(I disclaim ownership of everything claimed by J.K. Rowlings.)
Six days from Privet Drive
~ Our Most Illustrious Pranksters ~
"Up! Mr. Potter!" Madame Pomfrey's voice broke into Harry's dream world. As Harry lurched his body into a right angle, he desperately glanced around for annoyed voice. Scrabbling his glasses onto his face, Harry brought his visual centers to bear on the Mediwitch and swiftly determined that discretion was the better part of valor. Apologizing profusely – though Harry had no idea why he should be apologizing – the boy nearly fell out of his bed in his haste to prepare for a lashing from the irate woman.
"Please Madame Pomfrey! I didn't mean to! Don't hurt me!" Harry cringed away from the witch, who was now tapping her foot on the floor with a raised eyebrow. A muffled laugh from behind him shocked him into falling from the bed. "Uff-da!"
The muffled chuckles turned to raucous laughter, and then Harry looked up to see a smirk crossing Pomfrey's normally stoic expression. Raising an eyebrow and giving a superior cough, she softly spoke a diagnostic charm and examined the results. Carefully bringing himself to his feet, Harry turned his head to the side – only to discover Hogwarts' infamous pair of pranksters grinning at him from across the hospital bed.
"Ickle Harrykins!" The twin on the right cheerfully called his name.
A head shake and a tearful sneeze later, the twin on the left admonished, "You let us down –"
"-With hilarious results!" the other redhead finished, a grin decorating his features.
"We bow to the newest prankster!" they held their arms out in a flourish, presenting an empty space next to Harry's bed. The two swung their arms again, attempting for great effect – as the first award ceremony had gone without applause. Looking over to each other, they noticed the distinct lack of a third member between them and promptly accused the floor.
"Aha!" Left's voice rang out.
"You took our new partner!" Right cried,
"Stole her right out from under us!" Left fell to his knees, once again attempting to replicate a tearful disposition.
Right stumbled forward to the empty bed, burying his face in the rumpled sheets, "Why would you tear us apart so soon?"
"Hadn't even pranked Snape together," Left wiped his eyes.
Clenching his fist, Right raised it to the ceiling, "We will avenge you!"
Left cheered, "Yes! They'll never know what hit 'em!" A puzzled look crossed his features, "Hey George? Who are we taking vengeance on?"
Right – George – spun and pointed at, "That tile!" and flicked his wand from a shirt pocket.
"Right! Let's do this!" Left – Fred – exclaimed, even as he swished his own wand to bear on the poor tile.
"Ahem." The two pranksters (and Harry) looked up at the Mediwitch watching them like a hawk from outside of her office door.
"An evil twin!" George screamed.
"Oi!" Fred groused, "I resent that claim!"
"Not you, you dolt," George wrinkled his eyebrow in frustration, pointing a finger at the school nurse (who simply rolled her eyes in amusement),"Her!"
Fred raised an eyebrow, "I'm not convinced, how do we know that's not the real her and the floor didn't just eat the evil one?"
George growled, tossing his wand onto a nearby bed, "I'll show you evil one!" and proceeded to tackle his twin onto Harry's bed, Fred's wand floating safely out of the conflict. The pair of twits wrestled good-naturedly, their wands neatly resting on the bedside table.
A soft snort drew his eyes back to the Mediwitch, Harry felt his heart rise when he saw Madame Pomfrey watching him as she swished into her office. A final wink was the last glimpse he had of her for the year, as a reproving voice floated back to his ears. "I trust that I won't see you again until the fall, Mr. Potter. Do stay out of trouble during the summer," her voice dipped into a sarcastic drawl for a moment, "Messrs Weasley and Weasley, the same goes for you."
"Yes, Madame Pomfrey," A harmony of voices rose from the mess of sheets and blankets on Harry's former residence.
An audible sniff came from the room, "Not that I expect it to stop you. I expect to see as few of your victims as possible in the next coming days, with exams continuing tomorrow."
"Understood, ma'am!" Salutes were snapped from within the bedding, and the pair involved immediately let out yelps of shock and pain as they encountered the other's bodies.
"You have a good summer too," Harry paused for a second, grinning at the pair, "See you in the fall, Poppy!"
Ducking under the bed, Harry dodged into the Mediwitch's light Stinging Hex. His outcry caused a set of chuckles from above him as he rubbed a sore foot.
"Bloody hell!"
"Good show Pomfrey!"
"Shoo! Off with you hooligans!" Her office door slammed shut amid laughter and the shocked silence of Harry Potter – who gave a withering glare to the closed door. Two redheads turned their eyes to Harry's irritated demeanor and grinned, before immediately slamming two pillows into his face. He hit the floor with a moan and a "Bloody Hell!"
