Disclaimer: see previous chapter
The Misplaced Potter 2
Chapter 5
In which an egg is creaked
Chris gratefully welcomed the wave of heat that crashed over him as he entered the room of requirement. It had been a long, cold, lonely walk back from Hogsmeade. An inexorable January wind dove from the great peaks that rose about the castle and village. Like an invisible avalanche, it buried everything under a rushing torrent of frigid air. It rattled the cottages and shook the trees. Loose snow, roughly seized from ground, branches, and rooftops, swirled in the wind's wicked currents creating the illusion of a fresh storm. It viciously pelted anyone foolhardy enough to be outside on such a day.
Reaching the school meant little in the way of shelter. The ancient corridors of Hogwarts offered limited sanctuary from the ravages of winter. The thick stonework of the great castle absorbed the scant heat greedily. Wind and snow blasted through the arrow loops, still not bricked over in yet another impractical concession to tradition. Chris shook his head in disgust and dismay as he waded across puddles of slowly melting snow on his way to his destination.
Henry and Hermione were the room's only two occupants when Chris arrived there. It was still saving for the cheerfully creaking flames in the fireplace. His cousin was sitting closed-eyed and cross-legged on a large pouf with the golden egg protectively cradled in his lap. Nearby, curled up on a settee, Hermione was reading Sense and Sensibility. A tea service sat on the low table before her.
"Hi, Chris," she quietly said glancing up from her book with a smile.
"Hi," he replied wearily shedding his heavy wool overcoat, hat and gloves draping them over the back of the couch. "I thought that you would have been in Hogsmeade with Victor."
"He's on their ship today," Hermione responded. "It is a feast day of some sorts for Durmstrang celebrating the birth of its founder or greatest teacher or something. No outsiders allowed."
"Henry's taken the train to Tranceborough, I see," Chris said nodding toward his cousin.
"Yes," she replied. She sat upright, laying her novel aside as she took note of the scrap over his eye. "You've hurt yourself. Did you slip on ice?"
"No," Chris said dropping heavily next to her. "Maggie's not back yet?"
"No, not yet," his friend replied. "I think that Professor McGonagall decided to take advantage of Maggie's doctor's appointment in Edinburgh for the two of them to take a long weekend there."
"I know that I would have," chuckled Chris. "Decent restaurants, football, the theatre, the cinema…"
"Shopping, book stores, paved walks," Hermione added with longing as she poured a cup of tea for him.
"Thank you," an appreciative Chris said accepting the steaming mug. "In a word, civilisation. Maybe we should transfer to Salem or Wolfe. My sister raved about Toronto after she visited there a few years back."
"I would not care to leave Britain but there are days that the thought of attending school in a city, even an American or a Canadian one, instead the bowels of a mountain range is very appealing, indeed," she wistfully replied.
"Oh, quite," Chris agreed emphatically between sips, relishing the soul-soothing warmth of the tea. "Really, when you stop to think about it, a magic academy in a city wouldn't be that difficult to operate. Just make it unplottable. Add a few disillusionment charms on your grounds to keep away the curious. All that you would have to give up is quidditch and the odd animal or two for the Care of Magical Creatures class."
"Just toss out CMC entirely, if you ask me," Hermione grumbled. "It's a chocolate teapot. Once I leave here, I do not intend to have anything to do with hippogriffs or blast-ended skrewts."
"I agree," replied Chris. "Or, if they don't get rid of it, make it an elective course instead of a requirement."
"Yes, at the very least," Hermione concurred. "Now, back to the original subject that you so deftly waltzed around; how did you hurt yourself?"
He grinned sheepishly. "The Weasley boys and I got into a bit of a bundle down in the village with some Slytherins."
Hermione arched her eyebrows in surprise. Even though they were both part of Professor Dumbledore's martial arts club, she could not envision the gentlemanly, even-tempered Chris in a street brawl. Many times, she had seen him smooth over disagreements between his fellow Gryffindors with a few measured words and a friendly joke before they could escalate into something more serious.
