So uh... this chapter got really delayed.
Sorry about that.
Partially because I got sidetracked by other projects, and partially because I had a bit of a hard time figuring out how to make this work. I want things to deviate from the book somewhat- because events are obviously different now- but I also want to keep things close to the plot bc I don't feel like completely rewriting GoF (and possibly beyond?). So this is my compromise. You won't be able to pick up all the foreshadowing of Moody being Crouch anymore, but y'all are just here to see Harry smooch Cho and Cedric anyway so... that's ok.
I'm going to try to get in one more chapter before Nano, and then I'll probably disappear for a few months.
Thanks Cyan for beta-ing/Brit-picking.
As Harry climbs through the portrait hole, he half expects he'll stumble into a raucous after party. There were all sorts of rumors leading up to the Ball: The Weird Sisters' drummer would come up and sign autographs, a group of seventh years smuggled in a barrel of Madam Rosmerta's oak-mulled mead, Fred and George invented something even more explosive than Filibuster Fireworks.
Instead he's greeted by a few hushed conversations and the soft crackle of a slowly dying fire. Most of his housemates look like they could fall asleep standing up. They skip the common room and go yawning up the stairs to bed. Ron is one of the handful who stuck around. He's claimed a spot on the sofa by the hearth, and picks at the frayed edges of his sleeves. He smiles as Harry plops beside him.
"Hey! How'd it go with you and Cho? And uh… Cedric?" Ron's question ends with a shoulder shrug and lilt in his voice. Like there's more he wants to ask, but he isn't sure how to phrase it. A boundary in their usual rapport he doesn't want to cross if Harry isn't ready. And he's not- at least not right now.
"It was good. What about you? You and Luna hit it off?"
Ron laughs, "She is an odd one. Did you see that magazine she was reading? And then in the middle of the evening she dragged us all outside to find this… hovering blimdigger thing."
"Did you find it?"
"Well... no. But we overheard Hagrid and Madame Maxime talking, and Harry, you're not going to believe this! Hagrid is-"
"Hello, did you have a nice evening?" Hermione grins at them. Some of the charm's come off her hair, and while still very pretty, she's much more recognizable. Ron stares at her with a somewhat starstruck look for just a moment before his face falls flat.
"I'm going to bed," he says.
"Wait, what were you saying about Hagrid?" Harry asks.
"I'll tell you later," he grumbles. Hermione watches crestfallen as he marches up the stairs.
"For what it's worth, it sounded like he had a nice time," he says.
"That's good," Hermione gives him a weak smile, and takes Ron's spot on the sofa.
"So… you and Krum? When did that happen?"
Hermione smiles sheepishly, "I'm afraid it's not that interesting, really. We met in the library a couple weeks ago and chatted about wizarding history books. I'd much rather hear about your evening. How did things go with Cho and Cedric?"
"They were alright."
"Just alright?" She scrunches her nose and stares at him the way she does her Ancient Runes homework, like he's a tricky translation in need of deciphering.
"Yeah, we had a nice time."
"Do you plan on seeing them again?"
He nods.
"Both of them?"
"You know what, I think I'll head off to bed now."
Hermione purses her lips and gives him an unamused stare, as if to say 'This conversation isn't over yet.', but she doesn't push him to keep sharing. Instead she retrieves from her clutch a pair of knitting needles and a small bundle of yarn and starts on another one of her elf hats.
As Harry climbs into bed, he thinks of the golden egg stashed away in his trunk. "The egg's singing in Mermish. Dunk it underwater and you'll be able to understand it. " He could solve the egg right now- if he wanted to. Which… he'd rather not be the jerk who wakes up the whole of Gryffindor house at 1 AM the day after Christmas. And he wasn't lying when he told Hermione he was tired. His bed is so warm and cozy, he's already made himself comfortable.
Harry's last thought before drifting off to sleep is: he can sort it out first thing tomorrow.
He doesn't sort it out tomorrow.
Nor does he sort it out the next day. Or the day after that. "Tomorrow" turns into the Sunday before term starts.
