I turned the 6 upside down, it's a 9 now.
Twelve
In the Court of the Princess Hemlock
Halloween morning dawned and Harry greeted it upright against the headboard of his four-poster bed. He had shut his eyes for a moment when he and Daisy had returned to the Tower after getting Mrs. Norris to put his name in the Goblet but found that he could not sleep, his mind chased by triumph and utter shame. The feelings were so intertwined that no matter how much he tried to separate them and organize his thoughts they ended up spiraling more wildly in his head.
In the bed beside his, Ron slept and snuffled, unbothered. On his other side, he could hear Neville snoring softly through the curtains. The other boys were quiet: Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. They hadn't spared a second thought on the Triwizard Tournament. It was just entertainment, with Quidditch being canceled, a distraction from the tedium of wizardry and examinations. Viktor Krum's celebrity appearance and the pretty French girls in their thin satin uniforms were a bonus event.
Harry rubbed his eyes and checked the time. It was early, but there would be breakfast in the Great Hall by now, and if he couldn't get any rest, he might as well have something to eat and visit with Eloise.
He dressed in his nicest pair of navy trousers and pulled on a pair of his least darned socks. He should at least be presentable when the Goblet of Fire chose him as champion, even if he wasn't happy with how he had accomplished it.
He dug a few thick secondhand spellbooks out from his trunk, stuffed them into his bag with his storybook and his quills, and set off.
The Great Hall was noisier than usual this early on a Saturday morning and there were more sixth years and seventh years in attendance than he'd ever seen at one time—outside of feasts and announcements, at least. They were rotating, like stale river water on a wheel, between the House tables and the entrance hall with the Goblet of Fire: They had a few bites of breakfast, and had a talk with their friends, then stood to go watch the cup—or in rare cases, enter their names—and then returned to their tables for another nibble. The hall buzzed with intermittent chatter as they circled. Harry caught snaggles of guesswork—who might the cup choose; who was going to enter; which House had the best chance to finish all three tasks?
"Angelina's going to enter," said Katie Bell, a few paces away down the Gryffindor bench. There weren't many members of their house awake yet, mostly first years eager to see what all the fuss over the Goblet of Fire was about. Colin and Dennis Creevey were crouched at the very end of the table near the doors to the entrance hall handling a battered old muggle camera and whispering excitedly at each new entrant.
"She's just had her birthday," Katie continued, dabbing her mouth with a corner of bread. A speck of jam had found a hiding place under her lip.
Harry nodded back politely.
Katie Bell was a year ahead of him. She was one of the Chasers on the house Quidditch team, tall and tan with dark hair and dark eyes and a cheery face. Harry only went down to the pitch to watch Daisy practice or play, but he'd seen enough of Katie to know that she was not a bad sort. But he didn't really want to talk. Just breakfast. Then a nap at the lake with Eloise.
Katie was not deterred by his silence, however. It seemed enough that Harry had acknowledged her. She pushed her plate and goblet towards him, narrowly avoiding a spill, and slid over, straddling the bench. "Wouldn't it be great if she got it and not that nonce Diggory?"
And suddenly Harry wasn't tired, and was very fond of Katie Bell. He moved a touch closer to her and met her gaze. "He's the favorite, then?" he asked. "Not Montague, or that Fawcett girl?"
"Fawcett's not old enough, despite all her bluster," said Katie with a wicked sort of grin. "Tried an aging potion and ended up sprouting a beard this morning. Little Colin even snuck a photograph with his camera."
"Did he?" said Harry. He couldn't help but grin over at the Creevey brothers. Colin surely meant no harm by the photo. He was just so interested in anything odd that happened at Hogwarts. And a girl with a beard was certainly that. "It won't go well if she finds out."
"I'm sure she won't," said Katie; she flipped her leg over the bench and leaned close. "It was just us and the Slytherins in here when she did it. And they wouldn't grass him up."
"So Montague entered then?" asked Harry. "And Warrington?" His heart skipped a beat, despite the playfulness in Katie's voice. The Slytherins must have been here so early to submit their names—or Daisy's—to the Goblet while no one was about. Harry frowned. It shouldn't matter, though. He shouldn't doubt himself now. He would be the champion for Hogwarts.
"Yeah, both of them," said Katie, nodding. She tossed the last bit of her toast into her mouth and rubbed the crumbs away with a sleeve. "That tall girl, too—Higgs. She's not half bad, you know. It's a pity Malfoy had to bully her way onto the team and send her to reserves."
"Right," said Harry. "Pity." Peering around the hall, he did not see Malfoy or Davis (or their oafish bodyguards) around. Perhaps they really weren't involved with this plot. Harry stared at his empty plate. It wasn't a very nice thought, but he would have been glad if Dobby was still employed by Lucius Malfoy. The dotty little house-elf would have assuredly come to warn them of any plots afoot at Malfoy Manor.
"What's got you so glum?" asked Katie. "You can't have wanted to enter this silly tournament? That seems like something your sister might want—"
As if summoned, the doors to the Great Hall were flung fully wide, and Daisy Potter came grumbling in, flanked by a Mad-Eye Moody who looked like he had been awake for several days. Being generally haggard to begin with, it was quite an achievement. The old Auror's white and black hair was snarled and clumped, like a street dog who had slept in something wet. His face was pale and slack; his normal eye was shot through pink and red, and his magical eye looked slightly jaundiced, rolling in his head. Even his normal halfway stumbling gait was off. Beside him, Daisy had her brow beetled and her sleeves rolled up, arguing furiously about something as they approached the Gryffindor table. The professor didn't seem to be paying her much attention.
"We can't just miss a whole week," bleated Daisy as they pulled up at the bench across from Harry and Katie Bell. "We were up late, too, but I'm all right. We can still practice. And I'm sure Harry is fine, too. Right, Harry?"
"That's the magic of youth at work," grumbled Mad-Eye Moody; his magical eye rolled back in his skull, focused on the Goblet of Fire on its casket. "No."
"You don't have to stay awake the entire time," insisted Daisy. "Just tell us what to do and you can have a nap in your chair."
"No," repeated Professor Moody; the scraping of his wooden leg against the stone floor matched his tone. "We'll resume next week." He stared down at her, then turned his ragged face to Harry. He grunted. "Good work, Potter."
He stumped off for the staff table.
Daisy glared after him, then turned her glare on Harry. "You couldn't have said something?"
Harry sighed and finally reached to scoop some porridge into a bowl. At least his sister wasn't too broken up about the night's happenings. "He looks like he's been up a fortnight, Daisy. He's an old man."
"What," Katie broke in, "was that about?"
"Extra lessons," said Harry in the most offhand manner he could muster. "My sister and Professor Moody share an interest in odd curses."
Katie snorted. "Interest is a slight understatement, Harry. Moody had Fred walking on his hands for twenty minutes the last lesson. Why anyone would want to spend more time with that nutter is beyond me."
