Artificer
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, but I play in his world. If you recognise it, it's Rowling's.
A/N: argh! Just hit my first formatting mess-up. Had to happen just before I was unable to get on for a day -.- Thanks for the reviews that let me know - might have been another day before I noticed otherwise.
Chapter 3
It seemed that half the school's teaching staff was waiting for me. Smiling I held my newly acquired golden egg in greeting.
"Potter!"
Snape, or 'Professor Snape' as he prefers to be called has been an oddity this year in that, despite everything, his attitude towards me hasn't changed in the slightest. It says a lot that the only staff member in the entire school less concerned with me is in fact, a ghost and may not even know who I am.
The teachers start moving to meet me halfway. With Snape is the short Professor Sprout, Cedric's own mentor during the tournament. I remember from the commentary that he took an injury from his dragon and she still looks somewhat worried for him over an hour later.
Despite the early warning about that dragons, and whatever help he's been given since.
Walking a little behind are the other two heads of houses. Professor McGonagall, who is oddly not my mentor during the tournament or even a supporter, is looking…angry? You would think that after the expression Hufflepuff's head is showing that she would at least be relived for my lack of injury.
Professor Flitwick is another matter entirely; he almost looks exited and is eying my…cannon? With a look that betrays his Goblin heritage. Under other circumstances I would be more than happy to discuss the magic behind my creation but after its slight over performance, perhaps it's one-shot nature is for the best; the carvings on the inside have a tendency to burn out and become unrecognisable after it fires.
I suppose if he wants to examine the scarred remains, he can.
The last four are the people I really want to see the reactions from. Professor Moody, his lighting blue eye fixed firmly on my weapon seems…afraid? The man was supposed to be supporting me through the tournament and yet hasn't made a single attempt to contact me outside of class. Honestly, I don't care much for him; his tendency to shout out randomly and his extreme paranoia in regards to….virtually everything leave him someone unapproachable.
I didn't think I'd ever see him afraid though.
Madame Maxime seems subdued. She was almost as vocal as I in support of withdrawing me from the tournament, if less for my self-preservation based reasons as for her student's "ee's too 'oung." Curiously I've seen no hostility from any of the Beaxbatons students besides Fleur despite the number of times I've crossed paths with them down by the lake; maybe manners are encouraged in their school, a lesson Hogwarts could surely make use of.
Karkaroff is looking at me with a Dumbledorian twinkle in his eyes. From what I've read, Durmstrang puts a lot of emphasis in competition between students, be it in Duelling or Quidditch; perhaps now he sees that I'm serious he won't be so adamantly opposed to a child competing.
Or maybe it's something else entirely.
Dumbledore is simply looking at me in concern. Perhaps using a dark curse in front of the Leader of the Light wasn't such a good idea after all; though that it did get results. I'll have to remember to thank Professor Vector for letting me read her thesis on the use of geometry in spell amplification.
It seems that outside of Snape's original outburst, no-one is willing to say anything, instead simply looking down (or up in Flitwick's case) at me.
"So," I begin, casting around for what could possibly be said in this situation. "How did I do?"
Having three of the five judges down here instead of up in the stands means I'll either have a zero, or they're not here to give me my points. I look down at my egg pointedly, and back up at Dumbledore.
"Harry my boy, can I ask what inspired such a use of…force? The other competitors all managed the challenge without harming the dragons involved; surely you could have used another way?"
Ah, guilt. I suppose I expected it.
"Well, sir, until just before the task, all I knew is that the first task involved dragons. Had this task not been a surprise, I'm sure I could have come up with a more fitting plan, but I lacked the information. What was I to do should the first task been to slay a dragon, and I had only prepared to sneak past one?" The justification rolls off my tongue as easily as it did the hundred times I told it to myself.
"Though I should point out that I only killed one; I believe Krum managed to destroy a large number of eggs correct? And if a nesting mother was protecting them…" I look at Karkaroff. "Exactly how many dragons did Krum kill sir?"
Thankfully my horntail was crouched low over her eggs. While an enraged dragon might be able to break them while stomping around, dragon eggs are still almost as tough as steel.
Karkaroff broke into a grin at seeing my deflection.
"But still my boy, there is a difference between an accident, and purposefully killing the poor beast."
Dumbledore definitely wants me sorry for my actions. "But still headmaster, if I had known more about the coming task," I throw an obvious look at professor sprout, "or maybe had the benefits of at least having attained my OWLs," I look back to Dumbledore, "then I could have dealt with it another way. Would you have preferred me to risk my life given my history with hostile magical creatures?"
That shut him up.
"Am I needed for anything else? Madame Pomphrey is probably getting worried that I've managed to injure myself walking to her tent." With no reply I begin my walk, only to hear the last, expected question.
"One last thing Mr Potter," The transfiguration teacher's voice calls out, "could you leave your spellwork here with myself and Professor Flitwick, so it may be disposed of safely? After its performance, it might not be best to carry it into the medical tent."
"Sure." After placing it down, I let go of the thin thread of magic keeping the featherlight charms in place, leaving it as little more than a scarred, twisted rock, and make my way into the tent.