His holiday break gets consumed with other important pursuits, such as snowball fights or cozy chats by the fire side. He doesn't forget about the task, per se. Once or twice a day he'll think "Oh, I should work out the egg clue" , and then he will go back to his transfiguration homework or game of exploding snap or whatever is holding his attention at the moment. It's not like he has to solve it right this instant, the next task isn't for another two months.
Hermione is… less than thrilled when he explains his logic. And Ron, who Harry thought would be on his side, goes along with Hermione when she orders him to work it out before term starts.
If all Harry has to do is dunk the egg in water, the sinks in the dormitory bathroom will suit him fine. Grateful as he is for Cedric's invitation to the prefect's bathroom, it's not worth getting caught out of bounds over. He waits until evening, when most of his housemates have left for dinner, and gives those remaining a warning so they don't mistake any potential wailing as a murder attempt in the bathroom. Harry fills a sink almost full, plops in the egg, and hopes for the best as he unscrews the top.
It doesn't scream, but it doesn't do much else either. From inside the egg there's a faint, white glow, and a few fat bubbles ripple to the surface. It makes what can best be described as melodic gurgling noises. Is it a song? For the next task will he have to sing in front of the entire school? In that case, he'd rather save himself the embarrassment and ask for a rematch with the Hungarian Horntail.
No, that's not right. The clue is the lyrics. If he dunked his head underwater he could hear it clearer- except there isn't enough space in the sink for his head and the egg. He needs a bigger basin. The dormitory bathroom only has showers so he's left with two options: take a dip in the freezing cold lake, or visit the prefect's bathroom.
At least tomorrow his first class is History of Magic. He can use it to catch up on the sleep loses from sneaking out tonight.
The common room doesn't clear out until well after midnight. A quick glance at the Marauder's Map shows Filch and Mrs. Norris in the north tower, Peeves in the kitchen, and Snape in his office. Harry clears the map, throws on his cloak, and with the egg in one hand and a towel in the other, he sneaks out the portrait hole into the hallway.
It's apparent upon entering the bathroom Harry's earlier space constraints are no longer an issue. In the center of the room there's a bathtub the size of a small swimming pool. It's already full. The air is warm and smells oddly of Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish. He wonders if the bath is enchanted to start when someone walks in, until he notices someone sitting by the far edge staring straight at where he's standing.
"Er... hello?"
They can't see him, obviously, but they must know someone is there. Even in the wizarding world where paintings talk and staircases move, doors don't open and close on their own volition. If it were anyone else Harry would make a subtle exit, but he recognizes their voice, and as Harry's eyes adjust to the lighting he can make out their face.
Harry takes off his cloak, "Hello Cedric, fancy running into you here."
He hasn't seen much of Cedric or Cho since the Ball. Which makes sense- he's spent most of his break lounging around Gryffindor common room. It's not until recently Harry's considered the obstacles in having friends in another house. You can't eat meals with them, you can't talk to them after curfew, if you're in the same year you might get a class or two with them, but even that's up to luck of the draw.
"Harry? Merlin, you sure know how to give someone a heart attack."
"Sorry, I didn't realize anyone was in here," The bathroom was empty when he checked the Map ten minutes ago. He was hoping to avoid this exact situation.
"It's alright, I should have mentioned the door. When the handle is turned upside down it means someone's in here. That's how we all avoid walking in on each other," Cedric says. "So, I'm guessing you're here to work out the egg?"
"Yeah, but since you're already here I'll come back tomorrow."
"No, it's fine. I'm just about done actually," Cedric sounds sincere, but Harry knows he's lying. He's been in this bathroom less than ten minutes, making him either the world's fastest bather, or the world's most polite one.
"No, I'll leave. I don't want to kick you out of your own bathroom."
"It's not my bathroom, and I've got no problem with leaving so you can sort out the egg."
"You're certain? I really don't mind coming back later."
"I'm absolutely certain," Cedric wades over to him. His shoulders peek out from under the foamy water. There's minty green soap suds stuck in his hair. "Uh… do you mind turning around for a moment?"
Oh.
