Chapter 4:
For Want of a Master
Edited/Proofread by Demon Ging
"So how is the egg coming along?"
Harry blanched at Cedric's unexpected question.
Egg? What egg? Had the Hufflepuff somehow learned about his failed attempts at having Trevor sit atop a chicken egg down in the chamber of secrets?
If so, then he could get Harry into a whole mountain of trouble. Not just with Neville, who would undoubtedly be incensed to learn that Harry was responsible for his toad's latest batch of disappearances but also with magical law enforcement.
How many decades in Azkaban was it for trying to breed a Basilisk?
"Huh?" Harry answered with his best poker face.
"The golden egg. From the first task. How far along are you with the clue?"
The egg has a clue!?
"Oh. I haven't even bothered starting yet," Harry confessed as they exited the library corridor and began descending the grand staircase.
Cedric nodded while giving him a polite, and possibly pitying, smile.
"Well, you really helped me out with the first task, so I thought I'd return the favor," Cedric explained pointlessly.
Harry really wished the older seeker would get on with it.
"I recommend opening it while taking a bath."
The egg opens!?
"The prefect bathroom on the fifth floor is a great place to soak and mull things over," Cedric finished. "The password is pine fresh."
Harry nodded in thanks.
"Right. I'll be sure to pay it a visit,"He said.
They walked in awkward silence from there.
Neither of them were particularly eager to talk to reporters again. The last time hadn't gone well for any of the champions, even if Harry had gotten the worst of it. Though, if all goes according to plan this one would prove to be much more entertaining.
In the meantime, Harry amused himself by surreptitiously tilting every painting they passed on the way down. Their occupants' screams of discomfort as they slid out of frame was music to his ears.
Cedric immediately caught him in the act but, instead of whining like a good prefect and head boy, decided to ignore his attempts at causing headaches for the more obsessive-compulsive students and staff, all the while snickering and smirking as they went.
Cedric had not been joking when he said many more reporters would be in attendance this time.
Not only had the Daily Prophet sent a new reporter, though the same cameraman, but so too had The Herald, Witch Weekly, their French and Bulgarian counterparts, and the BBC wizarding division. There were even scouts for organizations like the Dark Force Defense League and the Beast Masters, who upon reflection, were the least surprising of the guests.
The wall of reporters filled half the room, the other half by the champions, all three Headmasters, Barty Crouch, Fudge, and the lovely heads of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff houses.
Harry tried his hardest to act as stoic as Cedric, but with both McGonagall and Dumbledore standing directly behind him, he was understandably fidgety. He had been doing quite a bit of rule-breaking as of late, and the old lioness was nowhere near as relaxed as the badger queen.
Maybe if he could convince the transfiguration teacher would take up gardening? That would surely mellow her out. A well-chosen Christmas and birthday present comprised of potted plants. It would be a long game, but Harry was sure he could pull it off.
"Miss Delacour!" A reporter from Witch Weekly fielded the first question.
They had all been waiting patiently as the reporters drew lots to determine the order in which they would get to ask questions. Harry was pleasantly surprised that the first one hadn't to do with him. Fleur smiled politely and sat slightly straighter at the question.
She practically glowed with pride at the apparent recognition.
"We at Witch Weekly would like to know if your clear skin is the result of a particular product or the benefit of the...heritage you revealed during the weighing of the wands."
And like that, the excitement that had erupted in her eyes at what was clearly the first smidgeon of acknowledgment given to her since the tournament beganDIED. He almost felt bad for her, seeing her gleeful smile turn rigid and fixed as she stared unseeingly into the distance. But then he remembered his treatment at the hands of the media as of late and decided she could certainly handle it if a 'leetle boy' could come out of it relatively unscathed.
"I wear ze makeup just as any ozzer woman," Fleur explained. "I am cursed with ze same oily skin and split ends in ze hair as everyone and work just as hard to combat it."
Harry suspected she was lying to try and seem like a normal woman, er, girl. He would strive to think of her as a girl. Pettiness demanded it. Either way, the chick who had managed to knock a fully grown dragon unconscious would surely prefer to discuss said achievement instead of questions on skin and hair products.
Why wasn't she tied for first again?
