Artificer

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, but I play in his world. If you recognise it, it's Rowling's.

A/N: Dragonmeat is awesome.

Chapter 5

It's days like this why I don't understand why some relatively simple concepts just aren't taught at Hogwarts.

For a world mired in stories, fables and old wives tales, a world which draws power from these things, why are we not encouraged to embrace such them? With Hermione as an example, muggleborns spend their time at Hogwarts studying magic, quantifying magic, trying to bring a force so far beyond comprehension down to a level where we can try to understand it, just for someone to take a leap of faith and show utter disregard for any form of order or theory, and still get brilliant results.

Let's take the slayer's ritual. Kill a magically powerful beast; roast its heart over an open fire, and meditate on your kill for half a day while draped in the beast's pelt or hide. Doing so, as far as the books read, imbibes the hunter with increased strength, speed and constitution, while giving an innate understanding of other 'prey'.

No amount of arithmancy or philosophy allows me to translate that to killing a dragon from a hundred yards, eating a steak with boiled potatoes and pepper sauce, and then collapsing into bed without getting undressed. People study, they quantify, and in the end they overlook the most important thing. Actions and intentions get results.

Which is why I feel bloody amazing right now.

I'm not a morning person. Being able to lie in till seven makes Hogwarts a ten month holiday for me, and I normally try to make the most of it, but now I'm…really awake. And I feel bigger. A hand confirms that my shoulders, normally hard plates of bone with thin, wiry muscles drawn around them, are now, for lack of a better word, padded. A deep breath lets me feel my muscles pull my ribcage up to inhale the air, instead of the air pushing up my chest. I open my eyes, and in the dim light the room looks like a well-lit blur. No change to my prescription I guess.

Standing up, I almost overbalance; it seems I've gained a few inches too.

Fumbling for my wand, I throw a weak silencing charm over myself so I won't wake everyone if I fall over. Last thing I need is Dean or Seamus to start asking about my sudden growth spurt, or Ron finding something more to be jealous about. Dim as he normally is, he always seems fast to come up with 'Evil' theories for how anyone's done anything. Ever.

Odd how you don't notice something like that till you break off your friendship. Prick.

Walking down to the great hall reminds me of the polyjuice incident. Even just gaining a couple of inches make navigating staircases difficult, a bit like the awkwardness of wearing heeled dragonhide boots for the first time. It's empowering, yes, but also disorienting. And awkward when you walk into someone who you find yourself unable to even see at the best of times.

I swear, Luna Lovegood was born with built-in Notice-me-Not charms; and possibly others, given how hard I'm finding extracting myself from this slightly compromising position.

"eh, 'morning Luna. Could you move…thanks. How did you…there we go."

I don't need 'Defiler of third-years' added to my CV of evil deeds.

"Good evening Harry," she says in a dazed tone not far from her normally dreamy one. "Why are you in my…" then she blinks. Twice. "Good morning Harry. Are you infested with…." She yawns, waving off some possibly invisible creature and I take the opportunity to help her to her feet.

"Not a morning person huh? Join me for breakfast?"

She nods and begins shuffling to the great hall. Now that I know she's there I have an easier time keeping track of her, but even still my eyes tend to slide right past her. That she can do it while asleep on her feet; not many people really impress me these days, but you have to hand it to her. I'll hold off trying to ask until she's woken up though; talking with luna is far more entertaining when she's alert enough to speak in her magical creature metaphors. Or at least that's what I assume they are, as Nargles sound like some magical form of lice.

So of course I begin absently scratching my head. Damnit.

As I expected, no-one notices that Luna sits next to me in the great hall. Doesn't she have any friends in her own house? Ravenclaws make the majority of the population at breakfast this early, despite Hufflepuff being the house of hard work even they tend to get all the sleep the can. I hear snatches of conversation; some inane things like homework, Herbology projects and Quidditch, but the larger majority seem to be talking about me and dragons.

A Galleon says that at least one 'Claw asks me about my cannon before I finished breakfast. Speaking of which, I best let Luna get some coffee so I can ask about my bet.

