at least on the surface) until Malfoy's next words caused a vicious scowl to erupt on his face "...and Granger."
"We can't move directly against Potter. Surely you have learned that lesson by now?"
"I have." Even as Malfoy spoke he had his own ugly look on his face. "Still there is revenge to be had."
"I'm not interested in revenge," the boy replied while turning away from the blonde egotist.
"How about teaching the mudblood her place then? Is that good enough for you?" Malfoy returned and he couldn't help but smirk cruelly as the other boy stopped.
"What lesson?" He asked. "If Potter is protected, you can be damn sure his whore is too."
"Granted the mudblood is off-limits… for the moment. She may be protected, but her family is not."
"I see," the boy replied "and I approve. Still, we cannot act, it would be too obvious and we would always be under suspicion. Even if I'm not, when this all goes down, you will be at the top of a very short list of suspects, at least for Potter."
"No, we can't," agreed Draco "and I fully intend the be very publicly visible when the time comes and so should you. We may not be able to act, but our fathers can."
Both boys grinned, like self-satisfied hyenas at that idea.
Sadly for Harry and even more so for Hermione, Hogwarts had no assets to monitor the boys (their precautions against Dumbledore inadvertently helped them to evade discovery by Harry as well) and it would be many months before anyone was aware of it enough that her Aspect could inform the pair and only because it would, in the loosest terms, constitute a threat to the school.
They would, unfortunately, act before that could come to pass as the Houses of Malfoy and Nott were about to act thanks to the anger of their Heirs.
-HPCOD-
"It is time," Ravenclaw said without preamble "for the Ritual of Guidance."
"What is required for it to work?" Harry asked, even as he disengaged from Hermione.
They had been taking a well-deserved break, which in turn had devolved into a cuddle and then turned into kissing with some light petting. Though they were flushed and more than a little breathless from that Ravenclaw's comment served to both end their fun and sharpen their focus.
"First things first," replied Ravenclaw "exclusions must be made."
"Exclusions?" Hermione queried.
"To minimize the chances of any issues, it is best to narrow the list of possible rituals before you begin."
"How will magic know that we've excluded them?"
"You forget your lessons young one. Intent as always is the key but, if you exclude any using a general term then you may lose something that you need. If you outright do not want one then it will not be considered by the ritual."
With that, lines of golden fire formed in the air in front of them and, in fact, there were so many that neither of them could actually read the writing that formed in the fire. Worse yet, it also moved in a rotating fashion with each line being slowly replaced with more. "These are all the rituals that Hogwarts has information on and can help you perform."
"Remove" Hermione began, not being dismayed as her analytical and was already hard at work, "any rituals that are purely the Dark Arts."
Many of the golden lines of writing turned black, before shrinking into the nothingness that they had sprung from.
"Remove any that we cannot perform in say… the next six months," Harry added, causing even more to disappear in the same way, "and any that would require very rare materials or ingredients to the point that we couldn't perform them, or others as well as them, in the timeframe."
That left a number somewhere in the mid to low hundreds and, unconsciously taking turns, they began to narrow down the lists with more personal questions. The list divided itself into two without being asked and they continued to do this until there were only around thirty in each one.
This did not mean that the ritual that they were about to do would not show them another that was not on either of their personal lists, merely that it was extremely unlikely and it would have to require them to be okay sacrificing some of their preferences (albeit those that they subconsciously wouldn't mind doing so, if the situation required it) to do it.
Of course, by nature, luck, fate, God or the Universe had a hand to play whenever there was anything that might affect the life of one Harry James Potter, so there was bound to be a surprise or two.
-HPCOD-
"Mother Magic we beseech thee," began Harry, as he moved in a slow deliberate pattern around an intricate pentagram in the Room. Each of his steps was measured, each carried the weight of what he was trying to do even as his voice was strong and clear.
"Pierce through our ambition," Hermione continued with her part picking up straight after and complementing his. She moved at the same time, in the same pattern and with the same speed in the opposite direction even as she stared at an ornate mirror in the centre of the pentagram.
"Belay our doubts," Harry picked up the thread, still moving and now speaking in a low gentle tone as he could feel something, right on the edges of his senses, begin to stir.
"Light our way."
"Show us what we need."
"Ignore what we desire."
"Guide our way," they said together at the last and, as they did so they met up at the end of their intricate walk. Then they cut their palms and their blood dripped onto the mirror which they had both created as well as it being the only other thing in the circle.
The mirror seemed to drink in their mingling blood like a hungry child and, just over one slow heartbeat later, their creation exploded into silvery dust.
The dust span in the air on a non-existent wind and seemed to swing and sway as if it was playing in it for a moment or two. Soon it condensed on itself before it became a small whirlwind in front of them. They didn't take their eyes off of it, nor did they move as they had always expected this to happen if the ritual was successful.