"Really," she asked. "What started it?"
"Warrington made a vulgar remark insinuating that George and Fred traded Bess and Bridget back and forth," he answered. "As hard as Fred hit him, he's probably still out."
Hermione nodded in understanding. Chris was a peaceful guy but he never shirked from defending a friend. She recalled how quick he was to snap at her the day they met when she chastised Henry for fighting on platform 9 ¾.
"But he wasn't alone," Hermione surmised.
"Gits always travel in packs," Chris replied. "He had seven mates with him so it was a donnybrook for a while."
"Seven against three…" Hermione began.
"Four," Chris corrected her. "Me, Fred, George, and Ron."
"Seven against four," Hermione continued. "It sounds like a football hooligan's holiday."
"I am a loyal supporter of Arsenal," Chris replied in mock indignation. "We Gooners are not hooligans."
"I won't go there," she quipped. "I'm glad that you weren't hurt worse. How are the Weasley brothers?"
"They're in about the same shape that I'm in," Chris answered. "We did not give them either the time or the space to use wands and they weren't that good when they had to fall back on their physical abilities."
Hermione shook her head. "So who clouted you?"
"Montague," he replied. "He scarcely grazed me but he had a ring on his pinkie. That's what did the cutting."
"With that lot, you might want to check for poison," she said not entirely in jest.
"Ron did," laughed Chris. "Snape will likely be displeased with Montague that it wasn't."
"The next potions class will be unpleasant," she said ruefully.
"Undoubtedly," Chris responded. "But we couldn't walk away from that insult."
"No, I suppose not," Hermione reluctantly agreed. "However, if that's your only injury, why did you come back so early? It's still a few hours before sunset."
Chris sighed deeply.
"Ah, let's be friends," she guessed. She had seen the signs but had kept silent.
He chuckled regretfully. "Essentially. I cannot say that I didn't see it coming but…"
"But still it hurts," Hermione mournfully finished.
"Yeah," he agreed. "Ginny was my first serious girlfriend."
Hermione held out a dish of cinnamon scones it to her companion. Chris plucked one from the plate.
"You share mum's philosophy of applying food to psychic wounds," he said with a small sad grin.
"No, I follow the practical philosophy of making do with what's at hand," she countered. "By chance, it happened to be scones."
"That reminds me," he replied, rummaging through the pockets of the coat he draped across the back of the couch. "I got you some chocoballs from Honeyduke's."
"Thank you," Hermione said accepting the small gaily-coloured box from him. She hesitated slightly before continuing. "Chris, I don't wish to seem indifferent but you and Ginny are both dear friends of mine. Please, don't bring me into the middle of your break-up. I refuse to take sides."
"Don't worry," he replied as he finished his cup. "There aren't any sides to take. There aren't going to be any rows in the common room or anywhere else, for that matter. As I said, I saw it coming. I like Ginny but truly, we have little in common. A fact that became more glaringly obvious the longer we dated."
Hermione smiled in both sympathy and relief. "Do you wish to talk about it?"
"What's to talk about?" he replied briskly. "It was fun now, its over. It is a punch in the gut but life goes on. Thank you for the concern though."
"As I said, you're my friend," she said pouring him another cuppa
"And I am grateful that you are," Chris replied squeezing her hand as he took the tea from her.
Hermione returned the gesture before reaching for her novel. Chris settled back onto the couch pushing Ginny from his thoughts. He instead sank contentedly deeper into the cushions musing idly on the egg as he basked in the simple luxury of warmth and comfort.
The secret of the golden egg was proving more elusive then a ghost in a fog. When opened, the egg produced an unbearably horrible screeching noise. They were certain that the cacophony contained the key to the next task but they had yet been able to decipher it. No one could bear to listen to it for more then a few seconds and those small snatches were meaningless to them. They tried earplugs, muffling it with pillows, and standing at a distance. Nothing had worked so far and February was looming on the near horizon.
