Welcome, one and all, to the next chapter of HP: The Path of Trials! First, I must apologize to each and every one of you. I have severely neglected to post updates on this story and did not make any new progress with the series in general. Though work had kept me extremely busy these past few months, with them sending me overseas being a big part of it, the main reason would be me letting the lethargic part of me winning over my determination to see this series to the end. My goal for the immediate future is to post the remaining chapters of this story before I do leave to go overseas. I can at least do this much. This is not the end of the series, not by a long shot. I'm way too invested in the series, both mentally and emotionally, to let it end earlier than it is meant to. I just hope that all of you understand that it'll simply take longer than anticipated, that's all.
Now, with all of that out of the way, let's get to the chapter. Before that, however...
Disclaimer: Yeah, no surprise, no ownership of HP, save for OCs
Now, let's get into...
Chapter 22: A Close Call
Happy reading, dear readers!
Marcus, Harry, Ron, and Hermione went up to the Owlery not long after meeting together in the Entrance Hall to find Pidwidgeon, so that Marcus and Harry could send their letters telling him that they had managed to get past their dragons unscathed or, in Marcus' case, staying alive. On the way, Marcus and Harry filled Ron in on everything Sirius had told them about Karkaroff. Though shocked at first to hear that Karkaroff had been a Death Eater, by the time they entered the Owlery Ron was saying that they ought to have suspected it all along.
"Fits, doesn't it?" he said. "Remember what Malfoy said on the train, about his dad beings friends with Karkaroff? Now we knw where they knew each other. They were probably running around in masks together at the World Cup... I'll tell you one thing though, guys, if it was Karkaroff who put your names in the goblet, he's going to be feeling really stupid now, isn't he? Didn't work, did it? Harry, you only got a scratch! And Marcus, you managed to succeed against a Shieldhide! Come here - I'll do it -"
Pidwidgeon was so overexcited at the idea of a delivery he was flying around and around Marcus and Harry's heads, hooting incessantly. Ron snatched Pigwidgeon out of the air and held him still while Marcus and Harry attached their letters to his legs.
"There's no way any of the other tasks are going to be that dangerous, how could they be?" Ron went on as he carried Pigwidgeon to the window."You know what? I reckon the two of you can win this tournament, guys, I'm serious."
Marcus and Harry glanced at each other with smirks on their faces. The two boys knew that Ron was only saying this to make up for his behavior of the last few weeks, but they appreciated it all the same. Hermione, however, leaned against the Owlery wall, folded her arms, and frowned at Ron.
"Both Marcus and Harry have got a long way to go before they finish this tournament," she said seriously. "If that was the first task, I hate to think what's coming next."
"Right little ray of sunshine, aren't you?" said Ron. "You and Professor Trelawney should get together sometime."
"To be honest, I feel a bit better about taking on this tournament after facing that Shieldhide," said Marcus.
Ron then threw Pigwidgeon out of the window. Pigwidgeon plummeted twelve feet before managing to pull himself back up again; the letters attached to his legs were much longer and heavier than usual. Try as they might, Marcus and Harry couldn't resist giving Sirius their blow-by-blow accounts of exactly how they had went about accomplishing the first task. They watched Pigwidgeon disappear into the darkness, and then Ron said, "Well, we'd better get downstairs for your surprise party, boys - Fred and George should have nicked enough food from the kitchens by now."
Sure enough , when they entered the Gryffindor common room it exploded with cheers and yells again. There were mountains of cakes and flagons of pumpkin juice and butterbeer on every surface; Lee Jordan had let off some Filibuster's Fireworks, so that the air was thick with stars and sparks; and Dean Thomas, who was very good at drawing, had put up some impressive new banners, most of which depicted Harry zooming around the Horntail's head on his Firebolt and Marcus exchaning fists with the Shieldhide, though a couple showed Fleur with her dress on fire.
As Marcus helped himself to some food, bringing it back with him to sit with Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Lorelei, he felt a mixture of emotions. He was glad that the first task was behind him, no longer having to worry about getting past dragons. He also felt a bit worried that the other two tasks before him might be just as challenging as the first. However, the most prominent of these feelings was emptiness.
He knew for a fact that he, as he knew himself, did not succeed in winning against his Aunt Em, who everyone else knew as a Shieldhide Dragon. If it wasn't for her letting him win, he would've lost not only the first task, but possibly his life. Marcus knew that his success in the First Task was really nothing more than a hollow victory, that if he didn't double his efforts into bettering himself, he wasn't going to make any true progress.
"Blimey, this is heavy," said Lee Jordan, picking up the golden egg that Harry left on a table, and weighing it in his hands. "Open it, Harry, go on! Let's just see what's inside it!"
"Both him and Marcus have to work the clue on their own," Hermione said swiftly. "It's in the tournament rules..."
"Yeah, Hermione's right," said Marcus. "I suppose it's for the best that we don't open the egg, since we do have to work out the clues ourselves."
"Like how you worked out your first task strategies by yourself?" Lorelei rhetorically whispered in Marcus' right ear, causing him to give a guilty half-smile.
"Yeah, go on, open it!" several people echoed.
Lee passed Harry the egg, and Harry dug his fingernails into the groove that ran all the way around it and prised it open.