"Johnathan Jerwin with the Prophet," Another reporter introduced himself. "My question is for Mister Diggory."
Cedric nodded to the portly man.
Why couldn't Harry hold himself with such distinction? Were there lessons for it?
"As a former Hufflepuff myself, I value fair play and all that jazz. My question is why you haven't formally complained about the unfairness of Mister Potter being forced to compete against older and more experienced wizards, including yourself. Don't you find that a bit unsporting?"
Harry felt an entire rollercoaster of emotions during that particular question: Relief that someone actually believed him regarding his entrance into the tournament, boiling anger at the now familiar insinuation that he wasn't up to the part, and begrudging recognition that, yes, it was unfair to him. All of these feelings melted away when Cedric answered the question with laughter.
It wasn't a mere chuckle, or short burst, but uproarious, chest-clutching, barely able to stay upright in his seat hysterics.
"Are you kidding me?" He managed to get out between breaths. "I've been complaining since it started that it's unfair for us to have to compete against HIM since his name first came out of the goblet!"
Professor Sprout nodded to the congregation as Harry felt Professor McGonagall's hand squeeze his shoulder with what must have been pride.
"I can confirm this. The majority of complaints I've received from my Hufflepuff students were along those lines," Sprout said.
Dumbledore now, as since the beginning of the interview, focused all of his attention on unwrapping another unidentifiable candy he had retrieved from his robes. He looked for all the world oblivious to the beseeching gazes of reporters clearly wanting to hear him confirm this.
"But why would you think he was..."
"You are allowed one question per turn," McGonagall spoke up as her superior popped what may have been a strawberry hard candy into his mouth. "Next person please."
She was clearly in no mood to put up with anybody's shit today. Harry liked the mood shift.
The representative for the Beast Masters, an organization devoted to the hunting of beasts that threatened the statute of secrecy, fielded the next question.
"Mister Potter," An oddly dressed man who could have passed for Lucius Malfoy and Professor Trelawney's anorexic bastard son piped up. "Can you confirm or deny claims that you had in fact killed another dragon in your first year at Hogwarts?"
Hmmm. That was a new one. Unlike most rumors he could at least see how the true story, no doubt revealed to the whole school by Draco, had evolved into him somehow killing Norbert.
"I can qualitatively deny that statement and even provide evidence to the contrary," Harry said with what he hoped was a winning smile. "The only magical beast I had ever killed prior to this tournament was that Basilisk in the basement."
The reporters, foreign champions, foreign school officials and three ministry employees present all laughed good-naturedly at the comment. It was the kind of practiced laughter given to the cheesy, slightly sarcastic jokes politicians make to try and ease a crowd.
"And to answer your earlier attempt at a question," Cedric said, indicating the Johnathan fellow from the Herald. " THAT is why I didn't want to face him in this tournament."
The condescending laughter died down in place of confusion.
"You did not kill a Basilisk!" Karkaroff declared.
"Oh yes I did," Harry affirmed.
"Non! You deed not," Madam Maxime objected.
"Yes. He did,"Cedric, Sprout, McGonagall and Dumbledore all countered in unison.
Dead silence.
Fudge was the first to catch his bearings, even if his sputtering made his response difficult to quantify.
"When did this happen? Around the same time he confronted a still living Peter Pettigrew?!" He demanded.
"No no no. That was the year after,"Harry explained nonchalantly.
He refused to dignify the idiot's belief in his being confunded with any recognition. When the room started to buzz in a manner frighteningly similar to the Great Hall after his name came out, Dumbledore decided to step in before the room exploded with questions.
"If I may," The elderly headmaster offered as he smacked his lips in enjoyment of the hard candy bulging against his cheek. "As per tournament regulations, Mr. Potter's hospital records were publicly released when he was chosen as champion."
They were!?
"And with even a cursory glance, I would imagine that being treated for the after-effects of Basilisk venom and the flushing out of phoenix tears in his system would jump out to any competent observer," Dumbledore finished.
Oh right. Harry had completely forgotten about that time Pomfrey had to flush the phoenix tears out of his system by way of laxatives and several gallons of drinking water. Apparently phoenix tears were the steroids of the magical world: athletes would dose themselves with the stuff and proceed to perform one months worth of physical conditioning in a single day, letting the tears regenerate their damaged muscles as they trained.
