January faded unpleasantly into February, the weather becoming no warmer, no nicer and bringing just as much snow and hail as no one liked to talk about. Even the weather was having a bad year, Harry thought irritably. The Quidditch field resembled a large, fluffy white blanket and the lake, a giant ice cube.
Further disturbing the atmosphere around Harry was Ron. He was almost more concerned over him than the Explicatrix (the key word here being almost), feeling slightly warmer (though very slight) after Mrs. Weasley's haunting letter concerning their finances. A highly unwelcome side-effect of Ron's continued, never-ceasing moping was Hermione's almost complete absence from Harry's life. And he continued to dread his N.E.W.T.s.
He had only one explanation for this and that was that she was distancing herself from him to make Ron happy. Harry didn't know if it was working nor, frankly, did he care. Who was Hermione to stop talking to him just to please Ron? he thought angrily, sitting in the common room, poring over his Potions notes and doing Professor Figg's homework poorly. After taking a minute to think how dumb this sounded, his finger on his chin, Harry stopped thinking about it. Upon reflection, Ron needed it more than him, he reasoned, and if it meant that she, well, it had to be done... Hermione didn't seem to care; she didn't seem to want to discuss the matter and Harry something like agreed with this unspoken understanding. So now he was alone. Again. Just like he'd been two years ago when he had the...
Michelle had been given the password to Gryffindor Tower though Harry wished this wasn't so. She immediately started consorting with Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown and the three of them took it upon themselves to ask Harry at least three times a day how he was feeling and --
"Hey, Harry, are you okay?" Padma asked him for the fifth time that day. She'd been sitting across from him. It was lunch and Harry had taken to not eating in there -- again.
"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth, not looking up at her, his finger still on his chin and wondering why he kept telling them this. He put the hand back on his homework and made like he was really working on it, a strong urge to put his hand on the Order of Merlin plaque dangling from his neck instead but defiantly resisted it, as though this was a weakness.
There was only one explanation he had as to why they accepted angrier and angrier replies: they were simply too scared to ask him to elaborate. Of course, there was only one person in his life that he would currently elaborate to, he thought to himself, staring intently at his homework but not really interested in it at all. Harry then looked up from his homework to the fireplace. Padma saw this and was now looking like she always did when she was asking that question with her face rather than her mouth. Harry ignored it.
Yet Harry still hadn't read Cho's letter and he supposed he ought to; he didn't want her worrying about him because Michelle, Parvati and Lavender were presently bad enough. He sprang up from his seat, Padma now looking real worried, kicking Raides on accident in the face ("Ouch," she said lazily, more busy in swatting a fly with her tail), when he realized that not answering her letter was probably causing more worry on her part.
"What's up?" Parvati inquired of Harry nervously with a half-hearted smile, like everyone had been giving him these days...
"Nothing," replied Harry, calm again and stuffing his things in his bookbag. "See you in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
With that, he quickly headed straight for Cho's letter in his trunk and hid it inside his cloak. He then quickly darted back down to the common room, to head straight for the Owlery. Padma hadn't moved an inch and her head swiveled, staring at him, still with that anxious smile.
That owl bugging Hedwig before the trip was now far removed from her and she was better for it. Hedwig kept giving him cold looks as well as her tail. This might have brought a smile to Harry's face except he was too interested in Cho at the moment.
Just like last time he was in here, he tried to move some owl droppings with a wave of his hand. After a few tries, achieving nothing but aggrivation, he was disgusted when Raides solved the problem by clearing a spot with her tongue.
"What?" she said as if she had done nothing odd, now drying it with her tail.
Harry shook his head grievously and sat down, pulling out Cho's letter from inside his cloak.
Dear Harry,
It must be really boring staying at Hogwarts! I sort of have to agree with Mr. Fudge, though. I mean, he's got a point, doesn't he? I hate to say it but so many parents probably would have been outraged if they let you go. Come on, Harry. The only people you've got on your side these days are the Gryffindors and me...
"But I didn't do anything!" shouted Harry incredulously. It almost sounded like she didn't believe him the full one hundred percent but that was ridiculous, she loved him.
All for the better. You get to finish that stupid study paper in the Dark arts -- how's that going, anyway? -- and you can spend more time looking up the Explicatrix.