Marcus enhanced his vision in time to see a couple of sillouetted spheres popping before getting blasted by the most horrible of noises, a loud and screechy wailing that filled the room. The closest thing he could compare it to was his Aunt Em's draconic roar, which was not comforting, to say the least.
"Shut it!" Fred bellowed, his hands over his ears.
"What was that?" said Seamus Finnigan, staring at the egg as Harry slammed it shut again. "Sounded like a banshee...Maybe you two have to get past one of those next, boys!"
"It was someone beeing tortured!" said Neville, who had gone very white and spilled sausage rolls all over the floor. "You two are going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!"
"Don't be a prat, Neville, that's illegal," said George. "They wouldn't use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions. I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing...maybe you've got to attack him while he's in the shower, Marcus and Harry."
"Want a jam tart, Hermione?" sadi Fred.
Hermoine looked doubtfully at the plate he was offering her. Fred grinned.
"It's all right," he said. "I haven't done anything to them. It's the custard creams you've got to watch -"
Neville, who had just bitten into a custard cream, choked and spat it out. Fred laughed.
"Just my little joke, Neville..."
Hermione took a jam tart. Then she said, "Did you get all this from the kitchens, Fred?"
"Yep," said Fred, grinning at her. He put on a high-pitched squeak and imitated a house-elf. "'Anything we can get you, sir, anything at all!' They're dead helpful...get me a roast ox if I said I was peckish."
"How do you get in there?" Hermione said in an innoncently casual sort of voice.
"Easy," said Fred, "concealed door behind a painting of a bowl of fruit. Just tickle the pear, and it giggles and-" He stopped and looked suspiciously at her. "Why?"
"Nothing," said Hermione quickly.
"Going to try and lead the house-elves out on strike now, are you?" said George. "Going to give up all the leaflet stuff and try and stir them up into rebellion?"
Several people chortled. Hermione didn't answer.
"Don't you go upsetting them and telling them they've got to take clothes and salaries!" said Fred warningly. "You'll put them off their cooking!"
Just then, Neville caused a slight diversion by turning into a large canary.
"Oh - sorry, Neville!" Fred shouted over all the laughter. "I forgot - it was the custard creams we hexed -"
Within a minute, however, Neville had molted, and once his feathers had fallen off, he reappeared looking entirely noral. He even joined in laughing.
"Canary Creams!" Fred shouted to the excitable crowd. "George and I invented them - seven Sickles each, a bargain!"
It was not long after that did Marcus bid his closest friends good night and went ahead to his four-poster bed, full of worry about what he had to do, both in his self-training and getting prepeard for the second task.
Just as he pushed away the drapes on his four-poster, he noticed a big book with an envelope addressed to him in writing that he wasn't familiar with.
Just to be sure no one was eavesdropping, he sat down on his bed, pulled the drapes back to where they were before, and he proceeded to open the envelope and read the contents to himself.
Marcus,
Enclosed in this book is the basics of what you should be working on until the next time we meet. If you're going to be ruling the Draconic Kingdom someday, you sure as hell better be playing catch-up with the standard Shieldhide training. It's not the full training, but it'll suffice. Consider this your one pass.
-Aunt Em
Marcus took a glance at the book, as big as it was, and exasperately thought, "Just what exactly is in that book for training purposes?!"
He decided that he'll have to look at it tomorrow. After putting the book under his bed, he turned over and went to sleep, wondering what the next day would bring...
After classes the next day, before his evening workout with Lorelei and Cedric, Marcus decided to go to his seclusion spot, which was a hard to reach spot by the lake, but upon reaching that spot, was all worth it.
Looking at the lake and part of the castle, Marcus was deep in thought, most of his thoughts not as cheerful as he liked. There were a lot of things that have been said to him and had happened to him over the last few days, much of which was rather overwhelming.
He was so lost in thought that it utterly surprised him to hear a familiar voice say, "Ah, Mar-kees, zou like zis spot too?"
Marcus looked up and to the right to find Fleur Delacour, arms slightly behind her, behind down towards him a little bit with a smile upon her face.
He relaxed a little and said, "Ah, Ms. Delacour. What brings you out here?"
She took a seat on the right of him with a slight frown on her face and said, "Goodness, Mar-kees! I insist you call me Fleur."
"Right, right, I'll make sure to do so in the future," Marcus said with a slight smirk. "So, what does bring you out here?"
Fleur took a long sigh and said, "I needed a break from everything, I guess. Ze tournament, my classmates, just take some time to myself. But I deedn't think I'd find you out here, of all places!"
"Yeah, I needed some time away from everything, as well. So much has happened, after all."
"I am zure that finding out about your heritage was not an easy thing to acknowledge," stated Fleur.
Marcus looked at her with apprehension and asked, "What are you talking about?"
"I mean, Mar-kees, about finding out that you are an American Sheeldhide dragon, of course," said Fleur with a serious face.
Marcus blanched, his face starting to cover with sweat.
"How the fuck do you know?" growled Marcus. "I haven't told anyone that, not even to my closest friends!"
"You didn't need to," stated Fleur. "As someone who has Veela blood running in their veins, I could tell that you were a Shieldhide dragon during the First Task. Veela remain one of the few species in the world that can immediately tell when a Shieldhide is roaming about. The two species have - er - quite the history. Although, as I'm only quarter Veela, I could only tell you were one at the later end of your run of the First Task."