"Now Potter!" One began.
"We can't have you glaring at our wonderful new partner!" The second's eyes danced with mischief.
"After all," The first continued, "She might decide to take her own revenge the next time you're stuck in here."
"Maybe she'll sneak an extra potion or two into your regimen," Twin Number Two mused.
"Or let you out with a curse or two," Number One's grin stretched to untrustworthy proportions.
Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, the second stage-whispered to his partner-in-crime, "I'd be surprised if she hadn't done it before to him, think about all those pre-game jitters."
Mouth widening in shock, the first cried in outrage, "Now that's downright sabotage!" He pouted dramatically, "Just 'cause Ickle Harrikins can't keep himself out of the hospital wing most games is no reason to force him out of the game!"
"Who would Ollie play as a replacement? You think Gin-Gin would be up for it?" Two piped up.
One threw his arms up in despair, "Here I'm trying to dissect the former plots of the school's –" He glanced back at the closed door with a pair of wide eyes, "- Most esteemed Mediwitch!" He then whispered to his colleague, "Or is it 'most unsuspecting prankster'," he twitched his eyebrows suggestively, before continuing with fervor. "And you're trying to figure out who would be the best replacement for our most injury-inclined associate!"
"Oi!" Harry cried out, "I'm right here!" He looked between the two conspirators with indignation written across his face.
The second twin crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, shaking his head in disappointment. "George, I think Mr. Potter's manner is both unsightly and in need of punishment."
"I'll say!" George – the first speaker – nodded his head and smiled, "Let's teach him a lesson about respecting his elders."
The twin terrors stood up on the beds and prepared to introduce Harry to a devastating pair of Bludger Bat/Pillows, until a voice rang out into the room, bringing them bouncing to their knees on the mattress. "Out of my hospital wing boys!"
"Yes, Madame Pomfrey!" The three responded in an ill-conceived chord.
"And didn't you two have a message for Mr. Potter?" she paused for effect, "To be given outside of my hospital wing."
The pair snapped off salutes at her menacing tone, "Yes, Ma'am!" Fred immediately scooted off of the bed and gathered up the three wands (fumbling with Harry's other belongings), whilst George brought Harry up by one arm and marched him unceremoniously to the door. Harry was pulled along without protest, eager to get away from the escalating aggravation of his doctor.
"I'll send you a card from the Muggles!" Harry shouted as George removed him from the premises.
"Bye Madame Pomfrey!" George called out through the door.
"We'll try not to send you too many patients in the next few days!" Fred shut both doors behind them with a grin, as the trio escaped the wrath of Hogwart's 'Most Esteemed Mediwitch'.
Peering out of her office, Madame Pomfrey snickered at the criminal speed the three troublemakers displayed. Twitching her eyes to the top of her door, the award was scrawled in bright, neon paint above the entrance. Shaking her head, she quietly whispered to herself, "Hooligans, the lot of them."
~O~O~O~O~O~O~
"Alright you two, what prank are you pulling?" Harry looked over Hogwarts' most infamous pair of troublemakers suspiciously.
The twins broke into laughter at the disgruntled expression on Potter's face, George guffawing and falling to the ground. Fred chuckled lightly as he reached into his robes threateningly, and with a flourish he produced – a letter! "Now Harry, we're just being obedient little messengers."
Looking up from the floor indignantly, George offered his own rebuttal, "How could you accuse us of something so cruel and unusual as a prank attempt on the school's resident hero?" George tried to pout, but his lips twitched into a grin uncontrollably.
Harry's raised an eyebrow at the pair's attempt to act innocent, completely dismissing any vague sense of belief he might have been conveying. George looked like he was trying to tear up, but a tugging at the edge of his lips made it easy to discern the nature of his saline production as laughter rather than sadness. Fred tapped a foot with a proud grin on his face, happiness radiating from his amused lips – the letter held out with one hand from a jaunty pose, the other hand poised on his hip mockingly. "'Special Delivery from Dumbledore'," Fred let out a mocking whistle, imitating a train while George flicked his wand – conjuring a hat that would not be out of place on a postman's head.
Harry peered at the envelope speculatively, "Is that it?" pinching his lips in a suspicious twitch, then he flicked his eyes between the messenger speculatively, "Why'd he send it with you two?" Harry asked the million-dollarpound question.
The two glanced at each other, waggling eyebrows in a display of maddening synchronicity, before launching into an explanation. "You see Harry," Fred began.