I also hate to say I don't have all good news in this letter. If you're not sitting down, take a seat and calm yourself because this is bad. It's about Sirius.
Harry's heart immediately started beating several times faster. He'd almost lost Sirius before and he wasn't about to have that again. Also immediately, he recalled an owl he was supposed to get from Sirius. What with Ron and everything, he'd forgotten to care about how he never got it...
That owl you were supposed to get? It was intercepted by Death Eaters. We know that because Sirius and Remus got the owl back with the Dark Mark burned into its feathers and a letter with a threat written on it. I didn't include that letter here for obvious reasons.
Harry fully agreed with this; he didn't think his ribs would be able to take his current pulse let alone having it accelerated more. All he needed to know was that Sirius' life was in danger -- as well as Remus' but let's be frank here, he simply didn't care about him nearly as much as Sirius -- and the words that did it weren't all that important.
They've since moved somewhere else and aren't telling anyone. I don't know if they're still going to show up for the second task. Dumbledore insists -- and I'm sure you agree -- that Hogwarts is still the safest place to be so I wouldn't be surprised if they do turn up. I'm definitely going to be there. Can't wait to see what you do with your Tri-wizard clue!
Harry's heart plummeted another few thousand feet at this. If he didn't find anything soon, he'd have to force Hermione to speak to him about it. Surely someone would be able to pull a miracle answer out of nowhere?
I know you're not okay but you will be once this year blows over.
Love,
Cho
She had put it like that once before and Harry didn't like it this time either.
A couple of things were floating around in Harry's head, the first of which was to send Hedwig to Cho with a letter. Another of them was the face-reddening knowledge that she was probably mistaking his lack of a reply -- or at least right away, she probably still suspected he would eventually -- for dead worry. Or would she? Either way, he had to simply tell her that he hadn't even read it until today -- over dead worry concerning Ron's family. On second thought, he told himself, maybe he'd leave that part out or maybe just make it sound like he had forgotten about Hedwig delivering it... Yeah, that would work.
Lastly, Harry wasn't quite sure if he should spill all of the beans on his dead worry over Sirius. And then he told himself that he needed to stop putting "dead" before "worry." That aside, after all, he didn't want to sound as though he was too worried. "Worry" is quite a large part of my vocabulary lately, isn't it? he thought to himself irritably. Upon hearing this, Cho would worry over Harry more, he knew, and again, Michelle, Parvati and Lavender were bad enough.
Suddenly, out of memory so distant it seemed like a past life -- but it was just last year -- he remembered something. For a while, he resigned to tell anyone everything and anything. This was what had gotten him Cho, though admittedly out of lots of grief on both of their parts and, in the end, her thinking him to be so honest and... cute...
But this newfangled resolution hadn't helped him much. What good would telling Hermione all about Sirius do? What good would telling her all about that sickening feeling that swirled unpleasantly in his stomach that he would have to forfeit the second task? She already knew about the Explicatrix, he knew, and she probably guessed -- or rather, hoped -- that Harry would find something. And telling her about Sirius would probably just drive her farther away because, on his best guess, she'd see it as a call for attention. Quite the opposite, he wanted less. And he couldn't have that. And so there he was staring at a goopy piece of owl poopie, feeling worse and worse as it slid down the wall the owl had aimed at.
He shook his head to get that grotesque picture out of it, his hand sliding without him noticing to the plaque and mindlessly clutching it though it continued to do nothing. When he realized where his hand had gone, he quickly let go of it as if it were really hot and looked all around himself to, quite simply, remember where he was. Harry looked at his watch. It had been ten minutes that he'd just been sitting there mulling over things. If he was going to send Cho an owl, he needed something to write on and something to write with. With that in mind, he collected Hedwig from a group of screech and tawny owls and set off towards his four-poster to grab his pen and some parchment.
Parvati had gone somewhere and so instead of sitting up in his dormitory to write the letter, he did it in the common room, Hedwig happily sitting on his shoulder, content with preening her feathers. She fluttered down to sit by the fire when, after leaning forward the entire time to write the letter, Harry finally sat back, slouching deeply, to read it back to himself. There was no avoiding it, though; he'd have to tell her about Ron. But he threw in some good bits about classes to make up for all the bad stuff.
Dear Cho,
Sorry for not writing back right away, I didn't read it until tonight. The day it came, I meant to read it later that night because I wanted to finish a part of that stupid term-long paper. When everyone got back from the trip, they were all talking about it and then classes started again and it slipped my mind.
