Author's Note:
This is a continuation/soft reboot of the time travel tale "Hair of the Grim" by Nightmare Sired Muse, with a bunch of changes. It also contains many concepts, lines and situations from the grab-bag that is "Odd Ideas" by Rorschach's Blot. Both are used with the permission of their original authors. The Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I do not own Harry Potter, Alice in Wonderland, Anchorman, Austin Powers, Avatar: the Last Airbender, Blackadder, The Barber of Seville, the Bible, Discworld, Dragonball Z, Evil Dead, How It Should Have Ended, Farscape, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Futurama, Game of Thrones, Inglourious Basterds, Great Expectations, Heart of Darkness, Indiana Jones, Inuyasha, Keeping Up Appearances, Lolita, The Lone Ranger, The Marriage of Figaro, Mazes and Monsters, Monkey Island, Monte Python, Naruto, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Pinky and the Brain, Pokémon, Popeye, Ranma ½, Red Dwarf, Robot Chicken, The Simpsons, Snakes on a Plane, South Park, Star Trek, Star Wars, Terminator 2, The Thousand and One Nights, Troll 2, Tomb Raider, Yes Prime Minister, White Chicks, and the works of Edgar Allen Poe, HP Lovecraft, Roald Dahl, Shakespeare, or anyone else.
Rated M for some violence, language, drug use and sexual references. Nothing explicit.
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Recommended Fanfiction of the Week: "Faery Heros" by Silently Watches.
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Part 2: Peter Pettigrew vs The Knights of Walpurgis
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Chapter 7 – The Battle of Hogwarts
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Rats and conquerors can expect no mercy in misfortune.
– Old Danish proverb
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"Um, Sirius?"
"What can I do for you, Wormtail, my young and vertically-challenged feller-me-lad – if that is your real name?" the Grim animagus asked breezily, waggling his eyebrows outrageously. They were strolling to their next Charms class.
"You still jog around the Black Lake in the mornings, right?"
"'Course I do – followed by a weights session at the Quidditch players' gym. Got to keep in top form, these guns don't stay so chiselled on their own." He flexed his arms proudly. A gaggle of passing third-year girls giggled and eyed him hungrily. Sirius favoured them with a roguish grin that sparked more than a few radiant blushes. Harry eyed him enviously.
"Can I … would it be alright if I joined you?"
Sirius did a double-take. "You want to come too?"
Harry nodded shyly. Yesterday's 'honour duel' in the Room of Requirement had really hammered home to him how unfit his new body was. He needed to up its game, and fast. Since going back to the Auror Academy was out of the question for the time being, needs must, and this would have to do.
The Black was incredulous. "But you hate exercising – you always refused to get involved, ever since first year! And you hate getting up early even more!"
"Yes I know," Harry said awkwardly. Curse Pettigrew for his lack of athleticism! Just one more item to add to the list of things he hated about the rat. And another check for the number of times he'd kill him, bring him back to life with the Resurrection Stone, and then kill him again, if he ever got his hands on the vermin again. "But I've decided to turn over a new leaf. Fitness is far too important to neglect in the middle of a war. What if we get caught in a Death Eater ambush? … I don't ever want to let my friends down if the going gets rough ..."
"Well okay, if it's what you really want," Padfoot said dubiously. "Training is four times a week, every alternate day. I get up at 5am. You really up for this?"
Harry nodded firmly. He'd show Padfoot, he'd show them all!
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Harry gasped desperately for air. Curse Pettigrew for his lack of athleticism! How could someone who runs around as a rodent so much be so unfit? You'd think that the rat's physiology would help speed up his metabolism to keep his weight down, and improve his cardio, at the very least.
Sirius was an unrelenting taskmaster. He'd apparently taken Harry's comments about the necessity of physical training for surviving the war to heart, since he'd also forced James and Remus to join in their bi-daily morning sessions. He'd also upped the training regime, doubling the number of times they had to run around the lake, and the duration and intensity of their weights routines. James and Remus were highly displeased at their coerced involvement. And James was even more displeased at 'the dirty double-crossing rat's' involvement. However, neither could hardly argue the logic behind it (especially when Sirius 'casually' commented about how much it would improve their physical attractiveness, and possibly assist them in catching the eyes of certain witches residing in Hogwarts). So the four friends grit their teeth and kept at it, week after week.
The main downside of the training was that Harry could no longer state with complete confidence that the Dursleys were completely useless lumps of flesh, not after Petunia's stringent diet and Dudley's 'assistance' in track and field had given his old body speed and stamina to be envied. Now he was forced to start completely from scratch, his fat, ungainly and slow body screaming in protest and fighting him every inch of the way.
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"What's got their goat, I wonder?" James pondered.
"Eh?"
"The snakes are a lot more hostile than usual," he jerked his head in the direction of the Slytherin half of the class. Most of the students were continuing to brush and groom the herd of Abraxans, but Rudolphus and Rastaban Lestrange and group of their cronies had instead opted to stand apart and glare hatefully at the Marauders. "Did we prank that lot and I forgot about it?"
"Looks like they're trying to wandlessly melt our brains with their eyes," Sirius commented airily, glancing over and giving them a wink and a smile, further infuriating them. "Might even work given enough time. Decade or two maybe."
"I heard a rumour that someone stole their clothes and forced them to go to class naked," Remus said.
"What! Someone else is pranking the slimy ones and the Marauders weren't asked for permission? This cannot stand! We need to up our game, lads." James was most put out by such an egregious lack of etiquette.
"I'm a bit more worried by the fact that the Slytherins seem to blame us for whatever their woes are," Remus opined.
Harry stood to the side, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.
"I wouldn't worry about it," a new voice broke in to their conversation. The boys jumped and swivelled to see their COMC instructor standing over them, holding a bucket of feed. Professor Newt Scamander, a sprightly septuagenarian, broad of back and wrinkled of skin, scrutinised the Marauders with a shrewd eye. "My philosophy is that worrying means you suffer twice."
