Chapter 22: Reign of Terror
Harry sat in the Quidditch stadium, now occupied by contestants from the duelling club, confused as to why there were so many girls screaming.
This wasn't a normal occurrence. Most duelling matches gathered a handful of onlookers, and their biggest match in May could bring in around 75. But this year, the Durmstrang students had decided to compete, including Boris Krum. Hogwarts put up a good fight, but they were still getting their arse handed to them in every match.
Of course, if Harry had been allowed to participate, it would have been a different story.
Hogwarts showed itself to be woefully underprepared in the art of Battle Magic, but perhaps this game would enlighten his team as to the importance of increased training. He could suffer through watching his school get crushed if it would lead to that. That still didn't explain the presence of the screaming girls, though.
They were down to the semi-finals, and only Cedric Diggory remained in the running. The rest were students from Durmstrang. In the next match, Cedric was scheduled to play against Boris, and Harry noticed in the stands that there was an ocean of little red flags with Boris's face. The expectant hum in the air finally broke in a wave of cheers and cries when he entered the arena.
Something whizzed past Harry's head, and he ducked as another shot came from nearby.
"Take my scrunchie!" cried one girl.
"No, take mine!" screamed another.
Harry grimaced. Not only had the female population of Hogwarts collectively lost their minds, they were also ruining the duelling experience. The one silver lining to this was that if Krum was competing, then he wasn't at Hermione's Saturday study session.
Neville, who had been defeated in the first round, walked up the stairs to sit beside Harry. He hunched over like he was ill, his knees bouncing.
"Something really weird is happening," he said. "I feel like I'm going crazy."
"I know," groaned Harry, wincing as the girls beside him screamed. "This is mayhem. Quirrell must be rolling over in his grave."
"Not that," said Neville, his eyes darting about, as if scanning for an attack. "It's Daphne."
"What happened?"
"She came to me before the match, and she said, 'Good luck.' But it was in this really deep, scratchy voice, like straight out of the Exorcist. Then she looked up at me, jerking and blinking like she was expelling a demon. And that's not even the first time that's happened!" He rubbed his forehead. "I don't know, Harry, I think she must be playing a cruel trick on me, but before I can ask her, she always runs away. And now," he swallowed. "I'm really scared what will happen if I do ask."
Harry shook his head. "I don't know. Conventional wisdom dictates that when a girl acts strange around a guy, you're supposed to assume she likes him. However, she is a Slytherin, so the rules could be different."
"Exactly," said Neville. "Slytherins don't date Hufflepuffs, they mock them."
Boris Krum cast a fire spell that blasted apart the wall of dirt Cedric was using as a shield, and a wave of girls screamed. Boris rushed forward, pinning Cedric to the ground. They were wrestling, and punching, and the referee was blowing his whistle. But they weren't stopping.
"What's gotten into Cedric?" asked Harry, plugging his ears against the shrill screeching. "He's not normally so aggressive."
Then, as the referee charged towards them, Cedric mashed his face against Boris's, and the Durmstrang student grabbed Cedric and flipped him, aggressively kissing him as their wrestling became a lot more amorous.
The girls screamed and fainted, and the referee backed up, uncertain what to do.
Harry and Neville watched the entire affair like some horrible train wreck. They couldn't look away.
It had been weeks since he'd gotten stuck in that room with Neville and the twins, so long that he'd completely forgotten about their experiments. He'd expected the Weasleys' love potion to be a failure, or at the very worst, to cause a scattering of infatuated students. But in his wildest dreams, he'd never imagined this.
"Love potions," whispered Neville. "We're so dead."
"Just…don't panic," said Harry, his voice trembling at the unspeakable horror of what they had brought into being. "Keep your antidote with you at all times. I'll find a way to fix this."
Ever since grade school, Tyler Green had been popular with the ladies. In his first year of Primary, he'd had two girls who called him their "boyfriend" even before he knew what that was. In year 4, a group of 3rd year girls found him during lunch and sang a full chorus of "All I Want for Christmas is Tyler."