As for Sirius, I'm concerned but I'm not losing my mind. They moved, didn't they? If it makes you feel any better, I'll become all panicky if their old place turns up destroyed, okay? They only got the owl (poor owl) and how are the Death Eaters going to find where they were staying, anyway?
Harry knew it was an outright lie to say he was "concerned but not losing his mind" but he didn't care much. He also made it sound as though him going on the trip was okay with everyone. Not really interested in reading the rest, he collected Hedwig, put it in an envelope and sent her on her way. Checking his watch, he was late for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry ran full on and caught a little bit of what Professor Delacour was saying before he'd entered the room. She was speaking loudly, as if she was either nervous about the subject matter or really wanted to get her point across.
"But what if you were, Miss Patil? What if you were to? And stayed like that?"
As Harry got very close to the door, he could hear Hermione speaking.
"Well, you'd probably die. I mean, you'd be out. You wouldn't be able to eat or drink. Not to mention if you woke up..."
"Does everyone think Miss Granger has a point?"
"You'd probably have really bad nightmares, too," Harry heard a voice belonging to Ron say. "I'd sure hate to have that happen to me."
Harry rounded on the door and walked in. Professor Delacour went as white as the pages of the book opened up to dementors in front of her; he could see the picture of one. He stopped dead at the sight of her and knew what they'd been talking about now; it was what would happen if someone were to pass out in the presence of a dementor and stay like that for days on end.
She gave him a strangled smile and said, "I -- I've been trying to save this lesson for a time when you weren't going to show up to class."
"I see," said Harry dryly, walking again and taking his seat next to Hermione, away from Ron. "So, are you going to continue to discuss another method in which Professor Trelawney can predict my untimely death?"
"I think we ought to wrap this part of today's lesson up," she said, grabbing her composure and turning to the chapter on grindylows, which they'd already covered four years ago. "If something of this sort should happen to you... you, or... anyone else that... becomes unconscious in the face of dementor," she tried to casually, "a normal sentence in Azkaban when it used to be run by dementors would probably result in death by starvation. So, onto grindylows."
"We already covered those," said Hermione.
Harry learned during dinner that night, in which Hermione seemed to have staged a loud conversation with Ron over dementors, that the dementors had been promptly removed from Azkaban the day at Hogwarts that Voldemort had tried to kill Harry for a second time. At least if he went to Azkaban for all of this, there'd be no dementors to kill him; instead, it would be the thought of being horribly and wrongfully imprisoned that might.
Harry continued sleeping and waking, getting "murderer" whispered in his ear every now and then by a passing Slytherin and waking up Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville with a yelp with the dream he'd been having since the summer. He'd blown up on Malfoy during potions just a week after sending Cho her letter. That same week, Harry made a desperate visit to Hagrid because he just couldn't stand speaking only to Raides and his pillow. He was sure he'd have that dream again, which he mentioned to Hagrid, the eighth day after sending Cho's letter.
"Ah, Harry, all of us have some pretty bad dreams sometimes," Hagrid had said, though he was looking at Harry oddly, as though he'd rather not have heard this news.
Hagrid's response was none too comforting. But to top it all off, the reason he was so sure he'd have it again and again was because of what Hermione shoved under his nose during breakfast. And she still wasn't speaking to him.
HARRY POTTER: MUHAMMAD OR MURDERER?
There have been many dark secrets kept within the walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft, writes Rita Skeeter, special correspondent for the Daily Prophet.
Harry's insides gave a horrible lurch. He was sure nothing Rita had to say would make his situation any better. On the contrary, he was quite sure life would get a lot worse.
Harry Potter, whose story no one need mention anymore, is believed to be responsible for the recent deaths of Dudley Dursley, Lucius Malfoy and, strangely enough, the father of one of his best friends, Arthur Weasley. While it might be easy to see why Potter would want Malfoy dead, let's take a look at the reasoning behind why some minds believe him to have killed Mr. Weasley or his own cousin, seventeen-year-old Dudley Dursley.