Fluer must have known what Marcus was feeling, for she continued, "Do not worry, Mar-kees. I will not tell a single person of this."
Marcus heard the sincerity in her voice, calmed down, and replied, "Thank you, Fleur. To be honest, I still can't wrap my head around it. It seems so - so impossible, yet all of the facts are there right in front of me..."
Fleur then looked him in the eyes and said, "Do you remember what our favorite game was, all those years ago?"
"Oh, of course, it was twenty questions!" Marcus exclaimed, feeling a bit nostalgic and smirking at the thought. "I remember we picked up the game from a group of Muggle kids, and we just couldn't stop playing that game afterwards."
Fleur gave her own smirk and said, "Want to play it again, for old times sake?"
"You bet," Marcus said with a smile. "Ladies first."
"Favorite color?"
"Black," Marcus replied. "Favorite season?"
"Spring, of course," stated Fluer with a smile.
For the next fifteen minutes, they kept shooting questions at each other, each question giving Marcus more and more nostalgic of his time in Paris.
"Ah, I've got a good question here," said Marcus. "Who's your role model?"
"Ah, of course, it must be none other than the Musketeer Maiden," replied Fleur with admiration.
"The Musketeer Maiden," Marcus repeated, thinking about it. "Ah, isn't that the person who's the French Ministress of Magic's sole bodyguard?"
"Oh, Mar-kees, she is much more than a simple bodyguard to Her Excellancy," Fleur implored. "She is the youngest lady to have ever earned the privelage of assuming the role at age seventeen! She is also an excellent witch with an amazing arsenal of magic knowledge at her disposal and has even mastered the art of the rapier, hence her title. She's only one of two known people in the world to have earned the title of -"
"Battleknight," said Marcus, remembering who she was now and was impressed.
"Oh, you're familiar with the title?" asked Fleur.
"Of course," Marcus responded. "In the days of Merlin, all warriors from every walk of life aspired to earn the right to bear the title of Battleknight. Every warrior who was ever managed to earn the title went on to accomplish legendary feats. Siegfried, Xiang Yu, Melankomas, the list going on and on. Of course, my role model is the other person of two who has earned that title in recent history."
"You mean to say that - ?!"
"Yes," said Marcus with admiration. "My role model is the Powerhouse Paladin."
"Isn't he just a wandering swordsman?" Fleur asked.
"He's more than a wandering swordsman!" Marcus adamantly stated. "He's beaten hordes of dangerous monsters, saved countless towns and villages, stopped an avalanche, and even held up an entire mountain during one of his fights, all without breaking a sweat! Well, he does work as a sort of mercenary, but people in the U.S. really look up to him and his work is heard all around the Wizarding World. The American Ministry of Magic's requested him for crazily huge tasks that no else can do numerous times! It's my dream to face him head on and come out victorious," Marcus added with a bit of wonder and awe in his voice.
"Who do you think would emerge victorious if they were to face one another?" Fleur asked.
"Good question," Marcus stated, having to think about it. "I don't really know. It's odd that they've never encountered the other, but there might be a reason for that. Oh, right, my turn to ask a question! What's your most ideal feature from a potential significant other?"
"Why, Mar-kees, that question is easy," Fleur said with a sly smirk, "A kind and courageous heart underneath a stubborn exterior."
Marcus felt a slight blush creeping on his face as he said, "All right, I've asked my last question, Fleur. Now it's time for your last question."
Fluer put her left index finger to her left temple, looking as if she was deep in thought. Suddenly, she put her left hand over Marcus' right ear and whispered, "Are you ready for our promeese?"
Upon hearing this question, Marcus suddenly felt his face getting full-on flushed and looked Fleur in the eyes, who looked as if she wasn't joking around.
"I - I don't have an answer for that yet, Fleur," said Marcus, who was still feeling quite flushed.
"That's okay," said Fluer, who was still slyly smirking. "I just thought I'd say that I'm ready when you are."
With that, Fleur blew a kiss his way before standing up and leaving the area, leaving Marcus more confused than when Fleur had initally arrived.
The start of December brought wind and sleet to Hogwarts. Drafty though the castle always was in winter, Marcus counted his blessings whenever he saw the Durmstrang ship on the lake, reminding him of Hogwart's fires and thick walls. The ship in question was pitching in the high winds, its black sails billowing against the dark skies. Marcus also thought that the Beauxbatons caravan was not much better off. Hagrid, much to Marcus' dismay, was keeping Madame Maxime's horses well provided with their preferred drink of single-malt whiskey. Consequently, the fumes wafting from the trough in the corner of their paddock was enough to make the entire Care of Magical Creatures class light-headed, Marcus especially. Not only was this unhelpful to him, as his heightened senses made the effects much worse, but the rest of the class were still tending the horrible skrewts and needed their wits about them.
"I'm not sure whether they hibernate or not," Hagrid told the shivering class in the windy pumpkin patch next lesson. "Thought we'd jus' try an' see if they fancied a kip... we'll jus' settle 'em down in these boxes..."
There were now only ten skrewts left; apparently their desire to kill one another had not been exercised out of them. Each of them were now approaching six feet in length. Their thick gray armor; their powerful, scuttling legs; their fire-blasting ends; their stings and their suckers, combined to make the skrewts the most repulsive things Marcus had ever seen. The class looked dispiritedly at the enormous boxes Hagrid had brought out, all lined with pillows and fluffy blankets.