He thrust the bucket into James' hands. "That being said, screwing around in my class means you'll suffer many many times over. And the negative vibes that have been plaguing my class all week on account of you lot and your Slytherin friends have made me mad. And vengeful. Positively Olympian."
He grinned widely. "In that vein, the Abraxans' stables haven't been cleaned since last term. Hagrid!" The professor's assistant scuttled forward. The half-giant was considerably more slender than Harry had ever seen, but still had a beard you could lose a badger in. "We have eight volunteers to muck out the stables without wands. If they're not done by the end of class, they'll come back tonight. And no diverting rivers to do your job for you!"
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Over at the Ravenclaw table, Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to be of rather gluttonous temperament this evening. Harry had done his best to pretend his former/future DADA professor did not exist. But watching him attempt to inhale every scrap of plant and animal matter within reach was revolting, yet held a grotesque fascination for Harry. It's horrible, horrible. And I cannot look away.
"What's wrong with Lockhart?" he finally asked Frank Longbottom, who had slipped onto the seat opposite. Frank glanced over and his eyes narrowed.
"Dunno, but something's happened to him for sure. He's been looking dishevelled since the beginning of term," the Head Boy commented pensively. "Which is weird, you know he'd never be caught dead with a hair out of place or a scuff mark on his trousers. And he hasn't flashed that stupid vapid grin at anyone yet. Must be a new record! Also caught him wandering around looking lost a dozen times. Like he'd completely forgotten his timetable or something. Think I'm going to have to have a chat with the 'Claw Prefects again; bunch of neglectful bastards. Needing to study for extra credit is no excuse for neglecting your students … er, you didn't hear that."
"Maybe he obliviated himself by mistake," Harry muttered spitefully, to laughter from the boys, and a few dark glares from the girls. Apparently Gilderoy had not made himself well liked among the Gryffindor male set; already had the women wrapped around his pinky though.
Continuing to observe Gilderoy eat, he couldn't shake a sense of déjà vu. There was something powerfully familiar about the way that mincing fop shovelled food down his gullet like a magical human garbage disposal. It couldn't be … only one way to find out. He rose. "Maybe I should go see what's bothering him. Let him know of our concern." Frank and the other Marauders stared at him like he'd lost his mind.
"Are you mental, mate? Dya wanna contract 'poncy slimeball'?" Sirius demanded.
Harry realised he needed an excuse. "On the contrary," he shot his friends an evil smirk, "helping out a fellow student in need is the neighbourly thing to do." A surreptitious wink, and he could see the understanding in their eyes.
"Don't listen to those scruffy niffler-herders, Peter," Mary MacDonald sniffed primly. "I think that's a very responsible and sweet attitude," to some nods from her fellow females. The Head Girl remained indifferent to the proceedings in favour of nursing her third morning coffee.
Guess Lily's still ignoring you, pup, the Grim commiserated. And don't bother asking me, I've got no idea how to reconcile with her.
With that morose thought, he made his way stealthily past the Ravenclaw table. As he passed Lockhart, he hissed, soft enough so that only the other boy could hear, "Ronald Bilius Weasley! Chew with your mouth closed, were you born in a stable?!" His imitation of Hermione's scolding-voice was far from perfect, but apparently it was sufficient. Lockhart jerked fully upright, traumatising his housemates by spluttering the contents of his mouth in all directions as he wildly scanned the Great Hall.
Without breaking his stride, Harry continued to amble nonchalantly out of the Hall as his fellow Gryffindor males laughed and jeered. And Bingo was his name-o!
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Harry gradually regained consciousness for some reason. That reason became apparent as he opened his eyes … to find himself looking into a pair of baleful yellow orbs that stared intently into his soul from a distance of an inch and a half.
"Gyaaaahh!" Lurching backwards out of instinct, Harry tumbled out of bed onto the hard stone floor of his dormroom.
Picking himself off the ground painfully, he rubbed at a few new bruises. "Kreacher! What the hell?!"
"Rat master tells Kreacher to wake him up when golden-haired pureblood is alone," the house elf sneered. "Golden-haired pureblood is alone."
"I didn't mean glower into my face until I woke up!" Harry grumbled. "How long were you doing that?"
The creature shrugged. "Five, maybe 10 minutes."
"Ugh, just when I thought you couldn't get any creepier …" Harry said to himself.
"Golden-haired pureblood tries to gain entrance to the eagle dorm door. Golden-haired pureblood has got the riddle password wrong 19 times now."
Looking around, Harry realised that the two of them were the sole occupants of the dorm. "Where are the other Marauders?"
"Trying to break into the girl's dormitory again, miserly mole-hair of a master."
"Not again," Harry sighed. But so much the better for him. It was simplicity itself to disillusion himself outside of the entrance to the Ravenclaw common and wait until Gilderoy made his lonesome, shambling way past, to try his hand once more at solving the door knob's riddle.
A quick stunner and levitation spell and Harry was hurriedly racing for the nearest empty classroom. Shutting and locking the door firmly, he lowered his prisoner to the floor and rennervated him. Gilderoy gave a grunt, then suddenly rolled and sprang upright into a standard Auror's duelling position. There was no doubt in Harry's mind as to who he was dealing with.
"Looking for this?" he drawled, holding Lockhart's wand in his right hand, left hand covering the tall blond boy with his own.
"Pettigrew! What the bloody hell are you on about, you stinkin' rat traitor! I oughtta –"
"Cut the crap, Ron! It's me, Harry James Potter!"
Gilderoy blinked.
"Yes it's really me, you twonk!"
"Prove it!" the blond Adonis demanded.
"Your name is Ronald Bilius Weasley aka Won-Won, Junior Auror, belcher-of-slugs, Chudley-Cannons-fanatic, boyfriend-of-Hermione, jealous git that for some reason I still like to hang around with ... shall I go on?" Harry was suddenly having the air squeezed out of him as he was caught in a crushing hug by his still-much-larger-than-him friend. "I'll take that as a no, then," he wheezed.
"You're an ass," Lockhart choked.
The two boys engaged in a fit of totally-manly half-laughing-half-sobbing before they were eventually able to compose themselves. They then compared their newly-acquired bodies.