It is known that Potter had been denied by Mr. Cornelius Fudge himself to go on the trip sponsored by Hogwarts to New York. His best friend, Ronald Weasley and younger sister, Ginny Weasley, were unable to afford the fourty Galleons required of the two of them to go so they asked Potter if they could borrow. As is known -- widely or not -- there is quite a large fortune within Gringott's belonging to Potter, left to him by his parents. Sixty galleons of this money went towards the trip and the twenty he spent for himself was never refunded by the Ministry. The Dailey Prophet also learned that Potter had loaned the Weasleys some money earlier. The two combined loans, coupled with the fact that he had demanded they pay him back every cent and that he was not able to partake on the trip, many believe Potter simply snapped.
Because of this, Mrs. Molly Weasley, who is sending two of her seven children to Hogwarts, is now in a very tight financial pickle. Potter, as expected, is showing no remorse and we might very well see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hand out Valentines before Potter loans any of his friends, who are rapidly diminishing in number, another Knut.
As is now released, Potter used an outlawed spell, Animus Speculum, to worm his way into Hogwarts' trip to New York.
Harry wasn't sure he could take reading the rest without breaking something, so he didn't try. He tore Rita's article in two and gave one piece to Ron and the other, Hermione. A very white Hermione took the piece from his hand, took the piece from Ron and shoved it in her bag. A very angry Harry collected Raides, let her finish his dinner, which he hadn't eaten much of to begin with, and went off to the library for more useless Explicatrix research. In the common room that night, him, Parvati, Michelle, Ron and Hermione were the only ones left.
It was very late and he wasn't sure but his best guess was that Hermione was only there because she'd been expecting him to burst out with something about Rita's article at any moment. Michelle must have read it, too, because some of her favorite things to stare at for the past hour were Raides, Harry, the fireplace, Harry, the portrait hole, Harry, the ceiling and Harry. Staring at the Explicatrix coldly like it was the bane of his existence for about thirty seconds, Harry finally bursted out with something.
"Hermione, I haven't found a damn thing on this thing yet."
Michelle quickly looked at him and said as if it he'd only looked for one minute, "What? Oh come on! I'll go with you again tomorrow."
She did. They found nothing. Hermione's only advice was that he should simply tell Dumbledore that he can't do the task. While he thought she was right, Harry was having a great internal struggle.
"I think you should go anyway!" said Michelle, with that annoying fake bright smile of hers.
"Oh, yeah, that's what I'll do," said Harry sarcastically. "I'll go anyway and look like a bloody idiot because I have no idea what the task is."
"Maybe you should just try smashing it on the floor; I'm sure you're angry enough. Maybe if Harry Potter is angry at it, it'll want to become his bestest fan and do what he wants it to do," said Ron... and then he added, "Oh wait, I'm not supposed to be talking to you."
"You can't break it, Ron, remember?" Hermione reminded him.
The only reedeming part of that night was the arrival of Hedwig not a moment too soon; Harry really wanted to hit Ron again. Luckily (for Ron), the thought of reading Cho's reply was too strong and it was this that drove Ron completely out of Harry's mind. Hermione must have seen this short-lived relief on his face because she gave him a weak smile but it faltered on the look from Ron's.
Harry took the letter from Hedwig's leg and she fluttered off the Owlery, looking ready for a long nap. Then he ignored Hermione's following eyes as he went up to his dormitory for some privacy to read.
Dear Harry,
I'm scared, I don't know about you. They're Death Eaters, they work for You-Know-Who, they'll find a way, Harry, you know they will. Not that I hope they do, it just wouldn't be a good sign if they do. Well, whatever.
Why did you leave out you using that outlawed spell, Animus Speculum, to get yourself into Hayden's? You made it sound like no one cared that you went on the trip and obviously they did because, did you read that article in the Daily Prophet about you? Several parents, especially Draco Malfoy's mom, want you expelled, Harry, and you know what Dumbledore's been telling you about that!
It rang unpleasantly in Harry's head. "You're only here because we care more about your life than a bag of magic tricks." At this, his heart sunk a few notches. She'd caught him in a lie and, somehow, lying to her felt different than lying to Ron or Hermione and, strangely, Dumbledore or Sirius.
I don't know who to believe, you or that article.
Harry stared. Why wouldn't she believe him? What HAD the rest of that article said?
It went on and on about all the ways you just look guilty and all the reasons you'd have for wanting Dudley, Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley dead and it sounds pretty convincing. Dad's been saying stuff about you lately, and I want him to stop but he belives you're up to really bad things. I really don't want you lying to me, Harry, because it doesn't help us any in a situation like this.
