Chapter 14: Experiments and Meetings

Harry and Hermione had to put their experiment on hold, as the midterm exam period had begun at Hogwarts. This meant that everyone was hopped up on caffeine or Pepper-Up potion, bent over a book that hadn't been opened since the start of the year, and silently weeping over their ten page papers due in five hours.

In fact, the only person in that library who didn't look like a complete mess was Hermione Granger. Comfortably reclining in her favourite chair, she carefully set out her writing quills and cracked her knuckles. Hermione expected she could do well even without studying, but she had to set a good example. Even Boris Krum was studying elsewhere, so she didn't have to worry about that distraction.

Although, the fact that he wasn't there sort of bothered her. He'd become a fixture at the library, and now that he wasn't, she thought maybe she'd hurt his feelings. Or worse, he might be angry at her.

She was just settling into work when she noticed some first year girls glaring daggers at her. She recognized them as part of Boris Krum's posse. When she caught their gaze, they whispered to each other, and then turned away and marched out of the library.

Hermione sighed. This was getting out of hand. Was she supposed to be the bad guy for…not dating Boris? It was almost amusing that all it took was a misguided romance for her to fall from her pedestal.

As Hermione went back to her books, she felt anxious. Somewhere out there, Boris was upset and it was probably her fault. Harry showed up a few minutes later, and Hermione was still pondering as he settled in to study. Then, all of a sudden, it occurred to her that she really wanted a boy's advice, and there was a boy sitting right next to her.

"So, umm," Hermione's quill tapped her book, and then she glanced over at Harry. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," he said, still glancing over his notes.

Hermione paused, and then asked, not looking at him. "What does it mean when a boy offers a girl his sausage?"

After a few moments of flabbergasted silence, Harry responded with, "Alright, pause. Do you mean the breakfast food, or the euphemism?"

"Maybe both?"

There was silence for a moment.

"Who was it?"

"I'd rather not say," said Hermione.

"Well…" He fidgeted with his eraser. "Do you want him to….do you have feelings for him?"

"No. But he keeps appearing around me, and staring at me, and it's starting to get weird."

Harry's face hardened. "If I can be blunt, I think you should tell him where he can put his sausage."

"Harry…"

"Look, if he's stalking you, and making suggestive comments, even after you told him to stop, then that's harassment. You'd be doing yourself a favour by telling him off."

"Well…I didn't actually tell him to stop yet."

He looked at her like she had two heads. "Seriously?"

She was twisting her fingers, blushing. "I mean, well, he hasn't actually done anything wrong. Besides, I think he's just shy and doesn't know how to express his feelings. And if I talk to him and tell him no, well, he might be…sad."

Harry looked at her for a long moment. "Do you want me to tell him? Where is he?"

"No, it's okay," she said. "You're right. I'll tell him to stop next time I see him."

Harry nodded. "And since I know you prefer to be kind, just tell him that you don't think you're a good match and that you don't like him romantically. Make sure you don't give him any hope, or it'll hurt him worse in the long run." His fingers were picking pieces off his eraser. "If he gives you any trouble, tell me, or at least a professor, okay? I mean, not that I don't think you can handle yourself, it's just…"

"Yes, I understand," she patted his arm. "Thank you, Harry."

He sighed and went back to his studying.

Hermione smiled. It was oddly comforting talking to Harry about her boy problems. A few seconds later, she said, "There's also some of his posse giving me trouble. Like, giving me weird looks and stuff."

"And you don't want to concoct an elaborate plot to get revenge?"

"No."

"Ahh," said Harry. "In that case, I don't think I can give you advice. That sounds like a girl problem. Though if I think of anything, I'll let you know."

Hermione shrugged. "Worth a shot, I guess."


Harry left about an hour later, and Hermione worked alone in the library. When she was just finishing up, the same first years from earlier approached her table, along with two of their friends.

"Hermione Granger," one of them declared imperiously, her voice shaking. "We have to talk to you."

Here we go. Hermione sat up. "What is it?"

The girl's ponytail bobbed as she thrust her finger forwards. "Don't you know how terrible you're being right now?"

"Yeah," said another girl, hands on her hips. "Boris is suffering, and you're not doing anything to help him!"

"Ahh," said Hermione. "You know what? You're absolutely right. I need to tell him immediately that I'm not interested and relieve his suffering."

"You're not?" cried one of the girls in hopeful disbelief.

"We thought you were just making him wait, like Marguerite says to do!"

"Except you were doing it too long. It's supposed be a week, tops."

"Is that so?" said Hermione.