He didn't look forward to having to go through tests for performance enhancers. Thanks to Dumbledore, petitions for such testing on all of the champions would start coming in within a few days. Great.
The remaining questions from that point on were directed at his peers, but the wheel eventually landed back to him when it was the Beast Masters representative had another turn.
"Mister Potter, I think I speak for all Beast Masters when I ask, how did you manage to kill a Basilisk?"
"With a sword," He answered without a hint of hesitation.
"A sword?"
"Yessir. Pulled it out of a hat."
They all stared at him.
"Really it was all dumb luck, I sort of just held it aloft and the serpent impaled herself on it when she struck me."
They stared some more.
"That's how I got bit. Left a fang in my arm when she pulled away," He pointed to the offending appendage.
More of that staring.
"Good thing too, because I left the sword in her brain and I needed something to stab Voldemort's old diary with."
They didn't even have presence of mind to flinch at the name. Although Dumbledore seemed to be choking on his candy in his attempts to stifle his own laughter.
"I was not ready for that day."
They didn't ask him any further questions after that. At least not directly. He paid close attention to the answers of his fellow champions, and the headmasters, but they were masters of the art of speaking without saying anything. He got nothing out of it.
Eventually Witch Weekly came around with a blanket question for all of the champions.
"For your fans out there, what would be the ideal Christmas present for each of you?"
The other champions all swerved in their seats to look at him. Pointedly.
So, they were all more interested in hearing his Christmas wishes than sharing their own? Okay.
"I mean, none of the things I want are simple to get hold of," He pre-emptively warned.
The same Witch Weekly reporter cut him off.
"Oh I'm sure there are things nobody could ever replace," She said in a sickeningly sweet voice that left no doubt she thought he was going to ask for something sappy and childish like having his parents back. "But if it's in the power of any of our readers, I'm sure they'd be happy to help fulfill your Christmas wishes."
Great. Wealthy spinster fangirls buying him presents. Might as well ask for something impossible.
"I want a functional, full-sized replica of the Paris Gun."
"Er, is there anything else you'd accept?"
"A pet tendrilled sky serpent."
"I'll see what we can do about the Paris Gun replica."
Sue trudged up to the school owlery with the air of a death row inmate.
It felt as if her life was over. She came all the way from Taiwan to get away from the family that failed to protect her at her most vulnerable, only to do something like that to the first boy to catch her attention. All these years practicing self-control, dulling emotions. Then, on the very day preteen hormones finally erupted and introduced her to the unfamiliar sensation of lust she folds. She practically attacked the boy who lived, giving herself to him the moment she found her chance. (Well, it was more taking than giving, but that was beside the point.) He'd seemed to enjoy it at the time, but even if she hadn't misread his reaction, what must he think of her?
And now look at her! Morosely dragging her feet up the stairs with a tear-stained letter begging to be pulled out of school. Misery like this shouldn't be possible. Not even the delicious French food served with dinner had put a dent in her foul mood.
Her hands were shaking when she finally reached the stairs, but her self-loathing turned to raw hatred at the sound of a happily whistled tune coming from above. She even felt her perfectly smooth mask crack for a split second when she heard it.
How DARE somebody be so happy while she herself was so miserable!
Deep breaths. In and out. Cold, calm, plastic exterior. That's it. Unfortunately, her mask cracked again as soon as she ascended the stairs and saw who was whistling so cheerily.
"Harry?!"
The dragon-slyer glanced up from the flock of owls he'd monopolized and stared at her from between the piled-up handbooks she'd seen him making in the library earlier. He appeared to be fastening one to every single owl the school owned, which seemed rather inconsiderate to her.
"Oh hey Sue, I was just gonna come look for you after I was done here. Just about finished, hang on."
She did as he instructed and waited for him to finish whatever peculiar scheme he had concocted. Likely something to do with that Granger bint's Society for Elves, or whatever. That mudblood was in some kind of denial of the nature of servitude all lesser beings shared. But she would learn eventually. Someday Granger would achieve the great pleasure of putting that brilliant mind of hers in service to a greater vision. Finding and authority of her own to wield over others would open her eyes, and really, she was rather brilliant, if only she had someone powerful to devote herself to.