"You know what, Ron? You look like a complete mincing, poncy fop who'll sign anything if it stands still long enough," Harry observed.
"At least I'm not in the body of a traitorous rat-bastard with a face that looks like a baboon's backside."
"Twonk!"
"Brummie git!"
A long period of reminiscence followed, as Ron and Harry caught each other up on their doings since their ill-fated ritual dabblings. Which led to a long period of feeling sorry for themselves for being such bloody idiots in the first place. Harry broke out Peter's supply of Melancholia, which led to a long period of them smoking and feeling sorry for the loss of the friends, family, girlfriends and other loved ones, who were now on the other side of the … timeline? Yeah, that would do.
"I wonder what Ginny is up to?" Harry asked morosely.
"Probably still hitting the Quidditch circuit hard."
"Do you think she's … found someone else?"
"Hmmm. Hard to say. Ginny never tells me squat. Says I have no filter on my cake-hole, whatever that means."
"Probably better if she does … I'm nothing but endless trouble …" Harry moped.
"A whiny git too," Ron added cheerfully.
"About Hermione … you don't think …?" Harry began, blowing a smoke ring out of the open window and into the chilly night air.
"Think what?" Ron outdid him again, by blowing a series of concentric rings, through which he blew a thin stream of smoke like an arrow going through a bulls-eye.
"I mean," Harry said slowly, "she was asleep upstairs at the time. That explosion … it must've been big enough to blow a hole that can be seen from the moon. Do you think it's possible that …"
"No," Ron said firmly. "That'd never happen. She's too bright and too tough to let such a little thing as her house being blown to kingdom come, put a crimp in her day."
Harry regarded his friend for a long moment, before finally nodding. "You're right. There's no way she … so, how do we find her? If we ended up in new bodies, there's a good chance she did too. Assuming she's even here? She could still be back where we were, you know, before. Or she could've been blown clear back to the Bronze Age, for all we know."
"Hmmm. We need to do something that would tell her we're here and looking for her. Something that means nothing to anybody else in the whole world. Something that only the three of us would know about."
"What about putting signs up in the four common rooms?" Harry mused. "Say that we're missing an orange ball of fur named Crookshanks? Nah, that wouldn't work if she's not a student here. Merlin, I really hope she's not in the body of some !Xosa tribeswoman in southern Africa."
"I know!" Ron snapped his fingers. "I've just the thing."
The two friends busily got to work.
"That'd do it," Ron said, dusting off his fingers in satisfaction. "There's no way that won't bring her running. If we don't hear anything, then she's definitely in a different time from us. Maybe she's even Dodging with Dinosaurs or Marauding with Mastodons."
"I hope not," Harry replied. "Poor creatures'd become extinct millions of years before their time."
They observed their handiwork. A newspaper advertisement announcing the establishment of two new creatures' rights organisations:
- - The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare (SPEEW); and
- - The Society for the Protection of Ugly Goblins (SPUG).
New members and donations for SPEW and SPUG were solicited, all expressions of interest and gold should be directed to Account Manager Goldenrod at Gringotts.
"I'll owl it to The Daily Prophet immediately," Harry said. "This ad will be on the front cover of the Daily Prophet twice a week for the next year at least! If she's out there, we'll net her!" He checked his watch. "Morgana, I didn't realise how late it was – I need to get back to the Tower soon. If I'm not back in the common room by curfew, Frank'll probably start sending out search parties."
"A competent Longbottom?" Ron shook his head in amazement. "We truly are in a bizarre and upside-down new world."
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Harry smiled across the table at his opponent. He'd been steadily winning favours over the past three hours, meaning the other boy was deep in the tank and had reached the point where he was no longer trying to win so much as to break even. In short, it was the perfect time to enact the next part of his plan.
"How about this," Harry said reasonably. "I'll bet every favour you owe me and, say, five things of dark magical power that I own. Double or nothing."
"And what do you want in return, you bottom-feeder?" sneered the other boy.
"You're going to be number one in Potions in our year. Again. I want copies of your notes on potions, and on dark magic. All of them, including your private stuff that I know you've been working on."
There was a low muttering from the onlookers. What had initially started as a standard volley of insults back and forth over lunch had evolved into a private challenge of exploding snap between two of the opponents. As it progressed, and the bets involved increased, interest in the match had grown and the number of observers multiplied, most deeming this more entertaining than self-study. Gradually the crowd had resolved into two amorphous groups, one primarily of Slytherins supporting their housemate, and one primarily of Gryffindors supporting theirs. After each hand, a chorus of cheers, congratulations and advice were lobbed at the competitors. Many students were conducting their own bets on the side, and some enterprising individuals had set themselves up as amateur bookies.
Most of the uninvolved students inhabiting the Great Hall had moved further away, to the corners of the Hall, to avoid the distracting chatter. Clumps of students sat in study groups here and there with silencing charms raised. Some lamented the pouring rain, which prevented them from completing their assignments out on the Hogwarts lawns.
"Do it, Snivellus!" Sirius egged him on, ever the voice of reason. "Or be forever branded a cowardly belly-crawling snake. Well, branded more than you already are!"
His opponent ignored the comments around them as he pondered Harry's offer. "Bargain struck. Do we have a deal?"
"We do," Harry agreed. The two boys reached out and clasped hands. A brief flash of light and power signified a magically binding bet.
"Show your cards." They both revealed their cards. "I win!" the Half-Blood Prince crowed. "I win!"
Harry smiled in triumph as his cards exploded. "You do. Congratulations."
"What?" Snape turned wary, his finely honed sense of self-preservation warning him that he had just made a very large mistake.
"A deal's a deal," Harry said loudly, taking to his feet. "I hereby release you of all your promises made to me today. As for your possessions, here's your gold," he dropped the pouch of galleons in front of his nemesis. "Kreacher!"
His mutinous servant appeared, many of the students reeling back several steps at how hideous he was.
"Fetch me four artefacts of dark magic from 12 Grimmauld Place, and some magical contract paper," he said imperiously.