"-it wasn't technically sent with us," George shrugged.
"-But, the original messengers-" Fred continued.
"Or at least one of the original messengers," George nudged his twin with a little smirk.
Fred grinned at the implication, "Was less then inclined to interrupt their-"
A coughing fit of laughter interrupted, "Hermione!"
Glaring at his twin playfully, Fred went on, "Study sessions on the last day before exams."
"Of course, the other messenger protested quite vehemently!" George waved his arms extravagantly.
Fred chuckled, "'Vehement' indeed, never though I'd hear such a word used to describe Ickle Ronniekins."
"Oi! Who's the one telling the story here?" George protested.
Fred smirked, a rebuttal on his lips, but was caught by an explosive interruption. Bang! A blasting charm went off, courtesy of Harry and his rather irate wand movements. "Bloody Hell! You were both telling the damn story!"
Waving a hand in front of his face to disperse phantom smoke, Fred admonished the younger man, "Can't let a bloke have a bit of fun these days."
"Never would have guessed it from his speech last night though." George countered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Fred's eyes widened, "Oh, good show mate! Totally shocked the school out of its funk!" he shook one of Harry's hands vigorously, forcing the letter into Harry's palm.
George nodded, "Was getting worried that we'd be all alone in that endeavor," then he curled his lip in disgust, "Not that we had much left in the way of supplies"
Releasing Harry's crushed hand, Fred agreed with his twin, "Too right! Rotten Bagma-"
George clasped a hand over his twin's mouth, a sharp word crossing his lips in irritation, as he looked Fred in the eyes meaningfully. Fred looked back with wild eyes, waving his wand behind his back to spell his twin's hair bright green. George opened his mouth in shock, and then proceeded to curse his twin with yellow robes. The two separated with a rainbow spatter of spell colors as they each took engarde stances and proceeded to curse, charm, hex, transfigure, inscribe glowing runes upon, and even conjure small objects in attempts to disorient the other. To Harry, standing as an observer to the familial confrontation, only confusion passed his mind as he made a single pass at deciphering the words of Hogwarts' most infamous pranksters. "Hermione wouldn't deliver the message because she wants to study for exams." Harry puzzled out, whispering softly to himself, "And Ron protested – vehemently – about something… and so the twins delivered the message."
"Too right mate!" came the voice of one Technicolor twin, standing triumphantly over the defeated form of… what appeared to be one of Hagrid's breeding experiments gone terribly, hideously wrong. Not that the victorious twin looked particularly human at this point in time. Possessing a more humanoid appearance, as opposed to the distorted limbs twisted in a pretzel and being shat upon by a rather large pigeon, our rainbow-shaded Weasley let out a deep laugh (a sound that would have been out of place given his normal appearance, but now seemed rather well-chosen) and spoke a rather dramatic piece of information, "I am the –", or at least he attempted to gift the world with this information – which may very well have been completely useless and vitally important in the same breath – only to be interrupted by the resurrected creature beneath his foot.
"Boo! Coo! Cachoo!"
Harry completely gave up understanding the two fiendish members of Clan Weasley, instead choosing to focus on the letter from Dumbledore.
Dear Mr. Potter,
I believe that we should finish our conversation from the other evening, I will be in my office between lunch and dinner should you wish to have a conversation. I also commend you for your excellent handling of the situation last night. The Diggorys will be meeting with Professor Sprout this morning around nine AM to discuss the events of the Triwizard Final; your attendance has been mentioned but is not mandatory. The family has already mentioned that they are quite well off and would like for you to take all of the winnings.
P.S. I enjoyed the excellent Barrel Caramels, and hope you manage to find more.
"Dumbledore is always short and terrible at explaining the point in his letters," Harry mused. Scratching his head, the young wizard shifted his view to the somewhat recovered mess of Weasley in front of him.
"Why yes, brother dear. I do believe that the Pretzeling Pretzels have potential, but I think I'd like to talk more about the pigeons and how we should market them," Twit A spoke in a high-pitched voice reminiscent of his sister.
Twit B responded with a heavy French accent, "The shatting blighters would be too difficult to charm onto someone, it was hard enough to conjure a pigeon – much less one that only shits on the target's head." Absently the two flicked their wands at each other in an eerily synchronized motion, dispelling one of the charms. Harry shook his head in disgust, not quite sure how they manage to get so adept at magic while remaining such total fools.
"Oi!" Harry yelled.