Henry's eyelids popped open. With catlike stealth and grace, he unfolded himself from the ottoman. He was standing before either of his companions noticed that he was out of his trance.
"Well?" Hermione asked simply.
Henry stretched. "Did you ever see The Voyage Home, the fourth Star Trek film?"
"That was the one with the whales, wasn't it?" she asked.
"Yes," he confirmed. "They had a message that they could not make sense of either."
"Until they filtered it through another medium besides air," Chris said excitedly.
Henry nodded. "We'll start with water. If that doesn't work, we'll try something else. What happened to your face?"
"A fight," Chris said dismissively. "Room, may we have a large cauldron filled with water, please?"
"A tub would be better," Hermione said. "With warm water."
An enormous, old-fashioned, freestanding tub materialized between the couch and the wall. It was filled three-quarters way with water that lapped gently against the sides.
"Thank you," Henry said. He knew that the castle had awareness although he did not have any idea if it understood courtesy. It cost him nothing to be on the safe side. Henry definitely did not want the castle angry with him even if the Fat Friar assured him that Hogwarts was not malevolent.
After handing the egg to Chris, Henry pulled off his sweatshirt and undershirt dropping them on top of his cousin's coat. Hermione smiled slightly as she stole a quick covert look at Henry's well-developed upper body but her eyes narrowed suspiciously when she spotted the small marble pendant resting on his chest.
"Do you plan on stripping completely?" Chris jokingly asked.
"Hardly," Henry replied retrieving the egg. "If we are on the right track then I may not have to go into the water at all. If I do then I'll dunk my head but I don't want to get my shirt wet."
"It's called a drying charm," his cousin quipped. "Check into it."
"It's called not having a wet shirt clinging to my neck and shoulders while trying to ascertain whether or not the water works on the egg," Henry countered.
He walked over to the far side of the tub. Hermione and Chris took up positions at opposite ends. Shoving the egg into the water, he quickly twisted it open. The trio heard the caterwauling of the egg. The water effectively kept the noise well below an ear splitting level but it still remain a meaningless din.
"Plan B, I guess," Henry said.
Taking a deep breath, he dunked his head and shoulders into the water. After a moment, he cursorily motioned to his friends. Hermione and Chris glanced at each other. With a shrug, both bent over the edge of the tub following Henry into the water.
"Come where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching, ponder this:
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,
An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour-the prospect's bleak,
Too late, it's gone, and won't come back." 1
After listening to the message twice more, Henry carefully closed the egg and eased out of the tub.
"Excellent," he said happily.
"Disappointing, actually," Chris said.
"How so?" Hermione asked.
"You're wearing a bra," he replied sardonically. "A grand opportunity lost."
Following his eyes, Hermione looked down at her chest. Her soaked blouse clung to her leaving little to the imagination.
"A small as I am, you would probably be as disappointed if I wasn't wearing one," Hermione said turning around in search of her wand.
Chuckling, Chris performed a drying charm on himself before turning his attention to his cousin. "The water worked. That was some clever reasoning on your part, Henry. I wonder if the others have discovered the secret yet."
"I don't believe that Cedric has," Henry replied. "He gets agitated whenever someone asks him about it. As for Victor and Fleur, I don't know. I get the feeling that Karkaroff and Madame Maxime might be giving them a bit more help then the rules allow."
"Are you going to tell Cedric?" Hermione asked rejoining the boys now that she had dried herself.
"Are you going to tell Victor?" Chris returned.
"No," she replied shaking her head. "I don't need to. He told me at the Yule Ball that he already knew what the next task was."
Chris tutted. "It seems that you may be right about Karkaroff helping Victor."
"Perhaps," Henry replied. "But Victor is highly intelligent. He may well have discovered the secret on his own. As for telling Cedric, yes, I will. This tournament is far more important to him then it is to me. Anyway, knowing the next task is only part of it. If I interpreted the egg's song correctly, I need a way to stay underwater for an hour. "
Hermione nodded in agreement. "That's what I understood from the song."