Holding my hand over the pitcher of pumpkin juice, I feign a look of intense concentration an in a low but carrying tone of voice, I say one word.

"Coffee."

A few Ravenclaws stare and a couple of second year Griffindors are startled as the pitcher is replaced by an oddly shaped flagon of coffee, a jug of cream and a pile of sugarcubes. Pouring the drinks for Luna and myself, I chuckle as a handful of students all appear to be trying something similar to no effect; it would break my heart to tell them it was all prearranged with the elves though.

Ask them for help, be persistently polite and learn their names and they'll help you out like this. Then all you need is a flair for the dramatic and practise speaking in an ominous voice and, well, it goes without saying.

My pranks may not be as flashy as the twin's, but prank I shall!

Luna's eyes seem to gain colour as she inhales the drink. Then she looks surprised, as I I shouldn't be here, and smiles.

"Good morning Harry."

"Good morning Luna. Awake yet?" I push some toast towards her. An absent nod, and we begin eating in relative silence. I start going over my plans for the day. Lessons were care of magical creatures and runes, both of which I was sorely tempted to give a miss. Hagrid would probably be upset over the dragon, and I don't particularly want to be chastised for doing supposedly post-NEWT work; well, that and I don't want to deal with the people. Being a Triwizard champion has its perks; I can't be punished for missing lessons so long as I justify the use of my time, and with the next task being about three months away I'm not going to be able to take advantage of it for a while after today.

Let's see. I should probably catch up with Charlie and see how the harvesting is going, test the results of last night's victory meal, thank the elves for the coffee, and try to get a head start on the egg. And figure out where to store a whole dragon, sans flesh.

By my third helping of breakfast the hall was starting to become crowded, and loud. Killing dragons good gossip makes, and people are still talking about the coffee. I pour myself a fresh cup as familiar rodent walks over.

"So, dabbling in the Dark Arts Potter?" Draco the annoying bouncing ferret had made his weekly sojourn to the Griffindor table. "And alone are you? Got no friends? You're pathetic, Potter."

Covertly glancing at Luna while drinking my coffee, I stare at him levelly. I could let him continue, though if he keeps spitting my name out like that the food'll become inedible. What to do, what to do…

"And then you had to go grabbing more people's attention by killing a dragon, with Dark Arts no less! How did it make you feel, Potter," I quickly cover my cup with my hand, "powerful? Intoxicated? We all know…"

"Scientific, actually." I interrupt, knowing the muggle term would throw him off. "As fascinating as it is, I fail to see how Vector's theorem of geometry induced spell amplification could be intoxicating. Unless you're talking of the spell itself, where I could see how a weak rodent like yourself might be drawn to being able to do more with your wand than polishing it."

"So you think you're powerful, huh? Well I could…"

"Malfoy." He stops. "We've already established I have no problem killing dragons, Draco, so why don't you run along? I'm sure ferrets are no more of a challenge."

He's saying something else, but I ignore him in favour of serving up some more coffee to myself and Luna, who is starting to look catatonic again. Doesn't she sleep?

Glancing around, I see that the little dragon had left, and the Griffindors are piling in. Neville comes over, nods to Luna and starts serving up his breakfast.

"Morning Nev…what happened to your eye?"

"Argued with Hermione," Bite of toast, "she started crying and ran out," swig of pumpkin juice, "and then Ron."

"Ah." I reply articulately. "Bugger, I told her I was going to talk to her about that. Any idea when everyone's favourite couple are going to grace us?"

"''Bout ten minutes I suppose. He was still snoring when I got up so it might be longer."

"Alright. Thanks for…talking to Hermione by the way, you didn't have to," A couple of buttered slices of toast 'Popped' onto my plate. That's the signal.

"Yeah, so thanks, but I gotta be off. Make sure Luna eats something, ok?"

As I leave the great hall, I see Ron shuffling down the hallway. Good timing elves, good timing.

I'm stood with Charlie Weasley, two dozen large barrels and half a dozen crates, all containing bits of dragon.