Harry went stiff at the mention of the unforgivable curse, but Daisy rescued him, hopping onto the bench across from her teammate. "Katie, have you seen the new Comets? Alicia says they're supposed to handle better than the 260s."
"I have," said Katie eagerly; she leaned forward onto her elbows. "Not nearly as fast as your Firebolt, of course, but I reckon we could at least afford a new Comet. My dad's waiting to see how many owls I get before he decides, though."
"Is it really tough?" asked Daisy. "McGonagall's sent us pelting all over the library. I can't imagine what she's doing to you lot."
"It's not so bad once you get used to the workload," said Katie. She pulled her bag onto the table and started rifling through a jumble of parchment, textbooks, and magazines. "They really lay it on thick fourth year to get you ready—have a look, I've got the one I wanted marked off—mahogany with the blackthorn twigs." She dropped a glossy magazine onto the tabletop. Comet Trading Company was printed across the cover in a sparkly swooping script.
Harry ladled Daisy a bowl of porridge as thanks. The girl was growing more perceptive with each passing day. He understood her reluctance to skip their Occlumency lessons. It would be like Professor Moody telling him that he was forbidden from practicing transfiguration or reading ahead on charms. As Harry looked up to hand off the porridge, though, he spied a hunched over mass of shaggy fur enter the Great Hall and come tottering towards their table.
"Very good morning," rushed Viktor Krum. "I am joining you, yes?" He was slightly out of breath and was clutching a metal pail wrapped in a checkered cloth against his furs.
"Krum!" said Katie. "You're—"
"Yes, yes, he's Krum," said Daisy through a sigh, waving a hand for the older boy to sit. "Everywhere he's been, Krum, Krum, Krum. Can't get enough of him. Ron wanted to snog him, I think. He kept trying to share his pumpkin juice at dinner."
Katie snickered.
Harry bottled up his amusement. It was odd to see how Krum's celebrity grated on his sister. Daisy had always been proud of being a good Quidditch player, but he'd thought it was because their father had been a good Quidditch player rather than her own desire to be famous for the sport. Krum sat and Daisy shoved a plate in his direction, but even as Harry watched, her brow dug a furrow nearly to her nose.
All around the hall, eyes had turned in their direction, attention diverted (for the moment) away from the Goblet of Fire. Across at the Hufflepuff table, a group of fourth and sixth year girls clumped up to ogle and giggle at the Bulgarian seeker's be-furred back. A few started rummaging in their bags and came up with quills, clearly seeking autographs.
"What is snog?" asked Krum, settling his wrapped up pail on the table, gently. "Is like friend?"
Katie giggled harder.
"No," said Daisy bluntly. "It's kissing." She mimed it out for him. "And what have you got in your bucket there?"
Cheeks rosy from her performance, Krum frowned down at his pail. "Professor Karkaroff, he is not letting me away without. Is very good breakfast for Quidditch player." He looked between Harry and Daisy. "He is not wanting me to be come to castle, but I am."
"He doesn't want you to be friendly with us," said Harry quietly. His suspicions of Karkaroff came roaring back. "With Daisy."
Krum nodded. "He is saying we are here for competition. Is wizard World Cup." He reached into his pail and brought out a bowl of speckled brown porridge, a plate with scrambled eggs topped with tiny black fish eggs—caviar, Harry figured—and a dish crowded with heavy-looking square pastries. "Is very good. You will have?"
"We've got plenty here," said Daisy, eyeing the pastries. "You don't have to eat those bricks if you don't want to."
Krum looked relieved as he helped himself to the Hogwarts breakfast.
It wasn't long before they were joined by the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson came skipping into the hall together. They, too, ogled Krum for a moment, before pulling Katie off to strategize on how Angelina should enter the tournament. Fred and George Weasley's entry was more subdued, but they carried a small glass phial with some sort of sparkling blue liquid—Harry had to assume that it was an Aging Potion they had been brewing in secret.
"I don't think that's going to work," Katie warned them.
"For a thousand galleons," said Fred, "it's worth a try."
"It's starting to get crowded," muttered Daisy as George and Lee Jordan squeezed in on the bench next to her. "Grab your bucket, Krum. Let's go, Harry."
"What are you up to?" asked Harry. He scooped some sausages into a napkin and settled them in his bag. "I was going to head to the lake."
"Well, we haven't got lessons," said Daisy, shooting a glance at the head table where Mad-Eye Moody was sipping from his flask and glowering at the Goblet of Fire. "Which means we've got the whole day open." She lowered her voice and faced the Bulgarian. "Have you got your broom on that boat of yours?"
Krum's eyes went wide. "Yes, very good." Hurriedly, he packed up his breakfast bucket and stood with Daisy.
"I'll be right back," she said. "Harry can take you down to Hagrid's, no one will bother us there."
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Daisy—"
"Oh, come on," said Daisy, "you can see Eloise any old time. I've got him here, now, and when am I going to get another chance?"
"Is good," whispered Krum. "I will fly with Girl Who Lived."
Daisy beamed up at him, then sped off for the staircase.
Harry frowned at Krum, but hefted his bag and motioned for the older boy to follow. The rest of the Gryffindors waved absently as they left, absorbed with their plans.
They were met in the entrance hall by a line of Beauxbatons students led by their tremendous Headmistress. Krum pulled up short and had to scramble to keep his bucket from spilling onto her shiny black robes.
"Good morning, children," rumbled Madame Maxime. "Excuse us." She raised an outsized arm at once barring their path and beckoning her flock of satin-robed adolescents forward. Just as the Durmstrang group, it looked to Harry that every member of the delegation had a piece of parchment for the cup. Compared with the Durmstrang group, though, the Beauxbatons students did not look nearly as hardy or determined. Harry saw that a few of the girls who had made remarks of Hogwarts' shabbiness were giggling as they crossed the Age Line to drop their names in.
"They've got no chance," Harry muttered.
"Is no changing mind," said Krum, nodding. "Must be certain."
"Pardon?" said Madame Maxime, glaring down at them. "What are you implying?"
Krum seemed to struggle with the word, but he did not back down from Madame Maxime's gaze. Harry stepped forward.
"Nothing," he said. "They just don't seem to be taking it seriously is all." He watched the woman's rich olive skin flush, and he added, quickly, "Ma'am."
"What is your name, boy?" demanded Madame Maxime.
"Harry Potter, marm."
"'Arry Potter," boomed Madame Maxime. "I shall speak wiz 'Eadmaster Dumblydor regarding your manner."
"Is truth," said Krum gruffly, tilting his head further back to stare at the headmistress full on. Her lip curled as she took in his furs and breakfast pail, but she lowered her arm from their path.
"Back to Karkaroff, zen," said Madame Maxime. "Quickly, 'e will be missing 'is prize pupil."
Krum bristled, but Harry pushed ahead of him moved for the doors. "Come on."