"Yeah," Chris said. "You'll be searching for something underwater, in the lake I presume."
"Room, the tub is no longer needed," Henry said. "Thank you."
The tub vanished. Henry dropped the egg onto the settee. Grabbing his shirts, he had walked to the fireplace.
"I going to work under the assumption that I won't be able to use scuba gear or any other muggle apparatus," he said as he dressed.
Hermione smiled. "A solid assumption. It is a magic competition, after all, Henry."
"Something magical then," Chris stated. "Room, we need a magical device that allows a person to breath underwater please."
The three looked around but nothing appeared.
"There must be something, surely," a perplexed Hermione said.
Henry laughed. "Undoubtedly but we asked the wrong question. Room, may we have some books that contain information about magical methods that allow people to breathe underwater please."
Two large stacks of books appeared on the end table.
"I don't understand," Chris admitted.
"The castle has a spirit or a consciousness, if you will," Henry explained heading for the books. "It has hosted several of these tournaments over the centuries and I'm guessing it has a sense of fair play. It won't give us what we need but as with the tub, it will give us the means to discover what we need, if we ask for it."
"A rather fine distinction," Hermione mused.
"Not when you stop to think about it," Henry replied. "It is a school. It is here to nurture learning. Perhaps in its own way, the castle is a teacher."
Chris laughed abruptly. "You know, that just might explain the moving staircases and the like. It may be the castle's way of keeping compliancy from setting in, a way of stimulating awareness of your environment."
"You may be right," Hermione agreed pulling a book from one of the stacks.
The tomes occupied the rest of the trio's afternoon. Each volume contained hundreds of charms and spells but they undauntedly ploughed through them confident that if the room provided the books, then some useful information was to be found somewhere within their covers. The challenge was staying on topic. All three in turn had to pull themselves back on track as they found themselves lingering over unrelated but intriguing spells.
As the sun sat, Gabby the house elf brought them some sandwiches and soup so they stayed at their study through supper.
"Well, that's the last one," Chris said closing the book he was reading. "What's our list look like?"
"Mostly variants of the bubblehead charm," answered Hermione scanning the piece of parchment on which she had written any promising charm. "Gillyweed looks favourable."
"I liked the liquid breathing one," Henry said.
"Yes, it would be the best spell, cuz," replied Chris. "But I think that it is far too complicated for you. It would probably be too complicated for half the teachers here."
"Probably," Henry reluctantly agreed.
"I would use gillyweed, if I were you," said Hermione. "I believe that it would leave you more manoeuvrable underwater. Not only would you have gills temporarily, you'll have webbed hands and feet, also."
"I agree," replied Chris in response to Henry's questioning glance.
"Okay, I'll use gillyweed," Henry said. "But I hope it doesn't taste as disgusting as it looks in the book."
He stood and stretched. "Thanks for your help, you two. I'm going to call it a night."
"Yeah," Chris yawned. "A shower and bed sound good to me, too. Coming, Hermione?"
"In a little while," she answered remaining in her chair. "I am going to read some more."
"Good night, then," Henry said. "I'll see you at breakfast."
He patted her arm briefly and Chris waved before they headed for the door.
"Your coat and gloves, Chris," Hermione called out.
"Thanks," he said retrieving them. "I would have hated to come all the way back for them."
"We can't have that," Hermione said.
Hermione watched the boys leave with a blank expression on her face. As soon as they were gone, she stacked the books neatly on the edge of the table clearing the area before her.
"Room, may I have some reference books on magic pendants?"
It was nearly curfew before she trekked back to the Gryffindor tower. The corridors were dark and cold but Hermione deep in thought hardly noticed.
"Do they know what they have done?" she softly asked the uncaring night.
1 Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J. K. Rowling, pg. 463 Scholastic Press, U. S. ed.