"We'll jus' lead 'em in here," Hagrid said, "an' put the lids on, and we'll see what happens."
But the skrewts, as it so happened, did not hibernate, and did not appreciate being forced into pillow-lined boxes and nailed in. Hagrid was soon yelling, "Don' panic, now, don' panic!" while the skrewts rampaged around the pumpkin patch, now strewn with the smoldering wreckage of the boxes. Most of the class - Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle in the lead - had fled into Hagrid's cabin through the back door and barricaded themselves in; Marcus, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, were among those who remained outside trying to help Hagrid. Together they managed to restrain and tie up nine of the skrewts, though it took Marcus utilizing everything he acquired in his training to avoid the numerous cuts and burns that plagued his friends. Finally, only one skrewt remained loose.
"Don' frighten him, now!" Hagrid shouted as Ron and Harry used their wands to shoot jets of fiery sparks at the skrewt while the skrewt was menacingly advancing on Marcus, its sting arched, quivering, over its back. "Jus' try an' slip the rope 'round his sting, so he won' hurt any o' the others!"
"Yeah, we wouldn't want that!" Ron shouted angrily as he and Harry were suddenly backed into the wall of Hagrid's cabin after the skrewt suddenly decided to go after the two of them.
Marcus, who noticed in time, said, "All right, enough of this!" Out of nowhere, Marcus crossed what distance was between him and the skrewt, grabbed one of its legs and, before the skrewt could do anything, lifted the skrewt in the air and slammed it onto the ground that dazed the creature.
Before the skrewt could do anything else, Hagrid launched forward on top of the skrewt and flattened it; a blast of fire shot out of its end, withering the pumpkin plants nearby.
Marcus, feeling quite irate, said, "Yeah, let's never get these skrewts out ever again."
"Well, well, well... that certainly looked fun."
Marcus turned his head to the source of the voice to find Rita Skeeter leaning on Hagrid's fence, looking at them. She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm.
"You know what? I change my mind," said Marcus loudly enough so that Skeeter could hear him. "Can we get the skrewts back out? I'd much rather deal with them."
Harry and Ron started to snicker while Rita Skeeter gave Marcus a brief, but cross, look at him.
"Who're you?" Hagrid asked Rita Skeeter as he slipped a loop of rope around the skrewt's sting and tightened it.
"Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter," Rita replied, suddenly beaming at Hagrid. Her gold teeth glinted.
"Of the gossip column," mumbled Marcus.
This remark earned a cold glare from Skeeter, which looked awfully scary considering she was still smiling.
"Thought Dumbledore said you weren' allowed inside the school anymore," said Hagrid, frowning slightly as he got off the slightly squashed skrewt and started tugging it over to its fellows.
Rita acted as though she hadn't heard what Hagrid had said.
"What are these fascinating creatures called?" she asked, beaming still more widely.
"Blast-Ended Skrewts," grunted Hagrid.
"Really?" said Rita, apparently full of lively interest. "I've never heard of them before...where do they come from?"
Marcus was about to say something when Hagrid's hairy face sported a dull red flush and his heart dropped a bit. Where had Hagrid got the skrewts from?
Hermione, who seemed to be thinking along those lines, said quickly, "They're very interesting, aren't they? Aren't they, Marcus and Harry?"
"What?" they said at the same time.
"Oh, yeah. Yes, interesting," said Marcus.
"Yeah...ouch...interesting," said Harry as Hermione stepped on his foot.
"Ah, you're here, boys!" said Rita Skeeter as she looked around, which made Marcus roll his eyes. "So you two like Care of Magical Creatures, do you? One of your favorite lessons?"
"Yes," said the two boys stoutly. Hagrid beamed at them.
"Lovely," said Rita. "Really lovely. Been teaching long?" she added to Hagrid.
"This is o'ny me second year," said Hagrid.
"Lovely...I don't suppose you'd like to give an interview, would you? Share some of your experience of magical creatures? The Prophet does a zoological column every Wednesday, as I'm sure you know. We could feature these - er - Bang-Ended Scoots."
"Blast-Ended Skrewts," Hagrid said eagerly. "Er - yeah, why not?"
Marcus had a very bad feeling about this setup, but as there wasn't a way to tell Hagrid without Rita Skeeter knowing about it, so he had to stand and watch in silence as Hagrid and the horrid reporter making arrangements to meet in the Three Broomsticks for a good long interview later that week. Then the bell rang up at the castle, signaling the end of the lesson.
"Well, good-bye, Marcus, Harry!" Rita Skeeter called merrily to them as they set off with Ron and Hermione. "Until Friday night, then, Hagrid!"
"She'll twist everything he says," Harry said under her breath.
"Of course she will, that's what she enjoys doing," said Marcus with gritted teeth.
"Just as long as he didn't import those skrewts illegally or anything," said Hermione desperately. They looked at one another - it was exactly the sort of thing Hagrid might do.
"Hagrid's been in loads of trouble before, and Dumbledore's never sacked him," said Ron consolingly. "Worst that can happen is Hagrid'll have to get rid of the skrewts. Sorry...did I say worst? I meant best."
Marcus, Harry, and Hermione laughed and, feeling slightly more cheerful, went off to lunch.