Twit A swooshed his wand in a grandiose motion, producing his own conjured pigeon – except this one was more inclined to be fairly see-through. It immediately fell to the ground and disappeared. Twit B cheered his delight as he began dancing a jig for joy. "An excellent example of why I am the transfiguration-inclined member of the Weasley Clan," he took a bow. "Us G's have to stick together.
Twit A – Fred, as Harry deduced – rolled his eyes at his twin's joyous proclamation. "Look, just because Uncle G happened to be rather good at transfiguration holds no bearing on our present economic conditions. Uncle F would be quite disappointed with the whole business we've got ourselves into."
Harry waved his arms in the air, beginning to wonder how Ron ever put up with these two for siblings. "Twits! What's the time?"
George nodded his head, agreeing with his twin. "We've got to find a way out of this mess, without Mum being any the wiser. She gets wind of it and then," he made a slicing motion across his throat, "Slllkt!"
"I think our throats will be the least of our problems, think of our hands at the end of the summer," Fred moaned. "Worked to the bone we'll be, never to see unwrinkled fingers again."
George clasped his brother in a hug, as the two let out cries of anguish together. Harry sighed, "Never underestimate a Weasley." There was never a clear difference between the acts that they took to gain attention for themselves and the times that they were just playing games with each other. It was almost like the whole thing was some sort of extravagant act of theatre, except nobody was in on the script – or the gags, stage whispers, tearjerking scenes, and monologues.
Harry knelt to the ground, looking through the small pile of belongings that had been dropped by the two overbearing redheads. He had one bag of gold, heavy enough to hit someone over the head with; one wand, useful for a variety of irritating spells that would only divert the ire of the twins onto a different target; one pair of shoes, good for throwing; one somewhat warm roll, which Harry proceeded to eat. Harry mulled over the list of useful objects trying to discover some way to get information from the twins. Clocks weren't exactly everywhere in the castle, and he had already been banned from the hospital wing.
"Bagman. Economic conditions. Lack of supplies." Harry muttered to himself, connecting the dots. The puzzle ended at the bag of gold. One thousand Galleons. Technically, Harry had won half of it. He wasn't particularly proud of winning it, but he was the surviving victor. It was important to Harry that he get to the meeting with the Diggorys, seeing as he had been the last person to see Cedric alive. How important was it?
"I will give you Five Hundred Galleons if you tell me the time!" Harry yelled out, shocking them out of their mock-tears.
They turned to Harry, surprised looks on their faces. George turned to his brother, whispering, "Hey, did you remember he was there?" The responding shake of Fred's head brought no confidence to Harry's plight.
"Galleons." Harry stated. "Five. Hundred." He looked at them pointedly, jangling the bag of gold. "Do you have the time?"
"You think he's okay?" Fred spoke to his brother.
"I think he might have gone a little bit crazy." George said.
Harry sighed, rubbing his head. Then he opened the bag of gold and poured something that looked like a few hundred coins out on the floor. Then he looked back up, giving the twins a tired expression, "The time?"
George choked, while Fred's eyes grew as wide as they could.
Harry started tapping his foot. "Should I go find some other team of pranksters that's hard-up for gold?"
"You serious?"
"Really?"
They breathed their words out of sync, staggering in shock at the money being offered to them. They each looked at their wrists, discovering that they had not put on their watches that morning. They began turning out their pants pockets frantically in a search for some kind of timepiece. Candies, lint, wands, chickens, rocks, a newspaper, and a small meal were produced from their four trouser pockets before they finally realized that the watch was hanging out of Fred's breast pocket.
Slowly lifting it to their eyes, George spoke the time, "Eight forty-five."
Mentally calculating the distance between the hospital wing and Professor Sprout's office, Harry swore to himself before spinning around and starting to run towards the steps.
"Potter?" Fred cried out in a strangled voice.
George coughed, clearing his throat of whatever might impede his ability to speak. "Mate! You didn't count it!"
Harry called over his shoulder, "We'll talk later, I gotta get down to Sprout's office!" Then he disappeared around a corner.
The twins simply stood there in shock. Slowly, Fred knelt next to the pile of Galleons and reached forward. He poked a coin speculatively, perhaps believing that Harry was having them on. Then he took out his wand and jabbed it towards the pile, trying to confirm the reality of the situation. The money stayed unresponsive. He reached over and tugged at his brother's pant-leg. "Hey George."
George mumbled something back, his eyes still glued to the corner that Harry had disappeared around. Fred tugged again, getting a response from his stunned twin, "Fred, what happened?"
"It's real."