The third girl piped up. "Yeah, and also you're supposed to drop hints. Don't you know anything?" The girl suddenly looked quite scared, like she shouldn't have gone that far.

"Afraid not," said Hermione, smiling. "What kinds of things does Marguerite tell you?"

"Oh, she knows everything!" said the fourth girl, pushing through the others to stand beside Hermione. "For example, there's a strategy that has a 98% success rate of getting a man's attention, and an 83% chance he'll go on a date with you. Want me to show you?"

"I'll take your word for it. Now, where is Boris?"

"He's busy studying," said the girls. "But you should tell him tomorrow, and also tell him we helped you."

"Wait," said one of the girls, suspiciously. "Why don't you want to date Boris? He's so perfect."

"He's not my type," said Hermione, shrugging.

"What?!" exclaimed the girls.

"No, listen," said one of them. "That must mean she likes someone else."

Suddenly, they were all crowding around her. It was major news if the Girl-Who-Revived had a crush on someone. "Who is it? Tell us and we'll help you get him."

Hermione bit her lip to hold back a smile. They were sort of cute. "It's a secret."

"It's not Harry Potter, is it?" said one of the girls, her hands flying to her face in shock. "You know he's gay, right?"

"Umm..." said Hermione.

"Duh, of course she knows, since he's dating Neville."

"What!" Hermione couldn't help herself.

"Yes, it's obvious. They're always having a row with each other, which means they're in love."

She said this patiently, as if Hermione was a dunce.

"Did Marguerite tell you this?"

"No, but it's obvious. You see, there's only two reasons a boy would resist a Veela. If he was really in love with someone, or if he's gay. Harry was so terrible to Marguerite that she had to punch him in the face. Besides, he's mean to other girls too, like Ginny, and he's always hanging out with boys."

"So, you can't love him, you need to choose someone else."

"Like Ron Weasley," one of the girls said. "Or Lee Jordan."

"But not Boris Krum, because you promised!"

Hermione stood up, took a deep breath, and said, "Alright, that's quite enough. Time for bed, all of you."

"But..."

Hermione closed her eyes. She had practiced for this. When she opened her eyes, she was giving them her best McGonagall Death Glare. "Bed. Now."

They shrieked and ran out of the library. Hermione sat down again.

She needed to think.


The entire class watched the clock as they furiously scribbled on their parchments. Finally, a little bell chimed, and each test instantly disappeared off the desks. Some students, who were in the middle of their essays, accidentally scratched the desk with their quill. Professor Slughorn gave everyone a cheerful wave goodbye, while saying, "If you did well, congratulations! You will be receiving an invitation to my Slug Club. If not, don't worry, there's always time to improve your grade before my Christmas party. Just ask Hermione Granger for help, and I'm sure you'll do well."

Slughorn did have a strange way of motivating his students, but it seemed to work. Apparently, the Slug Club was quite popular as an afterschool activity. Hermione felt a bit weird about being singled out like that, but Slughorn seemed to have his favourites, and Hermione was one of them.

As she left the room, she met Harry waiting outside for her.

"Hi, Hermione. So, I know you've still got two tests, but I was thinking about how we could improve the memory problem…"

As they made their way to lunch, Hermione bit her lip, lost in thought. She wanted to dismiss what the girls had said as the ramblings of children, but the more she thought, the more it made sense. Harry never talked about girls or spent time with them. She was also painfully aware of the fact that he'd run away screaming every time she'd attempted to kiss him. Besides, it wasn't just possible, but probable that he simply wouldn't bother to mention if he was gay. He wouldn't think it important.

The simple solution would be to talk to Harry, but how was she supposed to ask him? How was your day, do you like to kiss guys?

"So, are you planning to join the Slug Club?" asked Harry.

"What? Oh…no, I'm not."

"Yeah, I don't want to join, but I think it would be a smart move. Supposedly he gives out rare items and spells to his favourite students." He coughed. "To be honest, I was sort of hoping you would go so I could skip it."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Just kidding, I wouldn't do that to you."

They were about to enter the Great Hall when Neville bumped into them.

"Oh hello," said Neville, looking sheepishly at Harry.

Harry ducked his head. "Hey."

"Listen, I've been meaning to say I'm sorry about the other day. I didn't know it would make you so uncomfortable. But it was just something I wanted to try..."

"It's fine," said Harry. "We were both bored and needed to release some stress. Anyway, it wasn't as bad as I thought."

Hermione was really glad she wasn't eating anything, as it would be all over her clothes now.

"Oh good," said Neville. "Well, see you this afternoon for studying?"

"Sounds good," said Harry.