Sue was a follower. She knew that. Problem was trying to find somebody to follow, like her grandmother had taught her. Not a husband, not a father, not a government and certainly not Dumbledore or Voldemort. Somebody. she had thought, maybe, Harry.
"Aaaaand that should do it!" Harry exclaimed as he tied the final manual to the final owl. "Alright everyone, line up!"
And at his command the denizens of the owlery all swooped down to the floor, covering every inch of it. Harry had to back up all the way to the small entryway she was occupying, forcing her to watch the proceedings over his shoulder.
"Alright, Tulip!" A small tawny owl raised to her full height in response. "Are you sure you can make the trip all the way to Tibet? If you can't handle it, I'll switch you with Marrow."
He indicated a large black eagle owl who preened at the offer of a more important mission. Tulip answered by way of giving him the EXACT same look Sue had given him when he asked her if she knew the sermo revalio spell.
Something weird was going on here. She'd never seen owls act like this before. They were almost acting like...people.
"Okay, I'll hold you to it," Harry went on before addressing the entire congregation. "Is everyone else good?"
As if they were a single entity, the flock of owls bobbed their heads as if nodding in the affirmative.
"Are you sure? Now's the time to back out. Some of these jackasses won't be happy to retrieve your cargo."
A round of clacking beaks erupted like the snickering of a crowd and Sue knew, somehow knew, they were laughing. Owls don't laugh. Owls don't understand people. Owls certainly do NOT communicate in a way people can understand.
And now Sue understood, with greater clarity than ever before, that she had chosen correctly in trying to make him hers.
He wasn't just a parseltongue. Harry was so much more than. He was a Beast Master! A beast-tongued savant that reprehensible group of glorified animal control units named themselves after.
"Then off you all go! Go! Go! Fly my pretties!"
And they did. They flew as one, enveloping her and Harry in a typhoon of wings and feathers as they took off in every cardinal direction. Slowly seeping out through the walls as if they were a mass of liquid.
Harry smiled at the scene all the way until the final owl left on its mission, leaving the pair alone.
Her heart fluttered, actually fluttered, when he turned those dazzling green eyes to her. It was only her breathing techniques and occlumency exercises that kept her from putting her hands on every inch of him then and there.
"So, uh, I wanted to talk to you about... that thing we did."
And like that the power and confidence he'd exuded moments before vanished, along with the frothing dew between her thighs. Was he really that nervous around girls? Even ones he's fucked? Well, she'd fucked him, but still.
"Then talk," She all but snapped at the weak, pathetic man that he had transformed into before her very eyes.
"Well, I wanted to invite you to the Yule Ball..."
"I'm not interested in dancing. At all. With anybody. Ever. Take somebody else," She interrupted.
He stared at her with an almost humorous look of surprise. Had she said something funny?
"But, someone already asked me and I said yes," He finished.
Oh. That actually kind of hurt. She really didn't want to go, but she would have preferred if she'd been the first person he thought to ask. That way she could have shot him down. Wait.
"She asked you?" Sue clarified, curious.
He nodded sadly.
"Yup. Never spoken to that girl before in my life, and didn't learn her name until the next day," He confessed. "I just didn't have it in me to hurt her and say no."
Oh God damnit! He was being pathetic again.
"Fortunately, I'm only required to perform the opening dance, then I can get the hell out of there," He explained. "At which point I can spend the rest of my evening with a more interesting girl."
Ooh, he was being smooth now. Good. Let's keep this going.
"You don't have to wait until Yule to spend time with a girl you find interesting," Sue informed him. "I'm sure if she finds you half as interesting as you find her, she'd take you up on any offer of an evening together."
Reading those trashy novels Padma had forced on her was finally starting to pay off. Well, not so much read as skim and mock.
Harry started at her, as if he was having an internal debate on what to say next. Probably wondering if he should speak the words that were on his tongue. If Sue was skilled in legilimency she would have willed the word "yes" into his skull over and over again.
"A friend recommended I pay the prefects bathroom a visit to work on a clue for the tournament," He pre-empted. "I could really use a brainy partner there to help me crack it. Are you doing anything late tomorrow night?"
