A/N: In Chapter 1 I said that 1 November 1994 was a Tuesday, which is what it actually was. However, in the Rowlingian Calendar 1 November was a Sunday. Please assume that, for this story, I am using the Rowlingian Calendar and Obliviate that I wrote it was a Tuesday from you minds. I could re-post Chapter 1 with it fixed, but eh.
Chapter 2 – And the Hits Just Keep On Comin'
Cultures, religions, and philosophers throughout history have come to different conclusions on the subject of death. Some believe that there is only one mortal life, and when you pass on you truly pass out of existence forever, your 'soul' merely a series of electrochemical reactions. Others believe in the concept of an afterlife, where you are reunited with loved ones who have already gone on to, as Albus Dumbledore called it, 'the next great adventure.' Still others believe in the concept of reincarnation; that a person lives many mortal lives trying to either accomplish some task, atone for some wrong, or gain sufficient wisdom to be able to carry on to the next plane of existence. Percentage-wise, however, the various thinkers and believers of the world agree that approaching the end of one's time is not something to be feared or run from; it is the one thing that unites all living things, the one thing we must all do. And so, while perhaps 'celebrated' is the wrong word to use, one should approach death, as Beedle put it, as 'an old friend' and an 'equal.'
That being said . . .
At the moment Thandie burst through the doorway to the Tapestry Room, jeans and t-shirt covered by a billowing trenchcoat of the deepest impenetrable black, every single one of those scholars, philosophers, metaphysicists, pastors, rectors, imams, rabbis, gurus, etc. who took a more gentle outlook on the end of a mortal life would have been shouting their mistake to the world while cowering in a corner, terrified out of their minds. She stormed into the room, the heavy golden doors flying away as if made of balsa wood to crash loudly into their respective walls, the brunette seeming every inch the vision of the hateful and vengeful personification of Death that has given mortals nightmares for centuries. It wasn't hard to imagine dangerous storm clouds forming at her whim as Chaos and promises of Pain sat barely concealed in her eyes. Her normally jovial face was twisted in a visage of rage and, though technically immortal, all three of The Sisters were glad that she had decided not to conform fully to the stereotype and bring a scythe with her as she stalked toward them like a predator heading toward her latest kill. "Are you out of your fucking minds?!" she screamed at them without preamble.
"What?" Attie called back nervously, looking at the newly un-knotted hanging on the wall. "It looks like everything took. The snapped threads are repaired and most of the damage is undone. I think we did a pretty good job myself."
"Did you bother for a second to see when you sent him back to?" Thandie said, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"Of course we did," Lacey responded, seemingly insulted. Thandie's hard stare shot down the rising rebelliousness before it even had a chance to grow, but she continued her explanation. "We could have sent him as far back as the first full moon after his fourteenth birthday. However, we were led to believe that his schooling began slightly later than that, on the first day of the month after that moon. Harry was born as the seventh month died, meaning that the first full moon after would have been in the eighth, so therefore his school year started on the first day of the ninth. We believed delivering him to that day would allow him to re-integrate more easily, any recognized changes in his personality or knowledge from being mentally older would be attributed to changes over the summer. So that's when we sent him back to; the first of November in the year he turned fourteen." She finished with a flourish and a little sway of her upper body, an expression of how proud she was that they had thought the placement of their Champion through so well.
Thandie, on the other hand, could only blink her unbelieving eyes repeatedly, desperately trying to understand how three women who literally watched life play out on the wall could be so stunningly ignorant of the mortal realm. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, trying to remember the breathing exercises Harmony had taught her. She opened them and discovered it wasn't helping; she still wanted to slap the ever-living shit out of all three of them. So she counted to ten again and popped open her eyes once more.
Nope. Not working. Oh well, go with what you know she decided.
She turned a gaze that would literally melt the skin off a man (she had found that out the hard way. Well, hard way for him. It came quite naturally to her) at the Keepers of Fate in front of her. Her anger returned in full force as the implications of what had been done once again took hold in her mind. "You stupid bitches," the very agitated avatar of Death growled, and a rumble of thunder was heard in a terrifying consonance to the one born from her throat. "November hasn't been the ninth month of the calendar of Western Civilization in . . . in . . . well I'm not sure how long to be honest, but September is the ninth month now."
"September?" Attie said. "Well that's ridiculous. 'Sept-' means seven. 'Nov-' means nine. Therefore November should be the ninth month."
"I'm not here to debate this shit with you, Attie. Regardless of the way you think things should or should not be, it matters not one damned bit at the moment. November is the eleventh month, not the ninth. And since that's so, you've sent our Champion back to one of, if not the most, difficult, potentially deadly, and socially, physically, emotionally, and psychologically traumatizing times in his life, and all that before we placed the future of the world on his shoulders. And you've placed him there just after he could have taken steps to try and prevent his participation in the most significant event that caused the worst of his persecution and turmoil. Now, in addition to having to fix all of the things we asked him to he also has to survive what is, for all intents and purposes, less a competition and more a gilded invite to a charnel house. So congratulations; you've just about bent us over a barrel right out of the gate, and probably made our Champion think we're nothing but a bunch of sadists who enjoy finding new and exciting ways to fuck with his life while sitting up here munching on popcorn and popping up more hoops for him to jump through like a trained godsdamned dolphin at SeaWorld." She took a deep breath as she finished almost her entire rant in a single breath. But she wasn't finished yet. "He wasn't exactly your biggest fan before; if he pulls this off, you'd better hope someone doesn't end up elevating him to demigod status or else you three are fucked." Thandie thought she was doing a very good job of not letting the devil on her right shoulder control her actions, though at the moment his suggestion of hanging all three sisters upside down and flagellating them until they were bloodied husks which, since their kind tended to heal very quickly could take a while, held a certain appeal to her. However, the angel on her left shoulder's constant reminder that she had to find a way to get in touch with and explain things to Harry kept her from acting on her baser urges.