They walked into the Great Hall and sat down at the Ravenclaw table. Hermione must have been silent for a long time, because Harry nudged her with his arm. "Don't you want to eat something?"

"Harry, what happened with you and Neville?"

"Uhh...nonsense not worth repeating. Actually, he made me promise I wouldn't tell anyone. Don't worry, it wasn't anything wrong, just sort of weird."

Hermione nodded, and slowly put some food on her plate.


Harry was in his lab, his trunk sitting in a corner of the room. He was standing in the opposite corner.

"Red ball," said Harry, and pulled it out of his pouch.

He put it back in the pouch, then walked to his trunk, and disappeared inside. He came back out a moment later, walked to the same corner, and put his hand in his enchanted robe pocket. "Red ball," he said.

His hand came out empty.

Harry moved to stand on a chair in the same area, and repeated the experiment. The red ball still didn't appear. It would not appear, because "red ball" did not seem to be a term his magic pocket understood. Neither was "wand" or "5th year potions book."

Except one time, in this exact corner, when his trunk was placed in the opposite one, on September 30th of this year. On that day, he was able to get both "red ball" and "wand." And every time Harry tried it again, his pocket pretended that didn't happen.

"Water bottle," on the other hand, was fine most of the time. So was Hamlet but not King Lear, even when he switched their locations in his trunk.

Harry tried a few more times to pull items from his pocket, placing the trunk and pouch in different locations. The items were placed at different angles, because who knew, maybe the magic formula was an isosceles triangle.

Harry wrote something in his notebook, and crossed out yet another theory. He closed the notebook and knocked it off the table. Then, he picked it up again.

No use crying about it. If it's true, then I want to believe it's true. If it's not true...

On a whim, Harry put his hand in his pocket. "Red ball."

The ball refused to appear.

"My dignity," he said.

Something appeared in his hand. "The Book of Dignitaries 1884."

Harry stared at the book a long moment, unsure if he should laugh or cry.

He was convinced at this point that all magical theory was insane. It shouldn't surprise him, really, since the rules were likely crafted by wizards, who weren't much better in that regard.

Harry was beginning to understand why Professor Quirrell had become so cynical. Harry had worked for years to spread the practice of rationality, but he'd still barely made a dent in the stupidity running rampant in his school. This frenzy about the Yule Ball currently stood as Exhibit A. In his kinder moods, he would call it "confusion," but he wasn't entirely sure that term was accurate anymore.

The thing that bothered Harry the most was that he'd once thought that surely if he taught them, they'd want to know. The wizarding world was fallow ground, ripe for sowing the seeds of rationality, and yet experience proved the opposite. Why did it seem like everyone was content to live with half their brain functioning?

As he finished writing his experimental result, he glanced at his hand and noticed his ring was visible again. He pointed his wand at the ring, whose green gem was his father's transfigured rock, and in a few seconds, it was invisible again.

He didn't know how many wizards could maintain a constant transfiguration and invisibility spell on an object, but he assumed he was one of the first to try. It was practice, because eventually he wanted to perform wordless, wandless invisibility and transfiguration. He needed to increase his stamina.

Rule 6 of being a Light Lord: Don't assume you can't do something if you haven't tried.

Harry was interrupted from further research by someone throwing open his lab door.

"Harry Potter!" barked Angelina Johnson, storming into his room. "What do you think you're doing?"

Harry hadn't moved from his chair. "Experiments?"

"Don't play dumb with me." She stomped over to his desk and folded her arms. "I found a note in my potions book, telling me about the first task. I want a straight answer. Did you put it there?"

Harry thought about how he wanted to play this. He didn't think he was involved in this plot, but it wasn't his policy to admit that outright. Besides, she'd just gifted him a rare opportunity. "That depends. What information was this note revealing?"

"That the first task was dragons, as if you didn't know already," said Angelina, grinding her teeth. "I wanted to do this task without cheating. I didn't ask you to help me."

"If it makes you feel better, I am fairly certain that both Boris Krum and Marguerite Valentine already know what the first task is."

She scowled. "Oh, and how did you know that? Some stupid magic ritual?"

"No, but word on the grapevine is that Hagrid knows the first task. If Hagrid knows, then everyone knows. Which means that whoever sent you that note was just levelling the playing field."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Harry. It still isn't right. I don't need your help, and if you do something like this again, then I will report you to the authorities."

"Hmm," said Harry, leaning back in his chair. "And why do you think I was involved in this plot, exactly?"

