Chapter 17: The First Task
On a hill near Hogwarts, stood a giant wooden stadium surrounding a patch of bare earth. Harry Potter took his seat in the stands, rubbing his hands against the biting November wind. Neville sat beside him, waving a flag in support of Angelina Johnson. To his right stood Dean Thomas, who was holding Angelina's banner and chanting the Weasley's song with rest of Gryffindor.
At the sound of their cheering voices, Harry felt warm expectation bubbling inside him. For the first time ever, he was excited about a sporting event.
Of course, how could he not be? After learning about magic, one of the first questions he'd asked was, "Are dragons real?" He had been so disappointed when he heard there were none in England, and that no, McGonagall wouldn't pop into the Romanian mountains with him for a quick visit. But now Harry was getting to see wizards fighting dragons, which had to be one of his top 5 childhood fantasies.
Harry glanced up at the champion's tent, feeling a pang of nervous disquiet. If there was one thing marring his enjoyment of this event, it was that the wizard champions were basically just kids. Harry had read that a full grown dragon could resist the simultaneous casting of six stunning spells at once, and that at least ten Aurors were required to reign in a dragon driven to madness by the pox. Even a baby dragon had fire breath that could melt steel, which begged the question as to why the stadium was constructed from wood. Harry didn't know about the other champions, but Angelina Johnson had been a nervous mess the last few days, or so he'd heard from Dean Thomas.
He couldn't blame her. It would be difficult for a whole class of seventh years to take a dragon down. Unless of course that class included Hermione Granger, in which case you would need only one student. She was currently standing outside the champion's tent, though whether to keep guard or to catch screaming champions before they leapt from the cliff, Harry couldn't guess.
Each school had their own seating assignment for the tournament. Directly across from them sat the students of Beauxbatons, a vast splash of bright blue among the motley assortment of brown and black robes. He noticed that the group looked much larger than usual, which meant that Beauxbatons and Durmstrang must have sent their younger students to watch the game. With sudden interest, Harry scanned the Durmstrang group, but he couldn't find who he was looking for.
From the champion tent, Harry saw Hermione looking at him. He turned to her, and though she was far away, it was clear she was giving him a thumbs down. Harry grinned, and unleashed his perfect comeback. Imitating the Beauxbatons entrance dance, he blew an exaggerated kiss in her direction. His grin widened when he saw her look suitably mortified.
After a few minutes, the chill wind bit into Harry's good mood, as no amount of Thermos seemed to keep it at bay. It was quarter past the hour, and the game still hadn't started. Off to his right, Harry saw Fred, George and their brother Ron handing out Weasley brand scarves and gloves, while also surreptitiously writing numbers on a wooden board. Off to his other side, someone said, "Oy, now this is a proper Death Pool. I was wonderin' when they'd get around to it."
"Want one?" said Neville, handing Harry a pinstriped bag of what looked like bits of chicory. "I picked this up from Professor Sprout this morning."
Harry bit into a root, and instantly felt a rush of warmth spread through him.
"Attention everyone!" boomed the amplified voice of Mad Eye Moody. "If anyone is interested in making bets, ye ought to do it now before-"
"Ahem! Never mind that!" cried McGonagall, taking over the announcements. "It is now time for the game to commence. It is the ultimate test of bravery…"
As McGonagall gave her speech, Harry watched the crags of rocky earth beneath him, his heart leaping at each noise that sounded remotely like a growl.
A few minutes later, Angelina Johnson appeared to the rabid screaming of the crowd. She scanned her surroundings carefully, but no dragon lay between her and the path to the golden egg. After a few moments of hesitation, she ran for it, then scrambled for cover as fire leapt at her from the sky.
Harry jerked forward in his seat, listening to the energetic shouts of his classmates.
"Your wand!" cried Neville.
"The firebolt!" cried Dean Thomas.
Harry felt something woosh over his head, then saw a broomstick cutting through the air and landing in Angelina's hand. She mounted, racing away from the dragon as all of Hogwarts cheered her on.