Within a moment, the items he requested were on the table before him. No way was he touching those artefacts himself. Seating himself again, Harry quickly wrote out a legal statement transferring ownership to one Severus Tobias Snape on the current date. He signed it, imprinted it with his ring, until there was a flash and the borders of the parchment turned gold, as the transaction was successfully concluded. "There you go, Snape," he said, scrunching up and tossing Snape's copy to the boy, pocketing his own. "Enjoy your horrifying things."
"The deal was for five artefacts Pettigrew, not four! Or is your numeracy as malformed and stunted as your penmanship?" Severus sniffed condescendingly and picked up the ball of parchment with ill-concealed distaste.
"Au contraire, my dear Sevvie-the-Slytherin. The deal was for 'five things of dark magical power', and five things you have. "Bella!" Harry raised his voice. "Could you come over here, please?"
Severus shuddered as the most unhinged girl in the House approached, the expression on her face promising violence, pain, and terror. He tried to make himself look small, hoping against everything that the girl would vent her rage on the disgrace of a rat before him.
"Thank you for coming, Bella," Harry said with a smile. "I asked you here because I've been hearing some rather disturbing rumours about you." The boy held up a hand. "Nothing scandalous, but still the sort that make me worry about your future, looking after which is one of my responsibilities as Head of the family."
He turned towards his companion. "Severus, meet Bellatrix Black. Bella, meet Severus Snape. He's your new owner. And boyfriend too, I guess, if you want him that way."
Severus looked into the girl's oblivion-black eyes, and felt as if he were a rat caught in the gaze of a snake. At that moment, he knew he was going to die.
"He's also one of the foremost experts on the Dark Arts in the student body."
The girl's gaze turned speculative and in it, Severus saw the possibility of living to see the sunrise.
"I'd suggest you not waste any time and get to proving me right about your knowledge of the Dark Arts," Harry whispered to the boy. "It'll likely get very uncomfortable for you if she thinks I lied to her."
"You … you cannot do this, Pettigrew!" Severus spluttered.
"Look on the bright side – the Slytherins won't dare lay a finger on you now. Bellatrix is of the old-school: she wouldn't like it if anyone dared touch something that belonged to her. Or vice versa." He smiled at the eldest Black daughter. "Would you, Bella?"
"I would not," Bellatrix confirmed.
"Outstanding, I'll just leave you two to get acquainted."
"One moment, 'my Lord'," Bellatrix said sweetly, hair starting to frizz and wave in a non-existent wind. "There is still the unresolved matter of a halfblood usurper stealing the most precious possession of House Black, and then having the temerity to try and enslave me to another filthy halfblood."
"Oh Bella," Harry sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "I thought we were beyond your pathetic and feckless endeavours to murder me. Look what your last attempts have 'rewarded' you with," he gestured towards Severus, whose eyes were bouncing between Pettigrew and Bellatrix with a look of growing horror as he could feel the magic in the room start to charge and crackle between them. "Your enslavement is complete, perfectly legal and magically binding. And that is but the least of the things I can do to you. Are you really willing to risk what I'd do to 'reward' you for yet another assassination attempt?"
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Narcissa Black was busily studying her reactions table for her latest Potions essay. Bellatrix's voice broke her concentration just as she finished her notes. Glancing over across the Great Hall, she spotted her eldest sister spinning herself up into one of her screaming, flailing, accidental-magic-my-ass bitch-fits, venting mostly on a happily smiling Pettigrew but sparing the odd vile word for that strange sixth-year whose face had bloomed into a look of utter horror. Snipe? Sneak? Snork? Snarf? Something like that.
A look of utter horror that matched the one growing on Narcissa's face when her quick mind realised what had happened. Pettigrew had gambled away her sister. That simpleton who followed her black sheep cousin around, the ambitionless, talentless disgrace, had obviously been hiding his light under a bushel. His evil, girl-selling light that was just waiting for the proper moment to get the youngest and prettiest of the Black sisters! Abandoning her books, she fled the Hall to hide herself in the nearest empty broomcloset.
Narcissa Black, 14-year-old member of a magical family which had kept its bloodline pure for centuries, did not know the word 'hyperventilate'. Too bad. It fit the situation perfectly.
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Gilderoy Lockhart was up 15 galleons from his betting on Pettigrew's performance. Luckily the stupid suckers were so bloated with confidence that Peter's reputation as a no-talent duffer was justified, that he'd been able to take them all for a ride to Croyden and back. What Ronald Weasley was to wizarding chess, Harry Potter was to exploding snap. He was just collecting his latest winnings from his latest victim when all hell broke loose. The students around him scattered as that crazy bitch Bellatrix and six of her fellow seventh-year snakes fell back expertly into the Lotus duelling formation and simultaneously launched a fusillade of dark curses directly at his best mate's prominent overbite, from a distance of four feet.
Ron watched in horror as his friend dived and twisted with rodent-like reflexes out of the paths of the spellfire incoming from near-point-blank range. Dropping to the ground, a flick of his wand conjured a stone wall that absorbed the impact of the second and third volleys, before shattering under the waves of dark magic. Then Ron's Auror training kicked in. Racing to a flanking position on the Slytherins' left, he kicked over a nearby table and shielded himself behind it. Taking a moment to gather his magic, he cast the strongest string of Bone-Breaking Hexes he could, directly into the middle of the group. "Ossus Diffringo!"
He grinned in grim satisfaction as two of the filthy snakes screamed and collapsed to floor, half of their bodies shattered wrecks. The group immediately wheeled around to ensure their backs were to a wall, half shielding and the other half hurling hexes in his direction.
Someone's been training these belly-crawlers in combat tactics, Ron thought grimly as he threw himself to the side. The table he was using as cover evaporated into fiery dust.
But the distraction had given Pettigrew enough time to scuttle to the row of tables on the Gryffindor side of the Hall, toppling them and transfiguring them into more stone walls. He leaped behind them. Seeing Ron under fire, he hastily animated the tables and chairs closest to the group of Slytherin attackers. They sprang to life, tackling the five students and attempting to grind them into the ground.
