Previously on Goblet of Treachery:
"...Harry Potter..."
Harry Potter's name came out of the Goblet of Fire, making him the fourth champion – and second for Hogwarts.
"Gentlemen, lady. May I introduce – incredible as it may seem – our fourth champion."
"Oh, a very funny joke, Monsieur Bagman."
"Joke? No, not at all. Harry's name just came out of the Goblet of Fire."
Dumbledore, in a wise move, gave Harry the choice of competing.
"Knowing the risks, Harry, what do you want to do? Do you want to compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament?"
Rita Skeeter tells revealing things about Cedric Diggory.
"Well, Cedric. How does it feel to be chosen as a champion?"
"I... I feel honoured, of course."
"Oh, of course! Especially considering the Diggory name isn't exactly synonymous with ... glory, right dear? I bet it is rough trying to live up to your father's expectations... I'm sure he's counting on you... considering he's all-but squandered the money left your mother by her parents, yeah?"
And Cedric put two-and-two together...
"Listen to me, Someone put your name in that Goblet because they obviously want to hurt you. You must be careful. Promise me you'll look out for yourself"
Peter Pettigrew, Gryffindor traitor and henchman to the Dark Lord, conjured a demon to do a special task...
"You are to acquire Le Grimoire de Selene from the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic, London, Britain. You are to do so unseen and undetected..."
"To hear is to obey."
Harry found himself overtly concerned with a jealous Colin Creevey...
"Colin, are you going to fuckin' talk to me?"
"What?"
"What do you mean, 'what'? You know perfectly well 'what'. Everything was fine until I came back from fetching Cedric. Now, you won't even look at me, let alone talk."
"Whatever—"
"If I wanted this kind of attitude, I could have hung out with Malfoy."
Former Death Eaters Lucius Malfoy and Theodore Nott plan a life without their dreaded master...
"Think about it, Lucius. The time has come for us to aspire to greater things other than following madmen to their doom. The Dark Lord lost his battle... and he lost it to a one-year old boy. Is that who you want to swear your allegiance to?"
Peter Pettigrew offers to make a pact with Lucius
"I want to make a deal with you Lucius Malfoy."
"A deal?"
"A world without The Dark Lord."
Harry overhears a surprising spat between Roger Davies and Cedric...
"I bet you're going to ask her to the Yule Ball, aren't you?"
"Oh, did you really expect me to take you, Cedric?"
"Maybe I was."
... and gets a lesson in patience from Cedric, who reveals more than his sexual identity.
"You heard it all, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"That's… not the way I wanted to come out to you... Are you seeing someone, Harry?"
"Yes."
"Really? Shame that I waited too long then, yeah?"
And now back to Harry Potter and the Goblet of Treachery: Chapter 8.
8.
HP,
Don't forget you promised to meet me in the Darkroom after classes today. The password's 'dragon heart'.
Looking forward to it.
CC
§
"Oi! Harry!"
Sitting in one of the more comfortable chairs in the common room, I manage to cover Colin's letter just as Fred and George kneel down on each side of me.
"Reading by the firelight—" George says.
"In the broad daylight—" Fred continues.
"Bit granny that, innit?" George finishes.
And trust me, their 'twin-act' is as disorienting as it can be annoying.
"Do you lot ever—"
"Not hiding anything from us are you?" Fred asked with a sly grin.
"What are you on about?" I ask, rather defensively.
"Considering the sacrifice—"
"We made for you—"
"Last year."
"Speaking of which—"
"Where is the…" George leans in close, but it's Fred who's voice whispers its conclusion in my other ear.
"Marauder's Map?"
"Who wants to know?" I ask, barely able to hide my suspicion.
"We just need to borrow it a bit," Fred answers, channelling as much innocence as he can.
"For purely academic reasons, of course."
"Of course," I say with a raised eyebrow.
"You'll have it back by tonight, we swear," George promises, and this time, I can tell he's sincere.
"Up to no good, I bet," I answer with a smile. "Go on, then, it's in my chest by my bed."
"Thanks, Harry," they reply in tandem as they scurry off towards the dormitories.
By the time Ron, Hermione and I are in the Great Hall for breakfast, my nerves are completely shot. Ron wasn't making it better by fretting about today's class schedule.
"Och! Double Divination," he says, gloomily as he hunched over his porridge. "That woman will be the death of me, just you wait."
Hermione peeks over her copy of The Daily Prophet, arching an eyebrow.
"Well, at least you'll have plenty notice."
"That woman couldn't predict what comes after the number four," Ron says with a scowl.
Hermione sets down her paper and reaches for some toast.
"You should have dropped it like I did."
"What? And take Arithmancy, instead? No fear!"
There's a rustling above as a hundred owls come soaring through the arched windows of the Great Hall. I sit on the edge of my seat hoping to see Hedwig's snow-white nap intermingled with the others. There are plenty of tawny owls and a right few red Mountain Scops, but nothing resembling Hedwig's snow-white plumage.