He cast a look back at the Beauxbatons party as they passed into the courtyard. He didn't want Professor Dumbledore to think he had mistreated their guests. Madame Maxime was glaring after them. Near the Goblet of Fire, within the softly glowing line, the blonde girl who might have been a veela was also staring curiously after them. Then a hardness fixed itself across her cheeks and stiffened her eyes. She dropped her parchment into the cup and strode away, ignoring the shower of bright red sparks that followed her entry.
Harry wondered if she had been about to turn into a bird and if there was a limitation on species for the Triwizard Tournament.
Hagrid had not the slightest inkling who Viktor Krum was, or why he might be different from any other Durmstrang student, but his greeting was warm regardless. He paused in his brushing of the great golden Beauxbatons horses to ask them inside for tea, which Krum politely refused. Instead, the Bulgarian sat on an upturned Skrewt crate and laid his Firebolt across his knees.
Harry stood on the paddock bars to let the horses sniff at his hair. Even climbing, he just barely reached their withers where joints for their wings grew.
"Abraxans," crooned Hagrid, "Can yeh believe it, Harry? An' Olympe says they've got a whole stable full of them at their school. Said I might be able ter visit, yeh know." He resumed his brushing, his wide cheeks ruddy with cold and excitement.
Horse breath steamed the air. Harry laid a hand against one of the horse's broad foreheads and stifled a yawn with the other. "They're beautiful." He didn't think the Abraxans would be thrilled if he told Hagrid that he still preferred Eloise to them, though. Large and pretty as they were, there was something they lacked when compared to the kelpie. Maybe it was the teeth.
The great blue Beauxbatons carriage had installed itself just beyond the pumpkin patch on the leeward side of the hillock within walking distance to the paddock. The golden steps had been set and tied down with golden stakes; the wheels were chocked by thick blocks of solid bronze. The students and their headmistress had not returned.
Harry was relieved when Daisy came striding down the lawn alone, two broomsticks slung over her shoulder. He wasn't sure how Madame Maxime would feel about him getting close to her horses after their run-in.
"I've brought yours as well, Harry," said Daisy. She handed over his battered old Comet 220. "Hello, Hagrid."
"Going ter fly out behind the paddock?" asked Hagrid. He paused in his brushing to ruffle Daisy's hair with one hand and grabbed up a barrel of whisky with the other. He upended it in the paddock trough. The Abraxans crowded immediately to get at the liquor.
"Yeah," said Daisy excitedly. "Haven't flown in months."
"Mind the trees," said Hagrid. "And don't yeh go racing abou'. I've got ter keep my eye on this lot until they've settled in."
"Where are the Skrewts, then?" asked Harry. He set his broomstick down on Hagrid's step. He didn't feel that flying on no sleep was a smart idea and the same went for being set upon by the Blast-Ended Skrewts. There was evidence of a fiery battle strewn about the front of the hut: broken slats from crates, charred bits of Skrewt legs, shards of Skrewt carapace in the soil. Harry even spied a dismembered sting hidden under the steps.
"Round back," said Hagrid. "Have ter keep them collared." He grimaced and tugged the submerged snout of a too eager Abraxan out of the trough. "Started killin' one another for sport. Still abou' a dozen left, though. Hope they make it ter mating season, but it's not lookin' that way."
"Pity," said Daisy, rolling her eyes. "Let's go, Harry. Get yourself ready, Krum."
"Very good," said Krum. His dour expression was replaced by a one of excitement. "We fly." He hefted his Firebolt and went shambling after Daisy around the paddock and away.
Harry resisted the temptation to roll his own eyes. He slung his bag over his shoulder, grabbed up one of the discarded Skrewt crates for a seat, and followed after his sister.
Daisy and Krum were two black streaks in the sky by the time Harry rounded the paddock and circled halfway around the little copse of ash trees that wiggled out from the boundary of the Forbidden Forest. He set his crate against one of their trunks and dug his shabby secondhand copy of the Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven from his bag. He got his quill out, and his ink, and his wand, and arranged them beside him on the crate.
He'd marked the book at the section on animation charms. Harry usually found himself skimming past the spells that he didn't think would come in useful when dealing with Peter Pettigrew and the Dark Lord Voldemort—household charms and such—but the animation spells were interesting, even if the most prominent examples listed were for sweeping and mopping up. They were almost a combination of transfiguration and charms, or as close as he'd seen to one, and figuring out how much autonomy animated objects might be able to manage was the trickiest concept Harry had come across in his study.
He dipped his quill and circled the words, 'uninterruptible loop' midway through the section on autonomy.
Professor Flitwick had been quite taken with him since the summoning charm incident, and Harry thought the little fellow might be willing to lend some clarity to the text if he asked.
He studied for most of an hour and had just closed his book to attempt a nap when Daisy and Krum came diving through the trees, dead even on their Firebolts, throwing leaves and scattering twigs in the air. There was a snap! and a crack! and a split branch came tumbling down from the treetops. Harry snatched his wand up, rolling off his crate, but somewhere behind him came a cry of, "Morabratus!"
The branches, the twigs, and all the leaves were immediately frozen in the air. Harry glanced over his shoulder.
It was the veela girl, wand out, head wrapped with her scarf, shivering slightly in her too thin blue robes.
"Er, hello," said Harry. "Thank you." He stood, brushing grass from his good trousers, and set his crate upright.
"Move your 'ead," said the girl imperiously.
"Pardon?" said Harry, looking around.
"Up," said the girl.
Harry looked up. The huge split branch dangled, maybe a foot above his head flanked by a few smaller ones that had broken off during its tumble. He gave the girl a sheepish look and stepped to the side. "Oh, right."
"Finite," said the girl. The branches fell, landing flat in the grass beneath the tree. The girl squinted at him through her scarf. "'Arry Potter."
"Yes?" said Harry, forehead crinkling.
"You 'ave insulted Madame Maxime," said the girl; she waved a hand back towards Hagrid's Hut. The giant horses were still slurping at their whisky in the paddock, and the even more giant forms of Hagrid and Madame Maxime were visible amidst their winged bodies. Just beyond them, the windows of the Beaubatons carriage were visible at the edge of the hillock. He saw the barest hints of darkened shapes hiding behind the curtained windows. Had the girl seen them from all the way over there and come to reprimand him?
"Er, I suppose I did," said Harry. He adjusted his glasses on his nose and stared back at the older girl. "But she should know better, not one of the Durmstrang lot so much as smiled when they entered their names, you know."
"Durmstrang is a joyless place," said the girl. She sniffed. "My muzzer says zey could never match the beauty of Beauxbatons. 'Ogwarts isn't much better, I zink."
"Did you come here just to pile on?" asked Harry exasperated. He flicked his wand, clearing the debris from around his crate, and sat down. "I haven't got the energy to argue with veela girls about which schools are prettier. I was just trying to read and maybe have a rest. I'm sorry if I offended your headmistress."
"My grandmuzzer is ze Veela," said the girl. "I am just one-quarter."