Harry spins on his heel and shuts his eyes. He's only now aware of the fact the Cedric probably isn't wearing anything under that thick layer of foam. There's a tightness in his throat, like he's going to suffocate from this thick, steamy air. Water splashes and sloshes from somewhere behind him, then there's the pattering of bare feet on marble tile, and the soft ruffling of fabric.
"Okay, you can turn around," Cedric is still pulling his pajama shirt on. Harry catches a quick glimpse of his navel.
"It was uh… nice running into you," Harry says.
"Yeah, you too. Hopefully we'll run into each other a little bit more- just maybe not in the bathroom next time." Cedric's hand is on the door when Harry remembers- Peeves. According to the Map he's mucking around in the kitchen, which is across the hall from the Hufflepuff common room.
"Cedric, hang on, let me give you an escort."
He's never used the cloak with someone who isn't Ron or Hermione. He'd forgotten how little space there is under here, and the degree of closeness required for everything to stay hidden. Water from Cedric's still damp hair drips onto Harry's shirt. He can smell the soap on his skin. Their shoulders are pressed together, and the backs of their hands brush against each other. It would be easy to lace their fingers together- and he shakes the thought of walking hand-in-hand with Cedric Diggory out of his head.
They make it to the Hufflepuff common room without incident. Hermione will be pleased to know Peeves left the house elves undisturbed. Cedric stops him in front of a row of large, wooden barrels, which Harry surmises must mask the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room.
"Thanks for the escort," Cedric says."This cloak is nifty. No wonder you sneak out so often."
"I don't sneak out that often," he says, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance.
Cedric grins at him, "Well, best of luck with the egg. By the way, I recommend the third tap from the right. It's infused with amortentia."
Cedric's suggestion is an underwhelming one. It's a clear, oily substance that doesn't fizz or bubble, nor does it have a distinct scent. The other taps smell something specific: citrus, lavender, peppermint. The amortentia-infused stuff is a chameleon blend of Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish, Cho's perfume, and Cedric's cologne from the ball.
Harry finds it hard to concentrate on the egg with this aroma wafting around. By the time he solves it, the scent has vanished and the bathwater's turned lukewarm.
Harry's first move the next morning is to ask Ron and Hermione if there's a magical way to breathe underwater. Between Hermione's booksmarts and Ron's knowledge of the wizarding world, one of them must have the answer.
Except he doesn't get the chance. At breakfast they're distracted by Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins snickering over a copy of The Prophet . Which turns into them fuming over Rita's exposé on Hagrid. Which turns into a full week of damage control and several attempts to console Hagrid because he's not answering his door. Then Harry can finally turn his attention back to the egg.
And it turns out neither Ron nor Hermione have an immediate solution.
"I've never heard of anything like that," Ron says.
"Nor have I," Hermione says, "but I know of a few spellbooks we could try."
They spend all of January tearing through all the spellbooks in the library. Come February they have nothing to show for it. What are the priorities of some of these wizards? There are whole tomes of nothing but the most useless spells. Harry's found ways to unboil an egg, make his enemies talk in Haikus for an hour, seven different spells to turn his toenails bright pink, but nothing to breathe underwater.
"Okay, clearly a spell isn't the answer," Ron says, "perhaps transfiguration?"
The books in the library on human transfiguration are so complex even Hermione is left scratching her head at a few of them. They practice for two weeks straight, and all Harry ever manages is to make a few scales appear on his feet. He asks Professor McGonagall for advice, and she tells him flat out he's not skilled enough to perform human transfiguration. Still determined, he writes to "Snuffles" with a plea for help. His response comes back three days later, and it's basically a kinder version of Professor McGonagall's spiel.
The pressure is building, and Harry is running out of time. He's getting less and less sleep every night. It shouldn't be this frustrating to find a solution to such a simple problem. Hermione starts studying spell creation theory. Ron suggests he try to accio an aqua lung. It's a joke, but maybe, just maybe...
And that's how the night before the second task they end up out in the cold, hoping beyond all hope to see a scuba tank whizzing towards them.