She flew across the pit, the dragon's fire following her. Her broom climbed higher and higher, and then…
Angelina soared right out of the stadium. With a screech of rage, the dragon snapped its metal chain and followed right after.
The entire stadium screamed and ducked as the dragon passed by, its tail swinging over them like a massive wrecking ball, ripping through the Weasley banner. Sweating from panic, Harry thought it was good idea the dragon hadn't decided on a parting shot, as the wooden stadium would burn like matchsticks against steel melting dragon fire.
Wait a minute, steel melting, thought Harry's brain, glancing at the broken metal chain. Oh good grief, what crackpot wizard thought that was a good-
But there wasn't time for proper indignation, because Angelina, for whatever reason, shot straight towards the school, the dragon's flames scorching the roof of Ravenclaw tower.
The entire stadium craned their necks to watch the chase. Several Aurors on broomsticks shot out of the stadium, Hermione's hair flying out behind one of them. As the chase continued, the broomsticks followed behind, not interfering in any way that Harry could see.
The Hogwarts champion flew towards the woods, the chaser a tiny speck against the massive bulk that followed. The dragon fired jets of flame, and Harry's hands gripped his knees as Angelina twisted and dodged, barely missing each strike. In the back of his mind, he kept wondering how he would face a dragon. He was good on a broom, but damn, she was amazing. "Dive into the lake!" Harry stood, waving his arms. "Dragons can't swim!"
As if she heard, the chaser headed towards the water, passing over a massive bridge which rose up over a giant cliff. The dragon breathed fire, and she dived into the pit, both of them slamming into the bridge on the way down.
The Aurors dove after them, and there were several seconds of intense, breathless silence. Then, the speck emerged, flew to the stadium, and collapsed into the middle of the dirt arena. Lifting herself to her feet, Angelina carried off the golden egg, to thunderous shouts and applause. Harry clapped hard, not even caring that she'd been disqualified for property damage, deciding that this was something he would tell his hypothetical grandchildren.
McGonagall announced an intermission, and the students bought snacks while Harry waited, too excited to eat. Harry wasn't sure how the next person could top that, especially since he was fairly certain the Aurors would reinforce the metal chains this time. Still, his expectations were high. After a few minutes, the second champion walked into the arena, Marguerite Valentine.
At the sight of her, Harry raised his eyebrows. Marguerite sauntered in wearing a shimmering blue dress with heels that matched, without even a fur coat to ward off the chill. Harry shook his head, glancing around for the nearest Auror who would inevitably have to come rescue her. As the dragon lumbered towards her, she neither drew her wand nor tried to run away. Instead, Harry heard a sweet, high voice ring out:
"One song,
I have but one song
One song
Only for you."
Of the people sitting next to Harry, only Dean Thomas seemed to share his look of complete confusion. Why anyone would think singing a Disney song would tame a dragon, Harry couldn't guess, but it only got weirder since it seemed to be working. The dragon slowly came to a halt and stood, its giant silver body swaying in time to the music. Then, it curled up around a rock crag and fell asleep.
With calm grace, Marguerite walked around the dragon, lifted the egg with one arm, and with the other gave a princess wave to the whispering crowd.
Once she was safely out of the ring, Harry nudged Neville's arm, "What just happened?"
"I don't know," said Neville. "Veelas are the cousins of mermaids, though, so maybe she used their voice trick."
"Umm…" said Harry. "Doesn't that count as an unfair advantage? A superpower, you might say?"
"Who knows?" Neville said, shrugging. "I'm not letting you back in the duelling room, if that's what you're getting at."
Harry sighed, and waited expectantly for the next contender. Boris Krum had proven himself in the duelling room to be both extremely powerful and aggressive, so at least his fight wouldn't include singing.
As luck would have it, Boris Krum had drawn lots on the fiercest of the dragons, a Hungarian Horntail. Boris stormed onto the playing field, his eyes casting around for his opponent. Upon seeing him, the dragon screeched in rage and flew up into the air, straining against the chain on its neck. Before any of the Aurors could stop it, he snapped the chain (Harry facepalmed) and struck down, diving towards the Durmstrang champion.
