Chapter 5. Troubles
"Hey, Hagel! A note for you," a Happlepuff Harry didn't recognise gave him a bit of parchment with all too familiar handwriting. Dumbledore wanted him in his office.
Harry was so startled he nearly forgot he wasn't supposed to know the way past the gargoyles. Fortunately Nick was floating by, looking at once curious and solicitous, and Harry went through the charade of asking him to be his guide. The ghost was trying to give Harry some (mostly unhelpful) tips on how to conduct himself with the Headmaster, but Harry was too busy wondering what he had done to attract the man's notice and whether "Mozartkugel" was chosen as a password for his benefit, to pay attention. Luckily Nick, rather than thinking him churlish, attributed his unresponsiveness to the anxiety any student was bound to feel when summoned to the headmaster's office.
The circular room was exactly as he remembered it, complete with portraits faking sleep in their frames and the assortment of silver instruments on the man's desk. Fawkes was nowhere to be seen, but the Headmaster wasn't alone. There was a man standing so straight he might have had a broomstick shoved up his ass, Harry thought. He was wearing plain-cut, yet expensive looking navy blue robes, and the expression on his long thin face that was at once unreadable and implacable.
"You wanted to see me, Professor Dumbledore? Hello, Mr. Crouch," Harry had no trouble recognising the Head of the Law Enforcement. It had something to do with the jinxed Nimbus, then.
"Oh, so you've met already. Good, good. Come in, Mr. Hagel, take as seat," Dumbledore made a welcoming gesture. Crouch nodded his greeting, and took a seat to Harry's right and across the Headmaster.
"I am here to make inquires into the broom incident at your match with Ravenclaw," Crouch was not the one for small talk, obviously.
"Yes, Sir. I appreciate your taking your time."
Crouch nodded without disclaiming. They all knew that it wouldn't normally be a matter for someone of his rank to look at it personally. He was clearly here as a favour to Harry's Father and Grandfather.
"Tell us what happened," he ordered.
Harry gave a brief account of the incident.
"What do you think was the cause of the broomstick's malfunction?"
"It must have been jinxed, Sir. I cannot think of any other explanation. A Hurtling Jinx or some modification of it, I believe. I think it was triggered when I used acceleration. Whenever I upped the tempo the broom started to move jerkily, and when I finally pushed it to the speed limit it snapped and sent me hurtling into the air."
"Hmm," Crouch scribbled something in his notebook. "Well, that's what I was told that had happened. I will of course have to look into you mind to examine the memory properly, but –"
"No!" the panicked response was out of Harry's mouth before he had time to think of more diplomatic answer. Dumbledore, he noticed, look annoyed at Crouch's presumption. Crouch gave Harry an even more annoyed look.
"There is nothing to be afraid of. It's not painful, and not likely to cause any damage. It is your own interests not to hamper the investigation, Mr. Hagel," he said impatiently.
"Barty," Dumbledore started, but Harry talked over him.
"I am sorry, Sir, but I am simply not comfortable with the idea of exposing my mind," he said firmly. "There were quite a few adults, watching the match, I am sure they will be able to extract the relevant memories for you to peruse in the Pensieve."
"Quite right," Dumbledore was regarding Harry curiously. "Both Filius and Minerva were present, and will, I am sure, gladly provide the requisite memories. You are welcome to use my Pensieve, while you are here, Barty. I cannot stress how grateful I am that you are conducting the investigation personally, my dear boy," he added diplomatically.
"Very well," Crouch looked anything but gratified, but dropped the matter. He also – being either in his mid-forties or early fifties – didn't seem to relish being address as "dear boy", Harry surmised. He wondered if Dumbledore was being obnoxious on purpose. "Who has had the access to your broomstick?" Crouch pursued.
Harry hesitated.
"I don't see how it could have been anyone, but a Gryffindor, Sir. None of us would dream to leave our brooms unattended outside the tower, especially before the match."
"You think it was sabotaged prior to the match?"
"Yes, it was working normally when we trained. Unless there was the timing spell on top of everything else," Harry amended.
Crouch scribbled a few more notes.
"Do you have enemies in your house?"
"I've had an occasional quarrel. Nothing that would make anyone to want me dead, though."
"Have you not fought a duel recently?"
How the hell has Crouch found that out already?! Harry squinted at Dumbledore. The old man looked startled, and then amused in quick succession.
"I have, yes. But no one was injured, and my adversary formally apologised. I don't believe he has anything to do with that."
"You said no one was injured, and yet the school Matron tells me she treated you for a Stinging Hex recently."
