Chapter 27 - The Bluecap Spliner

Harry's mirror was sitting on the bed, where only he could see it, and then only if he craned his neck. He was actually sitting on the window sill, because it gave him the best form with the Chansonarc, which he was determined to learn, just to spite Snape. Below him, the sun was setting, some of the snow was melting, and Walken and Minnie were again making sporadic appearances. Seamus had already vanished, presumably to find a better venue from which to spy on Minnie. Lavender and Parvati had gone with him, eager to put their intelligence gathering skills to the test. According to the Marauders' map, Connor and Natalie were both behind Hagrid's hut. Harry assumed they were working on the old motorbike. Dean, after showing Harry the scales, was in the common room. The map said Ginny Weasley was as well, which probably explained why. Harry had learned that the Chansonarc responded to where you touched the string, and he and Dean had stuck small pieces of paper to the strings where Harry's fingers were supposed to go, but it still meant that until he got the feel for it, he'd be hitting a lot of sour notes.

When there was a knock at the dormitory door, Harry actually jumped a little. He had been so engrossed with his scales that he had spaced off, which he took as a good sign. Harry glanced down at the map, and seeing a tiny Filius Flitwick outside the dorm, he cleared the piece of parchment, set the Chansonarc down, and stuck his head out in time to invite the diminutive professor in.

"Can I...help you, Professor?" asked Harry, confusedly.

"No, but perhaps I can help you! I...heard...that you may have a malfunctioning ward?" Snape, Harry thought immediately.

"I don't know about malfunctioning," Harry said. "I have some that do odd things."

"And I take it they are..." the tiny professor paused, waving his wand about with his eyes closed. "...here, here, and here," he said, jabbing gently at Harry's bureau, bed, and chest.

"Uh, yeah, that's right."

"Well, Mister Potter, would you mind terribly if I examined them?"

"Not at all," said Harry, although he was a bit self conscious. It would be a stretch to say he was proud of them, but he had some pride in them. Professor Flitwick prodded and poked his bed and chest, and waved his wand over the front of the bureau, and the top part that he could

reach. The other side was a wardrobe for hanging robes, but he checked the door as high as he could reach.

"Well they seem to be in order. Turn around and close your eyes Potter...no, not facing the window...now, tell me when I have violated your space."

Harry did as he was told. "Now. Now. Now." The feeling he got from the wards became gradually fainter, until he had to guess when Flitwick was at it based on the whisper from his wards. "Now. Now...I think. Now, I'm pretty sure."

After a moment Flitwick spoke. "There are really nothing wrong with these, Mister Potter. They seem in good order." He glanced at the two tiny bottles that Hermione had made, the curiosity evident on his face. "May I?"

"Of course!" Harry said. He had always liked Flitwick, and it was nice to think he could own anything marvelous enough to hold the pint-sized Professor's attention. Professor Flitwick took each vial in turn, examining them very carefully. They were identical glass bottles, except one contained the ever-twinkling blue flame, and one a chunk of time that was slightly out of place. Flitwick turned to Harry with one bottle in each hand.

"Miss Granger?" Harry nodded. "Marvelous!" Flitwick sighed at last. "To think, I almost had her!" He replaced the bottles and diverted his attention to the bed, with the mirror. "You know, I remember when your father and Mister Black created those," he said fondly. "They assumed they were a secret, but one does tend to notice two boys gazing at mirrors as if they were smitten with themselves; even two such handsome boys as your father and Sirius." His gaze wandered to the Chansonarc. "Do you play that?"

"Not exactly," Harry said. "But Dean is really good, and he's supposed to teach me. I'm supposed to do scales."

Flitwick extended one hand, "Perhaps I could try, Potter?" Harry nodded. Flitwick took the instrument, holding it with his hands reaching over the bow, rather than under and around. That only made sense, as his arms were half what Dean's were. He paused for a moment, as if trying to decide if he really wanted to do this. Apparently, he decided he did, because he started in on a tune that sounded very Irish.