My disappointment must be obvious as Hermione reaches over and rests her hand on my whispering, "Don't worry, Harry. I'm sure he's alright."
I muster enough resolve to give her a smile. The only thing the least bit comforting is my rendezvous before dinner. Without thinking, I look at Colin's letter and my smile widens.
"'Ooz dat frmm?" Ron mutters with a mouthful of porridge.
"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" Hermione chastises. "Chew before you speak, please!"
Ron shrugs it off and swallows. "Go on, then?"
"This…? Oh, it's ahhh…"
I'm trying to think of something, some lie to tell them. Or, maybe now's the time? They are my best mates, after all. Wouldn't they be okay with it? I've the feeling Hermione would. Ronald? He's always calling Percy a 'pouf' and they're related by blood. What hope have I? I have no clue how he'd take it. If it's anything like how he handles everything else it'll be 'curse first, talk later'. Contrary to popular belief, he has a mean hex arm.
"I… I told Colin I'd meet him in the dark room. He took some wizard pictures and he's gonna show me how they ah… develop."
"Wotcha' want to know that for?" he asks.
By this point, I'm stammering for something to say. Thankfully, Ron and Hermione's attentions are diverted by the haughty cackling of Pansy Parkinson at the Slytherin table.
"Oh, Draco!" she exclaims, far louder than necessary. "They're absolutely delightful!"
I look to see Draco opening a box of what appears to be sweets – obviously sent by his mother.
"Yes," he drawls, lazily, his lips pursed. "Mother knows the makers of La Maison du Chocolat personally. They make the finest wizard chocolates in France."
Hermione rolls her eyes and returns to reading her paper even as Pansy claps her hands together, loudly.
"Oh, Draco! They are absolutely divine! Look at the detail in the wrapping!" she says, holding up a piece of candy, enfolded in shiny, metallic paper that began to change colour.
"No two are the same," Draco announces with pride as though he made them himself.
"Sodding ponce," Ron mutters.
For once, I'm happy that Malfoy made such a grand show; the topic of me and Colin and what we were going to be doing later was forgotten.
§
At their very best, Mad-Eye Moody's Defence Against the Dark Arts classes are educational and helpful. In fact, with the exception of Professor Lupin last year, I've never learned so much about identifying dark magic, and defending myself from them. I found that I could resist the Imperius Curse – the spell used to take over another wizard's mind – almost as easily as one could cast it. But at its worst, Moody's teachings were frightening. Physical appearance aside, the things he teaches us are beyond upsetting and the stories Moody tells us break my heart.
Fortunately for my sanity, I have moments when nothing can bring me down, like when I pass Colin the halls between classes. He manages to brush up me in passing. No one notices, not Ron or Hermione. Even when I turn to watch him disappear around a corner, it escapes their attention. Long after the touch, I can feel his heat, still white-hot as if he branded me. Maybe that's exactly what he did?
Cedric, however, is a different story. When he sees me walking in his direction, he makes a disserted effort to look the other way or discreetly position himself behind one of his friends, blocking my view. It's been like this all day, in fact. I can't imagine what I've done to make him want to avoid me and I find myself hurt – not angry – by his behaviour. Hermione's momentary lapse in attentiveness with Colin seems to have faded as we pass Cedric.
"What's got his wand in a knot?" she asks, leaning closer as we walk towards to dungeons.
"Dunno," I answer, happy that Ron seems oblivious to our conversation.
"He's been acting… peculiar around you, lately."
"Really?" I feign ignorance.
"Yeah, ever since the 'wand weighing'. You don't think he's upset that your name came out of the Goblet, do you?"
"Yeah," I lie. "I bet that's it."
But I know it isn't, not really. I know he was worried that someone was going to use the Tournament to try and hurt me. And he's probably upset that I caught him and Roger Davies in their lovers' spat. Certainly that can't be it, though. He knows about me and Colin. He knows that I don't judge him, that I wouldn't judge him. Then why the cold brush-off in the hallways every time he sees me? It's enough to drive me insane, the way he behaves!
My sour mood lasts well into Potions.
§
The only thing that keeps me going this afternoon is the knowledge of my impending… rendezvous with Colin. Although I'm truly interested in seeing how our photo turned out (I've never been in a wizard's photo before), I am even more interested in attaching myself firmly to his lips, again.
I can't believe that kissing could be that wonderful! And I certainly didn't think that it would leave me feeling like I can do anything: stave off dragons, pass Potions, make Ron and Hermione not argue during our 'study sessions', you name it! He makes me believe that I can be a better person; he makes me want to be a better person. I can hardly describe how it makes me feel. It's like a hunger, one so embedded in me that I can hardly remember a time when I didn't want to kiss him.