"Can you still turn into a bird?" said Harry without thinking, but the girl didn't seem to be offended. In fact, she smiled behind her scarf and gave a little laugh.
"No," she said, unwrapping her head and shaking out her sheet of silvery hair. Her cheeks dimpled at just the right places when she smiled, and her eyes gleamed intensely blue. "You are fascinated by zat? By ze transformation?"
"It, er, it would be something," said Harry, his breath catching in his throat. There was something decidedly magical about the girl's beauty, something inhuman. He blinked. "There were some veela at the World Cup, but I didn't get to see them. Ron—my mate—he said they turned into birds and conjured fire. It would be interesting to see that, at least." He gave her an expectant look. "The fire?"
"Ze fire?" said the girl slowly. She shook her head. "Fleur Delacour." She approached, hand out, palm down.
Harry shook it. "Harry Potter."
"Your sister is ze Girl Who Lived," said Fleur. "She is flying wiz Viktor Krum." She tilted her head back to look out over the lawn where Daisy and Krum were still racing. "Fascinating."
"What's fascinating?" asked Harry.
"You were correct, 'owever," said Fleur, ignoring his question. She looked at him up and down. "Henriette and Lucille are silly girls. Zey cannot be champion for Beauxbatons. 'Ow zey managed to convince Madame Maxime to bring zem is incompre'ensible."
"So you're going to be the champion, you think?" said Harry.
"Yes," said Fleur. She swished her wand, conjuring a little iron stool with a frumpy periwinkle squab on top, and dropped herself onto it.
Harry sat up a little straighter on his crate.
Fleur set her chin on her fist and stared at him. "'Ave you submitted your name to ze Goblet of Fire as well?"
"I'm only fourteen," said Harry, forcibly holding her gaze. "You've got to be seventeen to get across that line."
"Zat is not what I asked," said Fleur.
"You've got to be seventeen to get across the line," Harry repeated, his voice like stone.
"Fascinant." Fleur smirked. "What are you reading zair?"
"Textbook," said Harry. The girl was looking at him almost like Eloise looked at him sometimes: like it might be fun to try and murder him, but then stop halfway through and play instead. It was uncomfortable and intriguing all at once. "Were you watching?"
"Yes," said Fleur.
Daisy came barreling out of the sky, through the copse of ash, and jumped from her broomstick, squaring herself in front of the French witch, her hair tangled and stuffed with leaves. "Hello there," she barked. "Who are you?"
Still smiling, Fleur Delacour reintroduced herself to Daisy. "You are very talented, Miss Potter."
"Thanks," said Daisy shortly. "You're pretty, aren't you?"
"Yes, quite," said Fleur.
Daisy was silent. Harry thought she might have been stunned by the French girl's brazen acceptance of her good looks. Or plotting her gruesome murder. He snorted and stood. There probably wasn't a thimbleful of reticence between the two of them.
Krum touched down a moment later, with more care than Harry's sister had, and looked between the two girls, frowning. "She is friend?"
"Er, I suppose," said Harry. "Just met her, really."
"Very good," said Krum. He swung his broom over his shoulder and faced the veela girl. "You will fly?"
"Quidditch is an... indelicate sport," said Fleur. "And I 'ave no experience wiz flying."
"They don't teach flying at Beauxbatons?" asked Harry. "That's odd, isn't it?"
Krum looked scandalized at the thought of a school without flying. "Quidditch is very good sport."
Fleur scoffed. "Of course, we 'ave flying," she said, "but why bozzer?" She pursed her lips and regarded Daisy's unkempt state. "Zair is no need for such... entanglement once you are old enough to apparate, no?"
"I suppose," said Daisy. "Must be a dull existence you've got, then, never having flown." An impish smile curled her cheeks. "I could show you if you'd like. Harry's got his broom by Hagrid's."
"You fly, too, 'Arry?" asked Fleur, leaning around Daisy, flashing her perfect smile. "'Ow wonderful. Perhaps we can all fly togezzer, zen."
"Oh, I'm not—er, that is, I'm not as good as Daisy is," said Harry. "You'd probably be safer with her and Krum."
"Safety isn't everything," said Fleur, her smile growing wider as Daisy's face grew stormy. "I am sure zat we can manage."
"We've only got three broomsticks," snapped Daisy, stamping her foot down. "So make up your mind. Join up or clear off."
"Rudeness does not become you," said Fleur. Her laughter was like silver bells. "Very well, I will leave you. Goodbye, 'Arry. Monsieur Krum."
When the girl had vanished her stool with its cushion and floated off back towards the Beauxbatons carriage, Daisy whirled to face Harry.
"You're spoken for, you ponce," she growled. "And stop looking after her. Or am I going to have to lug a rowboat up into the Tower to paddle through Hermione's tears tonight?"
"She is a veela, though," said Harry. "One-quarter she said. Her grandmother was a full one."
"How magnificent," said Daisy, punching his arm. "That's all it takes, then? A girl can turn into a bird and she's got you smitten?"
"She can't turn into a bird," said Harry. "She said so herself. And I'm not smitten."
Daisy sighed. "No, I suppose you aren't." She scowled. "Though, I doubt that anyone who isn't related to you can tell the difference."
"Is not good?" said Krum. "She is very pretty girl."
"For you, perhaps," said Daisy. "Not for him."
Krum gave Harry's shoulder a sympathetic pat. "Is good. I am having older sister. She is very concerned for me. Is like her." He nodded at Daisy, yanking the twigs and leaves from her hair. "Strong."
Ron managed to find them soon after, and Harry was again spared from flight. He let the youngest Weasley boy use his Comet, and though he wasn't able to keep pace with Daisy and Krum, he was pleased as Punch to be flying through the Hogwarts' grounds with his favorite Quidditch player.
By noon Daisy had grown tired of racing, having only managed to beat Krum three out of seven races—though they had tied the rest—and came to land near Harry's crate, her hair windswept and her cheeks windburned. Harry had managed a short nap, but his mind still swam with equal parts guilt and expectation. He packed his bag as Krum and Ron touched down, and they headed back to Hagrid's for lunch.
The gamekeeper who met them at the cabin was not the same as the one they'd left in the morning, however. It seemed that sometime between when they had departed for the woods and their return, Hagrid had dipped his entire head into a vat of axle grease and tried to comb it out again. His wiry tangle of black hair was parted down the middle and bunched clumsily at his shoulders. He had discarded his shirt and trousers and was dressed in the suit he'd worn for Buckbeak's hearing, a hairy brown garment just large enough to button once at the waist. Tucked under his beard, just barely peeking through his lapels, was a yellow and orange polka-dot tie.
"Blimey," said Ron, staggering back on the step with Harry's Comet. "What's the occasion, Hagrid?"
"Triwizard Tournament isn't it?" said Hagrid gleefully. "Might as well look presentable fer it. How's the suit? Think she'll go fer it?"
"She?" said Daisy, shoving past Ron to clear her muddy trainers on the welcome mat. "What are you on about, Hagrid?"