Marcus was far more tolerant of double Divinations that afternoon than he had been in weeks, despite continuing to do star charts and predictions, due to him and Harry having patched things up with Ron, making the whole thing seemed rather funny again. Professor Trelawney, who had been so pleased with Harry and Ron's horrific death predicitions, quickly became irritated as they sniggered through her explanation of the various ways in which Pluto could disrupt everyday life, leaving Marcus with his usual half-smirk of enjoyment on his face.
"I would think," she said, in a mystical whisper that did not conceal her obvious annoyance,"that some of us" - she stared very meaningfully at Harry - "might be a little less frivolous had they seen what I seen during my crystal gazing last night. As I sat here, absorbed in my needlework, the urge to consult the orb overpowered me, I arose, I settled myself before it, and I gazed into its crystalline depths...and what do you think I saw gazing back at me?"
"An ugly old bat in outsize specs?" Ron muttered under his breath.
Marcus and Harry fought hard to keep their faces straight.
"Death, my dears."
Parvati and Lavender both put their hands over their mouths, looking horrified.
"Yes," said Professor Trelawney, nodding impressively, "it comes, ever closer, it circles overhead like a vulture, every lower...ever lower over the castle..."
She stared pointedly at Harry, who yawned very widely and obviously.
"It'd be a bit more impressive if she hadn't done it about eighty times before," Harry said as they finally regained the fresh air of the staircase beneath Professor Trelawney's room. "But if I'd dropped dead every time she's told me I'm going to, I'd be a medical miracle."
"You'd be a sort of extra-concentrated ghost," said Ron, chortling, as they passed the Bloody Baron going in the opposite direction, his wide eyes staring sinisterly.
"Well, at least we didn't get homework," said Marcus. "One less thing we'll have to do tonight."
"I hope Hermione got loads off Professor Vector," said Ron with a grin on his face. "I love not working when she is..."
However, Hermione wasn't to be seen at dinner, nor was she in the library when they went to look for her afterward. To Marcus' dismay, the only person in there was Viktor Krum. Ron proceeded to hover behind the bookshelves for a while, watching Krum, debating in whispers with Marcus and Harry whether he should ask for an autograph - but then Ron realized that six or seven girls were lurking in the next row of books, debating exactly the same thing, and he lost his enthusiasm for the idea.
"Wonder where she's got to?" Ron said as he, Marcus, and Harry went back to Gryffindor Tower.
"Dunno," said Harry. "Balderdash."
But the Fat Lady had barely begun to swing forward when the sound of racing feet behind them accounced Hermione's arrival.
"Harry!" she panted, skidding to a halt beside him (the Fat Lady stared down at her, eyebrows raised). "Harry, you've got to come - you've got to come, the most amazing thing's happened - please -"
She seized Harry's arm and started to try to drag him back along the corridor.
"Wait, Hermione, what are you doing?" asked a confused Marcus.
"I'll explain when we get there - oh come on, quick -"
Harry looked around to Marcus and Ron; they looked back at Harry, rather intrigued.
"Okay," Harry said, starting off back down the corridor with Hermione, Marcus and Ron trying to keep up with them.
"Oh don't mind me!" the Fat Lady called irritably after them. "Don't apologize for bothering me! I'll just hang here, wide open, until you get back, shall I?"
"Yeah, thanks!" Ron shouted over his shoulder.
"Hermione, where are we going?" Harry asked, after she had led them down through six floors, and started down the marble staircase into the entrance hall.
"You'll see, you'll see in a minute!" said Hermione excitedly.
She turned left at the bottom of the staircase and hurried toward the door through which him and Harry went through the night the Goblet of Fire regurgitated their names. Marcus started to get a bad feeling about what they were doing as they followed Hermione down a flight of stone steps, but instead of ending up in a gloomy underground passage like the one that led to Snape's dungeon, they found themselves in a broad stone corridor, brightly lit with torches, and decorated with cheerful paintings that were mainly of food.
"Oh hang on..." said Harry slowly, halfway down the corridor. "Wait a minute, Hermione..."
"What?" She turned around to look at him, anticipation all over her face.
"I know what this is about," said Harry.
He nudged Ron and Marcus, showing them the painting just behind Hermione. It showed a gigantic silver fruit bowl.
"Hermione!" said Ron, cottoning on. "You're trying to rope us into that spew stuff again!"
"No, no, I'm not!" she said hastily. "And it's not spew, Ron -"
"Changed the name, have you?" said Ron, frowning at her. "What are we now, then, the House-Elf Liberation Front? I'm not barging into that kitchen and trying to make them stop work, I'm not doing it -"
"I'm not asking you to!" Hermione said impatiently. "I came down here just now, to talk to them all, and I found - oh come on, Harry, I want to show you!"
Marcus watched as she seized Harry's arm again, pulling him in front of the picture of the giant fruit bowl, stretched out her forefinger, and tickled the huge green pear. It began to squirm, chuckling, and suddenly turned into a large green door handle. Hermione seized it, pulled the door open, and pushed Harry hard in the back, forcing him inside.
Marcus followed inside the place that he was all too familiar with. From the high-ceilinged room with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls to the great brick fireplace at the other end, Marcus had been in the kitchens countless times to check up on Blinky and ensure that the working house-elves gave him the proper meal intake he needed to maximize his training which, on the advice left by his Aunt Em, increased five fold.