Work now. Play later.
The Sisters, however, knew that they were a hair's breadth from the gaping maw of the abyss that was Thandie's well-documented mean streak. If she could do half of the things she reportedly did to her lovers they didn't even want to contemplate what she would do to those she was upset with. All three women looked back at the tapestry and pondered for a moment. "We can fix this," Lacey said at last. "We'll just –"
"You three have done enough," Thandie spit out. "I'll handle this. Just stay out of my way." And with that, the brunette turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, grumbling about 'old hags who can't be bothered to look at a fucking calendar since Caesar crossed the Rubicon' the entire way. As she walked and her agitation ebbed slightly, she tried to figure out how she could get a message to Harry and convince him that Fate wasn't intentionally leaving him with no choice but to bend over and unclench while they took him for a backdoor rodeo joyride sans lube.
Again.
{-}
Hermione Granger was worried. Normally this wouldn't be a momentous thing worth mentioning; the young woman was worried a lot of the time, though usually about schoolwork. This time, however, she was worried about her best friend Harry Potter; also not an uncommon occurrence, though for once the worry did not directly align with one of Harry's 'adventures' but with the boy's just gods-awful luck. Last night had become an unmitigated disaster when Harry's name had come out of the Goblet of Fire. She knew he hadn't done it himself but hadn't had the chance to talk to him about it the night before because the Weasley Twins had decided that his entrance into a competition with a ridiculously high mortality rate was reason enough for a party. Harry had disappeared up to his dorm before Hermione could catch him.
This morning things were even worse. The Slytherins, percentage-wise, had always hated Gryffindors in general and Harry in particular. His entry into the Tri-Wizard just gave them more of an excuse to give him a hard time, which they had been doing at breakfast even without his presence. Draco Malfoy in particular could be heard almost the entire length and breadth of the Great Hall stating that he didn't think Harry would last ten minutes into the First Task, to the general amusement of the Slytherins and, more disconcertingly, nods of agreement from some at the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. Except for Quidditch there was a silent but understood truce between the Lions, the Eagles, and the Badgers. Each of the three houses had enough trouble just dealing with the Snakes; they didn't need to fight amongst themselves as well. Now, though, that truce seemed to be broken. The Ravenclaws were taking the Occam's Razor approach to the situation; Harry's name had come out of the Goblet, therefore he had put his name in. It was much more feasible than an of-age student putting Harry's name in for him or, even more far-fetched, that some adult had done it for reasons unknown. The Hufflepuffs were worse, though. Most of them saw Harry's entrance as an almost personal insult to Cedric Diggory, who even now Hermione had heard referenced as 'the real Hogwarts Champion.' Their loyalty, while most of the time a very admirable trait, was currently making the brown-haired Gryffindor wish they'd have a little more loyalty to the person that had saved them all from You-Know-Who instead of a shared color scheme and Common Room.
Perhaps the worst offender, however, was Harry's other supposed best friend Ron Weasley. Ron had entered the Great Hall in a bad mood and would snap any time he heard Harry's name, calling him a liar, a cheat, and a scoundrel (Hermione didn't even know Ron knew that word, let alone that he could use it semi-correctly) for entering the competition. Nevermind that Ron had tried to find a way to enter himself; the fact that Harry had, allegedly, figured out a way and not told him was just another example of 'that no good bloody glory-hound putting himself back into the spotlight.' Hermione figured that Ron would come around eventually; she just hoped that Harry wouldn't have to suffer serious bodily harm in order for that to happen.
The brilliant Fourth Year finished her meal quickly and grabbed some buttered toast in a napkin to take up to Harry; she was fairly sure that he would not want to be in the Great Hall for any real length of time today. Walking up the seven flights of stairs to Gryffindor Tower, she was almost bowled over by someone trying to exit as she entered. She saw a thatch of black hair and started to say the name of her best friend, only at the last minute to realize that it was actually a Third Year named Pearson scurrying out to try and get to breakfast before it stopped being served. Slightly disappointed but still determined, Hermione continued on into the Gryffindor Common Room and began her search for her friend. A few inquiries led her to the information that she was looking for; he was not in the room, and no one had seen him come downstairs yet. Hurriedly she made her way up the stairs to the Fourth Year boys' dorm and was about to knock when she heard a repeated dull thumping and what sounded like angry, muffled words that she couldn't make out. Thinking that her best friend was being accosted by someone, she threw open the door to the dorm, intent on protecting Harry. What she actually found made her stop in her tracks.
Harry was leaning up against his headboard, hands fisted into his sheets and eyes closed as he repeatedly brought his head forward and then quickly (and seemingly painfully) back against the thick wood of the bed, each impact accompanied by a seemingly desperate exclamation. Thump. "Couldn't." Thump. "Do." Thump. "One." Thump. "More." Thump. "Fucking." Thump. "Day."
"Harry Potter! Language! And just what do you think you're doing?" Hermione asked in what Harry would describe as her 'mid-range bossy' tone of voice.
Harry responded while not stopping his masochism. "Pinching myself didn't seem to be working, so I was hoping maybe a concussion would wake me up from this nightmare." All of a sudden Harry stopped with a final (and unfortunately for his already aching head) resonating crack against the headboard. His eyes popped open to their fullest and his eyebrows rose into his fringe. "Hermione," he said simply, and then it happened. Harry was thrown back . . . or fast-forwarded . . . Fuck, this time travel stuff is confusing he thought . . . to Malfoy Manor, and he heard it all again.