Boris rolled just as the dragon spewed fire, the torrent of flames enveloping the ground he'd just stood on. As the dragon hit the ground, Boris whirled to face him, his feet planted wide as he caught the dragon in his stare.
In western movies, cowboys would face off in the middle of a dusty town, glaring at each other as their hands hovered over the draw. That was what Harry thought about as the dust settled and the two stood rigidly regarding each other, as if waiting to see who would blink first. Finally, as the tension built, the dragon lifted his head and roared, and Boris roared back.
In that same moment, Boris took a step towards the dragon, and then another. The dragon kept glaring at him, but he didn't move as Boris strode past him and towards the nest. The dragon made a keening noise as Boris took the golden egg, but Boris barked a word at him and the dragon was still. His prize in hand, Boris stalked out of the arena.
The stands exploded in noise as Harry stared at the dragon. One of nature's most effective killing machines was forlornly rubbing his snout against the empty nest.
"What," Harry said.
After dinner that evening, Harry trudged up to his room and got into bed, refusing to speak to anyone. It wasn't long before he turned the quieter all the way up.
Everyone in Hogwarts was talking about Durmstrang's amazing victory against the Hungarian Horntail, while Marguerite's win received only a passing mention. As it turned out, the strategy of using lullaby songs wasn't uncommon with dangerous creatures. So even though Marguerite scored the most points, she didn't impress the students. Staring down a dragon and telling it to "Shut up," however, was as about as common as stopping a runaway train with a rubber band.
No one could figure out how Boris Krum did it, and neither could Harry. And yet the students wouldn't stop pestering him.
"How do you think he did it, Harry?"
"Maybe he's a secret dragon master!"
"Or he's a master of elements! He's a fire bender!"
"Come on, Harry, tell us your theories."
Harry gave them half-hearted enigmatic answers that intimated he was keeping it a secret, and decided he would set his brain to the task and figure it out by morning.
That's what his brain did all night. Thinking.
And the more Harry thought about it, the angrier he got.
The truth was, this situation had been building for a while. Since their arrival, the Durmstrang students had been carefully cultivating the myth that they were total badasses. Harry didn't know how much was true or not, but that was beside the point. The important thing was to what extent others believed it.
Harry had ignored them at first, since it seemed that their mundane goal was to impress women. And yet, as time went on, Harry had noticed a disturbing trend. The strange habits of the students from Durmstrang had become regular conversation at the Ravenclaw table. If a Durmstrang male happened to be present, all students in the vicinity would hang onto his every monosyllabic grunt. Three days ago, one student claimed he'd seen a Durmstrang student tackle a dementor, which was complete nonsense, but not even the smart kids bothered to question him.
He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but Harry Potter knew that much of his influence came from appearing more powerful than he actually was. This was, in fact, the way all governments imposed authority. When it came to all things chaotic and insane, the Weasley twins were the princes and Harry was the king.
The Durmstrang students were eclipsing him, and he was not okay with that. Not at all.
The final straw came the next morning when Boris Krum sat down for breakfast at the Ravenclaw table. Half of Harry's housemates begged for a retelling of the match, while the rest looked on in heartfelt admiration.
Harry had his wand raised for a quieting charm when he caught Anthony Goldstein saying, "I'm not even sure Harry Potter could have done what you did, Mr. Krum. Not even if he snapped his fingers."
"Like this?" said Boris, and poised his fingers to snap.
The students gasped and backed away, and Boris snorted, casting a glance at Harry before he went back to eating.
Harry narrowed his eyes, feeling the hot blood raising his hackles. That was it. The final nail in the coffin. He'd been challenged, and it must be answered in blood. (Figuratively, of course. He was a good guy.)
Harry finished his meal in grim silence, and made his way to his lab. Upon entering, he saw that the Bayesian Conspiracy had taken over his classroom. Sheet metal was spread over the desks and propped against windows, and Dean, Seamus and Michael Corner were pouring over the 6th year charms book from his library.