"Accio Ron!" His blond-haired friend was yanked out of the corner he'd been backed into and sailed towards Harry at great speed. Harry frantically cast cushioning charms over the Great Hall's walls, just in time for Ron to bounce off it, and into Harry's arms. "Oooff!" The two tumbled onto the stone floor in a dazed pile.
"Having some twenty-one without us, mate?" Sirius Black jumped down beside them to their left. Beyond their wall, Harry could hear the last stand of the brave furniture as it was shredded into woodchips by an enraged Bellatrix.
"Not at all," Harry replied, hastily disentangling himself and sitting up. "Feel free to join in – fun for the whole family." Remus and James appeared on their right, wands drawn. "In fact, I'll even let you lads take the first shot; fire when ready!" So saying, the fivesome raised their heads and arms above their stone barricade and began hurling as many curses as they could as rapidly as they could.
"What in Merlin's mottled mokeskin is going on?" demanded Frank Longbottom, crawling along to join them in their hiding place, Amelia Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt at his heels. The group ducked and covered as blasting curses tore into the wall above them, showering them with stone shards.
"Snivellus lost a game of exploding snap, and the damn Slytherins decided it was reasonable to throw a fit about it," James snapped, lining up another shot. "Anteoculatia! Lapidibus!" Flashes of coloured light as the spells impacted.
"Where are the Professors?" demanded the Head Boy.
"Where are they ever when you need them?" Harry responded bitterly.
Every other Slytherin in the Great Hall was scrambling to gather around the five seventh-years. Their own barricades began to appear, and more and more shield spells of all varieties and colours bloomed over their company, deflecting the bulk of the Marauders' spellfire.
"Dammit! That's the Chakravyuha Configuration!" growled Ron, recognising the formation that was gradually taking shape. "We can't let them complete it or we're gnome droppings!
"Happy to take suggestions," grunted Frank as he transfigured the Headmaster's golden throne into a cassowary. The keening wail of the giant bird could be heard by all as it raced towards the nearest group of green-and-silver bearers and began kicking them furiously.
Forgetting in the heat of the moment that he was no longer a member of the House of Lions, Ron bellowed at the rest of the scattered Gryffindor students (who were fleeing for cover): "What are you waiting for? Are you Lions or not? Are you going to let a gang of serpents curb-stomp you all day?! Get over here, Gryffs, and give 'em hell!"
Amazingly that seemed to help, clusters of Lions began to form and construct their own strongpoints around the Hall, bolstered by whichever Hufflepuffs remained. The Ravenclaws and foreign students, except for a group of five Beauxbatons girls, had all fled at the first sign of conflict.
The amount of spellfire aimed at the Slytherin contingent increased noticeably. Their side of the Hall erupted in a series of explosions that threatened to bring down the mystical ceiling. Ron Weasley led the charge: "That's it lads! Don't let up for one minute!"
A simple schoolyard brawl was rapidly degenerating into an all-out pitched battle royale.
High pitched screams.
To his horror, Harry saw that the five Beauxbatons students had been caught in the crossfire. Their attempts to escape led them right into an ambush by a group of sixth-and-seventh years. Seeing the meaty fists of the large males bludgeon the girls, set Harry seeing red.
"Cover me!" he snarled, and launched himself into space. Tucking himself into a roll, then using the momentum to push him upright, he dodged and weaved through the battlefield as best he could, dancing around the blasts of black fire that erupted around him. Forcing aside the sickening feeling of dark magic residue.
"Pelleo! Percutio! Perfigo Rapido!"
Harry hunched instinctively as a volley of jinxes sailed over his head. Founders bless you boys, he thought, as he realised his fellows were giving him covering fire. Just a bit more! His lunged burned and shoulders heaved. That's if this lumpy body can hold out!
Harry whipped up his wand and aimed at the group of Slytherin girls advancing on the French exchange students. He imagined being chased down a muggle street by an enraged foe. He immersed himself in all the terror of the rat, used it to hype his panic, flow through his core. His magic flowed around him, restless and frantic and desperate. He imagined staring into the murderous eyes of Sirius Black, summoned up every scrap of his power and incanted:
"Reducto!"
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Third-year Apolline Delacour was the unofficial leader of the Beauxbatons girls' contingent at Hogwarts, in spite of being the second youngest. So naturally, when they were assaulted by the blocky English pigs, she took point, banishing the loose stones into their faces, and casting a series of incantations to induce terror, despair and indifference. She could hear her comrades' spells whistle, hiss, snap and pop as they shot past her.
She managed to nail two of them, and her colleagues another three but the sixth weaved aside and lashed out with his gigantic fist. The powerful blow hurled the slender girl backwards and into her four friends, toppling all five like bowling pins. In dazed fury, she unleashed her Veela allure full-bore at the conscious males; who promptly turned into slobbering, gibbering sycophants. "Mistress!" one babbled, drool dribbling from his tongue. "Command me!"
"Protect us!" she shrieked.
The four males slowly lumbered around and began to hex their fellow Slytherins.
"It's that Veela-bitch!" screamed a black-haired woman. "Carrow, Avery, take her out!"
Their protectors were taken down by a volley of spells from their former allies, and now there were only females left. Eight large, brown-haired females charged, firing a host of sickly black spells that Apolline desperately rolled from side to side to avoid. She tried to draw out her rage, to let the wild avian inside her free, but her head was pounding too hard, her eyes swimming too much, her limbs sore and flopping spasmodically.
And now it was too late, the enemies were now upon her, raising their wands to end this –
BOOM!
– and her eight assailants (and the bodies of the fallen 10 males) were hurled over her head like rag dolls in all directions. The Great Hall shuddered, huge billows of dust from the shattered ground swirled around Apolline.
Then parted to reveal her saviour. The most unheroic-looking English moron she had ever seen, out of an entire island chain of unheroic English morons. But there was unmistakeable unholy fire blazing in his piercing emerald eyes, as he twirled his wand and carefully levitated her and her four friends behind the nearest pile of rubble. Setting them down gently, he raced to her side and began checking their injuries.