Tyler never really understood their interest in him. When he looked in the mirror, he saw an average kid with average looks. He didn't even have anything cool, like a scar or a dirt bike. He certainly didn't have the charm needed to impress older girls. When he was 8, he had a crush on a dark haired girl who was several years older, but only got to sneak looks at her during lunch and carpool. During his last year in Primary, he would hang out on the playground with the older girls, where they would pat his head and call him "cute," but date secondary school boys.
Somehow this pattern had followed him into Hogwarts as well. Every time he walked into the Great Hall for meals, the 1st and 2nd years would squeal and giggle to each other, blushing over their hands while sneaking looks at him. He was a 2nd year now, so he would plunk down with the 4th years and try to pretend he was older than he was.
But when he woke up Sunday morning, his neck felt stiff. He checked under his pillow, and found two boxes of chocolates. In the hallway, three girls passed him cupcakes, and then waited for him to eat them. To be polite, he tasted them and then saved the rest for later.
As he sat down to breakfast, he noticed something strange. A lot of students were holding hands, and kissing, and not just at the Gryffindor table, either. Even Hufflepuffs were doing it. With Slytherins.
"What's going on?" he asked his 4th year classmates.
The boy beside him whispered, "Keep your wits about you, little guy. The love bug's going around, and everyone who's not infected is pretending to be."
One of the girls, who hadn't touched her food, said, "I can't believe you guys are so okay with this."
"Ehh," said the boy, shrugging as he dug in. "It happens every few years. Never this bad, though."
Tyler looked down at his plate of food, and then back at his muffins. His stomach felt queasy, like it was getting pulled in five different directions. "Umm…I gotta go."
He knew he needed to go find help, but he was too embarrassed to find a teacher, and too scared to owl his parents. He knew enough about love potions to know they didn't last more than 48 hours, so he decided to go to his dorm and sleep it off.
And then, on the way there, he saw her. The prettiest, strongest, most inspiring girl in the entire school. He could barely get up the nerve to talk to her most days—giving her that chocolate a few months ago had taken all his willpower. But as he passed by, she smiled at him, and his resolve to bear his mortifying condition alone collapsed. "Please, Miss Hermione," he said, "Can you help me?"
Minerva sat in her office, flinching when another owl appeared to dump a letter onto her desk.
The pile was monstrously high already, and that could only mean one thing. She was about to have a terrible week.
Minerva sighed, and opened the first letter.
"Headmistress McGonagall,
We were shocked to hear that you will be hosting a Yule Ball at Hogwarts on December 25th. Respectfully, we beg you to reconsider. Our family always visits our relatives in Norway for the holidays, and our Hannah will be missed terribly if she is not there to greet everyone. Please consider moving it to a time when school is normally in session, otherwise our daughter cannot attend. Respectfully, Mark and Tina Abbot."
Minerva could feel the headache already. She opened another letter.
"Headmistress McGonagall,
Our son has informed us that not only are you hosting a Yule Ball during winter vacation, but there are also love potions in Hogwarts. This is an outrage. We simply cannot have that influencing our son's choice in a dance partner. Not to mention, our daughter says she's scared to eat the food in the Great Hall. Until you resolve this issue, they will not be attending school. Sincerely, Martin Finch-Fletchley."
A third letter was opened, reluctantly.
"Headmistress, my 1st year daughter is writing to me about her infatuation with a Beauxbatons student who is 17 years old! This is unacceptable! You must keep a better check on your students, I don't want her fraternizing with a boy who is almost twice her age! Also, she informs me that people are kissing during class all the time! What kind of school are you even running? Sincerely, Patricia Binns."
Minerva set aside the rest of the letters, after a brief glance assured her that most of them were pretty much the same issue. She couldn't do anything about disgruntled parents, but she could solve the real problem in Hogwarts.
In Minerva's opinion, love potions were a terrible, foul thing that should never have been called into existence. Every few years or so, however, someone would bring a stash of them into Hogwarts, and the drug would run rampant for about a week until the professors rooted out the offending supplier and doled out a suitable punishment. Love potions were expensive and rare, so it was never more than a few affected at a time. But in this infestation, the students had gotten hold of an insane amount of love potions. Every class period the professors confiscated a stash, but then three times the amount would appear the next day.