The screams.
Hermione crying out in terror and agony as Bellatrix Lestrange tortured her using both the Cruciatus and that sharp, wicked looking blade she had wielded. The sound of his best friend's torment reverberating off the stone walls of their basement prison, each reflected echo a stab to his heart. The screams continued on and on; even when they started to get hoarse as Hermione's throat became inflamed they lost none of their volume, or their ability to tear through any mental defenses Harry had and make him nearly insane with righteous but impotent anger that someone would do that to such a beautiful soul as her.
He knew this would be the price. He had agreed to willingly pay it; to ensure that those same pained shrieks that had once before, and would now seemingly again, pierce his psyche, would never happen. That she wouldn't be almost killed in the Department of Mysteries, causing the knockdown/drag-out fight with her parents he had witnessed when he'd held her thread. That she wouldn't feel like she was committing the ultimate act of betrayal as she turned her wand on them so that they would disappear to Australia. He just hadn't expected the recollection to be quite so . . . vivid. It shook him to his core, and he felt the beginnings of tears in his eyes as he turned his head to look at Hermione.
She stood there glaring at him; not the woman he last remembered but still the girl he had known. Her fifteen-year-old self had not yet had her front teeth shrunk or her hair trimmed after she had finally found a steady supply of Sleekeazy's to make it cooperate more. He remembered that she had started developing her womanly curves sometime during Third Year but they had been subtle changes up until about midway through Fifth, the result of which was that the fist she held on her hip as her arm stood akimbo did not have quite as much area to rest on as it would a couple of years from now. Still, he'd know that pose anywhere; it was the one she'd give him or Ron when she wanted to be disapproving. Which, given that it was Harry and Ron, was a decent amount of the time.
Before taking hold of her string in the Tapestry and having her life flash before his eyes, he had never really given a lot of thought to how much she had done for him over the years of their friendship. Of course there was the simple stuff; for their entire school careers she had helped him study and prepare for classes, trying to keep him at least somewhat studious. Then there were the Christmas and birthday presents, and the letters during the summers that helped keep him sane when he was at his aunt and uncle's house, and the fact that she had never missed a Quidditch game in which he had played.
Then there were the major events. She had gone with him after the Philosopher's Stone. She had figured out Slytherin's monster and stood up for him when people had accused him of being the man's heir and causing all of the petrifications around the school. Gone back in time with him to save Sirius. This year, at least the first time around, she had been the only student he knew of that had honestly believed him and stood by him in the weeks leading up to the First Task. She had helped him prepare and had done her best to settle his nerves while he knew now that her own had been on edge nearly as much as his. The next year she had formed the DA around him and helped him teach their classmates to defend themselves. Even with their disagreements in their previous Sixth Year she had stayed at his side and helped him through all of the tribulations of that year. And then she had given up her family, her home, her life outside of him, in order to help find and destroy the Horcruxes.
She had been the first person he could remember who hugged him. Though it had been on the cheek, she had been his first kiss. She was the first (and so far only) person that he had spent the night in the same bed with, during a few of the really cold nights when they had been living in the tent. She was the first person who seemed to openly and honestly give a damn about him and indeed, in spite of everything, the first person whom he really thought loved him.
And she had been repaid with ignorance. Anger. Frustration. Exasperation. Everything but the returning of the unconditional love and friendship, the stalwartness of true companionship, and the absolute faith and trust that she deserved. And that's what hurt him more than those screams; that all those things were the only real payment she had ever received for believing in him.
Well, FUCK that Harry thought to himself. He turned in his bed and started to rise.
For her part, Hermione had opened her mouth to begin her lecture when she saw the first tear fall from Harry's left eye and roll down his cheek. She almost gasped as it seemed to her as if she was seeing her best friend for the first time. He was looking at her with an expression she had never seen on him before; like seeing her was both the most painful and most wonderful thing in the world to him. Suddenly, like a locked door flying open, she felt something weird unclick inside her. She couldn't understand it, but at the moment it didn't matter. The napkin full of toast fell forgotten to the floor as she flew across the room to embrace him. Unfortunately he hadn't yet steadied himself, and the enthusiastic arrival of her body against his caused both of them to tumble back onto the bed, their foreheads smacking together painfully as Hermione landed on top of and pressed tightly against Harry. Noticing their compromising positioning and Harry's lack of proper clothing, Hermione quickly (though somewhat reluctantly, she noted; a feeling she would have to explore in more detail later) rolled off to lie next to him as they both took a few moments to let the stars fade from their vision. Harry's head was throbbing even worse than before as he spoke up.
"Ow. Hermione, not that I'm not happy to see you, but perhaps you can give a bloke a warning in the future? I might actually have a concussion now."
"It's not my fault you can't handle women throwing themselves at you," she replied without missing a beat. "I know I'm always calling you hard-headed, Harry, but that's supposed to be a figure of speech," she finished while rubbing the spot on her forehead where they had collided. The two teens turned their heads and stared at each other for a second before they couldn't help it any longer; they both broke out in laughter. It was cathartic for Harry, relieving a lot of stress the last day, both before he'd 'died' and since. Hopefully he wouldn't have many more days like it; breaking into Gringotts, stealing a priceless artifact, riding a dragon, leading the defense of an ancient castle, meeting your dead parents, letting yourself be killed, and then meeting a bunch of goddesses should be something one reserved for special occasions Harry decided to himself. Like never, ever, ever again.