Harry, who had been reading the letter while lying down on his four-post bed with one leg tucked in, let his arm limply fall down the side as he finished reading. This made his eyes greet the canvas and his mouth was hanging open in a sort of shock. Of all people that could possibly side with that horrible Skeeter woman, one of them was Cho. Harry wasn't sure how much more of Rita Skeeter he could stand without really wanting to kill someone -- other than Voldemort that is.
For the first time he could ever recall -- or at least the most recent -- all he wanted was a knife and Voldemort's neck. Or perhaps Raides as the great staff and Voldemort in a full body bind. If that happened, it would all be over and he wouldn't have to think about it anymore. He and Cho could live happily ever after, he could graduate Hogwarts in peace, go live with Sirius until he could get a job, move out (possibly with Cho), get married, have kids... A really big obstacle was standing in the way of all of that, though. It had the words "I am Lord Voldemort" written on it.
Clear as day, Harry recalled the time the sixteen year old Tom Riddle had used Harry's own wand to draw the name Tom Marvolo Riddle in thin air and then rearrange the letters into "I am Lord Voldemort." How Harry would love to turn the tables around, take Voldemort's wand, draw his own name in the air and then take the letters, add some new ones, pull a few out and make it say "Voldemort is dead."
"Voldemort is dead."
That had a nice ring to it.
Harry gave himself a little shake, sat up and, before another second had passed, decided to send another owl straight back to Cho apologizing -- and desperately try to make her believe him to be innocent. That was the part of her letter he couldn't neither stand nor understand. While he was at it, he'd ask her what was in the letter that Sirius was supposed to send to him, if she knew, and he'd also ask her if she knew how the Death Eaters captured that poor owl in the first place.
Before finishing the letter, he noted a postscript on the very bottom of Cho's letter. He turned it over to read.
And, oh Harry, Skeeter found out about that dream you have! You know, the one about You-Know-Who killing your parents before he kills you then you wake up? It's in that article too! She says she got it from Hagrid. Everyone's going to think you're after him now!
Hagrid had done some dumb things in the past, Harry had to admit to himself, but he didn't particularly want to know how Rita Skeeter suckered this information from him. At this, Harry took the advice of the great Mr. Weasley and put it out of his mind though he was sure everyone was going to fear for Hagrid's life now and he hoped Hagrid wasn't among them. He hadn't killed anyone (he didn't want to say "on purpose" because the thought of Dudley bothered him -- a lot) and he certainly wasn't going to kill Hagrid.
After his new letter to Cho was finished, he enlisted the help of a screech owl who had been eyeing Hedwig funny, who, in turn, had been giving that owl cold looks; she obviously had better taste. Hedwig gave a hoot of thanks, rode on his shoulder all the way back to Gryffindor Tower to show more thanks and nested on his trunk at the foot of his bed to sleep. Finally, Harry thought, someone who appreciated him.
The second task loomed nearer and nearer and it had only been two days since Harry sent his letter to Cho than that screech owl came streaming drunkily into the Great Hall, falling like a bomb upside-down into his morning porridge, a letter tied to its feet. Splashed with milk and feathers, Harry was now definitely not pleased with this owl in the slightest. Sure, its service had been quick but the delivery was very unsatisfactory. Eyeing Hedwig, who was plainly not interested, was one thing but forcing him to have to change and try to not be late for class was the icing on the -- well, him. Ron, who had just turned his head lazily to see what made a part of the tablecloth turn white, wasn't laughing and this made Harry feel slightly better.
There were loud sniggers coming from all over the Great Hall, which he could guess were directed at him and their owners were obviously not trying to stifle them. Harry stuffed the letter in the only clean part left of his cloak; he'd be reading it in Divination.
Before the owl had come, breakfast was already nearly over and Harry had just begun to eat -- like had been doing for a while now. This meant, unfortunately, since he liked to eat as late as possible, that by the time Harry finished eating, finished Professor Trelawney's homework, scrambled back to Gryffindor Tower, got changed and arrived in class, he was --
"Late, my dear," said Professor Trelawney's voice before he'd even climbed the ladder.