"What are you doing?" asked Harry.
"Just working on the Gameboy project," answered Dean, not looking up. "We're building a Faraday Cage."
"Oh," said Harry. "Carry on, then."
Harry didn't have the heart to tell them that he had tried what they were attempting with a portable oven, and it hadn't worked. Still, even if they failed, he hoped they would learn something along the way.
Harry turned and walked back towards the Ravenclaw dorm. He wasn't about to stop the progress of science just so he could brood over his fiendish plots. His trunk was more than suitable for that.
By the time Harry came down to dinner that evening, he had the bare bones fleshed out, and all he needed to do was gather supplies and set pieces in motion. As he piled the food onto his plate (he'd skipped lunch), he found himself wishing that he had a professor or student he could trust to vet his ideas. Not that he wasn't confident it would work, but it was always good to have an extra set of eyes.
Hermione took her seat beside him, her face flushed and a bit nervous.
"Harry," she said. "Where were you all day?"
"Working on a problem," he said.
"What kind of problem? Can I help?"
Balancing a piece of carrot on his fork, he contemplated his answer. Hermione wouldn't be his first choice for this kind of work, but she'd grown up a lot since her first year. He remembered a few weeks back where she'd jokingly asked to get in on his plots, so maybe she wouldn't actually mind? He still wasn't sure she hadn't pulled that prank on him weeks ago.
To be honest, it would be…quite thrilling, if she participated in a plot with him.
"If you promise not to tell anyone, I'll fill you in on the details after dinner."
She frowned, hesitating a moment over the decision, then she shrugged, "Alright, Harry."
Later, in an empty classroom, Harry warded the place from spying and drew some notes from his pouch. "This plan is code named…umm…" He hadn't actually decided this yet. "Project Mattresses."
Well, that had sounded better in his head. Her brow furrowed, but she nodded, indicating that he continue.
Harry launched into the details of his plot. It took about twenty minutes, and once he was finished, Hermione sat on a table watching him with an impassive expression.
"So, your whole plan is to make it look like someone helped the Durmstrang team with a problem, and there's plausible deniability that it was you, but Durmstrang will know it was a sign of their…" She waved her hands, searching for the word. "Defeat?"
"Exactly," said Harry, nodding. "Of course, I'll have to cause the problem in the first place, and the tricky part is to make it look like something I can't influence, to everyone except Durmstrang. The solution also needs to be something that I can get my hands on, perhaps a potion from Slughorn."
"And…" Hermione crossed her ankles, swinging them a bit. "You're saying you planned all this because Boris…snorted at you?"
"Well," Harry folded his arms. "It was obvious what he was implying, Hermione. He might as well have been throwing down the gauntlet. And, anyway, it's not like this plan won't also be beneficial to Hogwarts, since it will reveal to everyone the truth about Durmstrang's real capabilities. Besides, I don't want to hurt anyone, the point is to completely blow their minds."
Hermione smiled, in her 'Oh, you poor sweet thing,' sort of way, and said, "If you want my honest opinion, this sounds like a stupid plan that's going to blow up in your face, but go on ahead if you want to get expelled."
Harry sighed. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. "You just don't understand, Hermione. Even if this plan gets me in trouble, I can't back down on this."
"Why?"
The truth was, Harry didn't know how to explain this to Hermione. When a man received a challenge, he had to answer it, or else be branded a wuss for eternity, and everyone would pass by and laugh at him. On some level, he was aware of how irrational this sounded, and Hermione would definitely say he was being an idiot if he tried to explain it to her. However, he suspected if he told Neville or Dean, they would immediately understand.
Besides, whenever Harry had considered the alternative—backing down and letting Boris walk all over him—he realized it wasn't just himself he was letting himself get beaten, but the student population as well. Harry would be letting them believe something untrue about his abilities, which would cause them to follow Boris, which could lead them into danger and most likely complicate Harry's plans to save the world later. Ultimately, his reputation had to be preserved for the good of the school.