It slowly split into two, one in front of Harry and the other in front of Hermione, before collapsing in on themselves and leaving glittering words behind in their wake.
In front of Hermione were three lines that she studied intently for far longer than the words themselves needed. It was as if she was running through the permutations of every word, every syllable to every possible conclusion right in front of him.
The Greater Ritual of Maidenhead, the Lesser Ritual of Oceanus, the Lesser Ritual of Awakening.
"Okay," Hermione said, even as both she and Harry blushed (as he was reading hers first over her shoulder) "leaving aside the first one for a second… what are the other two again?"
"The Lesser Ritual of Awakening simply activates any gifts that otherwise slumber in your bloodline if it is successful. The Greater Ritual would confer and bind one to your bloodline like the Blacks or the Founders did years ago." Rowena stated this blandly as if she was merely providing information for those that asked and was clearly completely unconcerned with what they had done.
'Which, she probably was. No matter how much I get to know her I have to remember that she is not human and her nature is completely alien to my understanding on an intrinsic level.'
"And the other?" Harry prodded.
"The Lesser Ritual of Oceanus gives the user a slightly improved affinity for water-based magic and skills. Like its stronger cousin, it allows for accelerated healing while in water, though to a far lesser extent and only when the area under its effects are fully submerged. The Greater, of course, would have allowed near invulnerability while in any water though the trade-off would have been equally as high."
"Can I… errm… upgrade without paying the cost?" Hermione asked.
"Many have tried throughout the centuries and, historically that has never ended well. More deaths and bloody disfigurements have come from trying to cheat the balance than it ever has from rituals outright failing. It is more than that though, once you have asked magic for its insight it appears that it doesn't like you going against that."
"Sort of like drinking unicorn blood against the creatures will?" Harry guessed.
"Much worse than that I am afraid."
When Ravenclaw replied to him something in her tone encouraged both of them not to press her on what that was. Maybe it was her bland tone, maybe her cold stare or possible how her face showed a shadow of distaste for a second or so but, neither Harry nor Hermione could help a cold shiver running down their spines.
"The ritual that we're not talking about," Harry asked while blushing again, but wanting to change the subject from what Rowena had spoken of, "I mean… I can guess a bit from the name but… maybe a fuller description would help us."
"As you wish. The Maidenhead Ritual has no lesser form and, as you no doubt have guessed, does require that Hermione lose her virginity. It is somewhat misnamed however as it can apply to both males and females of your species. The benefits however are larger than most due to the combined nature of the spiritual and physical sacrifice that the users make in regards to their purity. It enlarges the magical core, though that is dependant on the power of the participants and can vary wildly (though to five to ten per cent more than the more powerful of the couple is common for each of them). It does also have the added benefit of bringing your magical core closer to the surface. Remember that this is a Greater Ritual so beyond that the effects tend to be more personal to each user ad more… profound. This particular one must also be done before the others or not at all as it either strengthens the foundation on which the others are built or, if done after, destroy it completely."
"Voldemort can't have done that though," Harry summarised.
"No. There are many other ways however to lose purity, of which virginity is only one type and most of the darker ones carry much more extreme prices. All of them are more complex and take longer than the one that we are discussing however."
"Let's…" said Harry even as he struggled with what to say, "let's look at my list shall we?"
Even as he spoke he noticed that his rituals were mostly a different set from hers. He also saw that he had four rather than three and that one was not glowing silver but rather blue.
The Greater Ritual of Maidenhead, The Hand of Unmaking, The Lesser Ritual of Gia, The Lesser Ritual of Understanding.
"So the first one on Harry's list is obvious, but what are the others and why is one of them blue rather than silver?" Hermione questioned, grateful that they were taking a break from discussing her for the moment.
"It is blue because the price for it has always been paid," Rowena said. "I can only surmise that the act of carrying a piece of Voldemort's soul in his head for years and then expelling it constitutes payment enough."
"What does it do?"
"No one knows. Only that the diagram to perform it was found in the Great Library of Alexandria's magical section and that it, in turn, was recovered while the building burned. Sadly, the majority of the knowledge from that place was not recovered before it was lost."
"Hasn't anyone tried to perform the ritual since it was recovered?" Harry asked.
"Many times and many people. All who tried it did so without the Ritual of Guidance's blessing, mostly because of the unsubstantiated rumours of what it actually does and all have died or been severely injured in the attempt. The most likely theory is that can disrupt magic in another for a small amount of time, but how accurate that is and what form it would take is anyone's guess."
"Peachy," Harry muttered before resuming in a normal speaking voice, "what do the others do?"
"The Lesser Ritual of Understanding increases your intelligence based on your power. The Greater Ritual would, in essence, times it by a variable amount instead. The Lesser Ritual of Gia is the less famous cousin of the Ritual of Oceanus though it involves earth rather than water.