"Nothin', nothin'," said Hagrid flushing. His tiny black eyes focused on the Beaubatons carriage. "Come along then, you, too Krum—I'll put the kettle on."
"I am getting back to ship," said Krum, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot on the step. "We must assemble for Hogwarts feast in evening."
"Plenty of time fer that, yet," said Hagrid, nodding him inside. "Yer a guest, come along."
Lunch bled into afternoon tea at Hagrid's table, and before they knew it, the sky had twinged purple like a bruise and a gentle rain had begun to trickle from the nearly cloudless sky. Krum stammered his thanks to Hagrid, and grabbed his Firebolt, hurrying away from the hut towards the lake and the Durmstrang caravel.
"He's an odd sort isn' he?" said Hagrid, running a massive bone comb through his greased beard. "Never met a Bulgarian before." The cabin was rank with the smell of his eau de cologne, which Harry thought might have actually been some sort of scented pesticide from the way it made the eyes burn.
"Right," muttered Ron, squinting. "Krum's the odd one."
Daisy glared at him. "Ignore him. You look great Hagrid, stop fussing about." She leaned into Harry, chuckling. "You really are a pair. He fancies the giant woman and you've got the one what turns into a bird."
"Glad to see you in better spirits, but I thought you didn't want me to fancy Fleur," said Harry, looking up from his textbook with a yawn. He rubbed at his eyes. After the feast, he expected he'd be able to sleep like the dead.
"It's a joke," said Daisy. She pinched his arm and stood. "Quit your reading, it's nearly time." Her breath was hot in his ear. "Aren't you excited?"
Harry just grunted. She still couldn't understand. He didn't want to be the champion, he just needed to be the champion.
They left Hagrid's at a quarter to six, hoods up against the gentle rain. Hagrid himself stayed back on the pretense of tending to the Skrewts' supper, but just as the carriage door opened and Madame Maxime stepped out into the wet dusk, the cabin door banged open and Hagrid came lumbering down the stairs with a handful of flowery weeds.
"Imagine if they shacked up," said Ron as they hurried up the lawn. "Dumbledore would have to add a second wing to that cabin just to contain them."
The Goblet of Fire had been removed from the entrance hall and the Age Line had been dispelled. The doors to the Great Hall were flung wide and the benches were already crowded when Harry, Daisy, and Ron entered, hunting for seats. The decorations had been put up as well. A boiling cauldron of live bats surged across the enchanted ceiling, turning in circles, swooping after yellow bright lantern bugs. Pumpkins, some carved, some whole, were set in huge piles against the walls. Dim red-orange light glowed behind their jagged faces.
The Goblet of Fire, still burning blue, stood alone on its casket before the staff table.
Harry and Daisy fit themselves in next to the Creevey brothers, and Ron found himself pressed between Fred and George. They did not look pleased, either at their brother's appearance or at the lingering silver stubble spread across their cheeks.
"Tossed him right out," grumbled George. "Didn't even get up close enough to the cup to enter."
"Pomfrey didn't even mend my tailbone proper," said Fred. "It still smarts when I sit. Wait until I see him. Thinking he can avoid us—"
"What?" said Ron. "Who? Madam Pomfrey?"
"Shut your gob, Ron," said George.
"Bloody hell, I hope it's Angelina at least," said Fred, as the Beauxbatons delegation filed into the hall. Hagrid was beaming with Madame Maxime on his arm as they skirted the Hufflepuff House bench and sidled up to the staff table. Harry spied the same two girls—Henriette and Lucille—turning their noses up at the decorations and giggling at the bats near the ceiling as their headmistress departed. He saw Fleur as well, but she didn't notice him as she trotted over to the Ravenclaw table.
The Durmstrag delegation appeared shortly after, led by a sour-faced Professor Karkaroff who had a firm hand on Viktor Krum's furs. He directed his entire group to the Slytherin table and stood to make certain that Krum did not escape. Harry tried to catch the older boy's eye, seeing the forlorn look fixed across his already surly countenance.
Just then, Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch appeared at the doors and strode up the staff table. When they had taken their seats and settled in, Professor Dumbledore stood in his Halloween robes, midnight purple with twinkling orange stars, and called a start to the feast.
"What a prick," muttered Daisy, craning her neck to see Krum as the students began to hurriedly fill their plates and tear into their dinners. "How did Karkaroff end up being headmaster of a school?"
"Professor Dumbledore seems to know him. And I get it," said Harry. "He wants to keep them all together, united front and all." Understanding Karkaroff's motivation didn't make him any less suspicious, though.
"Professor Dumbledore said we're to build international relations," said Daisy, slapping a spoonful of braised carrots onto her plate. "How can we do that if they all clump up together and only talk with each other—and the Slytherins."
"Right," said Harry with a snort. "That's what you're worried about. International relations. Not showing up elite Quidditch players."
"I don't want to show him up." Daisy squirmed around to face him. "I want to learn. He's obviously done something right."
"Have some soup," said Harry, pulling the tureen of bouillabaisse towards her. "And worry about Krum later."
"Yuck," said Daisy, spotting a spiny-legged red langoustine in the stew. "They've still got the heads on."
Their plates were cleared in short order, and they were mirrored by nearly every other student in the hall. The clack and chime of silverware and gold was quickly replaced by the rumble and drone of hundreds of eager students, all craning their necks to peer up at the staff table and the Goblet of Fire.
Professor Dumbledore rose and silence followed him. Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff and Mr. Bagman leaned forward in their seats as one, tense. Beside them, Mr. Crouch glanced at his timepiece, unperturbed.
"The time," began Professor Dumbledore, smiling at the assembly, "is near. The Goblet of Fire will soon make its decision on which students will be named champions for their schools." He swept one deep-sleeved arm towards the staff table. "I would ask when the champions are selected that they proceed up the hall and beyond the staff table into the next chamber for their instructions. The Triwizard Tournament is a prestigious and public event, but there are things meant only for our participants to know. There will be time for celebration after, I assure you. "
Mr. Crouch coughed, his timepiece still in hand.
Professor Dumbledore's beard jumped as he chuckled. "Dear me, nearly time. Let's be on with it." His wand was suddenly in his hand, and he waved it once, extinguishing every light in the Great Hall, save for the candles in the carved pumpkins.
Almost immediately the Goblet's fire flared from blue to red.
The hall went still.
There was a smell like dragonfire and ash—Harry remembered it well—and the Goblet shot a whorl of flame into the hall. When it receded it left behind a small charred square of parchment in the air. The fire returned to its calm blue-white burble.
Professor Dumbledore reached for the ticket, holding it to the light.
"The champion from the Durmstrang Institute," he called, "is Viktor Krum."
The Great Hall exploded with cheers from all tables.
"He's got it!" cried Ron, clapping madly. "I knew he would!"
Daisy grinned. "Of course. The rest of them look so rotten."