His lips twisted. Yeah, Hermione wouldn't go for that either, so…
"It's just the sort of thing I have to do, Hermione, for obvious reasons," he said, lamely.
"Well, if it's obvious, then wouldn't Boris know that too? What if he challenged you just so he could trap you?"
Harry considered this. "You're suggesting he might be a Level 2 player, expecting me to take the bait at Level 1? In that case, the Level 3 player would pretend to take the bait, but in reality have a plan in place-"
"A Level 3 player would just ignore the challenge entirely. The best way to win is by not playing the game."
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair with an uncertain grimace. "Hold on, let me think."
Professor Quirrell wouldn't have told him to back down. Well, he might have if the plan hadn't been cunning enough to avoid detection, but he would have approved his reasoning nonetheless. His professor probably would have given him advice on how to crush his enemy.
Draco also would have understood, though he would have suggested befriending the enemy and using them to his advantage before destroying them.
Even the members of the Bayesian Conspiracy would have listened, bounced around a few mediocre theories before telling Harry he should just hex him into a ferret, then take a picture so they could see.
Hermione would be the only one to write his plan off entirely and tell him to drop the whole thing.
Well, said Ravenclaw. We did say she was our conscience. Maybe we could try it her way for once?
LA LA LA, I CAN'T HEAR YOU, said Gryffindor.
Even though all of Harry's component parts were cringing in disgust, Harry decided to try it. Her track record for interpersonal relations was better than his, and besides, he could always initiate a plot later if he changed his mind. "If you're wrong, he might escalate to bait me. What then?"
"Well…then let me handle it," said Hermione. "I'll go talk to him."
Harry stiffened, like someone had punched him in the gut.
"What?" she said.
"Don't take this the wrong way, Hermione," he said, "But I'd rather you stayed out of it."
"Is it because I'm a girl?" said Hermione, raising her eyebrows teasingly.
"Of course not," said Harry automatically, then realized maybe she had a point. If Harry went into this fight and lost, it was fine. But if he sent someone else in for him, especially if it was a girl, then Harry would be branded a double wuss for eternity, and people would spit on him and kick him as he walked past.
Can we…have a discussion about how completely absurd your emotional realizations have been recently? asked his Ravenclaw side. You're starting to make me nervous.
"I think in this case," said Hermione carefully. "If I address some…misunderstandings, he might back down."
Harry regarded her warily. "Misunderstandings?"
"I might be wrong," she said, hastily. "But I think he has hurt feelings. If my plan doesn't work, then do what you want."
He rubbed his forehead. How his brilliant scheme had devolved into talking about feelings, he didn't know. Even if he disagreed, it's not like he could tell her not to try it. "Alright! Fine. But just promise me you won't threaten him with violence unless absolutely necessary." He really did not want it going around Hogwarts that he sent Hermione to fight his battles for him.
"Don't worry, no violence," she said, hopping off the table. "I'll let you know how it goes."
As soon as she left, Hermione went searching for Boris Krum.
She hadn't seen him in the library the past few days, which had made her hope that maybe he'd given up on her. Clearly, that didn't seem to be the case, as now he was targeting Harry.
Oh, boys and their rivalries. They didn't know how to handle their emotions except by fighting, that was the problem. She knew it was all her fault for not talking to Boris sooner, but she couldn't help the twinge of excitement she felt at being the cause of a love rivalry, even as she hated herself for it. Poor Boris, she really wasn't looking forward to doing this.
The first place she checked was the Durmstrang common room, but she was surprised to find there were a line of dressed up girls standing outside the door. She tried to squeeze past them, but the girls glared daggers and shoved her back. "No cutting! We were here first."
"Huh?" said Hermione. "What are you—"
The door opened, and several girls walked out, while a tall, bare-chested man ushered the next few girls in.
"Excuse me," said Hermione, stepping up to him. "I'm here to see Boris Krum."
The man looked her up and down, unimpressed by her uniform, then shrugged and let her in.