Rather than the humming buzz, the Chansonarc sounded almost like a very big music box, although he did manage a very odd droning note, like a bagpipe. When he was done, there was clapping behind them, and Harry turned to see Dean and Ginny, applauding genuinely. "I knew that wasn't you!" Dean said. "I was thinking, what in the world?"

Let's see him start Flitwick's shoes on fire! Harry thought absently. Professor Flitwick bowed and placed the Chansonarc carefully on the bed. "Forget me! You need him to give you lessons!" Dean exclaimed.

"I am afraid I am a bit too busy for that, Mister Thomas, but I hear you're pretty fair, anyway! I can give him tips, from time to time." Flitwick nodded at the bottles and then turned to Harry. "Mister Potter, thank you for indulging me with your time, and Miss Granger's handiwork." Harry nodded, and Flitwick exited, squeezing by a grubby Connor on the way. He looked the massive American over, and with a quick wave of his wand, managed to get most of the grease and grime from Connor's filthy robes. He then nodded and continued on his way.

Connor looked down at his robes, pulling them away from his chest with surprise. His head snapped to follow Flitwick's rapidly disappearing form. Harry jumped forward before he could enter the room and pulled the curtains on his bed before anyone could get a good look at the mirror, in case it should start glowing.

"Well, we've almost got it," Connor announced. "It was Hermione's help that got us going. It was a nice birthday present, to get that in the air."

"When was your birthday?" Dean asked.

"Saturday," replied Connor. Harry didn't actually know that. He felt a little bad...even though he'd pieced together enough to not be as nervous around Connor, he didn't trust the American enough to buy him a gift. He didn't think anyone else did either, other than Natalie MacDonald. Maybe he'd talk to Ron about getting a Wizarding card for one of the topics Connor actually did well.

"So it flies then?" he asked, conversationally.

"Oh, it flies alright. Not quite like Sirius's thought...Hermione got it figured out how she could do it, but not how he did it. Your black bike now has a flying gear, but it's the top end, so it goes first, second, all the way through, and fly." Harry nodded blankly. Connor, perhaps sensing his confusion, added, "It's no big deal, you just can't slow way down while you are flying as much or take off as soon. It'll stall."

"Potter is used to falling off things, by now," Dean quipped. It was very true, though. He had the unfortunate idea that he was. He had a plan on what to do the next time it happened, in any event, and he supposed that meant he was at least getting prepared for it to happen again...if that wasn't getting used to it, what was?

Later that night, Harry was lying in bed with the mirror lying on his stomach. He was waiting for Remus, but was more or less comatose. He had the Marauders' Map open on the mirror, and was slipping in and out of consciousness. Somewhere in his mind, something was shouting at him. He was honestly too tired to care. Perhaps it was Remus. He was at that state in a dream where he was aware that he was dreaming and unwilling to wake up. He refused to even remove his spectacles, which he abstractly knew were on or near his head, if through memory rather than feel. He couldn't actually feel anything, other than an electric tingling.

When he had gone to sleep, his fingers were aching from toying with the chansonarc, in spite of Dean's instance that Harry didn't actually have to pluck the strings. He had decided and some point in the early evening that regardless of how many birds he pulled or shoes he burned, he would be quite satisfied with watching Dean or Professor Flitwick play and never touch it again. Only the thought of Snape's triumphantly smirking sneer that his failure would most assuredly elicit would force him to have anything to do with it.

The next few days went by uneventfully, with nothing extraordinary happening, which was fine by him. On April first, the castle went absolutely insane. Every student in Hogwarts seemed to think it their duty to fill the void left by the Weasley twins, and that was astonishingly easy, since the twins had managed to produce a boatload of kits just for making mischief. Harry was almost positive Ginny was involved, because even Ron had been slipped a chocolate frog with a card that cursed loudly whenever it was exposed to light. She was one of the only Gryffindors left unscathed in the entire castle.