"Harry this isn't going to work," Hermione says, "Let's go back to the library and keep looking."
"I suppose you're right," Harry says. "Wait- what if instead of summoning an aqua lung, I transfigured something into one?"
Hermione sighs, "You can't transfigure random objects into muggle things, it's illegal."
"Yeah, and it can go really badly if you don't know what you're doing," Ron says. "My Dad told me about a bloke who tried to transfigure a broomstick into a muggle bicycle and he nearly died because the thing bucked him over a cliff."
"Fine, then what if I used polyjuice potion?"
"And transform into what?" Ron asks.
"A merperson. There's mermaid hair in the student cupboard."
"Polyjuice potion only works with human transformations, you know that," Hermione says.
"It sort of works. As long as I get their gills who cares if I end up in the hospital wing for a few weeks?"
"Who cares?" Hermione shouts. "Harry, you could seriously injure yourself doing that!"
"Or you could end up with a tail and no gills and you'll just look extremely stupid," Ron says. "Besides, it took us a month to brew it last time, and I don't fancy breaking into Snape's private stores to steal the ingredients again."
"Okay fine! No polyjuice potion and no aqua lung. But there's got to be a solution, something we haven't thought of yet, something completely out of the box. Maybe something so stupid it might just work…. Maybe… hey Ron, what ever happened to your Dad's car?"
He shrugs, "I think it's still running wild in the forbidden forest. Why?"
"Well-I mean, if it can fly, maybe it could work underwater too?"
Hermione looks like a howler about to explode, "Are you seriously suggesting we traipse around the forbidden forest at night to find an illegally charmed car, and try to fix it so it can work underwater?"
"Well when you put it like that..."
So they return to the library, though Harry's not sure what good it will do. At least it's quiet here. Professor McGonagall gave him special permission to use the library overnight. Being as it's Friday night, there's never been more than a handful of students around. Even Madam Pince snuck out a few hours ago and never came back. When they left to summon the aqua lung, they were the only ones there. Which makes it a bit of a shock when someone is pouring out cups of tea at their vacated study table.
"Cho?"
Harry can feel his cheeks burning. He fixes his glasses, which have fallen askew, and tries to smooth out his hair. Is there a window around he can jump out of? If it were any other night he would be thrilled to see her. But he's on the verge of a breakdown and hasn't showered in three days.
"Hello! I wondered where you guys went." Cho says.
"What are you doing here?"
She points at a plate of pastries, "I didn't see you at dinner tonight. I figured you're probably pretty hungry."
Ron grabs a pastry and stuffs it into his mouth. He's about to have another when he spots Hermione glaring at him. He gives her a sheepish smile, his front teeth coated in strawberry jam, and puts it back on the plate.
"Thanks, but I'm really not that hungry," he says. He can't think of food at a time like this.
"Is everything alright?" Cho asks.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"You're certain? Because I've seen you in the library every night this week, and I know you've been skipping meals."
"I'm okay. You don't need to worry about-"
"Actually, do you know any spells that let people breathe underwater?" Hermione asks. Harry shoots her a glare. She shrugs.
"Uh… no, I don't think so," she says, furrowing her brows. "But I might know of a potion."
"A potion?"
They hadn't given the idea of a potion much more than a passing thought. Spells and transfiguration give him multiple chances to practice in order to get it right, whereas with a potion he has one shot, and even one small mistake could be dire. The only person who could offer him advice is Snape, and depending on his mood he might just leave him to drown.
But he trusts Cho.
She nods, "It's called the… aquilius potion? Or the aquillium potion? I don't remember its exact name, but I know I read about it over break when I was studying for my OWLs."
"Do you remember what book it was in?" Hermione asks.
"No, but I do remember the author, Acacia Abbott."
It turns out Acacia Abbott was a prolific potioneer who authored twelve volumes of potions. Twelve extremely thick, extremely heavy volumes. A book this dense would normally take Harry days to read. He has less than 12 hours, and he has to get through three of them.