It took all of her strength and discipline to keep a smile off of her face as the dew returned.
"Yes I am."
"Oh. Um. What? If you don't mind me asking."
"You." Sue explained as she let a smirk grace her lips.
That was apparently all it took to floor him. He just stared at her as if seeing her in a new light. A light that impressed and scared him.
"Okay then! I'll meet you at the Ravenclaw entrance? Unless you think you can make it to the prefects bathroom after curfew by yourself."
She gave him that practiced look of incredulity, making a mental note to buy Tulip from the school so they could give it to him in stereo sometime.
"At the bathroom it is then," He surrendered with a placating hand gesture.
"No. Common room is more gentlemanly. Meet me there, if you know how to find it," She said.
In her reignited excitement she had completely forgotten her purpose for being here, but Harry spotted the crumpled envelope on her hand.
"Oh! You have a letter," He looked up in search of an owl to call for her.
Had he really forgotten that he'd just sent every single owl away?
"Um. Oops. I think I can get Hedwig from my dorm for you," Harry offered, reminding her of the beautiful snow owl he owned.
As much as she wanted to see the gorgeous creature up close, she shook her head and hid the letter behind her back with both hands. She surreptitiously drew her wand behind her back.
"It's not time-sensitive," She told him as she cast a silent incendio with her other hand to destroy it. "So are you going to tell me why you mobilized the owl corps?"
He snickered at the name but decided to let her in on it.
"You remember Hagrid's essay assignment on killing dragons?"
She nodded.
"And remember how I got all of that hate mail for killing that Horntail?"
She nodded again.
"Well, I decided to turn my essay, which I got an Outstanding in by the way, into a manual and sent it off to everyone who saw fit to bitch at me for it."
Oh, you little antagonizer, you.
"But why would you do that?" She asked despite her internal approval. "You'll be making enemies out of very powerful people."
He pretended to consider his response carefully but didn't fake it for very long.
"But you fail to consider one very simple principle," He said before clearing his throat and gesturing as if to make some grand pronouncement. "Fuck em."
Oh gee. What a well-reasoned and astutely put argument. Truly this man was a master of the Hegelian dialectic. Were Hogwarts to ever fund a debate club, Harry would certainly be elected its leader.
... Perhaps she should have said that out loud. Seems like something he'd get a kick out of.
"Besides," Harry went on. "I also addressed plenty to Beast Masters who showed support in letters to me. I hope they find it useful."
Sue found herself hoping the same, if for no other reason than it would further enrage those who got sand in their vaginas over the death of such a worthless beast.
... On second thought, perhaps it was for the best that Sue kept her thoughts to herself for the time being.
"And how did your interview go?" Sue pressed on, searching for a conversation topic.
He shrugged.
"Kinda boring, to be honest. And you don't have to force a conversation, I'm not very good at them either."
Whoa! That was a rather insightful reading he just did on her. She couldn't even muster up feigned incredulity at the implied accusation.
And so, she did stop making attempts at forced conversation. With night descending quickly, they made their way out of the owlery and ascended the grand staircase in comfortable silence.
Sue did her best to muffle her giggles as Harry tilted every single portrait on the way up. Their inhabitants screams of protest was sweet music to her ears.
Now you know Sue's motives. She's nuts and wants somebody powerful to follow. The reasons for this outlook on life will be explained in later chapters.
Become a Patron:
NonsensicalRants
- Patrons who pledge 3 Dollars get all future chapters 2 weeks early and a link to the discord server. They also get access to all commissioned works, which is the only source of X-rated scenes from me. I'm not holding them hostage; I just don't want my name tied to X-rated stuff. I keep it PG-13 unless paid to do otherwise. If enough people pay me, I'll become a fulltime smut writer and make it public. Wear it with pride. It's also just not allowed on FFnet.
- Patrons who pledge 10 Dollars get the right to vote on story choices, what story I update next, and access to the source code for my Fangame projects.
Commission Me:
- I take commissions for $20 per 1000 words, less if you provide me with a half-decent outline. I don't just do fanfiction either. I will ghostwrite what you pay me to ghostwrite.
/NonsensicalRants