The place looked nothing like a normal common room. The rock hewn walls and red oak furniture were okay, but the leopard print furs and musky forest scent were way over the top. Around the Durmstrang "cave," the torch light flickered over small groups of girls who sat at stone tables, ogling the shirtless boys around them and…apparently eating snacks? There were plates of food around. One of the girls gasped and fainted when the guitar player blew her a kiss.
Hermione grimaced. Maybe Harry was right, and the Durmstrang boys did need to be taught a lesson in humility. They were making the Hogwarts girls act like complete idiots, for one thing. She wouldn't be surprised if the reason this room was so clean was because they licked the ground these boys walked on.
Okay…maybe that was a little harsh. She considered herself an intelligent, discerning girl, and even she felt her heart skip a beat at all the shirtless men lounging around on the furniture. One of them was even wearing glasses and reading a book, and Hermione had to keep reminding herself it was rude to stare.
Even if he didn't seem to mind, and threw a casual smile in her direction….
She shook her head. What was it about this place?
One of the men near the door stood up from his fur lined oak chair and said, "Welcome, beautiful lady. Would you care for a beverage?"
He held out a goblet of steaming brown liquid in his hands, which she really hoped was coffee. "No thank you, I'm here to see Boris."
"Mr. Krum? He only accepts visitors by invitation now, and he is currently occupied."
"Oh," said Hermione, not sure how to reply to that.
Hermione heard two girls squealing from the other side of the room, curling into the Durmstrang boy sitting between them. The boy, a blond who eerily resembled a tan version of Draco, called out. "Hermione!" He untangled himself and came closer. "If you wait a moment, I can bring him down for you. I'm sure he can free himself within five minutes, if it's for you."
Hermione blushed, backpedalling out the door. "No, that's alright. I'll be in the library. Tell him to meet me there when he's finished."
Immediately after leaving, Hermione called Tonks. "What is happening in the Durmstrang common room?"
"Ahh, I see you discovered their host club. Yeah, it's a bit much, but the coffee is pretty good."
Hermione rounded a corner. "I'm meeting Boris in the library. If it ends up being really weird, please make him leave."
She responded back. "Got it. On my way."
Hermione had promised not to use force, but Tonks hadn't. Though honestly, she just wanted Tonks there because she was freaking out. She couldn't even begin to imagine what Durmstrang boys thought was appropriate to do in empty libraries.
Entering the room, she saw it was just her and Madam Pince. Wonderful. She jumped at a tap on her shoulder, then realized it was just a disillusioned Tonks. Hermione let out a sigh of relief, and whispered, "Thank you."
"Anytime," the invisible person whispered back. "I'll be near the nonfiction books."
Hermione took a seat a few tables down and waited.
It wasn't long before the library door opened, and Boris entered, quietly shutting it behind him. Hermione was thankful he'd chosen to wear a shirt, even though it was white and see through. His hair was damp, and his feet were bare.
"Hermione," he said, with a warm smile. "I am so happy you called me."
She could hear the longing in his voice, and it made some primal part of her shudder. It wasn't that she wanted him, but that she liked being wanted. It also made her sad, because of what she had to do.
"Hello Boris," she said, swallowing. "Uhh…I wanted to talk with you. I hope I didn't interrupt…anything."
"It's fine. I was working on the second tournament task, but it can wait. What did you want to talk about?"
Working? He looked like he'd been showering. Well, anyway, she wouldn't know. The Triwizard tournament clues hadn't been part of her agenda. "I wanted to ask you about Harry. He told me you're trying to start a rivalry with him."
Boris snorted and folded his arms. "I want no rivalry. Only for him to know his place."
Hermione thought carefully. "Why are you upset with him? Has he done something to you?"
Boris's dark eyes gazed into hers, and then took one of her hands in his own. "Only stolen your time away from me. You can do better than him, Hermione. I am a strong man. I can be fierce, but I will be gentle with you. I cannot speak English well, but talk to me, and I will learn. Teach me all about you and your world."
Oh wow, thought Hermione. She glanced aside, but she knew he could see her blush. "I…umm…I'm sorry. I can't."