At least he has some direction, a specific thing with a name to look for instead of an idea. It's the only thing motivating him to skim through page after page after page. They work in silence. Ron sneaks another pastry when he thinks no one is looking. Cho ties her shiny, black hair into a pony tail. She looks up from her book and smiles at him, and he realizes he's been staring.
Harry's almost done with his first volume when the clock strikes midnight. Ron's on par with him, and Cho and Hermione are already on their second. Just as he starts thinking he might actually pull this off, the library doors swing open. Professor McGonagall, followed by a boy with shaggy, brown hair who Harry recognizes as one of Cedric's friends.
"Professor? Is everything alright?" Hermione asks.
"Yes… everything is fine, but I need you and Mr. Weasley to come with me to my office," she says. Something seems a bit off about her. Perhaps something's upset her? Or maybe she's just tired from the late hour?
"What for?" Ron asks.
"I'll explain in my office."
"Can it wait until tomorrow?"
Professor McGonagall sighs, "No Mr. Weasley, I'm afraid it can't."
Ron and Hermione collect their things, and give him and Cho one last pitying look goodbye as they follow Professor McGonagall out of the library. With them go any chance of Harry finding the right potion. His workload is doubled. He can't read five books and brew a potion in nine hours. Harry closes his book and resists the urge to chuck it across the room. Instead he lets out a long, heavy sigh and slumps into his chair.
"Hey, don't look so defeated." Cho pats his forearm, and offers him a pastry. "Come on, you'll feel better after you eat something."
Harry offers her a weak smile, "I really appreciate everything you've done for me tonight, Cho, but it's getting late. You should head up to your common room."
She shakes her head, "I want to help you."
"I think I'm beyond help at this point. Even if we manage to find the potion, there's no guarantee we'll be able to make it. It might need really rare ingredients, or it might be too complex to understand. I'm already lousy at potions…"
Cho purses her lips, "Have you ever noticed how a lot of people say that- that they're bad at potions?"
"I guess. What of it?"
"I've got a theory. Maybe the reason so many people claim to be bad at potions has nothing to do with their talent, and everything to do with the fact that we have a rubbish professor."
And for the first time in what must be weeks, Harry laughs.
"I'm not saying he isn't a talented potioneer- he just can't teach. He has the same problem as some of my housemates, where they love to show off and their knowledge but they're not interested in sharing it with anyone. They just want people to respect them and think they're smart and… anyway I'm rambling."
"No, please, go on. Nothing makes me happier than listening to someone criticize Snape."
Cho laughs, "Well... I guess he could stand to wash his hair a bit more. And have you ever noticed he always favors the Slytherins?"
"Yes!" he says, "I sure wish Professor McGonagall would give us the same treatment."
"Same with Professor Flitwick. If anything he's tougher on us."
"Really? He seems so easy-going. It's hard to imagine him being strict with anyone."
"He rarely gets cross with us, he just has high expectations. He sees our potential, and wants us to succeed. Just like I want you to tomorrow." Cho beams at him with admiration. Harry can feel his heart flutter. Then her smile slips to something mischievous, and she holds a pastry under his nose. "Come on, this one's got chocolate filling."
He reaches for the pastry and takes a tentative bite. It's still got that fresh out of the oven warmth. And he's not sure if it's the pastry or Cho smiling next to him, but some of his earlier hopefulness has actually returned. He skims through the final pages of the first potions volume and opens up the second.
He's determined.
He can do this.
He's… going to fall asleep.
Harry's eyelids feel heavier with every page he turns. He shouldn't have stayed up so late these past few days. Every few minutes he has to shake himself awake. He snacks on pastries to stay alert. Which works up until he finishes the entire plate, and then without meaning to, he nods off.
I actually did consider for a while having Harry use the car for the second task and have Cho help him fix it up. But my very lovely beta talked me out of it, and I'm grateful bc boy that would have been dumb.
I figured since Cedric and Cho aren't officially dating (yet), someone else would be his "thing he'd miss". Also I wanted Cho around for the library scene, so there's that. The brown-haired boy is someone who miiight return later on, depending on how far I go with this.
Comments/likes are appreciated!