"Well...who else would leave a cryptic note? My friends in Gryffindor would just tell me directly."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose it could have been me. I wouldn't have slipped you the note, though. I would have given it to someone who would give it to someone else, until the 4th or 5th person would put it in your potions notebook or wherever." She blinked, as if surprised he would tell her that. "I learned that from a Slytherin, by the way. They do that sort of thing all the time."

"Are you trying to imply it was a Slytherin?" she said in disbelief.

Harry tented his fingers. "I'm just saying I'm not the only one who would use that strategy. Think of it this way: if it was me, I would need both a means and a strong motive to interfere with the Triwizard tournament. As I've told you, the means is fairly common to Slytherins, and not indicative of me personally. As for the motive, aside from causing chaos, I don't have one. I'm not concerned with the outcome of the competition in any way. Furthermore, my friend Hermione is involved, and the consequences of interfering with her work are a strong deterrent. But perhaps you know someone else who has the means and motive to give you the note?"

Angelina stared at Harry for a long moment, tapping her foot. "You know, you could have just told me from the beginning that you didn't do it."

Harry grinned. "And let you miss the chance to figure it out for yourself?"

"Oh, jeez, you're a pill." She sighed. "Alright. Do you know who might have done it?"

Harry had a few ideas, but no proof, and he didn't want to start a witch…or wizard…hunt. "You'd probably know better than I would, but I'll tell you if I find anything."

"Well...thanks I guess." She brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead and smoothed back her ponytail. "I suppose I better go figure out how to fight a dragon."

"I don't envy you," said Harry with sympathy. "Good luck."


Draco combed his hair with his fingers as he approached the doorway, adjusting his robes again and straightening his tie. He was attempting to look professional, but feared he was failing miserably. His father could walk down a hallway with the regal bearing of a king, his presence inspiring awe and commanding respect. Draco felt like a scared little boy, too short and skinny to intimidate even a first year. If only he could at least grow a beard.

Draco put these thoughts aside, focusing on his mission. Out of all the students in Durmstrang, the Empress had chosen to meet him. He hadn't dreamed he would be invited until he was much older, like maybe even twenty-five. He couldn't waste this opportunity on an attack of nerves.

He would have felt better prepared if he knew what to expect, but everything about the Priestess was shrouded in mystery. All that anyone knew was that she was a great witch of indescribably powerful influence. She could grant impossible wishes if she gave someone an audience, even if they wished to bring back someone at the brink of death…but for a price.

Of course, it was also said that those who saw the Priestess were fated to die, but Draco knew better than to believe in superstition. If he died today, it wouldn't be due to fate, it would be because she killed him. He hoped not to give her a reason to, but the whims of the great wizards often lead them to violence. The strong conquered, the weak were subjugated and grateful. Such was the harsh truth of the world.

Draco had already weighed the cost of this meeting in his mind. It could be a trap, but it didn't matter. The risk was worth it.

On the third floor of Durmstrang, there was a room used for secret meetings with people who wished for anonymity and privacy. Draco had used it several times to meet his father's associates to settle his financial accounts. To Draco's surprise, his letter had suggested an entirely different location.

Draco took the stairs to the fifth floor. As he walked down the hall towards his Transfiguration class, he spied a door that hadn't been there yesterday. Draco raised a hand and knocked. The door unlocked and creaked inward, a thin strip of red light illuminating the hallway.

Swallowing his fear, the boy opened the door and peered inside. He had half-expected to be greeted with robed wizards and eerie lighting, a torture device in the corner to provide incentive to remain in line, and several bowing mendicants just for show.

Instead, a young woman who looked no older than a seventh year lounged in a red velvet chaise. She sipped wine from a crystal goblet, sitting with her legs crossed demurely as she motioned to the chair before her. Draco felt like he'd just walked into someone's sitting room, if that someone lived in an ancient Greek temple.

"Come," she said, her bracelets jingling as she beckoned him over. "Please, make yourself comfortable, Lord Malfoy."

She waited until he was situated in the velvet lined chair she'd offered him. Her flowing burgundy robes rustled as she poured him a glass of wine, offering it to him wordlessly. He hesitated a fraction of a second, then took a sip.

She watched him drink, her dark eyes contemplating his features, an amused smile on her expressive face. "I see that you didn't test the wine. You're not afraid of me?"

"Of course I am. I'd be a fool not to be," said Draco, setting down his glass. "But if you wanted to kill me, I imagine you'd choose a better method than poisoning an entire bottle of fine wine."

"Indeed. It lacks creativity, for one thing." She took another sip, letting her fingers linger around the cup. "Were you afraid of Dumbledore?"

"No," he answered honestly. "I hated him."