I wave to the three champions as I enter the tent. Cedric is a mass of bandages and burn cream, whilst Fleur and Krum appear unscathed, if bored. None appear to notice me as I make my way over to the examination table.
"Dragons!" she said in a disgusted tone, while pulling out her wand. The shadows of the three other competitors moved apon hearing her voice, probably happy that they would soon be allowed to leave. "Last year Dementors, this year dragons, what are they going to bring to the school next?" She shook her head while examining me for injuries, apparently put out that I'm for once in her care without a scratch.
"Don't forget the basilisks." I joke, filling the silence.
"Yes, well…you've obviously pushed yourself quite hard out there, are you feeling tired or nauseous at all?" At the shake of my head she gives up. "Well I suppose you're free to go. Think you'll manage a whole year without injury?"
"I'll try, I promise."
"Well now I know you're all fine, go outside and get your score and then make your way to the champions tent; I believe Mr Bagman will be telling you about the next task."
Madame Maxime twisted her wand in the air, and a large '6' flew from it.
The crowd seemed somewhat undecided what noise to make, so it all fades together into a background humming.
Mr Crouch came next, shooting up a '9'.
Both cheering and booing rose up in equal volume, does that mean I have supporters now? And to think, all it took was killing one not so little dragon and making people wait an hour for it. Idiots.
Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment and then threw up a…
"A two? Seriously? Where the hell did I lose eight points!" my outburst was drowned out by the background humming.
Ludo bagman predictably threw up a '10'. I nod and wave in thanks, already planning to see if I can invest my soon-to-be-winnings from the Weasley twins wherever he made his bet. No uses in letting free money go to waste, right?
And lastly Karkaroff seemed to give a moment's thought before putting up a '9'; then he turned and smirked at Dumbledore. It's odd to be getting more support from the ministry and foreign schools than from my own, but I can't complain, thirty-six points out of fifty is more than comfortable considering how long I took. The crowd seem happy with the result too, and the small amounts of cheering in the buzz die down as the stands vacate.
As I move over to the champion's tent to hear about the next task, a voice calls out from one of the dragon handlers.
"Harry? Wait there."
It's the Weasley dragon brother; I seem to remember his name is,
"Charlie, right? Ron told me about you." I answer with a smile. His face is lit up with an odd combination of anger and awe, oddly reminiscent of Ron's own Hunger/Anger combo.
"Yes well, we need to talk." His glace over at the fallen dragon makes the subject matter obvious. "When I asked ron to give you a head's up over the first task…I didn't expect…"
"Charlie." I cut him off. "Can you wait till I've had a talk with Mr Bagman? I need to ask him about something first." And with that I walked into the tent.
Cold stares met me from the faces of the Hogwarts and Beaxbatons Champions, and an appraising look came from Durmstrang's. Shortly after me, Ludo Bagman entered.
"Wow! What an exhilarating start to our Triwizard tournament! Congratulations to all of you for succeeding an getting your golden egg!" He beamed over at me and continued.
"Now, you've all got the clue to the second task in your hands; see the hinges? All the help you need for preparing is in there! You have till half past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth, which should be plenty of time. Are we all clear? Good! Off you go then!"
After the other champions left, I approached him.
"Mr Bagman sir, I need to have a word; it's about the dragon." His eyes lit up.
"Yes, that was quite the spectacle wasn't it? Off all the things I was expecting…so what is it? If you're worrying about having to pay for it, don't bother as it's more than covered for. Those eggs on the other hand…" I interrupted him before he could get into a rant about the cost of replacing over a dozen eggs.
"It's not that sir it's…well, according to the Triwizard rules, section 16, having slain a 'dangerous beast' provided by the organisers of the tournament, I have the right to claim it's carcass. I'll be taking that right, sir." I ended with a smile, knowing exactly where his mind was going.
A thousand Galleons may have been worth far more than a dragon back when the rules were written, but they haven't been revised in over six hundred years.
"Now, I need to go talk to the dragon handlers. Can you inform the other judges for me?"
"Umm, yes. Section sixteen you say? I'll have to check this by crouch, he knows the rules better than I do…You know, if you need a hand getting in touch with someone that can deal with it for you?"
"I'll be fine sir. Though if you know a decent place I can place a bet, I happen to be aware that I'm the 'Underdog', so to speak, so the odds…if you know what I mean?" His eyes lit up.
"Of course of course! Well I won't keep you, places to be and all that. Congratulations again Harry."
"Yup, it's in the rules."
Charlie Weasley was looking at me in disbelief. I handed a parchment with the rule in question on it.
"I just notified Bagman myself, and I suppose I need your help as well."
"And what can we do to help you Potter? It's bad enough the reserve is going to have to cover the costs of the dragon, but now you're saying we can't even harvest her? Have you any idea how much dragons are worth?"
I frown. "Not particularly. I know Dragon's blood is valuable?"
"Yes it is."
"And the meat is pretty expensive?"
"Yes, that too. What about it?" He looks annoyed.
"And they make armour of out the hide…that's got to be pretty valuable?"
"What is your point? I'm not going to help you sell it is that's what you're after."