Krum stood from his place at the Slytherin table, mumbling something Harry thought might have been, 'very good.' He gathered his furs and walked, duck-footed, down between the benches and up to where his headmaster waited, arms outstretched. Professor Karkaroff's grin was a manic yellow as he clapped Krum on the back and ushered him towards the door behind the staff table.
Krum had just shut the door behind him when the Goblet belched red again. Again Harry smelled dragonfire. The hall went quiet. Professor Dumbledore waited for the cup to calm down before he read the name on the parchment. "The champion from the Beaubatons Academy," he read, his voice slipping into the French words with practiced ease, "is Fleur Delacour."
Again, applause throughout the hall, but more subdued than it had been for Krum. The majority of the noise came from the Ravenclaw table, where the entire French delegation was gathered. As Fleur stood, smiling serenely, and floated down towards the staff table, a sob and a loud wail erupted from the midst of the Beaubatons crowd. Harry watched as the two ill-mannered girls collapsed onto each other in tears. Fleur only smiled more brightly at this. When she reached the head table, she looked back at her classmates and gave Madame Maxime a curtsy.
"Isn't she full of herself," grumbled Daisy.
"As if you wouldn't shine like the sun if you made Malfoy cry," muttered Harry.
"That would be worth every minute in hell," said Daisy, smiling wickedly. "Now hush, you're next."
Harry glared at her weakly, but he couldn't deny that his chest had gone tight with anticipation. Fleur passed into the chamber at the staff table and the Goblet spit red again.
Again dragonfire.
Again ash.
Professor Dumbledore held the charred scrap of parchment to the Goblet's blue flame. He was silent. Then he looked up, directly at Harry, his eyes hard as blue diamonds. Harry had never felt more ashamed, but he met the headmaster's gaze firmly. He had to understand.
Professor Dumbledore sighed. "The champion from Hogwarts School is Harry Potter."
Silence in the hall.
Daisy screeched with joy, throwing herself against him and squeezing as tight as she could. He felt her rub her face against his shoulder, and without warning, felt the telltale heat of tears welling at the edges of his eyes. The girl was an idiot. Harry hugged her back, then pried her fingers from him and stood. The Gryffindor table had finally caught its breath and started to cheer. Across from him Ron and Fred and George began thumping the tabletop and hollering. Colin tried to hug him as well, but Harry wriggled away and patted the top of his head. He saw Katie, Alicia, and Angelina trade bewildered stares, but after a moment they joined the Weasleys in their thumping. Hermione was stricken, sat next to Neville and Lavender. As Harry passed by, he met her gaze, but she went pale and kept silent.
"Have you done this yourself, Harry?" whispered Professor Dumbledore, when Harry reached the Goblet of Fire and the staff table. His eyes were still hard, and his voice was slightly rough. "On your own?"
"Yes, sir," answered Harry.
"Why?"
"For Daisy, sir," said Harry. He stood upright under the headmaster's scrutiny. "It would have been her otherwise, I'm sure."
"Reckless," muttered Professor Dumbledore. "Though how could I have expected less?" His gaze softened and he laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Go on, then, Harry. Through the door."
At the staff table, Madame Maxime looked like someone had defecated on her plate. Professor Karkaroff was plainly stunned. Mr. Bagman, too. Strangely, though, Mr. Crouch had finally come alive. His eyes gleamed with curiosity as leaned over the table to regard Harry. His pocket watch lay open on his clean, untouched golden plate.
Harry pulled the door to the room behind the staff table open just as the Goblet of Fire burned red again. He froze.
No.
He didn't have to turn to see the parchment flutter into Professor Dumbledore's hand.
He didn't have to listen as the old man read it under the light of the blue flame.
"Daisy Potter."
"No!" said Harry. He slammed the door to the chamber shut and ran back for Professor Dumbledore. The headmaster was staring at the scrap of parchment in confusion. Harry grabbed at his sleeve. "Professor, she can't."
Now the Great Hall was buzzing, a harsh buzz. Wasp wings. Harry did not look up from where he grasped the headmaster's arm. He stared at the parchment scrap. It was a torn-off piece of one of the ones Daisy had been doodling on. Her name was written in her own hand. There was even the small black daisy she'd scribbled at the corner:
Daisy Potter
House
1994 AD
Harry heard the thunk and crash of Mad-Eye Moody's leg as the Auror came down from the staff table. He felt the man's thin iron wire fingers grip his shoulder.
"Albus," grunted Moody. "You can't mean for her to—"
"She has to," whispered Professor Dumbledore. He raised his voice. "Daisy Potter—Daisy, will you come up here, please."
The Goblet of Fire went dark.
The Great Hall was black where the Jack o' Lanterns did not grin.
There must have been a bear inside his chest having a terrible migraine. That was the only explanation Harry could fathom for why his guts felt as though they had been shredded. Everything they had done to prevent this from happening meant nothing. The research. The ghost. The Occulumency lessons. The stupid storybooks. The cats. The Unforgivable Curse.
And Daisy sat across from him as the second champion for Hogwarts School.
"I didn't do it," she said. "I didn't enter."
His sister had repeated the exact line twenty-four times. He'd counted.
At least Madame Maxime had gone, her face swollen like a thunderhead, with Fleur tucked under her wing. The French girl had been delighted to see Harry enter the room, but it had been short-lived when she'd caught sight of Daisy traipsing in after him. Neither of the Beauxbatons women could reconcile Hogwarts having two champions, underage twins or not.
Professor Karkaroff had been worse. His unctuous manner had evaporated instantaneously upon entering this back room. Raving, he had threatened to pull Krum out of the tournament, binding magical contract be damned. It had taken Professor Dumbledore's raised voice to keep Professor Moody from assaulting him.
Now the Auror was pacing, his wooden leg keeping alternate time with his ironshod staff, as Professors Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall pondered on how this new disaster had come about. Mr. Bagman had overcome his shock quite rapidly, however, and fully supported their dual entry in the Triwizard Tournament.
"I suppose it's too late to rename the thing," he said grinning broadly. "But what are the odds, eh? Two champions, twins—and the Girl Who Lived, no less."
"Heavens above, Ludo," said Mr. Crouch. "Everything isn't about odds and sportsbooks. The boy is one matter, the girl is an entirely different one."
"Practicality to the end isn't it, Crouch," snarled Mad-Eye Moody from the edge of the room. His complexion had returned to its normal rough nut brown—Harry figured he must have caught a nap somewhere. Had that been when whomever-it-was had stuck Daisy's name into the Goblet?
"Yes," said Mr. Crouch stiffly. "As I see it, Mr. Potter's entry has little to do with how Miss Potter ended up in the tournament."
"He's right," muttered Snape. "Mr. Potter's aptitude is higher than that of his sister's. I might believe that he's duped the headmaster's Age Line. I cannot believe the same of Miss Potter." He looked like it physically hurt him to admit this.
"I helped him!" cried Daisy, instantly firing up at Snape's slight on her ability. "We got his name in together!"