"I'm no mediwitch but I think it's nothing but concussion from that gorilla. Luckily, laying on the ground helped you lot avoid the impact of the Blasting Curse." His eyes focused on Apolline, and widened slightly in surprise. "You are Veela?" he asked. She nodded shakily. And now you're mine, she thought, enveloping him with her allure.
The boy grinned fiercely. "So Miss Veela, these vipers seem to like throwing fire spells around. Shall we give them a sample of what real fire tastes like?"
The girl favoured him with a ferocious shark-like snarl of her own. Blue-white balls of fire crackled in her palms.
"On three, then. Three!"
The two of them sprang from behind the rubble and unleashed their full fury. Apolline was settled enough now to call forth her rage, and transform into her white-and-gold full-Veela form. Her feathery wings spread instinctively for balance, clawed hands stretched out and hurled ball after blazing ball of white-hot flame into the remnants of the Slytherin ranks. Beside her the English boy cast Flagro Flagello, a long whip of fire lashed out across the Slytherin lines, hit with enough force to rattle her teeth, and shattered into a million glowing sparks. But not before collapsing the remaining Shield Charms, leaving their forces unprotected.
"Incendio! Incendus Ventus! Flammasectum! Lacarnum Inflamare!"
And all was quiet.
A few heads poked up amidst the rubble.
"Yo Wormtail, everything copacetic?"
"All clear on this end, Prongs. How you doing?"
"Bruised and burnt but otherwise in one piece. Sirius, Remus, Gilderoy and Amelia are all fine too, few cuts and scrapes but that's it. Frank and Kingsley are in a bit of a bad way though, we're trying to stabilise them. Lestrange got 'em with some sort of wide-area nightmare hex."
Padfoot emerged from hiding and strolled over to Harry and Apolline, surveying the carnage. "And that's how you fight like a Marauder," he crowed. "Last ones standing."
Harry stepped gingerly through the tangle of supine Slytherins, kicking wands out of reach and stunning anyone still conscious. Until finally he reached the object of his search.
A charred and crispy Bellatrix Black scrabbled blindly for her wand. His foot landed on her hand as she grasped it. Taking care to break the 12¾ inch walnut shaft into several pieces, along with several bones in her slender hand, he said coldly, "Looks like you lose again, Bella. "Stupefy!"
And naturally, at the exact moment when they could no longer be of any possible help, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Scamander-Goldstein charged into the Great Hall.
"What's this all about?" McGonagall hissed, her Sonorus-enhanced voice echoing through all corners of the Hall. She glared around the Hall, now littered with the groaning or unconscious bodies of her charges, with undisguised rage, "What could possibility cause this attempt to destroy the school?! Where are the vile beginners of this fray?!"
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Lady Apolline Margueritte Delacour, 3rd Magical Baroness de la Roche-Jagu rarely bothered herself with schoolyard gossip and intrigue. After all, she was the most intelligent, vivacious, determined, articulate, highly educated and, thanks to her Veela heritage, impossibly, ethereally beautiful person in this entire barbaric school. Hardly surprising since this uncivilised island was still wallowing in the throes of the Dark Ages, and even seemed to revel in their backwardness and depravity. How it still existed as a country was a miracle of enormous magnitude. Ergo, all discussion and gossip centred around her and her thoughts and feelings and actions and intentions. As they should. Why she, or anybody else for that matter, would bother wasting mental power on the pathetic uninteresting lives of these English pig-dogs was beyond her.
And yet, in spite of herself, she slowly became more interested in the lives of those around her in this drafty Scottish castle. By amazing coincidence, this change occurred at the exact same time that Peter Pettigrew, a short, unattractive, untalented and entirely unremarkable representative of his people, slipped up and revealed himself to be more interesting than she'd initially thought. Interesting enough to warrant a closer look.
She had been most impressed by how handily he had dispatched his enemies during the combat, and the creativity and brutality in which he'd done so. It pleased her greatly to witness such disciplining of the arrogant pureblood pigs who'd gone out of their way all year so far to express their contempt for her and her heritage in a thousand little slights and taunts, nothing overt enough that one could complain to the faculty of course, but it was an ongoing aggravation. She knew they were trying to provoke her into doing something rash and public. So they could then complain to their rich daddies and mummies about unprovoked persecution. Then their carpetbagger forebears could complain to the Ministry and have her thrown behind bars, or 'put down' as a 'vicious wild animal'.
Again she cursed herself for agreeing to her parents' 'brilliant' plan for her to 'see the world' and 'gain some experience'. She was now almost certain that the whole student exchange was nothing more than an elaborate scheme to get her out of the house for a year so that her parents could have more snuggle-time without her underfoot.
Pondering her predicament, the French girl had put some serious consideration into burning the Slytherin common room down to the bedrock, with them (and the Russians and Northerners to boot!) inside. She had been evaluating methods of doing so that didn't involve Veela-fire or in any other way implicate her. And alibis. Lots of alibis, to make everything nice and redundant. She couldn't use any of the Beauxbatons students, that'd be far too obvious. Right when she had resigned herself to lowering herself to actually agree to dating one of these local elderberry-smellers, Mr Pettigrew had removed the need entirely.
Apolline shivered as she remembered the thrill of excitement that raced through her birdlike Veela soul as she saw him in her mind's eye, unleashing fire and brimstone on the Great Hall, her powerful Veela allure of no more effect on him than a buzzing gnat, as he lay furious waste to their foes. Foes that had dared raise a wand to her and her schoolmates. And now they understood the error of their ways, lying bound and broken in the Infirmary. The largest and ugliest one of them breathing vengeance and death, but that insect would prove no match to the chévalier Pettigrew. Not that that was saying too much of course, since an ill-tempered mutated French sea-bass would not have had difficulty dispatching the gormless oaf. But to dispatch an entire school's worth of the pureblood pig-dogs … well, that was another matter altogether.