Harry was considering advising that next time she pick out something for herself, but she had retired to the girls' dorm; either to avoid being pranked after surviving the entire day untouched, or more likely, to avoid casting herself in a suspicious light. After the evening meal; which was poorly attended as everyone had assumed by that point that everything edible in the castle would cause them to swell up, age, or bleat like a random animal, Hermione was showing off her newest invention. It was, as usual, spectacular. The long pole she had been using to retrieve the floating second years was leaning against the wall next to her, and various books, boxes, bottles, and clay balls were arrayed before her.

"You see?" She was fiddling with one of her books.

"I don't actually, Hermione," Harry said. He had just gotten his feet back to a normal size and was not mentally prepared for Hermione. Parvati was idly drawing on his hand again. The lines were squiggling on their own accord, and shifted colors gently from a sort of gold-ish to a dark brown.

"Here, watch." She tapped her forehead with her wand, then made a complex pattern on the page of the book. Then she slid it over the top of the table with one finger. The polish on her nail glowed subtly in the dim common room light. Ron was standing over her shoulder, having arrived halfway through Hermione's lecture over what the book did. Harry had been there through the whole thing, and he didn't even understand it. Something to do with memories again. As studious as Hermione was, he could see why she was so obsessed with remembering everything. She was staring at him.

"Go ahead then!"

He hadn't really been paying attention, but he was certain he would know how to do it.

"Recordatio."

Rather than the spinning of his mother's pendant, or the clay ball, or the sinking of a pensive, Harry simply had a memory that wasn't his. In the memory he was looking across a table at himself, while Parvati drew on his hand with her wand-tip. She was wearing a casual robe today, having already been the target of one too many projectile vomiting Weasley victims, and the Skyball dangled alluringly at her neckline. Her hair was braided in the back, and she had a bored look on her face. He could smell traces of a perfume he knew was Parvati's, as well as a much more solid one he recognized must belong to Hermione. Somewhere, he was vaguely familiar of a hand on his back. Ron's he realized, looking at how his friend was standing.

"Bloody h-"

Parvati clamped her hand over his mouth with an impish grin.

"It's for your own good. Words can come back to haunt you!" She'd know, Harry thought. He pushed the book to Ron.

"Recordatio,"

Ron tapped a page. After a moment he cocked his head to the side, then lifted Hermione out of her chair.

"You're brilliant, that's what you are. Did I ever tell you that?"

"Every day," Hermione shot back, but she was grinning. Harry was distracted again. Parvati was breathing in his ear. He was seriously in danger of becoming too attached for her own good. The worst part is that most of him wanted that.

"Well, I figured the condensing books were made for storing things, why not memories?" Hermione said casually.

"You're going to put Pensives out of business," Ron said proudly.

"No, I rather doubt it. Memories take up...quite a bit of room. So much in fact, that each page in this is good for only one. And as you could see, it's only an instant. No moving, no talking...and there's nothing to really protect them." She casually pointed her wand at a bleating first year.

"Finate incantatum." It didn't seem to work. He still sounded like a baby sheep.

"You're under-selling yourself, as usual," Ron gushed. He dug in his robe pocket until he extracted a small, swirly sweet, and tossed it casually to the first year. The young boy unwrapped it with his teeth, and immediately after popping it in his mouth smiled.

"Thanks!" he stammered.

Ron waved his hand, as though he was just doing a civic duty. "It's still fantastic," he said. Harry nodded with his ears buzzing and Parvati's slightly minty breath surrounding him. That was true.

Two days later they were standing in potions. Neville was nearly delirious, because his potion had finally cured. It now resembled a bottle of smoke, and just to ensure it wasn't sabotaged, there were half a dozen more bottles resting in a box in Connor's travel chest. Neville was irrepressibly ecstatic, and it rubbed off on all the Gryffindors. Snape didn't call on Neville for anything for the entire period; that was his reward, as far as Harry was concerned.