However, what truly caught him off guard was something small hurtling toward Harry from the middle of the room, squealing, "Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter!"
Before Marcus could tell who it was, the small figure ran right into Harry and tightly hugged him so hard that it no doubt knocked the wind out of Harry.
"D-Dobby?" Harry gasped.
"It is Dobby, sir, it is!" squealed the voice from somewhere around Harry's naval. "Dobby has been hoping and hoping to see Harry Potter, sir, and Harry Potter has come to see him, sir!"
Marcus felt a slight chill creep up his back at realizing that the house elf who bombarded Harry was none other than Dobby. The last time he encountered Dobby, the house elf was trying to save Harry's life from the Heir of Slytherin by committing acts that, if succeeded, would no doubt have killed his bespectacled friend.
His enormous, green, tennis-ball-shaped eyes, which was brimming with tears of happiness, looked at Marcus and he squealed, "Marcus Williams, sir! Dobby is so pleased to hear that Marcus Williams has been doing well since our last encounter, so very pleased indeed!"
"Uh-oh, this isn't good," thought Marcus as he with forced cheerfulness, "Yes, Dobby, it's good to see you as well."
Marcus then noticed something small, yet extremely different about Dobby. His features were all the same, from the pencil-shaped nose and the batlike ears to the house-elf's long fingers and feet. The thing that was different about Dobby was his choice of attire.
When Dobby had worked for the Malfoys, he had always worn the same filthy old pillowcase. Now, however, he was wearing the strangest assortment of garments Marcus had ever seen; he had done an even worse job of dressing himself than the wizards at the World Cup, and that was saying something. He was wearing a tea cozy for a hat, on which he had pinned a number of bright badges; a tie patterened with horseshoes over a bare chest, a pair of what looked like children's soccer shorts, and odd socks. One of these, Marcus noticed, was the black one Harry told him about, the same one Harry removed from his own foot and tricked Mr. Malfoy into giving Dobby, thereby setting Dobby free. The other was covered in pink and orange stripes.
"Dobby, what're you doing here?" Harry said in amazement.
"Dobby has come to work at Hogwarts, sir!" Dobby squealed excitedly. "Professor Dumbledore gave Dobby and Winky jobs, sir!"
"Winky?" asked Marcus, rather surprised. "She's here too?"
"Yes, sir, yes!" said Dobby, and he seized Harry and Marcus' hands and pulled them off into the kitchen between the four long wooden tables that stood there. Each of these tables was positioned exactly beneath the four House tables above in the Great Hall. At the moment, they were clear of food, dinner having finished, but Marcus knew that, not one hour ago, the tables were laden with dishes that were then sent up through the ceiling to their counterparts above.
At least a hundred little elves were standing around the kitchen, beaming, bowing, and curtsying as Dobby led Marcus and Harry past them. Marcus knew that Blinky was in the kitchens somewhere, and the last thing he wanted to have happened is have Ron and Hermione find out that he had a house-elf.
Finally, Dobby stopped in front of the brick fireplace and pointed.
"Winky, sirs!" he said.
Winky was sitting on a stool by the fire. Unlike Dobby, who looked nothing short of a wardrobe disaster, she had obviously not foraged for clothes. She was wearing a neat little skirt and blouse with a matching blue hat, which had holes in it for her large ears. However, while every one of Dobby's strange collection of garments was so clean and well cared for that it looked brand-new, Winky was plainly not taking care of her clothes at all. There were soup stains all down her blouse and a burn in her skirt.
"Hello, Winky," said Harry.
Winky's lip quivered. Then she burst into tears, which spilled out of her great brown eyes and splashed down her front, just as they had done at the Quidditch World Cup.
"Oh dear," said Hermione. She and Ron had followed Marcus, Harry, and Dobby to the end of the kitchen. "Winky, don't cry, please don't..."
But Winky cried harder than ever. Dobby, on the other hand, beamed up at Harry.
"Would Harry Potter and Marcus Williams like a cup of tea?" he squeaked loudly, over Winky's sobs.
"Er - yeah, okay," said Harry.
"I guess it can't hurt," said Marcus.
Instantly, about six house-elves came trotting up behind them, bearing a large silver tray laden with a teapot, cups for the four of them, a milk jub, and a large plate of biscuits.
Marcus saw, to his utter horror, that the house-elf carrying the large silver tray was his own house-elf, Blinky. Hoping that Blinky could read his thoughts, he thought, "Blinky, after you're done with the tea, go do something else away from the kitchens until my friends and I have left. Consider this an order."
Unbeknownst to everyone, Blinky made a slight nod, leaving Marcus relieved.
"Good service!" Ron said, in an impressed voice. Hermione frowned at him, but the elves all looked delighted; they bowed very low and retreated, Blinky leaving the kitchens altogether.
"How long have you been here, Dobby?" Harry asked as Dobby handed around the tea.
"Only a week, Harry Potter, sir!" said Dobby happily. "Dobby came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir. You see, sir, it is very difficult for a house-elf who has been dismissed to get a new position, sir, very difficult -"
At this, Winky howled even harder, her squashed tomato of a nose dribbling all down her front, thought she made no effort to stem the flow.
"Dobby has traveled has traveled the country for two whole years, sir, trying to find work!" Dobby squealed. "Dobby thought to ask Blinky for advice as Blinky found success in finding his master!"