There was a long moment of dreadful silence. "Someone else has your heart. Is it Harry?"
"Oh, no, of course not!" exclaimed Hermione. "It isn't that, it's just…" She cast around for something, anything to say. "I don't really want a boyfriend right now. I've got so much going on with Auror training and studying for NEWTs and OWLs at the same time. It would be too much for me to have a boyfriend as well." That was actually true, though she knew deep down she would make an exception for the right boy.
"I can be patient," he said. "I won't need much time."
"No, it's not fair to you," she said. "And it's too stressful for me. I'm sorry, but…that's how it is."
"Yes. I understand," he said, his face crumpling as he lowered his eyes. She thought he'd be angry, or try harder to persuade her. She'd had a whole argument planned for just in case, but it had gone out the window when she saw how much he really seemed to care for her.
"But we can still be friends," she blurted out.
His eyes rose to meet hers, uncertainly. "Friends?"
"Yes. You can never have too many of those," she said, offering a smile.
"As your friend," he said. "Can I see you sometimes?"
"Ahh…" A part of her wanted to say no, but she responded. "I tutor on Saturdays. If you'd like to sign up to study English, I could add you to a study group."
He contemplated her a long moment, and then nodded, his voice smooth and deep. "I look forward to it."
"Great," she said, feeling herself blush for some reason. "Umm…Harry is my friend too. Do you think you could put your differences aside and get along?"
"Yes," he said, still with that voice. "If it pleases you, I will not be his rival."
"Thank you," Hermione responded, letting out a gasp when he bent down and kissed her hand.
"It is how we seal a promise in Bulgaria," he said. "At times, on the cheek as well."
She nodded, and cast a glance at where Tonks was supposed to be. "I need to go to the dorms now. My friend is expecting me. Goodnight, Boris."
He bowed at the waist. "Goodnight, Hermione."
The next day at lunch time, Harry grabbed a chair beside Hermione and said, "So Boris Krum just came up to me in the hall and shook my hand. He said that we were friends now." He narrowed his eyes. "How did you do it?"
Hermione raised her orange juice to her lips. "I straightened out the miscommunication."
"Yes, but how? Was it some kind of Auror mind trick?"
Hermione smiled. "No. Keep thinking."
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I did that, but the best solution I can come up with is that you kissed him or something."
Hermione choked on her juice, and grabbed a napkin to wipe off her chin.
"Don't worry, I know you didn't," he said. "But how about you tell me how you really did it, so I can stop imagining impossible scenarios."
Hermione decided this was the moment to use the trick. She turned to him and, smiling her most innocent smile, snapped her fingers.
"Really?" he said, his voice deadpan.
"If it makes you feel better, just imagine some Auror mind trick," she replied. "At least now you don't have to concoct any plots."
Harry sighed. "You say that like it's a good thing."
Draco burst through the doors of St. Mungo's, storming through the crowd of others waiting to be seen and approaching the front desk.
"Lord Malfoy, how can I—"
"Where is she?" Draco cut in.
The lady glanced to her side, at the attendant sitting next to her. "Your mother is stable. She's resting."
"I want to see her. Now."
The receptionist gave him overly complicated directions to her room that he was in no mood to hear, then tried repeating them when it looked like he didn't understand.
"Nevermind. Just take me there."
The woman frowned, then nodded and stood to walk him to the room. Draco knew that berating innocent receptionists wasn't acceptable behaviour for a Malfoy, but he was too upset to be nice. His mother was doing so well this week, and they'd even started making Christmas plans. Then this morning he'd been pulled from breakfast with the news she'd had another fit. It was a bad one, and they said she might not make it.
He'd missed the first task of the Triwizard tournament, and the leaders had expected him to attend. Planned for it, even. He was going to make damn sure to make the most of his absence.
Draco found his mother in her small, private room. She lay in bed, peaceful in sleep. The doctors had set her in a magically induced coma, as it seemed to help her recover faster. What Draco wanted to know was why none of their other treatments seemed to be working.