"I see," replied Harry. He glanced over and met Hermione's eyes and, seeing her blush again, he asked "Can we have a moment, in private, please?"
"Of course," she replied and dissipated like a heat mirage wavering in the sun.
"Are you okay with this?" Harry asked.
"The Maidenhead Ritual?" Hermione asked, even as she nodded. "Honestly? Yes, a little. I know it's legal in the Wizarding World and it's not that uncommon in the muggle one but… the twenty-first of December is sooner than I'd like ideally…"
"Then we won't do it," Harry stated firmly.
"Harry," Hermione said quietly, "that's sweet. Answer me one question though? Will the Maidenhead Ritual help you survive or not?"
"I think so… but that's not the point."
"Am I too ugly to be with, in that way?" She pressed.
"Of course not!" Harry almost shouted, even as his eyes filled with a well-hidden desire that seemed to burn her and make her insides squirm in a very pleasant way.
"Then we are doing this," Hermione spoke with an iron certainty. "This just moves up our timetable, that's all."
-HPCOD-
The run-up to long night was a deep period of calm and relative normalcy for the couple and their routine.
They studied and improved their skills by leaps and bounds. With both now having strong Occulemency shields, they could learn so much faster than when they had first started especially as it now only took them (at maximum) three tries to learn a new spell enough to cast it and then they would take time as they could to ingrain it until it was as close to muscle memory as time would allow.
It also made silent casting much easier as, once a spell was learned, they could go into their own minds, follow the pathway from their magic to the completed spell and immerse themselves in it. They did this until words were no longer necessary, though the amount of time it took varied wildly between each spell.
Harry's shields were far stronger than hers. This was, in part, because of his innate advantage against foreign minds (he had been subconsciously fighting Voldemort's soul piece for years). It was also because of the natural power gulf that existed between the two for the moment and the fact that his father was almost a master before his death.
Hermione still had a more eclectic spell selection than Harry, could redirect most and clear away Legilimency attacks and be fully aware of a direct assault. Harry could withstand all attacks, direct or otherwise, except by the most powerful. Most helpfully their memory retention and organisation had improved dramatically and enabled them to start to organise and clear away problematic experiences.
They, as a pair, almost literally devoured books in the process of learning each new thing and they regularly practised against each other and the well of knowledge and power that was Ravenclaw. Thanks to that, their bodies were becoming athletically toned, their minds more adaptable and their power more comfortable to them.
Through it all, they never lost sight of each other and although they didn't do much more than they already had, physically speaking, they did feel closer to each other day by day.
They only stopped to eat, have minimal breaks and wearily sleep at the end of the day. They grabbed each and every moment that they could together in this relative peace because they knew that their little world would be intruded upon soon enough.
They never stopped carving more runestones nor did they ever think of stopping the placement of them and one secret from the Room in a pair of ever-expanding bags that were sitting innocuously in the corner of their rest area.
They did get more time than they thought, however, as it wasn't until the fourth of December that the interruption landed and it began, in the morning, with an owl that came through a temporary window that the Room provided. Without looking at the note they both knew who it was from.
Since their last meeting, Dumbledore had been very careful not to give even the appearance of upsetting them by doing something so crass as sending an elf with a message. As the rest of their mail was now filtered through Gringotts and then handed off to Dobby, it could only be him.
Before they got to reading the letter, its very existence reminded them of the egg that they had so far only opened once. When they had Ravenclaw had told them that it was Mermish they had shrugged and merely put it aside for the moment. At the moment they knew they had other things to focus on that they thought we more important.
Now with a renewed sense of trepidation, they decided to look at it then and there. It was only fifteen minutes later that the pair rose with the egg from a shared bathtub and when they did, Harry was spitting and cursing up a storm.
He was so mad that not even the dripping wet and very naked Goddess to his right slowed down his raging mouth.
"Harry," Hermione called though it seemed far away to him, almost like he was underwater.
"Fucking wanking whoring bastards!"
"Harry!" Hermione screamed and the pitch of her voice had him stop in momentary shock. "Thank you. You have to let them take me."
"The hell I do! I will not risk you." Harry's voice was a growl, as if there was a beast in his chest clawing to get out. As much as there was a primal part of her flattered by that possessiveness she would not back down.
"If it isn't me which one of our friends will you risk?" before he could answer she added another point "At least with me you can take precautions and set protections. Besides, it's not till February and I'll be in the water."
"Fine," he said grumpily. "Fine, but you will be so protected that a nandu's breath would simply be a tickle to you."
"Actually..." she disagreed "I have an idea…
Later, when they finally opened the letter and learned about the Yule Ball Harry asked her to be his date straight away and she, of course, accepted.
There would be no valuable time wasted on dance lessons though, as that was what charmed shoes were for.