She needed to find the culprit, and fast. Fortunately, that part of the problem had already been resolved. She'd collected enough evidence in the last few days, including a few stashes of potions and numerous signed documents, that it was obvious who was responsible.
Someone knocked on her door, and she waved it open. Inside trudged two redheaded Gryffindors and one dark haired Ravenclaw.
Minerva did not offer them a seat. Instead, she fixed them with her Stony Glare and said, "I trust you know why I called you to my office?"
The Weasley twins nodded. Harry opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He stood silently for a moment.
"Why was I called in, Headmistress?" he asked, finally.
Minerva pointed to the stack of letters of her desk. "These are from the parents. They are concerned, scared, and want to know who is responsible for the chaos at Hogwarts. How do you think they'll respond if I tell them that the Boy-Who-Lived dosed their children with love potions?"
"I—I can explain everything—" started Harry.
Minerva shook her head. "I don't want an explanation, Mr. Potter. I know that you three were involved in the production and distribution of love potions, and that you even signed a contract to this effect. To be honest, even if you did explain, it wouldn't make a difference, since I will not be determining your punishment."
Minerva had already sent the signal, and precisely on schedule, Mad Eye Moody appeared in the room. He cracked his knuckles, glaring with manic glee at the three boys. "Well, well, well," he said. "You boys really screwed up this time, didn't you?"
"Headmistress!" cried Harry. "Really, you don't know the entire explanation!"
The Weasley twins shook their heads, but didn't say anything. Like true Gryffindors, they knew when they screwed up, and they were prepared to take their lumps. Harry also knew he screwed up, but he was a Ravenclaw, so he was trying to talk his way out of it.
Minerva stood up, crossing behind her desk towards the door. "Please take care of them, Mad Eye. Show them what happens to Dark Wizards when the Aurors get a hold of them."
His smile widened. "Gladly. It's been a while since I got to use my favourite dark curses," he said, his wand trained on the boys.
Minerva knew he wouldn't go that far. Mad Eye had a code about seriously harming anyone who was still a Hogwarts student. It was one of the few restrictions he placed on himself, otherwise she never would have agreed to this. But the boys had shown flagrant disregard for authority, and that needed to be rectified, while she still had time. Minerva turned to Mad Eye, her expression bored, "All I ask is that you don't leave a mess." She refused to turn to look at the boys, even as Harry looked at her pleadingly, his fists tightened and shaking.
She left the room, and went to go get some tea, trying not to think about what was happening in her office.
Romilda Vane was on her way to the Gryffindor common room when she stopped, turning her nose up to the air.
Something interesting was about to happen.
Scanning the hallway, she ducked into an empty alcove and cast the invisibility charm. Examining her hands, she frowned at the slight shimmer. She'd practiced the charm for months, but it still kept glitching out on her. She needed to hurry up and become an Animagus, something small and innocuous like a bug. She hoped to do it in a way that wouldn't lead to a trip to Azkaban.
A few moments later, she heard footfalls running down the hall. There was a red flash, and a girl shrieked and fell to the ground inches from the alcove. The girl—a 3rd year Ravenclaw—scrambled for her wand before it flew out of her hand.
"How cute," said Ginny, appearing around the corner, her wand trained on the girl. "You thought you actually stood a chance against me."
Romilda knew that Ginny got spitefully mean when she was angry, but right now she looked cool and collected, like she hexed girls in hallways every day. Which…wasn't far off the mark, though she had loosened up recently. The Ravenclaw was shaking as she burst out, "Why are you doing this? I didn't hurt you!"
Ginny smiled, her voice bright with deadly sweetness. "No, not me. You humiliated two people—my boyfriend among them—just so you could live out some childish fantasy. Your second crime was to use a love potion to steal one of my friend's dates to the Yule ball. Did you think I would just let you get away with that?"
"You're not a queen!" cried the girl. "And Boris Krum isn't your boyfriend!"
Ginny still smiled, but the sweetness was gone from her voice, "Well, my dear, you're wrong. And after I'm done with you, your date won't even be able to look at you without retching."
The girl screamed and pleaded-but it fell on deaf ears. When Ginny had finished with her unique cocktail of hexes, the girl covered her face and ran away sobbing. She would go to Madam Pomfrey, but she wouldn't dare mention Ginny's name. No one ever did.