He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. He took her hand in his, rubbing a bit of warmth into it. One of the books he'd read said that coma patients could sense when someone was close to them, and physical touch can help them respond better to treatments. Talking did too, but he thought if he said anything, he'd burst into tears.
Draco sat beside her a long time, leaning his head beside her arm, listening to her breathe. It was a soft sound, but it reminded him she was alive, and would come back to him. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the sky outside was dark, and he was famished. He sat up and immediately froze. There was someone else in the room.
She sat in a chair opposite his, studying him. Her hair was dark blonde and pin straight, and she was slim as a supermodel. He wouldn't have recognized her, but for the hungry, slightly manic look in her eyes. It was always there, it seemed. Something left over from her draining in Azkaban.
Draco suspected she was insane, but she was his superior, and there were formalities. He rose from his chair and bowed to her. "Hello, my Lady."
She inclined her head. "Greetings, Lord Malfoy. I am sorry to disturb you so late. How is your mother?"
"As well as can be expected. The doctors said they will lift the coma in the morning and see if she wakes."
The lady turned those hungry eyes onto his mother, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. She wouldn't harm her, but he had to remind himself not to draw his wand.
"Do not worry about missing the tournament," said the lady. "The Priestess understands. She wishes your mother a quick recovery."
"Thank you," said Draco stiffly. "I appreciate it. But I'm sure you didn't come this late at night to tell me that."
The lady stood to her full height. She hadn't just changed her hair since her imprisonment—she was taller now, too. "The Priestess wanted me to inform you tonight, so you would have time to prepare yourself."
Draco frowned. "For what?"
The lady gestured to his mother. "We have an enchantment that must be cast. It will aid us in our plan. To do that, we need each of you to sacrifice one happy memory of each other."
Draco felt himself go cold. "She is not doing well. Can't it wait until—"
"It's because she is so ill that we must do it now. Your bond with her is critical to making the device. It will not harm her physically, but she will lose the memory forever, and you will only remember it if you are touching the enchanted item."
Draco was silent for several seconds, but inside his mind was raging.
It's not fair! Ask someone else with memories to spare. She's already lost so much time. To illness, to weakness, to the rampant whims of Dumbledore. All our memories are of missing each other, how dare you take away the happy ones. Those are ours!
Another part of Draco was worried that if he snatched even one memory, his mother would somehow forget about him entirely. There would be nothing good left to remember.
His hands balled into fists. No, he could not say any of that, not even to express his anger. He'd been told the risks, and he knew there would be sacrifices. He had said yes. And yet, while he had not lost his dedication, he realized he'd been doing this for his mother's sake. If she didn't make it through this, alive and well…
"Lord Malfoy?" asked the lady, waiting for an answer. Her tone was polite, but there was no sympathy in her voice, not a touch of concern for her sister and nephew. Perhaps that had been stolen by Azkaban too, along with all her happy memories.
"Can you at least promise me," said Draco, keeping his voice level. "That I may pick the one that is taken?"
"Why, of course." She offered him a bright smile. "You can even pick what time we start."
"The afternoon, then," said Draco.
She nodded, and readied her wand to Apparate. "I'll see you tomorrow, Draco."
It was the first time he walked with his mother in the garden. The summer before she'd gotten sick, when they were still grieving over father, they had spent all their time learning everything they could about each other. It was that morning he discovered how much she loved gardening. She named the flowers and trees that they passed, sharing her memories of watching them grow. Some of these memories included father, but she was so happy here that even those memories weren't painful. Laughing so hard she cried, his mother described how father had almost gotten his hand bitten off in the Venus fly trap. It was the first time Draco realized that everything would be okay someday.
He held the memory in the necklace in his hands. Then he passed it off to the lady, and it was gone, leaving only the vague sense that something important was missing.
"What will you do with it?" asked Draco.
"You'll see shortly," said the Lady, slipping the necklace around her neck. If she could feel the memory, she gave no sign of it. "You did well. I will speak with you again soon."
The lady Apparated away. Draco sat beside his mother, who still remained asleep. He stroked her hand, willing her to remember him when she woke up.