The following Monday they learned the spatium tornare-the step- in Temporalism. Really, it was very much like a faster, simpler, shorter apparition, only it would work in Hogwarts. Harry wasn't sure why they had waited so long to learn it, but Ron thought it was simply because after learning to Apparate, the step would be easy. Hermione agreed. Harry was more of the opinion that it was because one could step where one could step where one hadn't been...they simply had to know where they were going. Handy as this may have been for locked doors and Bubbles in time, stepping into a space where something already existed sounded rather painful.

The wand sleeves they had all been working so diligently on had to sit for a week or so. To say they had to cure wasn't exactly the right way to put it, but there was magic that took time to sink in, or set, or bind, or whatever it was going to do. They were all sitting on a shelf in the classroom, with labels on them that looked curiously like the Muggle toe-tags Harry had seen on television.

During another uneventful week, Harry managed to get both Parvati and himself a detention, though if he was to be fair about it, she had agreed to meet, so she was at least partially deserving. She had never received detention in her entire Hogwarts career, and she seemed equal parts mortified and excited; proud to finally be a rebel rule-breaker.

"Oh, Harry...what if we get Snape and we have to touch something dreadful, and I ruin another robe, or get it in my hair and it turns it awful colors, or...what's so funny?" She was glaring broodingly at Harry, who was smiling as they walked to the Muggle Studies classroom.

"It was a Prefect who caught us," Harry shrugged, as though it was obvious. After another moment of Parvati staring he realized that, to her, it wasn't. "When the prefect catches you, you wind up doing something for the school, not a teacher. We may have to polish trophies, or something for Filch, but if he knows about it, it's just as likely we'll only have to help out Hagrid. He likes to watch out for...us."

"Us?"

"You know. Me. Ron. Hermione."

"I don't fancy working for that big oaf," she sulked.

"That 'big oaf' is my friend, you know," Harry snapped, more harshly than he had intended. "And a professor."

They walked in silence. All through class, Harry did his best to give Parvati the silent treatment, although it was more drama than he was comfortable with and certainly more than he was used to. It was a rare day that they weren't yelled at even once in Muggle Studies, and even after Temporalism, Harry managed to keep his distance. Finally Parvati tracked him down, just as he and Ron were about to call their game of chess in the common room a draw. A draw against Ron was a win, in Harry's book. Parvati stood over his shoulder, looking at the board. He could see her reflection in the huge windows, and she hitched as though she was about to speak several times.

Finally, Ron looked up at her. "You got something to say?"

"I'll be a moment," Harry said to Ron, turning and rising.

"I'm sorry," Parvati said when they were out of earshot. "That was mean. He's not an oaf."

"You don't sound very sorry," Harry observed.

"Well how do I know we won't get stuck rounding up more skrewts?"

That was a fair question. "You don't."

"He makes us deal with all these hideous things, and they're dangerous, and that's what I meant," she said all in one breath.

"Look," Harry said, throwing an arm around Parvati's shoulder. "Hagrid may get some...odd things from time to time..."

"Odd?"

"Okay, really odd. But that's because he just wants to see the good in everything and everybody. Deep down, he's hoping maybe they're just misunderstood."

Parvati locked eyes with him. "Well, okay, but if he has us going for something that can melt us, I don't know if I can ever talk to you again. I mean, I know he's your friend and all..."

"Just give him a chance," Harry said. He didn't want to be mad at Parvati anymore; even if she was bad at apologies.

"A. A chance." She hugged him, and he hugged her back.

Saturday morning Hannah Abbot told Hermione their detention would indeed be served with Hagrid, and on Saturday night, at nearly midnight, they were standing outside Hagrid's hut, listening to Fang shuffle around and bark amid some thudding, banging, and cursing. Finally Hagrid opened the door.

"Ruddy little blighters...hallo, Harry...Parvati."

"Uhhh...what is that?" Parvati pointed at the blue-almost violet-ball in Hagrid's hand, which occasionally twitched as though it was testing the waters for an escape.