Escorting her French schoolmates back to Ravenclaw Tower, Miss Delacour had much thinking to do.
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After the disastrous card game and 'afters-match', Harry was forced to confront the fact that the environment of 1970's Hogwarts was very different to that of 1990's Hogwarts. Like Draco Malfoy issuing lame insults about that Scarhead Potty, or prattling about his dead parents, or that that Weasleys were poor, and so on. The worst of their schoolyard rivalry was Draco petrifying him and smashing his nose in. Which ultimately ended with him almost murdering Draco in a bathroom with Sectumsempra, he grimaced ruefully. But that was the culmination of four and a half years of steadily-escalating hostility. Nothing like the full-scale rampage that had torn through the entire floor at the smallest provocation and laid waste to the Great Hall.
Students had already started to call the tussle the 'Battle of Hogwarts' in hushed and awed tones. Harry tried to suppress the involuntary flinch every time he heard that phrase.
It appears the Slytherins are far more aggressive and self-organised than in your time, the Lynx observed. The Knights of Walpurgis ride again.
Great, just what I need, Harry groused. Tommy-boy's old Slytherin school-boy association still running strong. I hoped that it had withered and disbanded after he graduated.
Your luck is never that good, chirped the Otter.
Where else would he collect his fresh blood, his highly-educated Inner Circle-to-be, his gang of droogies, if not from the House of the slimy snakes and the Knights of Walpurgis? asked the Grim rhetorically.
Prek! the Owl added its two knuts to the conversation.
Which means they're not going to let this slight go, Harry moaned. They're going to be gunning for me, Ron and the Marauders with everything they've got, to regain their 'lost honour' or some rot. Can't give the Dark Tosser a bad name by looking weak, can we? Which means I'm going to have to deal with this gang of droogies like I dealt with the Blacks. Pre-emptive strike, right horror-show.
It may even require a bit of the ol' ultra-violence! added the Grim, grinning his doggy smile.
Ensconced in their dorm room, the Marauders observed each other in pensive silence, as Kreacher carefully (albeit resentfully) bandaged up their wounds. They should probably have been recuperating in the school Infirmary, but said Infirmary and its adjacent hallway was currently overflowing with injured students. Their own cuts, bruises and burns were minor enough to be taken care of by a few bandages, essence of Murtlap and an un-eager house elf. Overall, the four of them had probably emerged from the brawl the most unscathed (least scathed?).
Though they'd had to endure a half-hour bollicking from Head Girl Evans, before being sent to their room without supper – and the faculty were waiting to finish collecting statements before apportioning punishments – so that happy, scatheless state of affairs was by no means certain to continue indefinitely.
Now what do we do? Harry thought tiredly. This is the first time the four of us have really had a chance to talk since the 'Incident' in the Room of Requirement. Someone's got to do something to fix things, I really, really don't want to spend the next two years fighting a cold war with my only family – but Merlin knows I've got the emotional range of a teaspoon, I haven't the foggiest where to start. The continued silence was becoming oppressive, Harry grasped for something, anything to break it.
"Boy that escalated quickly," he offered finally. Remus nodded, mercifully not commenting on how lame that sounded. "I mean, that really got out of hand fast!"
"Yeah," Remus agreed. "The House rivalry certainly jumped up a few notches higher than the usual."
"You even stabbed a guy in the wand arm! Nearly took it clean off. I saw that. Did you throw a spear, Moony?"
"Rosier. Git was about to hex Longbottom in the back. I grabbed the spear from one of the suits of armour."
"Not to mention all those horses, rhinos and mammoths – any idea who was doing the transfigurations?" They glanced over at James, who refused to meet their eyes. Continued to pretend to polish his wand.
"Gee, I wonder," Remus scoffed, "just like I wonder who set Travers on fire?"
Sirius started, but didn't bother to conceal his triumphant smirk. "Guess some things'll forever remain one of the mysteries of life, eh lads?" he grinned.
Whether any of such mysteries were about to be revealed or not became a moot point as their door burst open and a silver and blue whirlwind swept into the room, making straight for Harry. She immediately began to chatter in French. He vaguely recognised her as one of the Beauxbatons students he'd saved in the Great Hall.
"Damn Peter, how come you get to snag all the gorgeous birds!?" Sirius blurted in shock. "Don't hoard the wealth. What, isn't Lily enough for you!? I mean, I heard rodents were insatiable but –" James growled in warning. "Oh shut it Prongs, this is more important than your hurt feelings! Being mad at Wormy's all well and good, but you've forgotten the most important rule of mateship – while we're shunning him, he can't teach us his harem-building secrets – oof!" He was tackled to the floor and he and James began wrestling for dominance.
Trying desperately to block out the sound of their bickering, Harry tried to focus on the 100 pounds of grinning French Veela making herself comfortable in his lap. "How on earth did you get in here mam'selle?"
She beamed and another torrent of French poured out
A mop of mousy brown hair poked around the doorframe, belonging to an agitated third year whom Harry kinda sorta recognised, wringing his hands. "I'm sorry! Really really sorry! I don't know what happened! This girl came up to me in the Great Hall and started talking, and then it was like she was surrounded by light, and it felt like I was floating, and then the next thing I knew we were in the common room and she was heading up the stairs to your dorm!" He seemed afraid to enter the room, or even look at the 60 inch girl who had begun to inspect the firmness of Harry's chest.
He sighed again. He could feel the delicate echoes of the Veela allure swirling around him. Now that she'd gained access, she must have toned it down to a level where it wasn't affecting him. "It's alright, she used her allure on you. It's not your fault, you couldn't help yourself. Bad girl," he admonished her, only to be blithely ignored in favour of her testing the strength of his biceps. "Um, could you do us a favour and maybe find some of the Beauxbatons girls and bring them up here to collect her?" The mousy thirdie nodded in relief and shot off.
"Anyone speak French?" he asked. To blank stares. "Bloody Gryffindors," he grumbled.