George's eyes went wide, and his head snapped back to the money on the floor so fast that it was like a troll had clubbed him across the face. Then he sank to his knees next to his sibling. He tentatively lifted a coin, looking at the single piece of gold and then back at the pile of gold in front of them. He was speechless at the events of the last few minutes. He tried to say something once, but choked on the words in his shock.
The pair sat there for a few minutes, in awe of the events that had fallen upon them. They might have sat there all day were it not for the interruption of a rather loud noise.
POP
Neither the appearance of a house elf or the loud noise caused the two to make any movement other than a slight flickering of the eyes. In fact, the house elf was happily sweeping the floor right in front of them. It even sang a little ditty, which the two could never be bothered to remember.
"Come alang, come alang, wi' your boatie and your song,
My ain bonnie maidens, my twa bonnie maids!
For the nicht, it is dark, and the redcoat is gane,
And ye are dearly welcome to Skye again."
It was at that point in the song that the old male elf completed the short jig he had taken in the midst of his performance and realized what situation he had danced himself into. It was quite an entertaining jig actually; the two Weasleys would eventually con the old elf, who went by the name of Blane, to teach them many things in life. Alas, this was not that day, and was rather the initial meeting between a triad of individuals whom had no idea that the other would be appearing at that point in time. Opening his eyes and discovering that he had an audience was quite the shock, and Blane cannot be entirely blamed for what he did after that.
He fainted. An excellent lesson in why one should never perform any type of teleportation with one's eyes closed, no matter how incredibly skilled the individual is.
The two Weasleys' were having an admittedly stressful day, but they were also at least one hundred years younger than the elf. This event shook them from the gold-induced stupor and allowed them to begin thinking straight again.
"D'ya think he's dead mate?" Fred nudged his brother.
George raised an eyebrow to his twin and poked the elf with his wand. The lack of response made him suspicious, and he almost confirmed the death of the elf. The elf proceeded to let out a quite powerful snore (at least it was powerful coming from an elf) and disprove any assumptions of his demise. Nonetheless, George proceeded with events as usual, "Yup, deader than a doornail."
Another snore raised itself from the comatose elf. Fred looked at his twin with no small amount of disgust at the sarcasm.
"Kicked the bucket. His hour has come."
Snore.
"Bit the dust." Snore. "Caught the snitch." Snore. George paused for a moment, curious if the elf was having them on and was awake this whole time. The elf breathed in slowly, and…
No loud noises were produced, and George raised an eyebrow at this strange creature that interrupted their day. Rolling his eyes he caught a glint of gold from the pile of galleons and went back into shock. Fred looked between the two fools and the galleons, "Well, what should I do now?" The elf released his breath in another reminder of its existence, a rather loud reminder. Fred shook his head, "That's no help. I've got an elf in a coma, an idiot for a brother, half the stuff from my pockets all swept up, and a pile of galleons to deal with."
Realizing that he had no bags to carry it in, Fred thought for a moment. Coming to the conclusion that his shirt would make as good a bag as anything else within arm's reach, Fred emptied his shirt pockets into his pants pockets and proceeded with the operation. He took off his shirt, leaving himself in just his stained undershirt, and proceeded to pile the galleons into the makeshift bag.
George came out of his shock after a minute or two, responding to his twin's loud grumbles, the now continuous snoring, the rapidly disappearing view of their timepiece-gotten gains, or some combination of the three. He looked at his twin going through the stuff on the floor and stuffing bits of it into pockets here and there, picking out the dustbunnies that had accumulated during the cleaning operation. He coughed, and Fred turned his head over, still stuffing things into pockets.
"Glad to see that her majesty is awake. Didn't have much to say for a bit there."
George sniffed – like some sort of superior royalty – at his twin's statement. Then he shuffled over to his twin and jammed the rest of the stuff into his pockets with no worry about the dust. "Let's just get this over with and thank the ickle ones for being lazy." He smiled at that, happy with the opportunity that had been given to them.
Fred shrugged, but flicked his eyes back to the elf, "What should we do about the elf? Take him in to Pomfrey you reckon?"
George scratched his head, "I guess so."
Fred rose to his feet quickly and sprinted off to the Gryffindor dorms. "One, Two, Three, Not It!" The sack of money jangled on his shoulder as he left his partner in crime at the scene of an elf-fainting.
George yelled after his brother, "Be careful with the loot! Don't get caught with it!" and then he frowned at the situation he was left in, wondering why his twin had left in such a hurry. Picking up the elf in his arms, George walked the couple steps to the hospital wing and pushed open the door with his back. As he turned around, the conversation from earlier this morning came to mind and the remaining neon sign above the door brought things into startling clarity.