"Ahhh. That's a Bluecap Spliner; dead useful they are. Nearly anything that eats can live off them...sort of a universal food, of sorts."

"Does it bite?" she asked. Hagrid shook his head. "Sting?" He shook his head again. "Pinch? Vomit? Breathe fire or...well...anything really?"

All through it, Hagrid was shaking his head with a mildly confused expression. "Don't have mouths, do they? No claws; 'least I don't think so." He held up the Bluecap Spliner. "He's just particularly clever, for a fungus. I won't be surprised if you only manage to catch a handful." Parvati considered this. "I jus' figured you'd like somethin' to do at night, well, seein' as that's when you-"

"Where can we find them?" Harry interrupted his friend before Parvati died of shame.

"Well, all over, in the forest. They aren't easy to spot, but you'll know 'em when you see 'em. Look like little bluish moons around roots and under things. They'll probably be easiest to spot if you look ahead of your light, or behind it, since they like to play it dangerous..."

"Dangerous?" Parvati asked. She had momentarily relaxed but was now going back on high alert.

"Oh not to you. They seem to enjoy a good game of...well...ditch'em, so it were."

"They...tease us?"

"Well," Hagrid stroked his beard theatrically. "I wouldn't say 'tease ya'. More like...tempt fate. I think deep down they like to get caught, so long as it's a proper challenge. Anyway, like I say, ya' may just see 'em hiding. Sometimes, it works best if ya' put out yer light and jus' wait a while, in the quiet." He winked at Harry, and to Harry's enormous relief, Parvati wasn't looking at Hagrid's face, but examining the exceptionally clever fungus in his gigantic hand, so she didn't see it.

"What do we do if we catch one?" she asked hesitantly.

"Oh! I'm glad y'asked." Hagrid turned and took a leather pouch from a hook on the wall. It had a floppy lid that latched shut. "Just throw 'em in there. Calms 'em right down it does; I think they like the company. And maybe the dark."

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said. He wasn't going to admit it, but he had been holding his breath and hoping intently that their detention wouldn't involve any of the typical misunderstood but nonetheless deadly friends. Parvati might indeed never talk to him again.

"Harry..." Harry turned back to the hut. Fang was idly scratching at his collar with a paw the size of a salad plate, and Hagrid was leaning against his door frame. "Don't worry about looking for more than three hours or so." Harry turned back to Parvati, who looked as though she wanted to laugh at him. Three hours of hunting exceptionally clever fungi?

A while later, Harry was not laughing. Bluecap Spliners may have been the only fungus he knew with a sense of humor, and it looked to be a bad one, because as far as the hunt went, he was quite literally flailing in the dark. He couldn't tell if the shining he saw beyond the glow cast by his wand was caused by Spliners, animal eyes, or even insects; and every time he got anywhere near something glowing, it vanished without a trace. He tried peeling up a dead log but all he found underneath were a variety of things that squirmed and had lots of little legs.

Even worse, Parvati had captured a few of them, and she regarded his inadequacy at wrangling fungi with a certain sense of pride; the chosen one, Harry Potter, defied by a clever fungus. They had split up over Harry's intense objections, because Parvati said he breathed like a horse and couldn't sneak up on a not-particularly-alert plank of lumber. He could still see her wand glowing far behind him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a circle of bluish-violet glowing just beyond his wand light. Rather than turning to study it, he waited, watching Parvati's light off in the distance, then lunged with a mighty leap, directly into some sort of prickly shrub that was wrapped with a vine.

Between his fingers, a blue light glowed feebly. He had done it! He was the master of the Bluecap Spliner! He felt like bellowing in triumph, and might have, if he hadn't heard faint voices. He glanced behind him, where there was no longer any light from Parvati's wand. Harry stealthily disillusioned himself and crept forward, trying his best to avoid becoming entangled in the foliage or impaled on thorns. There was very little light in the forest, now that he had extinguished his wand, but he had been faithfully consuming the thick paste Neville had been making all year for his eyes, and amazingly, his night vision was pretty good. It helped that in front of him was a smallish clearing that let in some starlight.