As he looked at Hermione again and saw the amusement written in her features, he couldn't help but feel a blossoming sensation take hold in his heart, the same one he had felt when he'd looked upon Hermione's bright orange thread as he was talking to the Fates. The monster that had lived in his chest during Sixth Year, the one that had wanted Dean Thomas horribly maimed for dating Ginny when Harry himself wanted to, was suddenly purring in contentment at the proximity of his body to Hermione's. Down boy he thought. I know what they said, and it would seem I don't disagree with you, but she's our friend first. If she wants to be more we will explore that, but until then be cool. More than anything, I want to be the best friend to her that I can possibly be. Whether anything ever happened between the two of them or not, Harry vowed in that instant that he would find a way to repay every kindness she'd shown him, because damnit that's what she deserved.
For her part, Hermione was glad that a potentially teary moment appeared to have been avoided. Normally when other people started crying she started crying, and she needed to be strong for Harry. Once he fully realized what the reaction within the castle was, he would need her to be steady, to be his rock. He'd never been able to lean on anyone his whole life, and Hermione had been determined since she'd put together what his home life was like to be a person Harry could rely on. Suppressing the rest of her mirth, she turned toward him and engulfed him in as much of a hug as she could given their positioning; it ended up more like she was laying half on top of him with one arm wrapping around his neck. The monster growled in appreciation but Harry, while pleased with the contact, inwardly groaned at his newly formed resolution being tested not 5 seconds after he'd made it. "Oh Harry, I'm sorry for how I reacted when I came in. I know all of this must be so difficult for you."
If only you knew the half of it Harry thought to himself as his arms came up and around her. "It's fine, Hermione," he said out loud, "I'm sorry you caught me swearing."
She lifted her head to look up at him, amusement still clear in her eyes. "But you're not sorry you swore?"
"Hell no," he answered, earning an exasperated smile and a light smack on the chest from her. "I think I'm entitled to a bit of cussing given what's happened." He saw the look of fear, anger, and disappointment in her eyes, and he was momentarily taken back to what Thandie had told him. 'People may be different. Events may not play out the way you remember.' Was this one of those? Did the simple fact of him coming back make it so that Hermione no longer believed he hadn't entered himself in the Tournament? Choking down his rising anxiety, Harry gave voice to his fears. "You . . . you believe me, right? That I didn't put my name in the Goblet?"
The look instantly cleared from her eyes and she was back to hugging him. "Of course I believe you, Harry. You've said since we found out about the tournament that you didn't want to enter, and I know you well enough to know that your reactions last night were genuine."
She really does know me that well, doesn't she? Harry mused. That's . . . nice, I guess. I think. A bit scary. But nice. "So what was that look you just gave me?"
"Look?"
"There was anger and a look of disappointment in your eyes."
Her head came back up again. "You can read my eyes?" At his nod, she thought to herself That's . . . nice, I guess. I think. A bit scary. But nice. She closed her eyes for a second to shake her thoughts away; she could contemplate the level of emotional intimacy required for reading a person like that, its possible ramifications, and her thoughts on the matter, later. "It's . . . it's everyone else I'm angry at and disappointed in, Harry. The rest of the school pretty much thinks that you submitted your name." Hermione expected him to rage: to rail against the injustice of it, to angrily denounce the student body as foolish and to wrap himself in an insulation of righteous indignation.
What she did not expect was a sober nod and a simple question. "What about Ron? Is he one of the ones that think I put my name in the Goblet?"
Hermione hedged her response to that, no knowing how much Harry's seeming new-found maturity against yet another persecution could take. "No, I don't think so. Well, not really . . ."
"He's jealous, isn't he?" Harry couldn't say he wasn't disappointed that hadn't changed, but he resigned himself to the fact that things wouldn't instantaneously change just because he got shot back in time. "Jealous that I 'found a way in.' That I didn't tell him. That I'm hogging all the glory for myself. More fame, more money, more press. That about accurate?" Hermione could only nod dumbly at Harry's perceptiveness (as she saw it).
Harry, however, was now focused on his memories of Ron's second 'abandonment,' when he had left them during the hunt for the Horcruxes. He remembered thinking then that something between them had broken, and being back in the aftermath of the first time Ron had turned against him Harry couldn't help but wonder if that break hadn't in fact started right here. Maybe they had been kidding themselves that things could go back to the way they used to be after Ron's half-assed apology after the First Task. It had been the same way after he'd come back during the hunt; they had all proceeded along as if nothing was any different. Somehow, though, Harry knew things were different, and not just because he had 3 more years of memories now. He wasn't feeling as . . . forgiving against those he felt had wronged him than he believed he used to be. Whether that was because of his anger toward The Sisters bleeding over, the loss of the Horcrux unlocking something, or just the hindsight time provides he had no idea; he just knew it to be true.
Harry finally returned to the moment to see Hermione looking at him, waiting on his further reaction to the information about Ron. He blew out a long breath and came to a decision. "You know what? It's fine, Hermione. He'll come 'round when he realizes what an idiot he's being, and hopefully we'll be able to move past it if he seems honestly repentant. But if not, I can't afford to lose any sleep over it right now. Besides, you're all I really need," he said, smirking with satisfaction at her surprised look. He wrapped her up a little tighter. "As long as I've got you, everyone else can get stuffed. And that includes Ronald 'I'm being a jealous git' Weasley."