"So, where are you keeping your share? " He says, pointing at all but one of the crates and two of the barrels.

"I don't suppose they can be shrunk?" He shook his head. "I had thought of somewhere, but I'm not sure they would fit down the pipe. Give me till this evening to this about it, and I'll have to let you know then. At worst I could always store them in an empty classroom for a few days."

So much for the chamber of secrets, but I might be able to get an elf Popping stuff up and down.

"They're already under stasis; should keep for about a decade unless you open them, in which case you'll have to redo the charms. They should be fine if moved by portkey or elf; that elf yesterday was yours, right?"

"I'm…not sure to be honest. He says he's bonded to the castle, but if I want so much as a glass of water and say his name…that said, he'd probably help with this."

"Good. One last thing?"

"Yes?"

"My brother, Bill, is a cursebreaker, so I know some of what you're planning on using that stuff for. You know how much more potent this will be than the rock you used yesterday, right?"

I can almost see the shining in my eyes reflecting off his. "Yes, yes I do."

"Well, try not to blow yourself up, ok? My mother's fond of you, and I'd hear no end to it if she found out I supplied the materials you used to kill yourself with, ok?"

With an owl winging its way to Sirius, I return to the kitchens for a spot of early lunch. Growing a few inches overnight is really good for your appetite, and the happiness of nearby elves.

Of course, an uninterrupted meal is too good to ask for. "'ello Hermione."

"Harry," She looks far better than she did yesterday. "Umm, how are you?"

"I'm ok. Join me?" A few of the remaining elves quickly place a second seat at my dining table, and vanished as she sat down. "So….yesterday, Ron hit Neville?"

Obviously not an opening she expected. "Yes, why do you ask?"

"Well, he's a friend of mine, who got punched because he was standing up for me. By your boyfriend."

"But…"

"But nothing Hermione. Ron is not my favourite person right now. Care to guess why?"

"Because he hit Neville?"

I shake my head.

"Because he keeps saying bad things about you?"

I shake my head again.

"Because he's going out with me?"

I forcibly prevent myself from nodding. "Not quite."

"Is it because of what he's saying about you stealing the dragon's remains from his brother?"

Can the boy go one day without putting his bloody foot in his mouth?

"No, but I suppose that's close. On the day of the task, did he seem, you know, surprised about the dragons?"

It's a fascinating thing watching Hermione think; small twitches in her eyes as she chases down a specific memory, nibbling her lip when she can't remember something clearly enough. And then there are the raised eyebrows when she finds what she's looking for. Like those ones.

"No…he wasn't. Why? I mean, why are you asking?"

"Hermione, Ron knew about the dragons. All of the champions had someone close to them tell them about the first task and what it was. But Ron had to be a pig-headed bastard and keep it to himself for whatever reason; Charlie said he told him himself. They were fucking Dragons Hermione! What the hell is wrong with your boyfriend!"

"Harry, Language!" she says out of reflex. And then grows contemplative. It's a look I've seen before, normally followed by her justifying whatever rules we were about to break.

"You know, she starts slowly, "After the task yesterday, he told me that he believes you about not putting your name in the cup, and that someone might have forced you into the tournament.. Why don't you go talk to him? I'm sure you'll be alright if you talk it out?"

"No."

"Sorry?"

"No."

"Why not! He's your best friend Harry, and you were supposed to be mine! Why not talk to him?"

"Reason 4."

"Re…what does that have to do with anything?"

"So, he admits that he was wrong, if only to you, then goes ahead and spreads gossip about me anyway?" I'm growing angry by this point. "You'd think that after the amount of times he's referred to you as 'the bossy bookworm' and 'the know-it-all' that you'd be the first one on his case!"

"But I…I…"

"Just go Hermione. I don't think we have anything more to say now, do we?"

"You utter bastard!" She explodes. I'm tempted to call her on her language. "All I want to do is help! All I want to do is get you your friend back so you can go back to being happy! I want to help you prepare for the tournament! So why won't you let me!"

"Let you? You've had since Halloween to 'help'!"