"Bollocks," he spoke softly. The doorknob to the home of 'Hogwarts' Most Esteemed Mediwitch' turned with a slowness brought on by a sense of impending doom.
The door swung shut upon the errant Weasley twin. The other one cackled his merry way home.
~O~O~O~O~O~O~
~ Green Thumbs and Families ~
"Oof!"
Harry crashed into the wall by Professor Sprout's office, stopping himself after the exhausting run through much of the castle. He muttered to himself, "The problem with moving staircases is that they never move when you want them to move." Glancing around for some sort of timepiece, Harry swore as he found none on the wall in front of him, so he didn't know if he was early or late for the meeting. A cough from behind him had him spinning around, paranoid after his sprint.
He swallowed hard as he recognized the adults as Cedric's parents. He coughed, taking in a deep breath and trying to calm his racing heart and mind. He bowed before them already letting out a string of apologies, "I'm sorry about Cedric, it was my fault-"
A hand on his shoulder brought him out of the mess of words spewed from his mouth. Harry raised his eyes to see Amos Diggory with tears falling from his eyes. "It's alright son, nobody is blaming you."
Mrs. Diggory seemed a little bit less comforting, but nonetheless wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. Her face was red and marked from tears. She let out a wail and her husband removed his hand from the boy's shoulder to hold his wife. The Diggorys' looked lost, as though their whole world had fallen out from underneath them. There were no other children present, and Harry had never heard Cedric mention a sibling, so it was likely that their only child was dead. A cough from behind him brought attention to the Head of Hufflepuff House.
"Yes, if you will all come inside." Professor Sprout's face looked as broken up as the Diggorys, but her voice put up a strong front. She bustled behind her desk and brought out handkerchiefs for the seated parents of her charge. The shake of Amos's head left her with an extra kerchief, which she absently offered to Harry. "Now, I believe that Harry has something to say, and then we can go on with our conversation." She turned her eyes to Harry expectantly, as though she wanted something specific from him.
Harry found himself at a loss, he had only received this message fifteen minutes ago and now he was expected to give a speech. Professor Sprout took the opportunity to loudly blow her nose before turning back to the lost boy with a look of pride in her eyes. Harry quickly went through the last conversations he had with Professor Sprout, discovering that he had not actually spoken to her since before the final task. To stall for time, Harry simply began speaking, "Cedric was,"
At the absent mentioning of 'was' in relation to her son, Mrs. Diggory let out a fresh wail and interrupted any train of thought that Harry had begun. Looking around the room, Harry found that the images of badgers were useless to his cause, but the open view of the lake brought back his memories of the previous day.
His eyes widening, Harry looked over at Professor Sprout and leaned forward, "You mean the stuff I said yesterday, right?" he whispered, pleading with his eyes. Amos had taken a moment to whisper to his wife, and so they didn't take active notice of the words passing between the other two.
Pomona Sprout was not normally an emotional woman, but threats and dangers to her charges tended to bring out the most emotional parts of her. She sniffed loudly and nodded to the young boy.
Harry stuttered out, "Ced-… Cedric will always be the Hogwarts champion, and the true winner of the Triwizard Tournament. And he was my friend, that I will always remember."
Harry swallowed, the silent room adding to his nervousness. He smiled wryly, realizing that it had been easier to give this speech in front of the whole school than it was to give it to the parents of his friend. "And so… So I will try to remember him the best way I can, by living my life to the fullest in honor of him."
Harry scratched his head, realizing that he was trying to make things sound better for the two people in front of him, but not really feeling guilty about it. "I wish that I could change things. If I could trade places with your son than I would,"
At this Mrs. Diggory gasped, looking into the serious eyes of the boy in front of her.
"But I can't," Harry whispered. "So I'm going to live, and play Quidditch, and Chess, and Exploding Snap…" Harry trailed off. He stayed silent for a moment, just looking at the Diggorys. They were all alone in the world now, and Harry was the only one who saw their son die. He looked down, knowing that he could give them one thing that no one else could, "Do you want me to tell you how he died?"
A pin could have dropped and it would have been heard from the heights in that room. Professor Sprout let out a gasp, and the Diggorys eyes would have popped out of their heads if they could.
"I owe him." Harry voice started to rise in strength. "It was thanks to him that I did so well in the tournament and we even teamed up to finish the maze." Harry looked back up at the Diggorys, knowing that he didn't have very much that they might want. "If you want to know… I'll tell you, for him."
The adults in the room looked like they didn't know what to say, and Harry didn't know what else he could tell them. "Live, Mr. and Mrs. Diggory," Harry's voice got quiet again, and he seemed almost shy at the end of it, "It's what he would have wanted."