The words slipped from his mouth, even as his brain screamed for him to shut up. Dumbledore was the greatest wizard in recent history, and by custom this demanded respect. Father's lackeys would never have been so blunt. Even if the Priestess didn't approve of Dumbledore, she would call him a hateful brat with no sense of tact, judge him unworthy, and that would be the end of Draco Malfoy.

The Priestess didn't seem irritated, though, or even the least bit concerned. She twisted one ring around her finger, still observing him. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to accept me." Draco's heart pounded in fear. More words he hadn't meant to say. "I want to join your cause."

"Oh. Interesting," she said. "Did someone tell you I was recruiting?"

"No, I-" He caught in himself in time. "I suspected it. I shouldn't have presumed."

She took a sip of wine, angling her head to catch the midsummer breeze coming through the window. It ruffled her dark hair, and Draco remembered that in Durmstrang, it had been raining, and October. "You know, you could start your own rebellion if you wanted to. You have gold, connections, and the name of Malfoy."

Draco shook his head. "My family does not have the influence that we once had. Not since father…was found out. Many of our friends and allies have also been branded as Death Eaters. My father's estate has been plundered in reparation for crimes that the Ministry has no proof he committed. On top of that, I am still in school, and influential people have no reason to respect me or follow me yet."

Draco was not making a good case for himself at all. This was madness. "But I am a hard worker, and I am loyal. All that I have, I will pledge to your cause, for it is the same as mine."

"What is your cause?"

"To restore magic to its full power. It has been weakening for years, and still we don't know why or even how to fix it but, but the Ministry—"

"No. Not your political affiliations. I want to know why you want to join my cause."

Draco struggled, but he couldn't seem to stop himself, the words pouring out as soon as he dared to speak. "Because my father was murdered, and the Ministry did nothing but reward the killer!"

There, that was it. The truth he had kept hidden all these years. It was official, Draco Malfoy was dead.

The Priestess took a long moment to think, her brown eyes contemplating. "You have been honest with me, Draco Malfoy, so I will be honest with you. I am leading a movement against the British Ministry, but my interests are entirely self-seeking. I simply wish to retrieve what was stolen from me, which I can no longer find on my own. My quest just so happens to align with the goals of my followers, who are seeking justice for their own grievances. They allow me to use them, and so I do."

She leaned back on the chaise, spreading her arms. "But I am not heartless. I will give everyone who helps me a piece of my fortune. If all goes well, we'll also prevent the prophesies of doom from coming to pass, if this is possible. If you wish for justice, I will give you the tools to obtain it."

Though her mien was relaxed, her dark gaze pierced him. "You should also know that I am quite demanding. I will ask great sacrifices from you." She arched an eyebrow. "My price is your life. Do you still wish to join me?"

Draco's gaze turned inward, considering his reply. He should have been terrified, or at least cautious about handing over the reins to his life to a stranger. Instead, he felt a strangely calm. Perhaps it was her sincerity, or her sense of confidence and authority, but he felt certain she would give what she promised. And yet, as Draco ruminated, he realized there was more to it than that.

For years, Draco had been struggling, seeking a way to make something of the harsh hand he'd been dealt in life. It felt like being trapped in a dark room, scratching the stone walls in the hope he'd eventually break through. Now, a glimmer of light appeared, along with the tools to fight his way out. He'd be a fool to remain in the darkness.

"Do I…have to take an unbreakable vow?"

The Priestess's face remained neutral, but the lines tightened. "No, I will ask no vow from you, only your word. I will know if it is true. Have you decided?"

Draco nodded. He had never been more sure of anything in his life. "Yes. I want to join you."

Her face brightened. "Well, then," she clasped her hands. "Here's my deal. If you leave this room alive, with your memories intact, then I have accepted you. Your final task begins now."

"What do I need to do?" asked Draco.

The Priestess refilled his wine glass and her own, raising it shoulder height, as if to toast. The bangles on her wrists jangled, her many rings glittering. "Tell me," she said. "About what happened on June 13th, 1992."

Steeling his nerves, Draco sipped the wine, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. "That was the day my father died." His voice grew cold. "And it was the day the Dark Lord failed to save the world."


Author's note: So, speaking of breakfast sausage, did you know that in South Korea, inviting someone inside for ramen is like...Netflix and chill? Just fyi, in case you're tired of using the "coffee" excuse.

Anyway!

Thanks a lot to my beta readers, DarthRevanette and Arenavanera! Darthravenette writes for the Star Wars fandom on Ao3, and Arenavanera is writing a rational fic for RWBY on FFN. I'm an annoyingly picky reader, but I really enjoy reading their work. They're both fantastic authors, check them out! :)