"You wouldn't let me!"

"No," I moderate my tone as to not distress the few remaining elves. "Ron wouldn't let you. Remember all the times you approached me?"

She does.

"Remember what would happen after a few minutes?"

She does.

"Remember anything you said to stand up for me during any of those times?"

"I…" whatever she was going to say died on her lips.

"And you want me to be friends with the bastard?"

She shakes her head.

"I know he used to be my best friend, but I really don't know what you see in him."

She moves to defend him, but I cut in again.

"Whatever you did see in him, it was obviously more important than your friendship with me when it still mattered. It doesn't now." I can feel the pain flow through me, and the memory of the fire in my blood. "Just go."

Luna had said something a few days ago, shortly after one encounter with a Hermione 'trying to help'. That her magic had chosen another because she had chosen who was more important to her life. That she had decided who was more important to her life. The stress on that word…life…

On the rare occasions Luna is lucid, she has an awkward habit of being right. I might as well take the parting shot.

"Hermione, you know that Ron would have left you to the troll if I hadn't dragged him along, right?"

Her mouth forms a small 'o' before she becomes visibly angry, glares at me and storms out.

Distinctive pops remind me what I forgot to ask her. Sighing, I finish my meal, now needing to check the library.

In the three years I've been at Hogwarts, not once have I ever seen anyone jogging around the lake; which is probably why the few students enjoying the rare sunshine seems to be point and staring as I make my third lap.

And I'm still not tired. Before now, I would have been panting less than a quarter of the way around, but instead I'm relaxed and able to focus on other things. Things like life debts.

There are some things that'll damn you just for reading, even if it's not dark arts.

The one book I was able to find regarding them was so poorly written that I had to take three feet of notes before I could start understanding what the damned things actually were. And even now it makes me confused trying to figure them out.

Apparently, they apply to practically anyone. The short of it is that is person A saves person B's life, then person B will be more accepting of person A's opinions and actions. Which makes complete sense on its own; it's the magic that complicates everything. The addition of magic makes this 'acceptance' and almost tangible thing, a compulsion to do as someone asks, or to not act against them. It's small, but it's constant. Over a few years...The person has to be in acceptance of the debt, and completely convinced that it was entirely person A's actions that saved their life, out of no sense of duty.

Getting this far, I was very tempted to use Ron as my test dummy for whatever I make with the dragonbone.

The really annoying part though, is that they can't truly change people, and they have to believe in the rot to begin with. So if something happens, then it was likely to happen anyway, they just wouldn't fight against it. So it's not their fault. Kind of like a knight saving a princess, or similar.

That brings me up short. Bollocks.

If anyone's going to believe in something like this, then Ron's sister is going to be a pain in a few years, isn't she?

"Master Harry Potter Sir?" Thank god for Dobby's timing. Some things just don't bear thinking about.

"Yes Dobby? Found anywhere?"

Bouncing up and down, he replies "Yes! Dobby found the perfect place for boneses Master Harry won with his boomstick!" He's slipped back into calling me master…ugh.

"Well, tell Charlie, and move everything up there, ok? I'll come find you after dinner and you can show me then?"

"Yes Master Harry Potter Sir!"

"Stop calling me," 'pop' "Master. Damnit."

I wonder if my parting shot to Hermione broke three years of fairy-tale fantasies? Ooops?

"Dobby waited for Harry Potter!" I hear from next to a pile of badly hidden crates in the corridor. Not the kind of place I would have asked for him to store things to be honest…

"So, Dobby, where's this room you told me about?"

"Elves call it the Come and go room, the room of hidden things, the room of requirements!" Dobby sounds nervous, was this room supposed to be a secret? And where is it?

"Master must walk back and forth in from of the wall, while asking the castle for what he needs. Room can be anything!"

"Anything?" An idea floats up in my mind.

He nods solemnly.

Steeling myself, I walk back and forth three times, and a door appeared.

Hogwarts, I need…an Artificer's workshop.

A/N: Enter the massively overpowered RoR plot device!