"What do you mean, Dobby?" asked Hermione.
Marcus looked at Dobby with a death stare worthy of Professor McGonagall, but Dobby didn't see him, due to him looking at Hermione.
"Well, after Dobby heard that Blinky found -" Dobby started to say.
At that moment, Marcus bent down to Dobby's level and whispered in his ear so that no one else could hear, "If you tell them that I'm Blinky's master, I will personally get you banished from Hogwarts and to a place where the only time you'll see Harry is in your head. Make something else up now."
As Marcus stood himself upright, Dobby gave a sort of inaudible tremor before saying, "-found what Blinky was looking for, Dobby decided to try Blinky's strategy. But Dobby hasn't found work, Harry Potter, because Dobby wants paying now!"
The house-elves all around the kitchen, who had been listening and watching with interest, all looked away at these words, as though Dobby had said something rude and embarrassing. Hermione, however, said,"Good for you, Dobby!"
"Thank you, miss!" said Dobby, grinning toothily at her. "But most wizards doesn't want a house-elf who wants paying, miss. 'That's not the point of a house-elf,' they says, and they slammed the door in Dobby's face! Dobby likes work, but he wants to wear clothes and he wants to be paid, Harry Potter...Dobby likes being free!"
The Hogwarts house-elves had now stared edging away from Dobby, as though he were carrying something contagious. Winky, however, remained where she was, though there was a definite increase of her crying.
"And then, Harry Potter,Dobby goes to visit Winky and finds out Winky has been freed too, sir!" said Dobby delightedly.
At this, Winky flung herself foward off her stool and lay face-down on the flagged stone floor, beating her tiny fists upon it and positively screaming with misery. Hermione hastily dropped down to her knees beside her and tried to comfort her, but nothing she said made the slightest difference. Dobby continued with his story, shouting shrilly over Winky's screeches.
"And then Dobby had the idea, Harry Potter, sir! 'Why doesn't Dobby and Winky find work together?' Dobby says. 'Where is there enough work for two house-elves?' says Winky. And Dobby thinks, and it comes to him, sir! Hogwarts! So Dobby and Winky came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir, and Professor Dumbledore took us on!"
Dobby beamed very brightly, and happy tears welled in his eyes again.
"And Professor Dumbledore says he will pay Dobby, sir, if Dobby wants paying! And so Dobby is a free elf, sir, and Dobby gets a Galleon a week and one day off a month!"
"That's not very much!" Hermione shouted indignantly from the floor, over Winky's continued screaming and fist-beating.
"Professor Dumbledore offered Dobby ten Galleons a week, and weekends off," said Dobby, suddenly giving a little shiver, as though the prospect of so much leisure and riches were frightening, "but Dobby beat him down, miss...Dobby likes freedom, miss, but he isn't wanting too much, miss, he likes work better."
"And how much is Professor Dumbledore paying you, Winky?" Hermione asked kindly.
If she had thought this would cheer up Winky, she was wildly mistaken. Winky did stop crying, but when she sat up she was glaring at Hermione through her massive brown eyes, her whole face sopping wet and suddenly furious.
"Winky is a disgraced elf, but Winky is not yet getting paid!" she squeaked. "Winky is not sunk so low as that! Winky is properly ashamed of being freed!"
"Ashamed?" said Hermione blankly. "But - Winky, come on! It's Mr. Crouch who should be ashamed, not you! You didn't do anything wrong, he was really horrible to you -"
But at these words, Winky clapped her hands over the holes in her hat, flattening her ears so that she couldn't hear a word, and screeched, "You is not insulting my master, miss! You is not insulting Mr. Crouch! Mr. Crouch is a good wizard, miss! Mr. Crouch is right to sack bad Winky!"
"Winky is having trouble adjusting, Harry Potter," Marcus heard Dobby sqeaking confidentially. "Winky forgets she is not bound to Mr. Crouch anymore; she is allowed to speak her mind now, but she won't do it."
"Can't house-elves speak their minds about their masters, then?" Harry asked.
"Oh no, sir, no," said Dobby, looking suddenly serious. "'Tis part of the house-elf's enslavement, sir. We keeps their secrets and our silence, sir. We upholds the family's honor, and we never speaks ill of them - though Professor Dumbledore told Dobby he does not insist upon this. Professor Dumbledore said we is free to - to -"
Dobby looked suddenly nervous and beckoned Marcus and Harry closer. The two of them bent forwward, with Dobby whispering, "He said we is free to call him a - a barmy old codger if we likes, sir!"
Dobby gave a frightened sort of giggle.
"But Dobby is not wanting to, Harry Potter," he saaid, talking normally again, and shaking his head so that his ears flapped. "Dobby likes Professor Dumbledore very much, sir, and is proud to keep his secrets and our silence for him."
"But you can say what you like about the Malfoys now?" Harry asked him, grinning.
Marcus, who was slightly amused before, was now quite interested in what Dobby was going to do next.
A slightly fearful look came into Dobby's immense eyes.
"Dobby - Dobby could," he said doubtfully. He squared his small shoulders. "Dobby could tell Harry Potter that his old masters were - were - bad Dark wizards!"