Hermione could only look at Harry with more than a little bit of confusion, despite the warm feeling his comments about needing her had engendered. Her best friend was not behaving the way history would have had her expect. He seemed resigned to his fate; that was right. But instead of raging or falling into a funk, he was showing resoluteness, self-assuredness, and a willingness to 'Gryffindor up' and stand his ground, which was honestly refreshing to her. She cleared her throat and was about to ask him what was going on with him when he lifted his head toward the door.
"Damn. I guess breakfast in bed is out," he said flippantly, and Hermione followed his eyes to the now scattered pile of toast that was laying on the floor.
"Ack! Harry, I'm sorry –"
"No need to be sorry, Hermione," he said easily. "I appreciate the thought, and I can grab something later. What do you say you let me get cleaned up and dressed and we'll head out onto the grounds? Easier to avoid everyone that way."
"That's a great idea, Harry. We can start talking about strategy and spells you should learn and –"
"And I can ask you some questions I should have asked a long time ago."
She tilted her head at him in confusion. "Questions? What kind of questions?"
Harry shrugged. "Simple stuff. Things friends should know about each other. Like your middle name." Of course he already knew it was Jean, but the only reason he'd found that out was because of the reading of Dumbledore's will. "Like your parents' names." For fuck's sake, she tore out her own heart when she took their memories and sent them to the other side of the world and I never even bothered to find out what their real names were. Just Wendell and Monica Wilkins. "Favorite holiday. Favorite book. Favorite song. Hell, favorite color. We've been friends for . . . " Harry almost said 7 ". . . 3 years and I'm just now realizing that, aside from your love of books and learning and knowing your birthday is the nineteenth of September, I know next to nothing about you." He turned his head away and got a far away look as he whispered, "What a terrible friend I've been."
Hermione grabbed his chin and turned his head back to face her. She gave him her 'Grade 3 I'm serious about this' stare as she made her statement with the conviction she saved for when she had absolute surety in what she was saying. "Harry, you've been a very good friend. Probably the best friend I've ever had if I'm honest with myself. No, you haven't asked me a lot about the details of my life, but there's a lot more to friendship than that. Do you understand me?" If being tossed into the tournament hadn't sunk his mood she didn't want him thinking that he'd been a bad friend to do so.
Harry managed to smile at the glare he knew so well and the tone of voice that would brook no argument. "Yes Mistress," he answered cheekily.
Hermione let go of his chin and smiled back. "And don't you forget it. Now, get ready. I'll meet you downstairs in 20 minutes." She jumped off the bed and headed for the door.
"Yes Mistress," he said again to her retreating form. "Wash my back?" he asked mischievously. A look over her shoulder, a wide-eyed stare, and a strained huff was all he got in response as he walked toward the bathroom cackling. With his back turned, he missed seeing the wide smile that finally came to Hermione's face as she walked out of the room. Mistress Hermione. I think I could get used to that.
{-}
Harry walked into the bathroom attached to their dorm and started the water in one of the 2 shower stalls. Once the water was warm, which didn't take long at all (thank you, Magic he thought), he stripped down to his birthday suit and climbed in. He'd just started rinsing the shampoo out of his hair when something happened that shocked him so badly that his back slammed into the wall of the stall and he nearly lost his footing. And much to the chagrin of the Monster, it wasn't Hermione deciding to take him up on his offer for her to join him.
"Nice butt there, Champ," came the voice from . . . seemingly everywhere.
"Fuck me sideways," a very startled Harry exclaimed as he tried to slow his heartrate back down.
"I offered, you said no," was the response from the overly flirtatious deity.
"Thandie? Where the hell are you?" Harry said, looking around before smacking himself on the forehead. It's not like there's anyplace to hide, Potter; it's a damned shower stall.
"Oh I'm still upstairs," she replied easily. "I called in a favor from Katie. There's so much ambient magic in the castle that she can do some weird voodoo thing and tap into it for short periods. She owes me for setting her up with Glik. Dude's a snake, but oh my word the things he can do with that tongue . . ."
"Thandie," Harry growled out, his startlement being replaced by his anger at those that had sent him back. "I'm not really in the mood to talk about the sex skills of the immortals. I am in the mood to find out what the hell the big idea is sending me back to here."
Thandie sighed deeply, which when heard coming from every direction around you was very odd. "Yeah, sorry about that, Champ. The Sisters made a slight . . . miscalculation."
"Miscalculation?! Is that what you call this?!" Harry exploded. "One day. One minor, trivial, insignificant fucking day and I could have stopped so much bullshit! A Death Eater disguised as my DADA professor. The whole world except for Hermione hating me. Having to fight a bloody dragon!"
"That's not even the worst of it." If a disembodied voice could cringe, Thandie's surely would have. "Crap. I didn't mean to say that out loud."
"What the fuck do you mean that's not the worst of it?!" Harry bellowed.
"Well . . . the Sisters were so excited to get you to agree . . . and . . . well . . . we were in such a hurry to get you back down there . . . that we might have . . . skipped over a couple of things, and . . . wwwwweeeeeeeellllll . . . so it's like this, Champ. You know you can't kill a ghost, right? Well, it's the same for disembodied spirits. So you . . . sorta . . . kinda . . . have to let Riddle get a body again before you can kill him."
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," Harry said derisively, pantomiming putting his hand to his ear as if he was trying to hear better. "I know I must have misheard, because it sounded like you said I had to let the sadistic, ridiculously deadly, sociopathic asshole who literally is out for my blood get a body again."
"That about sums it up, yeah."
"And you couldn't tell me this before?!" Harry closed his eyes and ground his teeth together to keep the rest of the scathing retort he wanted to say inside. He took a couple of deep breaths before he responded further. "What about the little body he's in now?"