With a smug smile, Ginny put away her wand.
"Why, Ginny Weasley, I must say, that was quite a spectacle. I haven't seen someone cast the Burning Tuber hex since the first half of this century."
Ginny whirled around, hands behind her back, as if she could hide what she did. "Professor Slughorn! I can explain…"
"Oh, I already heard everything," said the Professor, and Romilda had to lean out to see him near the corner, hands in his pockets as he casually strolled closer. "The recovery time for those hexes is quite long—I do believe that even Madam Pomfrey can't improve her chances of attending the Yule Ball this year."
Ginny's face burned almost as bright as her hair, and she stared down at her feet. Romilda held her breath—this could very well be Ginny's last day at Hogwarts.
The Professor took his hands from his pockets, folding his arms. "I've a question for you, Miss Weasley. What are you doing this evening?"
Hermione wasn't angry at Harry. She couldn't be, not after how terrible he looked when he picked her up that evening. His face was drawn, and his eyes were empty, like he'd gotten his soul sucked out of him. He didn't say a word during the long walk to Slughorn's party.
The love potion debacle was stupid, and she couldn't believe he'd gotten himself involved in that, but she'd honestly never seen him look this upset. It was a little scary.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
He shrugged. "I've been through worse. I don't really want to talk about it, though."
Hermione fidgeted. She didn't like not talking about it, because that meant it wasn't fixed. Hermione didn't know what to do besides suggesting, "Well, if you change your mind, let me know." They walked a few more steps. "Can I at least give you a hug, or something?"
She opened her arms a little, expecting him to begrudgingly accept, but he kept on walking.
"What I really want is to skip this party," he sighed. "But I don't have much choice in that matter."
She lowered her arms. "Well, umm…we don't have to go tonight. There's another party next week."
He shook his head. "I just need to get this over with. Besides, if I miss the party, Slughorn might try to rope me into doing something extra to make up for it."
Hermione considered this, but that logic was weak. "I'll just tell him you're not feeling well. I'm sure he'll understand."
"Don't worry about it. Besides, we're already here."
Hermione didn't know why Harry was being so stubborn, but he was obviously done talking about it. He opened the door and Hermione entered behind him. Like the previous evening, Slughorn came to greet them.
"Good evening, young scholars! As the Weasley twins have spread their remarkably effective love potion around the castle, would you care to accept some antidotes? Take as many as you'd like, and then please try our delicious Bulgarian Pumpkin Banitza."
Hermione took a few, surprised they were still hosting the party this week. Everyone at Hogwarts was love mad, though she suspected 80% of it was self-inflicted. She knew couples who dosed each other, and plenty of others who complained loudly about not wanting to get dosed, while staring at their crushes.
She still couldn't believe how stupid this whole thing was. Why would you want to feel love if it wasn't real?
Everyone was acting normal now, though. In fact, there were even more people than last time, including adults. The room was festively decorated with Christmas lights and a giant tree heavy with glittering ornaments. Light Christmas music played in the background, and Hermione wondered if he was going to this much trouble for a dinner, the much-anticipated Christmas party must be something else entirely.
"I'm going to get some eggnog," said Hermione, turning to Harry. He nodded, but his gaze was fixed on something else in the room. Hermione glanced around, but she couldn't tell what he was staring at.
Shrugging, she went to the drinks table. A girl with red hair—Ginny, she remembered—was pouring herself a drink. She turned, gave Hermione a once over, and then moved out of the way. Hermione went to get her drink, feeling awkward since Ginny was still standing there, sipping her eggnog.
"Hermione Granger, right?" She lifted her chin, flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I'm Ginny Weasley. It's nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, too," replied Hermione warily. She sensed some kind of power play was going on here, and unlike Harry, the whole plotting against classmates thing made her extremely uncomfortable. Not to mention, Ginny was basically a younger version of the girls at Beauxbatons she tried to avoid.
Ginny leaned against the table, observing the room. She wore a halter top yellow dress, her hair curled in a way that made her look cute. It contrasted oddly with her make up and the cut of her dress, like a pre-teen trying to sneak into a club. "So, Hermione, I noticed you came with Harry Potter." She bit her lip, studying him. "He's looking a bit under the weather today."