Although not surprised, Marcus watched as Dobby stood for a moment, quivering all over, horror-struck by his own daring. Then, he rushed over to the nearest table and began banging his head on it very hard, squealing, "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"
Marcus facepalmed himself, grateful that Blinky doesn't punish himself like Dobby does, while Harry seized Dobby by the back of his tie and pullled him away from the table.
"Thank you, Harry Potter, thank you," said Dobby breathlessly, rubbing his head.
"You just need a bit of practice," Harry said.
"A bit?" said Marcus, being quite sarcastic.
As Harry shot Marcus a dirty look, Winky squeaked furiously, "Practice! You is ought to be ashamed of yourself, Dobby, talking that way about your masters!"
"They isn't my masters anymore, Winky!" said Dobby defiantly. "Dobby doesn't care what they think anymore!"
"Oh you is a bad elf, Dobby!" moaned Winky, tears leaking down her face once more. "My poor Mr. Crouch, what is he doing without Winky? He is needing me, he is needing my help! Iis looking after the Crouches all my life, and my mother is doing it before me, and my grandmother is doing it before her...oh what is they saying if they knew Winky was freed? Oh the shame, the shame!" She buried her face in her skirt again and bawled.
"Winky," said Hermione firmly, "I'm quite sure Mr. Crouch is getting along perfectly well without you. We've seen him, you know -"
"You is seeing my master?" said Winky breathlessly, raising her tearstained face out of her skirt once more and goggling at Hermione. "You is seeing him here at Hogwarts?"
"Yes," said Hermione," he and Mr. Bagman are judges in the Triwizard Tournament."
"Mr. Bagman comes too?" squeaked Winky, and to Marcus' surprise (and Harry's and Ron's and Hermione's too, based on the looks on their faces), she looked angry again. "Mr. Bagman is a bad wizard! A very bad wizard! My master isn't liking him, oh no, not at all!"
"Bagman - bad?" Marcus asked.
"Oh yes," Winky said, nodding her head furiously. "My master is telling Winky some things! But, Winky is not saying...Winky - Winky keeps her masters' secrets..."
She dissolved yet again in tears; they could hear her sobinng into her skirt, "Poor master, poor master, no Winky to help him no more!"
They couldn't get another sensible word out of Winky. They left her to her crying and finished their tea, while Dobby chatted happily about his life as a free elf and his plans for his wages.
"Dobby is going to buy a sweater next, Harry Potter!" he said happily, pointing at his bare chest.
"Tell you what, Dobby," said Ron, who seemed to have taken a great liking to the elf, "I'll give you the one my mum knits me this Christmas, I always get one from her. You don't mind maroon, do you?"
Doby was delighted.
"We might have to shrink it a bit to fit you," Ron told him, "but it'll go well with you tea cozy."
As they prepared to take their leave, many of the surrounding elves pressed in upon them, offering snacks to take back upstairs. Hermione refused, with a pained look at the way the elves kept bowing and curtsying, but Harry and Ron loaded their pockets with cream cakes and pies. Marcus refused the desserts, but he did take some cooked meats and diced seasoned potatoes that was in his modified diet.
"Thanks a lot!" Harry said to the elves, who had all clustered around the door to say good night. "See you, Dobby!"
"Harry Potter...can Dobby come and see you sometimes, sir?" Dobby asked tentatively.
"Course you can," said Harry, and Dobby beamed.
"You know what?" said Ron, once he, Hermione, Harry, and Marcus had left the kitchens behind and were climbing the steps into the entrance hall again. "All these years I've been really impressed with Fred and George, nicking food from the kitchens - well, it's not exactly difficult, is it? They can't wait to give it away!"
"I think this is the best thing that could have happened to those elves, you know," said Hermione, leading the way back up the marble staircase. "Dobby coming to work here, I mean. The other elves will see how happy he is, being free, and slowly it'll dawn on them that they want that too!"
"Let's hope they don't look too closely at Winky," said Marcus.
"Oh, she'll cheer up," said Hermione, though she sounded quite skeptical. "Once the shock's worn off, and she's got used to Hogwarts, she'll see how much better off she is without that Crouch man."
"I don't think Winky's ever going to feel that way," Harry stated.
"She does seem to love him," Ron agreed thickly (he had just started on a cream cake).
"Doesn't think much of Bagman, though, does she?" said Harry. "Wonder what Crouch says at home about him?"
"Probably says he's not a very good Head of Department," said Hermione, "and let's face it...he's got a point, hasn't he?"
"I'd still work for him than old Crouch," said Ron. "At least Bagman's got a sense of humor."
"Don't let Percy hear you saying that," Hermione said, smiling slightly.
"Yeah, well, Percy wouldn't want to work for anyone with a sense of humor, would he?" said Ron, now starting on a chocolate eclair. "Percy wouldn't recognize a joke if it danced in front of him wearing Dobby's tea cozy."
And this concludes this chapter of HP: The Path of Trials! Like I mentioned in the beginning, my goal is to post the remaining chapters of this story before I go overseas, so you will get that much at the very least. I know I will finish this series, but I'm not sure of the timeframe in which that will be completed. It will be finished, that much I promise. Anyway, if you wanted to leave a review, please feel free to do so. Anything that can help me improve as a writer would be greatly appreciated. Also, if you wanted to ask me a question, please feel free to leave me a PM and, I promise, I will answer them to the best of my ability. Until then, please keep your eyes peeled for the next chapter of HP: The Path of Trials!