And finally the Coup de grâce. "No, of course not. But I do need it harvested, and I'd like to offer you the entire hide, most of the meat and three-quarters of the blood and all other viscera if you can provide me with the bones, horns, spikes and teeth in stasis charms?"
The older redhead looked contemplative as I notice a younger one approaching alongside a mane of brown hair. "Look, I'll come back to iron out any details later, or send someone to do it, as I need to get back to the castle. Sorry again about the dragon!" I rushed out and bolted, but not before the predictable "Harry!" came from the approaching duo.
"Dobby!" I called upon entering the kitchens.
"Harry Potter Sir!" I heard as the diminutive elf popped into existence amidst the crowd of elves currently filling the tables upstairs. "What can Dobby get for Harry Potter's Dinner tonight, Sir?"
Since my estrangement from practically everyone else, the Hogwarts kitchen has become a home away from home. Elves are quiet creatures when not being asked to do anything, as long as they don't get into a disagreement; arguments between house elves are surprisingly violent for such small people. Add to that their helpful nature and I've ended up doing most of my reading, studying and relaxing down here. Not to mention they act as an early warning system; Hermione's presence near the kitchens sends them into a state of near-panic.
They refuse to tell me why.
I also found Dobby here, whose help has been almost invaluable. Not many elves are capable of finding specific books in the library, Dobby just tells me that it was one of his jobs for bad masters, and is happy that he can help the great 'Harry Potter Sir'. All attempts to get him to call me anything else failed miserably, as the only alternative he gave me was 'Master'.
I can do without that.
"Dobby, do you fancy cooking something special tonight?" His bat-like ears pricked up, which I've come to know as a sign of anticipation. "Do you know where the dragon enclosure is?" He nods. "Well, I want you to go find a Charlie Weasley down there. Tell him I sent you, and that if he's harvested any of the meat already I'd like one large steak, and the rest of the meat is his as per our agreement. And then…well, I'd like a steak dinner please."
I've never eaten dragon meat before. One thing a lot of the books I've read mentioned that there's ritualistic significance to eating the flesh of a fallen foe; preferably the heart, but I doubt there is much left of that. Dragon steak is supposed to be a delicacy though, and normally the only available meat comes from dragons that died of old age…my mouth waters in anticipation.
"Of course, Harry Potter Sir!" He says as he pops away. Awesome little guy.
I take the egg from my pocket. The screeching noise from inside would just panic the elves so I can't really decipher the clue in here without being kicked out; the confusion would probably cause some interesting effects though. I push the temptation away and look at it more closely. The fine scrollwork doesn't look like any sort of runes or engraving-based magic I've ever seen, so probably just decoration. Is there any significance to it specifically being a golden egg? Nothing jumps out at me from the various Wizarding fairy tales I've read. Giving up, I replace it in my pocket and pull out a book. "Can I get some Coffee please? Thank you. Call me Harry. Just Harry. Oh for…fine."
Dragon Steak is amazing. I'm beginning to regret saying that they can have the rest, as this is to die for. I tell this to Dobby and he almost passes out from sheer joy. Elves don't normally get to cook Dragonmeat, so the others are looking at him with a kind of reverence; why it's so important evades me.
And then it happened.
One minute elves are everywhere, cleaning the plates and platters from the great hall, and sending up last-minute deserts, and the next thing I know a few dozen small pops are heard and the kitchen is really understaffed. It can only mean one thing. And I still don't know why.
"Harry, there you are I've been looking all over for you. What are you doing in here and what is that!" Something has obviously happened; it's rare to hear Hermione forget grammar. And breathing.
"This," I gesture reverently, "is one hundred percent genuine, fresh dragon meat. These," I gesture again, "are potatoes, a root vegetable commonly associated with Ireland. This," I falter at the look on her face. "Is my dinner tonight. What brings you here?"
"Oh, I got into a fight with…Did you say Dragon meat!" Ouch Hermione, not so loud. "As in, from today?" Uh oh.
"Yes, yes it is. I would offer you some but I only made the deal for one steak. A victory meal as it were." She looked faintly disgusted, best to get back on track. "So let's try again, why are you here?"
Tears form in her eyes. Bollocks. "I didn't mean it like that I meant," I rushed. You're supposed to be annoyed with her! Stop feeling bad. "You said you got into a fight…is it, perhaps, Ron?"
Now I get to see what the guy's saying now. Dark lord potter killing dragons with dark curses perhaps?
"No, it was," Sniff. "It was Neville."
Neville? Making girls cry? The hell.
"He said, he said that I had been a terrible friend. He said that I should have stuck with you and defended you from Ron. He…he…." And with that she broke down.
"Look at me." Nothing. "Hermione, look at me." Still nothing. "Mione?" Nothing. "Mia?" More nothing. "Hermy?" A snort of laughter. Progress! "Hermione, look. He's your boyfriend, and best friend, I get that. Neville…probably should have…shouldn't have…ok, maybe he was right. But I understand, ok? The damage is done now, but it's not your fault. It's Ron's."
She still doesn't look happy. "Look, go to sleep. We'll take tomorrow, ok?" She nodded and left, house elves reappearing in her wake.
And they still won't tell me why.