"Sorry, Champ. Technically his homunculus body isn't alive; it's a construct. Aside from the potion that keeps it stable it has no other biological functions. It doesn't eat, doesn't breathe, doesn't grow. It's really just an animated Horcrux, all things considered. Like that creepy Chucky doll thing. Anyway, the ritual that you had the unfortunate pleasure of participating in is what truly constructed him a body with life. That has to take place, and unless you want him rampaging around again you should plan on trying to take him out as soon after that as humanly possible."
Harry let himself slide down the shower wall and wrapped his arms around his knees with his head buried against them. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUUUUUUCK!" he finally screamed into his legs. "So let me see if I've got this right. I still need to do the tournament; binding magical contract and all, not that they explained what the penalty was."
"No one knows. No one has declined the Goblet's choosing for centuries, and the glyphs that say there's a contract don't say what the penalty is, so it's been lost to history. Could be a Stinging Hex. Could be a minute long Cruciatus. It could just kill you outright."
"And they let that thing choose the champions? These people are insane." Harry pondered a moment before he shrugged resignedly. "Not sure why I'm surprised." He shook his head as if to clear it. "Whatever. So, tournament. Need to do that. Need to keep Barty Junior around, since having him caught might spook Voldemort, and you're saying I need to let him get a body again. Need to train up, since it sounds like the graveyard is the best place to try and kill him, and aforementioned sociopathic asshole is going to have all his sub-assholes around too, so that'll be a fun time. Need to convince the world that I'm not a glory-seeking prick, if only to make things easier while doing all the other stuff. Need to figure out how to get off the grounds to get the other Horcruxes. Please tell me there's nothing stopping me from destroying them."
"Yeah . . . about that . . ."
"Are you fucking kidding me?!"
Again, if a voice could wince Thandie's just did. "Once he has a body, yes, he won't notice if you destroy a Horcrux. But as a demented Teddy Ruxpin he's still technically a wraith, and that makes him much more in tune with his soul since it's really the only thing of him left."
"Just how much shit did you all hide in the fine print? So I can't just destroy the Horcruxes as I collect them, right? I have to wait until he has a body or risk him figuring out what's going on?"
"'Fraid so."
"I should have just stayed fucking dead."
Harry tilted his head back until it was resting against the wall and closed his eyes. A myriad of images passed through his mind, but after a bit they focused on a certain brown-haired witch and the ultimate reason why he had come back. This newfound sensation that had started when he'd seen her just reinforced his already long-held belief; that his pain was worth it to prevent hers. It was the bargain he had made, and one he would make every time. His eyes reopened, and the same fire they held when he decided to travel back in time and try to fix things was there once again. "Okay, pity party's over. I can't really say I'm happy about all of this; to be honest I'd love nothing more right now than to come back up there and beat all of you about the head and chest with a stick. That being said, and despite how angry I am, I honestly can't really say I wish I hadn't agreed at all, or that I'd shown up later. Everything would still be buggered for everyone for the first one, and a lot more people would be dead in the latter. Showing up sooner would have been nice because I could have skipped the whole tournament thing and focused on Voldemort." Suddenly a terrible thought came to him, one that was perfectly in line with his current streak of luck. "Is this really as far back as they could send me?"
"I'm . . . not sure I should answer that."
"So, no." A growl formed deep in Harry's throat and he didn't even try to stop it from coming out. "I'm going to kill 'em. Not sure how, since they're immortal and all, but I'll figure something out."
"I already thought about that, Champ. And while I like a good revenge story as much as the next girl, I need you to focus on the tasks at hand," Thandie said. "Yes, all of that are your responsibilities and liabilities, and yes it seems we missed a few of the big-ticket items when we asked you to do this. But hey; Diggory is still alive, as are Sirius and Remus. You should get a hold of those two to help you out as much as they can without letting them in on the whole 'mostly dead' thing. Play your cards right and you can potentially catch Pettigrew and get Sirius exonerated.
"Also, without the Horcrux in your head you're going to notice a few things. I think you've already discovered that your eyesight is better." Harry nodded, though it seemed silly to him to nod to a disembodied voice. "The magical pressure it was exerting must have been messing with your optic nerves or something like that. Just spell your glasses to plain glass to keep people from asking questions. Or say you got contacts. Also, since the Horcrux was parasitical, you should also notice a slight increase in the power of your spells and ease of casting. Noticeable, but nothing major. Like I told you, you're no Superman. And, though I'm loathe to say anything nice about that bullying douche canoe, Snape's Occlumency lessons, while failing spectacularly at their intended purpose, were nonetheless brilliant."
"What?"
"Since a piece of Riddle was already in your head, Occlumency was never going to really help," Thandie said. "However, Snape's brute force attacks did help you build up your defenses quickly and strongly. You could just never bring them to bear with the Horcrux jammed in your skull; doesn't matter how thick walls are if there's already a hole in them. But I'd go out on a limb and say you're probably one of the top 10 Occlumens in the world now. And with all the crap you know, that's definitely a good thing.
"I know there's a ton of shit to shovel ahead of you, kid, but there's a lot of fun you can have with this too if you let yourself. Let the son of Prongs out to play a little. And don't think I missed that semi-flirty little tête-à-tête you had with your girl earlier."
Thinking about Hermione made him smile for a moment, before realizing that his 20 minutes were more than likely up. He sighed resignedly as he stood back up. "Okay, time to get to it. Anything else for the good of the order, Thandie?"
"One last thing for now. Last time Hermione found a book talking about magical contracts when she was trying to figure out a way to get you out of the tournament. There might be something in there that can help you with at least one of your problems."