Harry got up, and took the bag of galleons from his pocket. "This belongs to you." Their expression grew incredulous, confused at the connection. "We grabbed the trophy together, so half the winnings were his…" Seeing that they weren't making any move to take it, Harry simply dropped it on the floor and walked to the door. Grasping the doorknob, Harry started to open the door before he was stopped by a new voice behind him.
"Wait." The voice was gravelly from crying and tired from mourning. Harry turned to look behind him, and saw Mrs. Diggory struggling to her feet. "Child…Harry, come here," she spoke softly.
Harry let go of the knob and turned around slowly, walking to stand in front of the older woman. He saw many things in her eyes. Pain, fear, resentment, grief; her eyes could have held anything and Harry would never have known which it was. She raised her hand and caressed his face softly, finding some comfort in his touch. "Thank you…for being here and saying these things." She let out a shuddering breath, "It is hard, to live when someone else dies…" she trailed off as her eyes flickered to his scar.
She grasped him in a soft hug, the hug of an acquaintance who shared a powerful connection. Harry hugged her back, softly whispering to her, "I'm so sorry."
Releasing the boy, Mrs. Diggory knelt down a little bit so that she was at eye level with the boy. "Don't ever apologize for Cedric's death," she put a finger over his mouth in a hushing gesture, "No. Never apologize for his death again. I don't believe that any boy that my son was – " she choked in her speech, fresh tears filling her eyes. She paused for a moment, examining Harry's face. "My son wrote me about you, saying that you were a nice boy that never asked for any of this. So I know that he trusted you, and I trust you too."
She stood back up and put a hand on her husband's shoulder. At some point during their short talk, Amos had come to comfort her. She looked down at Harry, but it was her husband that spoke, from over her shoulder. "Kid, you said things that no one else would… even Dumbledore." Mr. Diggory shook his head at the actions of the old man and then continued, "We don't want or need the money, so you keep it."
Harry softly knelt down and picked it up. Husband and wife softly held each other, whispering things softly between them. Professor Sprout had a shocked but proud expression on her face as she nodded to the surviving champion. Her eyes twinkled as she let out a little cough before speaking, "If you don't mind, we could display the Triwizard Trophy down here."
The boy scratched his head, a little smile on his face. This wasn't anything like what he had expected. "Sure, I'll tell Professor McGonagall next time I see her."
Sneaking softly to the door, Harry didn't want to interrupt the tableau of peace left behind. Looking back from his position in the doorway, he smiled at them and spoke one last thing, "Owl me if you need anything." Mr. Diggory looked up and nodded, a melancholy upturn on his lips.
~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Shutting the door behind him, Harry wondered what he had really done today. It was sometime after nine and he had spent five hundred galleons (possibly more), been pranked by the school nurse, and had an extremely emotional conversation with the parents of his deceased classmate. He hadn't had breakfast yet, and his stomach was feeling quite empty for the moment.
Walking down the hall, he looked around in disappointment at the sparsely populated halls of Hogwarts. Had it always been this empty during the weekend before exams? This was typically a period spent confined to the hospital wing or studying with Hermione. Reaching the doors that led out to the greenhouses, Harry took the shortcut outside, deciding to check if any of the Durmstrang or Beauxbatons students wanted to have breakfast. It was another nice day, it might be possible to put together something interesting to do outside. The lake was empty this time of morning, and Harry spoke aloud, "I wonder if they have exams too…"
This left him alone and bored on a Sunday before exams. Hermione would yell at him if he tried to get them to stop studying, and Harry didn't feel up to that this early in the morning. Realizing that Breakfast might still be out there, Harry stalked back through the greenhouses before halting at the sounds of someone puttering inside one of them. Pressing his face up to the glass, Harry blocked out the sun with his hands and peered through.
Just Neville.
Harry stood back from the window, shrugging and making his way to the front of the greenhouse. Neville liked to eat too, and the quiet boy usually didn't have many questions for Harry – something that the rest of the student body would have in spades. Opening the door, Harry absently noted that this was one of the more dangerous greenhouses. Upon stepping inside, Harry did a double take when he realized that it was the greenhouse for the upper forms. The plants in there had a sort of aggressive aura to them, as though they could consume him at any moment.
A seventh year was there too, likely doing a late project and Harry froze in his tracks as the student calmly launched a dead rabbit into the air. The rabbit flew for about ten feet before it was grasped from the air violently by some sort of plant. Had Harry eaten breakfast before entering the greenhouse, he would have lost his meal then and there as the bunny was torn in half by two green heads.