Not expecting her to announce his arrival, Harry stopped walking abruptly, reminded himself he only had four months left with her -- and there seemed to be a good chance he'd die before then -- and climbed the rope lader into the classroom.
Ron was sitting at a table with Lavender and Parvati, ignoring Harry as best as he possibly could. Harry turned away to sit as far as from Lavender and Parvati as possible, Raides trotting at his heels.
"Today, I think, we will take a break from our very long study in Runes as tellers of the future," rang Professor Trelawney's voice.
She took a wand out from inside her robes, turned around in her chair to face the kettle being heated by the fire that Harry oh so despised and floating out of it came a bag of -- plants? Or at least that's what it looked remarkably like. Professor Trelawney then magicked the kettle out of the fire and beckoned the class to move their chairs, tables and poufs closer to the fire. When the scraping of all manner of furniture was finished, Harry was content with sitting farther back than anyone.
For an entire boring period, Harry watched as everyone took one each of two plants ("Come, Potter," said Professor Trelawney to Harry, "and take") and finally found out what the burning fire with the smell coming from it was for.
The plants, briar and vervain, were to be thrown into it and the resulting flames examined. Blues flames nearly torched Parvati's hair; a long, thin, spindly flame of yellow cooked Neville's quill; Ron's turned the entire fireplace black with soot and Harry's, well, Harry didn't want to have a go.
"Potter," said Professor Trelawney flatly, though Harry could tell she was going to burst any moment.
"Sorry, but I'm quite sick of being told about how I'm going to die next," Harry replied angrily, not moving. Parvati and Lavender were looking curiously at him.
"But you must!" she implored like some kind of prophet, her eyes gleaming.
Harry stared blankly at her, his own eyes expressionless which was in stark contrast to his stomach which was grumbling very unpleasantly at the moment.
"Fine," he grumbled at her and her eyes were now shining like rubies.
The bag of the plants was sitting on Ron's table, who could have picked it up and handed it to Harry, all without getting up -- except he didn't. This left Harry to stand up, walked over, grab the bag and pull out one branch of vervain and briar each. Professor Trelawney standing over his shoulder resembling a large tree twig, Harry tossed both of them into the fire.
It sparkled, crackled and a tongue of flame shot out of it as it turned black for a brief moment as the tip turned white. Professor Trelawney grumbled as unpleasantly as Harry's stomach still was.
"Dont -- even -- say it," Harry warned her before she'd gotten a word out.
Ron let out a cough that sounded oddly like a strangled laugh. In preparation for the coming prediction of his death, Harry plugged his ears with his fingers but he could still hear the professor babbling.
"Ah, yes," she began, her misty voice as she stared knowingly at the flames that had gone back to normal. "It is the black flame of danger and the white flame of protection. Ten points if anyone can tell me what this means?"
She turned to the class, Harry desperately wanting to leave. Lavender Brown was visibly trembling and from this, Harry could tell that she knew what it meant nor was it anything very good.
"Great danger lies ahead," Lavender began timidly, glancing shortly at Harry. "In spite of this, you don't have to be afraid because of the protection -- or self-preservation -- you've got inside you. As long as you don't act recklessly, you'll be okay but if you become too self-satisfied with this knowledge in mind, you won't act as you usually do and you'll fail."
"I'll keep that in mind," Harry mumbled loudly. "Maybe in a few weeks I won't even be here because I'll be in so much danger."
"Don't be so sure," said Professor Trelawney mysteriously and suggestively, shooting him a curious eye as she cocked her head at him.
That afternoon, Harry resolved to go see Hagrid because someone shouted at him in the entrance hall, "Going after poor Hagrid now, are you?" With a contemptuous look at the Explicatrix sitting in a chair in the common room, Harry took his dad's invisibility cloaked and went to Hagrid's hut on the front grounds, not at all cold in the snowy weather thanks to his dad's other cloak.
As per usual, Fang the boarhound answered Harry's knock by scratching at the door.
"Harry?" Hagrid called from inside. "Is that you?" Harry didn't have to think long about how Hagrid knew it was him; he'd probably heard what had been said in the entrance hall. "I know yeh aren' out ter kill me," he said, his beetle-black eyes sparkling as he opened the door.
Harry threw his cloak onto one of the huge armchairs and heard a boiling kettle behind him.
"Can I have some tea, Hagrid?" he asked.
"Oh, er, that's not tea," said Hagrid shiftily.