"Like what?"
"Like go read the fucking book and find out for yourself," she answered with a chuckle. "Adios, Champ. I'll try to get in touch again if I'm able."
{-}
"Thirty-four minutes," Hermione said in her 'playful bossy' tone of voice when Harry finally made it downstairs. "Honestly, Harry, what took so long?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," Harry quipped back while waggling his eyebrows. "I offered to let you help, you just huffed at me. Four hands would have made things go a lot faster." He couldn't hold it in any longer and started laughing at the gobsmacked expression on her face.
"When did you get such a dirty mind, Harry Potter?" she asked with a light slap to the chest, though there was no heat in her voice.
"Well I am a teenage boy," he answered back quickly. "It was bound to happen sooner or later."
Hermione just stared at him, again trying to line up the boy she expected with the one that was in front of her. He's trying to mask his apprehension about the tournament she finally thought to herself. Keep things light and think about other stuff. It makes sense, but just something seems . . . off. Shaking her head, she jumped back to the conversation. "Well, are you ready now?"
"Lead on, MacDuff," Harry said with a smile. He had taken two steps before he realized Hermione wasn't following, so he turned back around. "Hermione? What's wrong?" He was a bit disconcerted by the scrutinizing look she was giving him.
"Nothing," she finally answered. "It's just . . . that's something my father always says."
Harry thought he did a really good job with his poker face. She had told him that it was something her father had always said, that's why he knew the phrase at all, having never read Shakespeare. However, he inwardly cringed as he remembered that the first and only time she had mentioned it was during their country-wide apparition tour during the hunt. He hadn't pursued it at the time because her parents had still been a raw subject. Cursing himself for his slip, he tried to cover. "Huh. Weird." Smooth, Potter. Simply stunning comeback. "Are we going, or are you going to stare oddly at me all day?"
Harry was thankful Hermione took the bait on the change in subject, and side by side they made their way out to the grounds. As the hours of the day passed the two friends covered many topics. They started, per Hermione's insistence, on preparations for the First Task. He mentioned to her how Crouch has said the task would test their daring and courage, and so they started coming up with lists of things to practice. Harry, knowing that almost none of the list would be useful fighting a dragon, nonetheless contributed greatly, thinking that a good portion of the list would be useful against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Meanwhile, he started working through his own ideas for how he would tackle the task. Using his Firebolt had been a good idea and had certainly put on a show, but Harry was curious to see if he could come up with anything more . . . Marauder-worthy.
Speaking of the Marauders, their next agenda item was letters to Remus and Sirius, explaining what was going on and asking the men to give them a date when they could all meet in the Shrieking Shack to discuss everything. Harry almost lost it when Hedwig fluttered down in front of him as he finished the second letter, as per usual somehow knowing her companion needed her. The last time he'd seen her she was tumbling out of the sky, dead in her cage from a Killing Curse, and of course 'The Bill,' as he was starting to call the flashes from his previous life, showed him the moment in vivid detail. Her staring at him, whole and hale, was almost more than his already stretched emotional state could take. He spent a long time petting her and cooing at her, much to the owl's pleasure and Hermione's continued consternation on the oddities in his behavior.
After Hedwig was off to deliver the letters, Hermione wanted to discuss the possibility of getting him out of the tournament entirely. Remembering Thandie saying that something in a book Hermione had found previously might help with something else, he encouraged this thought process and suggested they try looking for books about magical contracts in the Library. Adding it to her list, which by now had become rather extensive, Hermione also said she would see if there was any information on the previous tournaments in the Library. Perhaps she could identify patterns in the tasks that might give them some insight into what to expect.
The largest part of the afternoon, however, was spent just enjoying each other's company, with them trading random questions about each other back and forth. Harry was not surprised at Hermione's favorite color being periwinkle blue, remembering how stunning she looked in her Yule Ball dress of that color. He was floored, however, learning that her favorite type of music was modern rock and her favorite band was the American rock group Nine Inch Nails. They had just released their second album the previous Spring, and Hermione had listened to it almost religiously the entire summer. She admitted it was a guilty pleasure, the lyrics both 'naughty' (her word) and thought provoking to her. Her parents (whose names were Henry and Catherine, he finally learned), however, had not appreciated their fourteen-year-old daughter listening to a song with the phrase 'I wanna fuck you like an animal' in it.
The more the two of them talked the more 'real' Hermione became to Harry. She'd always been his friend, but now in his eyes she was becoming so much more. She had hopes, dreams, fears, aspirations, flaws . . . all of the things that make a person who they are. And he found himself drawn to every little piece of information about her she was willing to divulge, gathering it up like a Niffler would gold. He laughed with her when she told him the story of accidentally pushing her father into a swimming pool when she was ten. He held her as she cried describing the last days of her grandmother's life, loved ones gathered around the family matriarch as she had breathed her last. He watched as she spoke animatedly about a whole range of topics, from family to movies to music to books to whatever random topic Harry could think of to ask about.
Alas, all good things must come to an end, and as the dinner hour approached they discussed whether they should try to have it in the Great Hall or continue hiding away from the world. The first time through he had avoided the public areas of the school like they were leper colonies those first few days after the Goblet had spit out his name. This time, however, he was a bit interested in getting the lay of the land, to see what kind of reaction he was really up against. He hadn't interacted with anyone the last go around until classes the following day, where teachers were much more observant and comments curtailed. Though professors were always present at meals they were more freeform, allowing for a much more . . . varied experience than sitting in class. Unless someone started screaming, threw a punch, or drew a wand, generally the staff didn't get involved in conversations or altercations that took place during meals. A quick discussion with Hermione, though, convinced Harry that perhaps it would be better to keep a low profile for a few days until the furor of the champion selection had died down a bit. With that in mind, and though he knew he would have to endure a S.P.E.W.-ing moment, Harry took Hermione's hand and led her down to the entrance to the kitchens, explaining his knowledge of its location as 'Fred and George were tricked into telling me.' It was a half-truth, since it was actually Hermione who had tricked them, and he had only overheard.