"Well," Hermione shrugged. "He had a hard day."
Ginny took a sip of her eggnog. "Well, in my experience, the best way to cheer him up is to pull him into an empty classroom for a good snog." She looked back at her Hermione over her shoulder. "Never dated a boy who didn't love it."
Hermione's jaw dropped. "But…we're not…we're not dating."
Ginny shrugged. "He still might like it. Boys are simple like that. Anyway, why aren't you dating?"
Hermione blushed, and said in an undertone. "Well, that's not really your business, is it?"
Ginny set down her glass on the table. "Sorry, didn't know it was so personal. I just assumed because, well, you're always together. Do you like someone else?"
Hermione met Ginny's intense gaze, and for the briefest second she wondered if Ginny was interested in her. A handful of girls had already asked Hermione to the Yule Ball, and while she didn't judge, it still felt a little weird. "Umm…I'm interested in being single?"
Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Really? Even if, oh, say a handsome Quidditch player were to ask you out?"
Hermione glanced over at Boris Krum, the Quidditch player she was obviously referring to. She remembered seeing the two of them come in together, and everything clicked into place. "Wait. Are you dating Boris?"
"Yes, and it's serious," she said smugly. "Still, I've heard rumours about you and him, so I figured I'd let you know how things are. If you approach him, flirt with him, sneak off into empty classrooms, etc., then I'll hex you into next Wednesday. Got it?"
Ginny didn't sound angry, but there was just the hint of steel in her voice that let Hermione know she wasn't kidding. Hermione nodded, feeling a bit miffed at this 4th year trying to boss her around.
"Good," said Ginny, her voice cheerful. "I don't have any reason to dislike you, and I don't want there to be one." Ginny picked up her drink, refilled it, and walked off to join her date.
The dinner bell rang, and Hermione joined Harry at the table. While both of them picked at their meals, Hermione kept getting distracted by Ginny. She leaned over into Boris, squeezing his arm, grinning suggestively. It was like she was putting up a huge blinking sign that they were dating. Boris, for his part, seemed to be enjoying the attention, responding to her advances with enthusiasm.
Hermione frowned. She hadn't mentioned this to Harry, but Boris still flirted with her. It was subtle, and possibly unintentional, but she noticed. Sometimes he would stay late for "extra help" practicing English, but he was really just talking to her. It was a little flattering, but even so, she was hoping that would change now that he'd started dating Ginny.
But as time went on, their over-the-top cuteness became annoying. Hermione sat across from them, so every time she looked up, there was Ginny, making stupid cute faces and giggling. Just rubbing in the fact that they were so happy. If Hermione had a boyfriend, she wouldn't do that, it was so disrespectful to single people. Or…maybe she would, just to get back at all the couples.
"It's ridiculous, isn't it?" said Hermione to Harry, as soon as dinner was over. "She was all over him. I thought they were going to start making out over dessert."
Harry shrugged, rubbing his finger against his knuckles.
"It won't last," said Hermione. "They're way too much alike to be a good couple."
"Why do you care?" asked Harry. "You're not jealous, are you?"
"Of course not," huffed Hermione. "Just…concerned. And irritated."
Harry looked uncomfortable, and didn't say much for the rest of the evening.
A few minutes later, Harry got dragged off by Slughorn, and Hermione was alone. She was looking around to see if anyone else she knew was nearby, when she felt someone approach from behind, the scent of mint on his breath.
"Miss Granger," said the voice, the tone genial but intense. "Do you mind if we chat a moment?"
Hermione turned to see the Minister of Magic, his perfect smile stretched across his face. She'd only ever seen Minister Fudge once, at the funeral of an Auror. He'd spoken to her at the reception, and he'd complimented her so much that it made her nervous, searching for a retreat. She wasn't looking forward to a repeat performance, but what could she do? She put on her Celebrity Smile, bowing her head slightly. "Hello, Minister. Nice to see you again."
After they'd chatted for several minutes, he asked a question that she didn't expect. "Can you leave your schedule open this weekend? There's something I'd like to show you."
"What is it?" asked Hermione, heart already sinking at yet another task being forced onto her plate.