I excuse myself from a torturous game of Wizards' Chess, where Ron was giving me a sound thrashing (as usual), and head to the third-floor east wing of the Castle. This is where most of the upper-class Ravenclaw courses are taught but it also houses Colin's darkroom. I can barely contain myself, I'm so jubilant. I even start to whistle some nameless tune as I walk.
Lost in my thoughts, I'm taken by surprise when I pass the boys loo and find myself being accosted by Crabbe and Goyle. I'm thrown bodily into the lav and find Draco Malfoy sitting atop one of the sinks, his wand swinging between his fingers like a baton.
"Well, well, well," he drawls, hopping to his feet and walking towards me.
I struggle to free myself but Malfoy's goons have me firmly in place.
"Malfoy," I say with as much derision as I can muster, "to what do I owe this… pleasure?"
He answers me with a punch to the stomach that sends me breathless to my knees.
"Crabbe. Goyle. Potter and I have something to discuss… in private."
Crabbe and Goyle seem confused by Malfoy's statement – not that confusing them is much of a feat, mind you.
"Oh, don't worry about him," Malfoy scoffs, nudging at me with his foot. "I have everything under control."
Crabbe and Goyle lift me to my feet and release me, but not before one of them delivers another blow to my side. I double over, landing hard on my knees and coughing blood. I hear the door close behind me.
"If I ever get you alone, Malfoy..." I warn as I start to straighten up, holding my side.
He grabs the collar of my shirt and pushes me forcibly against the wall opposite the door. The expression on his face is one of pure anger, his sneer more feral than I've ever seen on him before. I admit… he has me a little scared. He holds me against the wall, his hands still fisted against the front of my shirt.
His face is dangerously close to mine and his voice is low when he threatens, "You need to leave Colin be."
It takes a moment for this to register.
"That's rich," I reply. "I was just about to say the same to you."
He pushes me against the wall, again; the 'thud' of my impact rings in my ears. When my eyes re-open, I'm seeing little flashes of light. The bloody prat may have given me a concussion!
"I mean it, Potter," he snarls. "Leave Colin alone."
"Why, Draco," I retort with a leer. "Aren't we being awfully protective of the Mudblood."
The use of his favourite slur has exactly the effect that I wanted. He seems conflicted, as if I'm reminding him of something he was trying desperately to forget. And then it hits me! Why would Malfoy need his cohorts to leave the lav just to 'talk' to me about Colin? My eyes widen in realisation even as Draco's narrow.
"Oh!" I gasp. "Now, I get it. You fancy him, don't you? This is rich! Not only are you a pouf, but you're grabbing ankles for a Mudbloo—!"
Another slam against the wall.
"Shut up!" he hisses.
Then, his furrowed brow softens as a he delivers a half-smile. "I'm doing quite more than just 'fancying' him, Potter, believe you me."
It's my turn to get upset.
"You're a lying git, Malfoy!"
"Oh, really?" he says, with that self-satisfying smirk that gets under my skin and festers like a cancer. "We'll just see about that, Potter. But I'm warning you – and I'm saying this only once more…"
He leans in closer until his nose is almost touching mine. I can feel his breath, moist and warm, on my face.
"Leave… Colin… Alone."
I'm hoping he can't hear – or feel – my heart beating faster. No matter how he'd interpret it, I would never hear the end of it. 'I had Potter shaking in his skin' or 'Oh, Potter wants to be buggered by a Malfoy'. Either one would be the limit!
"Since when do you care about us 'lowly Gryffindors', Malfoy?"
"I don't," he says. He releases me and brushes imaginary dirt off his robes. His face returns to its more blasé pretence and he starts to back away, never once dropping eye contact. "I care about my property."
§
Property.
The word haunts me and I find that I keep trying to talk myself into disbelieving what Malfoy said. Colin would never… I can't even finish that thought. The very notion of kissing Malfoy is disgusting. Certainly Colin has better taste than that? If he fancies Malfoy, what does that say about me? Are he and I so similar? My mind races back to what the Sorting Hat told me my first year, 'You'd do well in Slytherin.' I shake the memory away, shunting it deep into the dark corners of my brain – I'm fairly good at that, after all.
Leaning over the sink, I splash water on my face in an effort to wash away the memory Malfoy's warning. I have to close my eyes and take deep breaths to calm down. When I exit the loo, I'm half-expecting to have to defend myself from the Gruesome Twosome, and I doubt I have the strength to lift my wand, let alone fight.
I walk up the stairs to the third floor, making my way to Colin's darkroom. The door farthest down the corridor has a sign on it that reads 'knock before opening door'. There are a dozen reasons why I should just quit while I'm ahead and make my way back to the Gryffindor Tower. I tell myself that I don't care about Malfoy said in the loo, but I know that's not true. Already I'm steeling myself for a confrontation, pressing my forehead against the door, letting its cool surface sooth the growing migraine. I take a deep breath; it's now or never. I have questions, questions that will be answered. I whisper the password 'dragon heart', rap on the door, and wait for the door to open.
°