"What is it, then?"
"That's fer the second task!" exclaimed Hagrid proudly.
Harry groaned loudly.
"Stop right there," he said, halting Hagrid dead in his tracks.
"Ah, come on, Harry --"
"Hagrid," Harry began desperately, "I haven't found anything on that -- that " -- he was obviously casting around for the most incriminating word -- "thing." No word seemed to be satisfying enough.
"Nothing?" said Hagrid who sounding slightly surprised, one of his eyebrows raising in suspicion.
"No!" Harry admitted readily. At this, Hagrid stared. "Everyone who still cares if I even win or not is probably thinking I'm going to pull this fantastic stunt."
"Yeh're the only Hogwarts champion!" Hagrid stated, looking proudly at Harry. "They have to -- don't they?" he asked cautiously.
Harry himself couldn't tell if anyone really cared if there were was a Hogwarts champion; Adrianne had enough charisma that many people seemed to want her to win, forgetting Harry was even there. He'd seen her walking in the corridors, eating at breakfast, lunch and dinner (though virtually ignoring his existence)...
"The second task is in just a few weeks -- and I don't even want to know what a boiling kettle has to do with it -- and I'm not going to find anything on the Explicatrix. Like I said, everyone probably thinks I'm going to pull some fantastic feat like I kept doing last time. Don't even mention the bloody dragons from the first task. I don't know what the Explicatrix does and most books say it doesn't even exist. Dumbledore probably doesn't know what it does and come to think of it, he probably gave it to me to find out what it does. Does he even know if it's going to help me with the stupid task? All we know is it grew and changed color when I first touched it. Hagrid," Harry rambled on, looking up helplessly at Hagrid and feeling all panicky, "all I'm going to have by then is my wand, the stupid orb and a whole lot of -- humiliation..." he finished hopelessly.
It was then that Harry noticed he'd taken a seat on the armchair where he'd placed his cloak and was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, resting his head in his palms. Some of the panic that he'd been so far escaping was catching up with him and it was unsettling -- very unsettling.
For a good few solid seconds, Hagrid couldn't think of anything to reply with. Then he stumbled over some words, Harry making out phrases such as, "well you could," "and if that don't work," "but what about," and the ever popular, "Harry, just go ter the task and give it yer best shot."
"WHAT BEST SHOT?" Harry roared so loudly Hagrid dropped a spoon as he brought it over to the boiling kettle. "Hagrid, you don't seem to get it --"
"Harry, --"
"This stupid orb is what's supposed to tell me what the task is and what to do for it. What would I have done if Barty Crouch Jr. hadn't basically told Dobby to get gillyweed for me to do the second task three years ago? Eh? I'd've had to forfeit. No one's probably ever HEARD of this thing in ten thousand years, let alone knowing what it does --"
"-- would you --"
Harry sat up straight, looking up at Hagrid's back who was tending to the boiling kettle. He wanted to ask what it was but didn't bother because Hagrid was not likely to tell.
"I've got enough on my plate without this stupid tournament on it. You heard what happened to Sirius? Someone intercepted an owl he tried to send to me and burned the Dark Mark into its feathers. They moved. Honestly, if someone finds out where they were staying, I'm going to really start panicking --"
"-- try and --"
Harry rested his head back on his palms, continuing unabated.
"Speaking of which, I suppose I ought to be really mad at you for Rita Skeeter's article. I mean, what the hell did you tell her for? I just want this year to end so I can -- and don't you say 'calm yourself.'"
"-- calm yourself," said Hagrid anyway.
"How d'you do it," asked Harry bitterly.
"Do what?"
"Stay, well, cheery through all this?"
Hagrid turned around, a smile evident in his tangled beard and said, "I've come ter realize that if yeh drive yerself nuts with the wait, by the time the event comes, yeh realize that the wait is just plain worse. So there's no point in makin' yerself worried sick over it and yeh just got ter wait until it comes. If you do, like I see yeh doin' all the time, well, just look at yerself, Harry. All nervous and shakin'."
"I just don't know what to do. Ron and Hermione not talking to me..."
"Yeh been havin' a lot of breakdowns lately, no?" Hagrid said gravely.
Breakdowns? Harry preferred to think of them as "expressions of his current concerns."