"Did you?" hissed Snape. "And how did you accomplish that?"
"Daisy," croaked Harry.
"I'm sorry!" said Daisy.
"I expect it's time for you to tell us, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore quietly.
"I can't," said Harry, stuffing his head into his hands. He couldn't admit it to all of these people. There were two Ministry employees here, and Snape and his Head of House. "I can't, Professor."
"Whyever not?" asked Snape. His robes fluttered like bat wings as he approached the twins. "Surely it would be a spectacular feat of magic, after all, to get around a spell from Albus Dumbledore."
"Severus," said Professor Dumbledore warningly. "Leave it."
"I'll—I'll tell you, Professor," said Harry softly. "I promise it's nothing that could have gotten Daisy involved."
"I believe you, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore.
"Can't have been the boy," growled Professor Moody. "Someone must have Confunded that cup into thinking there was a fourth school of magic involved in this tournament."
"How would they do that?" asked Mr. Bagman. "There's only ever been three schools involved in the Triwizard Tournament."
"You think something that old has only ever been used to pick out children for a silly tournament?" said Mad-Eye Moody. "Only the best and brightest for Fudge these days, eh? That Goblet has been around a long time, Bagman. Tricking it might be no easy feat, but it could be done."
"No child could muster a strong enough Confundus Charm, especially from outside the headmaster's Age Line," said Mr. Bagman. "Are you saying an adult did this? Put the Girl Who Lived in the tournament? For what?"
"For the same reason that the boy's in it," snarled Moody. "Or are your heads still under the muck? At least he saw it coming. That's a noble thing, Potter, trying to protect your sister."
"Protect her from what?" said Mr. Bagman.
"From who," said Professor Moody.
"Not this tosh again, Mad-Eye," said Mr. Bagman. "You-Know-Who is dead! There are no dark wizards left!"
"There's one on that blasted boat!" cried Mad-Eye Moody. "The best bloody actor the Wizengamot's ever seen! I was there, Bagman! I was there..."
"It wouldn't do to accuse a foreign wizard, and one of the heads..." Mr. Crouch shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "But perhaps he's right, Ludo. We should floo the Minister."
"For what good it will do," said Professor Dumbledore softly. He turned away from the fireplace. "Igor would not have done this. He has no love for the Dark Lord Voldemort." He stroked his beard. "A healthy amount of fear to be certain, but no love."
"And what of this one," said Moody, jabbing a finger at Professor Snape, who went suddenly white. "What of him, Headmaster?"
"Alastor," said Professor Dumbledore, his voice like ice. "I will not hear it. Perhaps it's time you were abed. You must be weary after our vigil."
"Albus," growled Mad-Eye Moody.
"Do not be unwise, old friend," said Professor Dumbledore, crossing to stand between the Auror and Professor Snape. "Our emotions are high. In fact," he paused, turning to regard each wizard left in the room, "we should all retire. What is done is done. As Ludo has said, there is nothing for it now. There will be two champions for Hogwarts School."
"Dear lord," muttered Mr. Bagman. "We haven't even told them the rules, Barty. Or the task."
"Go on then," said Mr. Crouch, gesturing to the Potter twins.
"You've got it down better than me," said Mr. Bagman. He glanced down at Harry and Daisy. "But, ah... the first task, the first task is designed to test your courage... courage in the face of unknown danger." He paused to dab at his forehead with a sleeve. "It will take place on the twenty-fourth of November."
Harry nodded. Less than a month. He watched his sister. Could he get her ready for something like this in less than a month? The adults had seemed to resign themselves to this outcome, that Daisy Potter would be the second champion and would have to compete with students who were seventeen and exponentially more powerful and well-trained than she.
Twenty-four days.
"You've left off the rules, there, Ludo," said Mr. Crouch with a sigh. "Mr. Potter. Miss Potter. You will not be permitted any assistance from any of the professors from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, or Durmstrang. You are to face the first task armed with only your wands and your wit. The instructions for the second task will be delivered after the completion of the first task." He stood, tugging his robes straight. "You are exempted from the end of year examinations of your school. Consider them all satisfactorily completed with passing marks." He frowned as Daisy's face brightened at the mention of missing exams. "I wish you both good luck." Mr. Crouch waved a hand at Mr. Bagman. "Come along then, Ludo, we've got to give the same to the other two."
"Yes, very well," said Mr. Bagman. "Be seeing you then, Dumbledore. Professors."
"I trust you'll be staying on overnight, gentlemen?" asked Professor Dumbledore. "The spare rooms are prepared."
"Yes, certainly," said Mr. Bagman, nodding. "The elves have already taken my things."
"Splendid," said Professor Dumbledore. "And you Barty? The event has run longer than we expected. What's another evening spent at rest?"
"I've been away for too long, already," said Mr. Crouch. "Poor Weatherby's been handling the post all alone. He'll need to be relieved."
"As you will," said the headmaster. "Minerva, will you see Miss Potter up to the Tower? I'm sure there is a grand celebration awaiting her."
"And Mr. Potter?" asked Professor McGonagall, crossing to stand behind Daisy's chair. The Gryffindor head had been so quiet that Harry had forgotten her presence entirely. He offered her a weak smile. She pressed her lips into a line and gave a soft shake of her head.
"Harry and I have a long-overdue discussion," said Professor Dumbledore. "I will have him up before curfew, in any event." He waved his wand and the door to the chamber jumped open. "Good evening."
When Professor Snape had left, and Professor Moody, and Daisy had shot Harry one last anguished look, swaddled in Professor McGonagall's sleeves, Professor Dumbledore shut the door and sat in the chair across from Harry. He pulled a tin of sherbet lemons from his front pocket.
"Harry?" he asked, offering the tin.
"No, thank you, Professor," said Harry.
"A chocolate frog man to end then," said the headmaster, smiling. "Just as well." He leaned back in his chair. "Why did you enter the tournament, Harry?"
"I've told you," said Harry. "I knew someone would enter Daisy and I was trying to stop it. I knew Professor Moody was looking out for her, but... but I didn't want to take any chances." He met the headmaster's eyes behind the half-moon spectacles. "She wouldn't be able to do them herself, the tasks."
"And why would you believe that?" asked Professor Dumbledore. "Take pity on an old man and walk me through it." He sucked on his candy and steepled his fingers on his lap.
"Where do you want to me start, sir?" said Harry with a snort. "On the train when Malfoy told us that there would be a dangerous tournament at Hogwarts and whoever entered might die? Or when Professor Moody told me that you called him in to help because of the Death Eaters running about—or when we found the ghost of a boy who died during the second task, chained up and covered in blood, crying for his mother?"
"There is no need to be abrasive, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore gently. "I have indeed called Alastor Moody out of retirement to keep watch over this tournament. But I fear he's come farther in line with his moniker than I would have liked." He sighed. "I suppose I deserve part of the blame for trying to keep you away from it all."