It took a very long time to reach the point where he could see anything other than trees. When he did, he had to wave his hand in front of his eyes to ensure his eyes really were open, and he wasn't seeing things. Ahead of him was a robed wizard and the largest cat he had ever seen. The wizard was tall and broad, and vaguely familiar. The cat was a muted orange and black, even in the gloomy night, and looked longer than Harry was tall.

"I'm safe here," the tall wizard said. Connor, Harry realized, and he wasn't surprised. "You can't touch me." The tiger sat and licked its lips. Its teeth were longer than Harry's fingers. The cat casually swiped a nearby tree, leaving frightening-looking gashes in the bark. Connor stared at the mangled wood. "I know why you're here. You can't touch me at Hogwarts," he said, without as much bravado as before. "You might have come this far, but in here...I'm totally untrackable here. This place has protections for its students, and I'm a student."

Harry could have sworn the tiger shrugged. He wanted to stay and see more, but he was not about to endanger Parvati. She was still alone, out there somewhere in the dark, with a giant cat and a possibly unbalanced wizard on the loose.

With a burst of feathers, Harry shot from the bush. He only had a matter of moments before he shifted back into human Harry again, so the timing for this would be critical. Ahead of him, he could see a glimmer that may have been Parvati. His night vision was surprisingly not that great as a bird. After only a few seconds, he could feel the tingling in his fingers that meant he was shifting back, and he called out to Parvati.

It was still the screech of a hawk, and she looked up, her bright eyes gleaming. With a muffled poof, Harry burst back into his normal form in a cloud of feathers. He was still in the air, and was definitely not oriented in the proper way to comfortably survive a crash landing. As he flew over Parvati, he reached out and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her off her feet.

"Spatium Sinus!" The walls of the bubble had always looked and felt somewhat soft; inviting and curving, but when one was flying into them at a high rate of speed, they weren't at all soft. Immediately after he stunned himself slamming onto the wall, Parvati landed on top of him in a heap. She, too, looked curvy and inviting, and like the walls, it was a lie. At least for now it was.

"Harry! Have you gone mental?"

Harry had a dilemma. He did not want to admit to Parvati why he had very nearly killed them both...for once, it wasn't at all Hagrid's fault, but it would surely look to her like he had sent them both into a perilous situation. She would never trust Hagrid again, and she might even blame Harry. He also didn't know remotely what was going on with Connor, and Parvati was too smart and too curious to leave anything like this uninvestigated. If he was as dangerous as he seemed to be, that could be hazardous to Parvati's health. He hated to lie to her, but in this case, it might be best just to delay the story a little. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a somewhat battered Bluecap. It wiggled feebly. "I got one," he said, with a sheepish grin.

Parvati cocked her head. "You mean you swooped in like a mad pilot just to tell me you got one?" Harry shrugged, smiling. Parvati held the leather satchel aloft, unbuckling and opening the flap. "It looks rather lonely."

It did, in fact, look somewhat forlorn and sad, sitting in his palm all alone.

"Perhaps we should put it with these." There were several handfuls of Bluecap Spliners in the bag; far more, Harry was certain, than Hagrid could have expected in a week of nocturnal forays into the forest. She smiled triumphantly.

"Did you find a whole nest of them?"

"You don't respect me enough, Harry." She looked around. "Can you get out of these yet?" Harry didn't even consider lying this time. It was one thing to stall on the truth a little; it was another to tell a direct lie. That wasn't in Harry's character. Even if it was, Padma, Parvati's twin sister, was in Temporalism. He's wind up caught for sure. Anyway, he had a better idea.

"Well, yeah, but why?"

"You are a very bad person, Harry Potter."

"Maybe I am," he agreed. Sometimes he was.