"I don't know if you'd call it --"
"Listen, Harry. Yeh'll get up on February the twenty-eighth and yeh'll give it yer best shot. If yeh fail, yeh fail and no one'll think any the worse of yeh." Harry made a noise of distinct dissent in the back of his throat which Hagrid chose to ignore. "Yeh've got the hardest Triwizard clue out of all of 'em and what'll they think if yeh do figure it out? Eh?"
Harry hadn't really thought of that though he didn't really care either so it was a moot point.
Later that night, Harry realized he had not read Cho's letter, being too caught up in... other things... After Ron and everyone else had fallen asleep, he stayed up, still not having had changed into pajamas; he'd been thinking about it ever since leaving Hagrid's.
Her letter was still inside his cloak. He crawled into bed, sitting Indian style, pulled the covers over his legs to keep them warm (was he shivering because it was cold or...) and, wide awake, read. The first thing he noticed was that there was no "Dear" in front of "Harry."
Harry,
I'm just really scared now. The place where Sirius and Remus were staying at turned up destroyed. You were right, it was in the Daily Prophet.
He was right? He didn't think it would happen, he didn't guess it would happen, he'd only said he would enter high-panic mode if it did. And he was. His hand was now shaking.
Sorry about not believing you, though. It's not like you've done anything really, really horrible.
Harry had a nasty foreboding feeling, especially concerning the second task. Somehow, he felt that jinxed him; something bad WAS going to happen and now the question was what, not if. It all felt like a book full of bad cliches and plot twists.
I'll be coming to the second task. Can't wait to see you!
As for what was in the owl that Sirius was supposed to send you, I don't know, it was specially for you.
Can't wait to see what you do for the second task,
Cho
Great, thought Harry, now Cho thinks I'm going to pull some fantastic stunt, to. My life is ruined, he went on talking to himself, slumping back heavily onto his pillows. Wait a minute, what life? You're going to be left to rot in a cell in Azkaban but at least there won't be any dementors.
I wonder how Voldemort's going to do it, though? he asked himself, referring to his seemingly eventual demise.
As Harry made the letter float to his bedside cabinet with just his hand, exactly how it was going to happen came to him very suddenly and it was quite simple, really. Harry, laying there, utterly horrified, had a strong feeling Voldemort was going to storm Azkaban with a pack of... dementors.
Not even paying attention to what he was doing, he snapped his fingers and was instantly changed into pajamas. He didn't know what to think; he didn't know what to do. Voldemort's plan seemed to be going very smoothly and it didn't look like anyone outside of Sirius cared anymore. Ron wasn't speaking to him and neither was Hermione out of some strange respect for Ron. If Harry hadn't been laying down, the distinct lack of blood to his brain at the moment would have done a touch more than make him feel slightly lightheaded.
Throw in the Explicatrix, the second task and Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle sometimes sniggering at him over the dream as they had been and he would soon be shopping for the fastest earth-digging shovel Galleons, Sickles and Knuts could buy. Of course, that was all banking on Voldemort not getting to him first.
Was there anything, anything at all that he could do? Nope, Harry concluded quickly, you're a dead man. It was like living a bad dream that just didn't want to die out, his best friends not speaking to him, Cho turning a cold hand and the Ministry of Magic believing him to be a miscreant. Perhaps it would be easier if he just surrendered himself to Voldemort but somehow that didn't seem the proper thing to do after all he'd ever done (what a scary thought that was). If there was any hope, giving up all hope in the blink of an eye sure wasn't going to help nor did he honestly want to give Voldemort the satisfaction. Maybe he'd just -- just see it through to the end. After all, the longer he kept himself out of Azkaban, the longer he lived. If he could just keep himself out of Azkaban, everything would be all right.
Harry took a breath so deep he thought his lungs would burst but it did help -- however little. Unfortunately, that little voice, the one saying something bad was going to happen, kept replaying its words to him like an annoying Pensieve. He tried to beat it down but it was like taking on a manticore and some of its friends armed with just a twig. But what could happen? The first task was just an accident and now he knew perfectly well to not use lightning bolts for anything, good or bad. There was a low chance of there being any snakes so he couldn't freak anyone out with Parseltongue. It didn't seem like anything could go wrong.
Yeah, Harry concluded to himself, unaware that his hand was holding the Order of Merlin plaque under his covers because it wasn't working, that's what I'll do.