The Minister of Magic grinned, patting her shoulder. "Patience, dear child! It is a surprise."
Bulgaria, December 12th, 1995
A pale moon was rising as Draco stepped into the warehouse, a powerful glamour hiding his true face. It was not Polyjuice—he still looked like himself in the mirror—but no one else would recognize him. The words to the spell were not even Latin based, but something older that the Priestess drew from her great quantity of magical lore.
Even so, with his identity hidden, he shook with nervousness.
At this late hour on a weekday, the room was already brimming with people. They'd gathered in from several countries, drawn in by contempt with the way things were, whispers of change, and a portkey slipped in over dinner.
They came to hear him speak. Draco, the Revolutionary.
They didn't know him as Draco, though. To them, he was a British boy who was fed up with the system. He was a Muggle, he was a Pure-Blood, he was whatever he claimed to be. And he had a plan to change things.
The movement is growing, the Priestess had explained. But we need fuel for the fire, and I need you to give it to them, Draco.
Draco clenched his shaking hands, shouldering his way through the crowd of people, stepping onto the transfigured wooden platform.
Noticing him, everyone got quiet. Calm down, breathe, he thought. You can do this. For Dad. For Mum.
As he stared at the waiting crowd, the fire of righteousness flamed within him, banishing his nerves. He was a Malfoy, and they had nothing if not a way with words.
Draco pressed his wand against his chin and amplified his voice, speaking to the crowded room. "Good evening, everyone. I have called you here today to talk about the future. I want to prepare you for what will happen, and give you the chance to do something to change it."
His voice carried over the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, dark days are ahead of us. The seers have spoken many prophecies, so numerous that perhaps you have heard one yourself, and all of them point to trouble in the coming years. They speak of war. They speak of the fading of magic. Some even say it will be the end of the world."
He heard the shifting of feet, the grumbles of nervousness from the audience. "I know that's difficult to hear, but it is true. I know, because I witnessed a prophecy first hand." He paused, moving across the platform. "You have heard of the Dark Lord Voldemort. He was an evil man, his works cruel and diabolical, but even he was afraid of what was coming. He brought the full force of his Death Eaters to stop it, and his people were massacred down to the last man. One of his dead followers visited to warn me of our future, and he told me something else as well.
"You have heard of Dumbledore, the powerful wizard who defeated Grindelwald, and his untimely disappearance. The truth is that he also fought to stop the enemy, and he was obliterated. Listen to my words: the two most powerful wizards in Britain, mortal enemies to the end, joined together to prevent the end of the world. And they failed! The cause of our doom still lives, and he is protected by the British Ministry."
Draco heard scoffs from the audience, a few mumbled curse words. "Yes," said Draco, his voice echoing their own scorn. "The same Ministry that holds themselves above the rest, that still maintains a backwards Pure-blood system that marginalizes the poor and the Muggleborn. The same one that scorns those who are afflicted by incurable magical conditions, instead of finding ways to treat them, or even accepting them."
A few people shouted their agreement, and Draco's voice rose. "The British Ministry has, for too long, tried to manipulate the situation. They've hidden secrets that should be made known, locked away powerful magic from the rest of the world. And now, the latest prophecies suggest that they hold the key to our salvation. Will they give it to us? Of course not! They do not even see the encroaching darkness as a threat! We must take what we need, no matter what the cost!"
Several people cheered, and Draco moved towards the crowd. "Who will join me? Who will take the reigns of fate from those who would destroy us, and place it in your own hands?" His voice rose to a shout. "Who will join me in fighting back against the destruction of the world!"
A chorus of angry shouts rose up to answer him.
From amidst the throng, one man held up his hand. "You there! Boy. How will you protect us from being destroyed as well, like Voldemort and Dumbledore? Why should we help you?"
Draco paused, then took a small pendant from under his shirt. From within it, he withdrew a small object, whispering a few words that released an instantaneous flash of magic. It burned bright, like a miniature sun had just exploded in his hands.
The crowd gasped, and several shielded their eyes. Raising the enchanted object for them to see, he said, "This is a small portion of the power you will be given. It is greater than anything Dumbledore could even imagine. And it is enough to save the world."