"Uh, I think Lily speaks some French," Remus offered hesitantly, glancing at James. It still wasn't clear how much latitude there was for saying the forbidden L-word. "I could go get her if you'd like…"
Harry threw up his (now free) arms and groaned, "Why not? Not as if this day could get any worse." Remus didn't wait.
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"Apolline!"
Sirius gave a yip of delight as two elegant girls in distinctive blue uniforms entered, before being dragged to the floor again.
Apolline? Harry thought. The name had a vague resonance, someone he had met long ago? Fragments of a memory from Fleur and Bill's wedding … a regal French lady bedecked in silks and diamonds. Fleur's Mum, maybe? Or aunt or cousin? He looked down. She certainly has the family resemblance. Or do all Veela look alike? Did anyone ever tell me anything about this Apolline person? Ugh, I really had more pressing things on my mind at the time!
Ignoring the roughhousing, Adélaïde strode regally over to her schoolmate and remonstrated, "Zere you are! We 'ave been looking all over for you, ze ozzers were most worried," as she and Amélie tried to prise the third-year Veela from Harry's lap. "Zank you for watching over 'er …" She trailed off when it became apparent that the girl wouldn't let go of Harry's robes. What followed was a long conversation in rapid French that ended when Adélaïde threw up her hands with an annoyed expression and stormed off.
"Um ... did anyone get any of that?" Harry asked. Amélie regarded him with amusement as a frowning Lily dragged Remus inside.
"Let me try," Lily suggested impatiently. "I have enough on my plate without having to deal with any more Marauder malarkey today, so let's try to resolve this sooner rather than later. Mum insisted I learn some French when I was younger." She said something to the girl who replied quickly.
"Well?"
"... I'm not sure I got that," Lily said slowly. "I couldn't have understood that right. Let me try again."
"Did you get it this time?" Harry asked.
"That can't be right," Lily muttered to herself. Apolline said something in French with a smug expression on her face. "Uh ... I don't know how to tell you this, but ... uh ... congratulations."
"What do you mean, 'congratulations'?"
"There is a very old and normally-unused magical custom," Lily said slowly. "It states roughly that a daughter of nobility shall grant her hand in marriage to anyone that rescues her from a deadly situation. Kinda like those old nursery rhymes about knights and damsels."
"Wait a minute – I rescued you from those Acromantulae!" prompting a squawk of anguish from James, who by now was flat on the ground with Sirius sitting triumphantly on top of him.
"My parents are bankers and homemakers, Pettigrew" Lily retorted hastily. "This girl's parents are ... um ... how do I put this?"
"Nobility?" Harry asked weakly.
"Sorry Pettigrew," she replied, not sounding sorry in the slightest. Apolline released Harry and walked up to Lily. The other girl blushed as the young Veela patted her on the bum and made a close inspection of the rest of the body.
"What's she doing?" Harry asked, with growing dread.
"Uh ... she just asked me to bend down to eye level," Lily replied. Apolline grabbed her by the back of the head with her left hand and peeled Lily's lips back with her right. "I feel like a horse," Lily muttered in disgust. Giving a nod of satisfaction, Apolline said something in French then walked back to Harry and returned to her impersonation of a limpet. "Thanks ... I guess," Lily sighed.
"What'd she say?"
"She says that I have nice teeth," Lily said absently. Apolline rattled off another long string of French words with a satisfied smile on her face. "And that I'll make a fine mistress for you – wait, WHAT?!" The shell-shocked expression on her face would've been priceless if not for the impending doom-hammer he knew was imminent. "Since you're much too insatiable for one girl."
"Pardon?"
"She said that you're far too manly for only one girl," Lily repeated. "Even a Veela. That she's been blasting you with the full force of her magical allure both here and during the fight in the Great Hall, and both times you shrugged it off like you didn't even notice it. Said that this is yet more proof of your incredible virility."
"Oh my Merlin!" bellowed Sirius, who began to enthusiastically bow and scrape (while somehow continuing to pin a now-snarling James to the floor). "We are not worthy, your great Rattiness! Please teach us your secrets, O mighty master of verminous voraciousness!"
"... any way out of this?"
"I'll be in the library," Lily said absently. She began to drift out of the dorm in a daze.
"Wait, don't leave! Agh, how do I always find myself in these sorts of situations?" Harry lamented. "What did I do to deserve this?!"
"Don't panic!" Lily snapped testily, rubbing her forefingers against her temples as if to ward off an oncoming headache. "Just … just … why don't you take her down to the kitchens to get some ice cream while I talk to Professor McGonagall about this situation?"
"But ..."
"Now, Pettigrew."
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Harry sat down to enjoy the banana split the Hogwarts kitchen elves had prepared for them, when the odd girl said something in delight and stole the cherry from the top.
"I was gonna eat that," he muttered unhappily to himself. Apolline looked off into space for a few seconds. Then without warning, she pulled the stem out of her mouth and presented it to him with a look of pride. "Well ... I guess tying the stem into a knot with your tongue is a neat trick, but couldn't you get your own cherry next time?"
Apolline blinked at him, then launched into a long stream of French that ended when the girl began to giggle hysterically.
"Right ... I guess." They picked up their spoons and dug in.
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Lily was sitting in the library surrounded by a stack of books on British and French pureblood customs, trying desperately to find a way to save herself from the latest crazy situation that The Rat Bastard had somehow dragged her into. "Honestly," she sighed to herself. "What's wrong with him? Why can't he just stay out of trouble?"
"You weel not find anyzing to 'elp your Pierre," Adélaïde said gently. Lily jumped; the other girl moved silently as an owl when she wanted to. "Apolline eez too set on 'im to let 'im slip out of 'er fingers." She gave the Head Girl an appraising look. "And yourself for zat matter. It must wonderful to be so desirable to all ze garçons et femmes."
"There's got to be something I can do," Lily wailed – er, demanded.
"Accept 'er offer," Adélaïde said with a shrug. "Or who knows who she will find to replace you." With that unhelpful parting advice, she glided away. Lily sighed and returned to her reading. McGonagall would return in little over an hour from the staff meeting to decide what to do about today's rampage. She hoped she'd have something concrete to work with before then.
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