"But why?" asked Harry. "It's all I can think about, sir. It's everything. Peter Pettigrew and Tom Riddle trying to kill Daisy. I'd help you, you know I would."
"I do not want you to have to help me," said Professor Dumbledore. "Looking after your sister and learning magic is enough for now."
"That's funny," muttered Harry. "Because I thought that was what I was doing by entering the bloody thing."
"And how did you enter it?" asked Professor Dumbledore. "I am fairly certain that you are not seventeen years old, Harry, and—forgive my arrogance—no one at this school or any other could have fooled my Age Line. And the Goblet wouldn't have chosen you if you didn't match up. Deception does not work on it. It knows the mettle of those who enter."
"I didn't deceive it." Harry sat facing the headmaster, not quite sure how to explain himself. He'd done dark magic, used an Unforgivable Curse, ruined his relationship with Mrs. Norris, and it had all been for nothing.
"Let's have a walk, then," said Professor Dumbledore without warning. "Perhaps down to the lake to visit your kelpie—what have you named her again?"
"Eloise, sir," said Harry. "It seemed to fit." He wasn't even surprised that Professor Dumbledore knew about the kelpie. Eloise had probably been in that lake for over a century. He was a little unsettled that the man didn't warn him away from her, though, as Hagrid had, and Mr. Ollivander.
"It's a fine name, Harry," said the headmaster, as they walked through the emptiness of the Great Hall and down through the courtyard to the castle steps. "I'm certain that she adores it."
"I can never be sure," muttered Harry. "She keeps trying to drown me."
"Oh my," said Professor Dumbledore, chuckling. "It's quite all right, Fawkes has burned me more than I'd like to admit."
"Has he?" said Harry.
"Oh yes," said Professor Dumbledore, winking. "I rather think he's still upset by his name, too."
Harry smiled. "How did you find him?"
"Alas," said Professor Dumbledore, "that is a story much too long and complex for this evening. But remind me again when we have a free afternoon. The short answer is—he saved my life."
"He's saved mine, too," said Harry, remembering the Basilisk and Tom Riddle's memory in the Chamber of Secrets. He scuffed his toes against the grass as they descended the lawn for the Black Lake. "We would have died without him."
"And what has that taught you?" asked Professor Dumbledore.
"To be nice to the roosters," said Harry wryly.
The water was calm and shone white-black under the moonlight. The Durmstrang caravel was mostly dark, but as they circled the shore, Harry caught wisps of candlelight through the portholes. He called for Eloise as they drew near her section of the lake, but the kelpie did not come.
"Patience," said Professor Dumbledore. "I'm sure she knows you're looking for her."
"I haven't got any treats," said Harry. "Usually I bring her something to eat. So, er, so that she won't eat me."
Again Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "I'm sure that she would no sooner eat you than Fawkes would eat me." He gestured Harry forward to the water's edge. "Now, what is it that you would rather not tell me, Harry?"
"I—" Harry stood beside the headmaster at the edge of the lake and watched the water lap at the dull, grainy sand. "I—have you ever used an unforgivable curse, Professor?"
Professor Dumbledore was quiet for a time. "I have."
"And didn't it make you feel horrible?" said Harry quietly. "Like it was the worst thing you've ever done?"
"Oh yes," said Professor Dumbledore. "Every time."
"And you still did it?" asked Harry.
"I thought I had to, didn't I?" said Professor Dumbledore softly. He faced Harry and settled his hand on his shoulder. "The same as you, I assume?"
"Yeah," mumbled Harry. "I had to—there was no other way I could think of, and Mrs. Norris was so frightened, but I couldn't let her go. It was already so late. But I had to do it. And now I feel like a monster. Especially because it all worked out to nothing in the end."
"My dear boy," said Professor Dumbledore, squeezing his shoulder. "We're all monstrous sometimes."
"I knew it was wrong and I did it anyway," said Harry, "because it was all I had. I couldn't figure anything else out. If I'd tried harder and spent more time..."
"You would have ended up in the same place," said Professor Dumbledore, "albeit a little more well-read. I've said already, no one at this school could have unraveled that line." He shook his head. "How remarkable," he muttered. "Undone by the caretaker's cat of all things."
"She's always following me around after hours," said Harry. "I figured she had to be at least seventeen, given how old Filch is. And Crookshanks is rather smart, so I figured he'd be able to tell her to put my name in, but she got spooked when he tried to cross the line, and she wouldn't go back."
"Mr. Filch," corrected Professor Dumbledore.
"Yes, Mr. Filch," said Harry. "But what if it happens again? What if I come up against something or Daisy's in trouble, and all I've got is something terrible like those curses, and I—" His voice cracked.
"And you started to enjoy using them?" said Professor Dumbledore.
"Yes," whispered Harry.
"You'll have to get better, then, won't you?" said the headmaster. "So that the expediency of terrible magic doesn't overtake the power of the right magic."
"That easy is it?" said Harry sourly.
"Not at all, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "In fact sometimes the right magic is terrible, but less terrible than the most terrible."
"Of course it is," Harry muttered.
"I am quite serious, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore.
"Doesn't make me feel any better, though," said Harry.
Professor Dumbledore's hand tightened on his shoulder like a steel clasp. "Do you want to feel better, truly?"
"No," said Harry, wincing.
"Are you looking for me to tell you that what you've done wasn't terrible, then?" asked Professor Dumbledore. "I won't. Because it was. Though it may end up being the right thing."
"How can it?"
"In my experience, it nearly always is," said Professor Dumbledore. "The world needs monstrous men sometimes, Harry. It's a difficult thing, to be good and terrible at once."
"That doesn't make any sense at all," said Harry.
"Who else will stand to face the truly terrible monsters?" said Professor Dumbledore, a wistful smile on his face.
"And how will I know if I'm the right sort?" asked Harry, staring out over the lake. The water frothed a way out, and the barest hint of Eloise's snout broke the surface. After a moment, her blue-black head followed, but seeing him with the headmaster, a person unfamiliar to her, the kelpie came no closer.
"Harry," said Professor Dumbledore at last, "I hope that you never go to where I have been, trapped deep in the blackest pits of doom. Alone. And knowing that I richly deserved every moment of it." His eyes were wet behind his spectacles. "Abandoned by your brother. A dead sister. A man you loved more than yourself set on the path to murder, tearing the world asunder. Knowing you will have to do terrible things in order to set it right. Scraping along the bottom blackness of life with your hands in pieces."
He squeezed Harry's shoulder again.
"But I needed to be there, Harry, to find a way to pull myself up. By my teeth, when I needed to." Professor Dumbledore brushed at his eyes. "You have to know just how terrible you can be before you value it, I think, Harry. Before you can be good." He looked out over the lake and the kelpie under the half-black moon. "So you've tried your hardest and the world has dealt you a blow. Right in the mouth. Shattered your teeth. No matter. Spit them out." He smiled at Harry in the half-light. "That's the first step. Good monsters have no use for milk teeth."