Po-TAY-to. Po-TAH-to.
As predicted, once inside he listened patiently through a 10 minute diatribe in 'super-high-end bossy' about 'the plight of these poor suffering beings' before he put his hands on Hermione's shoulders and looked her in the eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped dead at the look Harry was giving her. It wasn't the one she had seen from him first thing this morning, and it wasn't any of the others she was used to. This was again something completely different, and as before made her wonder just what was going on with her best friend.
"Hermione, I understand and appreciate everything that you are saying. The enslavement of an entire race of beings is definitely wrong, you'll find no argument from me on that. That being said, have you actually talked to any elves? Asked them why they serve? Why they enjoy it so much? Do they consider it slavery? You know the Malfoys are an entire family of reprobates; have you asked the elves if they're all treated like Dobby? It's obvious the ones here in the castle aren't, so percentage-wise the evidence points to Dobby's case not being the norm. Neville isn't evil, right?" Hermione immediately shook her head no. "Have you asked if the Longbottoms have ever had any elves? What about Susan Bones? Her aunt is the head of Magical Law Enforcement. Surely if it was evil she wouldn't condone it. And what about Dumbledore, or McGonagall, or Sprout for that matter, the queen of fair play? They obviously know these elves are here and are obviously okay with it; what does that mean?" Hermione's lower lip disappeared between her teeth as her brows scrunched in consternation; she hadn't really given a whole lot of thought to the 'why' of the matter, merely the 'what.' It was a common mistake people made, and one she tried very hard to avoid. But she'd seen what she classed as an injustice (and she still wasn't convinced it wasn't) and had jumped forward like the Gryffindor she was. Harry gave her a moment before speaking again, doing so as if he could almost read her mind. "I'm not sure why the relationship between elves and wizardkind is the way it is. Maybe it's a curse or compulsion; 'serve or die' or something like that. I'm told magical contracts aren't something to be messed with," he said with a smirk, referencing his own situation to reinforce his point. "Maybe it's symbiotic; elves pull from the ambient magic of wizards and witches to power their own, like some wards do. Without wizards they'd be powerless, or maybe even dead, so they see service as a price to be paid for their magic. Maybe it's just how their brains are wired; 'I live to serve' might be more than just a cliché to them. Hell, for all I know they could be an entire race of submissives and cooking meals and washing clothes is how they get off." Despite her admonition of 'Language,' Hermione had to snort in amusement at that last one, and Harry's smile showed that he had put that last one in there to try and lighten the mood.
"So you're saying the entirety of the wizarding world could be nothing but a bunch of closet dominatrixes?" she asked with a smile.
"Well, Mistress," Harry responded with a waggle of his eyebrows, causing Hermione to blush slightly, "personally I'd prefer to be called a dominator since I don't have the right bits to be a dominatrix."
"Fair enough," she chuckled back.
"Seriously, though," he continued, "maybe a little bit of research and investigation is needed before we start crying out about the injustice of it all. If we do that and it turns out that they're bought and sold just like cattle, I'll be right next to you crying foul. Okay?"
Hermione nodded her head. "Okay, Harry."
"Good. Now let's eat. Someone dropped my breakfast in bed on the floor this morning, and then talked my ear off all afternoon, so I'm famished." As soon as he was done speaking, Harry turned and moved farther into the room.
"Why you cheeky little . . ." Hermione retorted, but with no heat at all. She wasn't sure what was going on with Harry, why he was behaving so oddly, and she vowed she would keep an eye on him to try and figure it out. However, provided there was nothing sinister behind his change in behavior, like Polyjuice or a Pod Person, she decided that she rather enjoyed this more engaging and ebullient Harry Potter.
A/N: It's messing with my head a bit that I now have a 3rd story with a shower scene in it. I swear it's not a fetish or anything.
Though the most common penalty in fanfiction for refusing the Goblet seems to be the loss of one's magic, I don't think it's ever explicitly said in canon what the penalty is.
Harry swears a lot. A lot of my characters swear a lot. I swear a lot. It's the primary reason my stories are rated M. Studies (yes I know studies can be dodgy) have shown a correlation between swearing and intelligence/breadth of vocabulary. In this case, however, I think Harry just has every reason to swear, given the situation.
If anyone's keeping track: Katie = Hecate and Glick = Glykon. Look him up and you'll get it.
For those of you who have never seen the movie Child's Play, it's downright effing terrifying. Or at least it was; not sure if it's translated 30 years removed.
I remember my uncle buying my grandmother a Teddy Ruxpin doll as a joke. And I remember that thing creeping me out because it would randomly start talking when no one was anywhere near it. Or, at least, I think I do; it might have just been a nightmare. Anyway, again look it up and I hope you're amused with it as a comparison to Babymort.
The Downward Spiral, Nine Inch Nails' second album, was released in March of 1994. The song referenced is called "Closer."
Pod Person is from Invasion of the Body Snatchers if you've never heard the term before.
"Third Year Pearson" might become at thing. We'll see.
As always, thank you all for the follows, favorites, views, and reviews.