The concept of entering the greenhouse had never seemed quite so sinister.
Harry found himself growing lightheaded, and another seventh year approached him and peered down at the younger student. "Oi, what're you doing in here without some kinda mask or charm?"
"Gwuh?"
"Potter! You still with me, whatcha want?" the older student looked at the swaying younger student. Smirking, he poked Harry in the head before asking again, "You'd best get out of 'ere before you pass out from the fumes, it's molting season for the Purple Prancing Pities and the gas kills you in ten minutes."
Harry looked up in horror, "Who names a deadly plant a pity?"
The seventh year blinked, crinkling his brow in disgust, "Someone who's namin' it for their eleven-year old daughter, that's who. Now whatcha need? Or get out of the greenhouse."
"Oh yeh, I wanted to know if Neville wanted to eat breakfast." Harry's voice was meek at the irritated tone of his elder. The encroaching darkness at the edges of his vision was another part of it.
"'Kay, I'll tell him. Now get out before yeh pass out." The seventh year dismissed him absently, walking through the greenhouse to the corner where Neville was last spotted.
Harry rushed from the greenhouse, taking great gasps of clean fresh air from outside. Falling down on the ground, Harry simply watched the clouds pass for a moment, murmuring to himself about how troublesome plants can be. The deep breaths freed him from the blackness that had begun to bear down upon him, and Harry started to think clearly again. "What Neville doing in a place like that this time of morning?" He mused to himself.
The door opened and the smock-clad Longbottom emerged from the depths of greenhouse eight. Neville ran over to Harry and began shaking him, "Harry! You okay? I knew we should have put signs up on the door… This is all my fault."
Harry rolled his eyes, recognizing behavior so similar to his own. "I'm fine mate." Neville jumped in the air at the voice. "I just wanted to know if you were up for some breakfast."
"Oh, sorry for that Harry," Neville looked at the ground and went to scratch his neck in shame, before noticing his large gauntlets and began unstrapping them. "Sure, I mean, I haven't had anything yet 'cause Rebecca wanted to get up so early and I had to-"
Harry cut him off, afraid of where this train of thought would lead. "It's okay mate, I was just asking. If you're busy than I understand."
Neville had escaped from the confining gauntlets and had already begun stripping off his smock, so Harry waited a moment for the boy to emerge from the battle-worn smock that had more in common with the suits of armor than any of their usual herbology gear. Finally getting his head out, the round-faced boy continued his acquiescence. "No-no-no-no, Rebecca said I should have eaten beforehand anyway, so I'm supposed to come with you and get a good breakfast before I come back in…" He looked down at the watch that adorned his wrist, "Half an hour!"
Harry rubbed his face, wondering if Neville was always this hyper in Herbology and Harry had just rarely paid any attention. The boy was talking a mile-a-minute and showed no signs of stopping, so Harry simply scratched his head and got up off the ground. Looking at his somewhat disheveled roommate, Harry voiced his question, "Hey Neville, are you okay?"
"Oh, oh yes, Harry. I'm fine, it's just that Rebecca gave me some Pepper-Up Potion that she special made to get this project done and apparently I'm not supposed to have it on an empty stomach but I did, and so-"
Harry raised a hand and cut him off, or at least stopped paying attention to the words, Neville needed food. They had half an hour and going to the Great Hall with the normally timid boy hyped up on potions would be a like tolling the bell for his demise. He would never live it down, even if it was the last day before exams. "Get your stuff put away…" Harry trailed off as he realized that Neville had already gotten all of his protective gear off and put it away in the storage closet, "Or you did that. Follow me to the Kitchens! I don't think you're up to the Great Hall this morning and I'm not sure if they're still serving Breakfast."
"It's nine thirty-five Harry, don't they serve Breakfast until ten? We can go to the Great Hall, I'm doing just fine and I'll be normal Harry-"
Harry looked over at Neville, realizing that the boy would both definitely not be okay but might also have a panic attack in his present condition. Nobody was meant to be that wired, it was a special level reserved only for young children and pets… and even then only in short, controlled doses that usually ended in headaches for all. Harry knew this because Piers had a younger sister who had once come to visit, and proceeded to be the most annoying pest he had ever met. She also broke one of Petunia's vases, which had culminated in a long series of very upset conversations with the neighbors about the whole situation. That level of insanity was also part of the continuing saga of Petunia vs. Dudley, the ' We're Not Getting You A Pet Other Than A Fish' Chronicles.
"Come on mate, I'll show you how to get into the kitchens."