Harry must have looked as betrayed as he felt, since Dumbledore felt it behoved him to intercede on Madam Pomfrey behalf.
"There was an attempt on your life, Mr. Hagel. Every line of inquiry should be pursed, as Madam Pomfrey well understands."
It was going to be the most unpleasant interview, after all. Harry described the duel with Stebbins in detail. He did not even leave out the snake bit, since MacLaggen was in truth a more likely culprit, than Stebbins to Harry's way of thinking. Both adults were frowning at him when he got to that part, no doubt being aware of the Hagel family's parseltongue abilities.
"And what of the Stinging hex?"
"It was nothing, Sir, a prank gone wrong."
"You are wasting my time here, Mr. Hagel"
"I was attacked outside the Gryffindor Tower. The attacker was invisible."
"Doesn't sound like prank to me."
"They didn't attempt anything truly dangerous, whoever they were. It escalated when I retaliated a trifle too forcefully."
"Hmm. Where were you at the time?"
"The owlery."
"I insist on accessing your memory, since there were no adult witnesses."
"I am sorry, Sir, but I have not studied Occlumency. I cannot agree to a mind invasion, while I have no way to protect my memories."
Crouch was incensed.
"Are you suggesting, that I would somehow sabotage you memories?! I am here to help you, boy!"
Harry was trying frantically to think of an appropriate answer, when Dumbledore once again firmly intervened on his behalf.
"I am afraid, I couldn't allow this even if Mr. Hagel were agreeable, dear boy," he said apologetically. You know the rules, Barty, since Harry here is underage, we would have to apply to his parents for the permission first."
Crouch shrugged impatiently.
"I am here on Martin Hagel's behest."
"I appreciate it, Sir, truly. It's just that I really abhor the idea of mind invasions," Harry was looking carefully down, at this stage. He was fairly certain that he would notice his mind being probed, but wasn't about to risk being wrong.
"Understandably so, I am sure," Dumbledore said placidly. "I think it's best if you could interview Filius now," he turned to Crouch. "The forensic he'd done was very thorough; I think it'll be of interest to you."
"Can I go now, Professor," Harry asked eagerly.
"Certainly, my boy," Dumbledore answered before Crouch could put his foot down.
"I will insist on viewing that memory, Mr. Hagel. Expect an owl from your father soon."
With that Harry ran from the circular office and went in search of the marauders.
James looked sulky as Harry pulled him and Sirius out of the dormitory, to warn about the Crouch investigation.
"So it's not enough for you that you landed me in trouble with McGanagall, now you are saying you might sic the bloody Aurors on me?!"
"I didn't sic anyone on you. I don't believe Dad would give Crouch the permission to mess with my head. And it's hardly my fault that Pomfrey ratted on me. All I am saying, be careful with the cloak. Cut down on the midnight excursions and stuff for the time being."
"You didn't have to say anything about invisible opponents."
"Oh? Would you rather I framed some unsuspected Slytherin?" James looked like he found the idea a perfectly reasonable alternative. Harry sighed. "The head of the DLE is here on my father's request to investigate a murder attempt. I had to give him something, you know."
"But you told him everything about the duel?" Sirius interjected.
"Everything, except the unseen on-lookers, yes. The duel wasn't exactly a secret."
"Hypothetical on-lookers," the boy smirked. "Did you tell him about the snake?"
"Yes. It's not an Unforgivable Curse, you know."
"Still pretty spooky, though. Bet, Crouch wasn't favourably impressed."
"Yeah, he doesn't seem to be my biggest fan."
"Well, you are now in the select company with my Grandfather. Crouch hates him with passion," Sirius observed.
"Huh," that would explain how Sirius had never got his trial, Harry thought.
"Not surprising, is it?" James snorted. "You grandfather has a certain faiblesse
for all thing Dark."
"It's all about politics, actually. Grandfather was against his appointment."
"All the more reason for you to keep a low profile." Harry said, making a note to self to find out what sort of bone Crouch had to pick with Sirius's family. "Which grandfather is that?" he asked.
"Pollux. How do you now my folks?"
"Heard of them. My father is a member of Wizengamot."
"Do you think Crouch will interview Evans?" James asked frowningly.
"I didn't er… implicate her. Said I'd taken exception to Stebbins's m-word usage because of Mum."
"Stebbins and McLaggen will likely rectify that," Sirius warned.
"Why should they? Picking on a first year doesn't exactly make them look good."
"Are you still working on the assumption that it was a Gryff?" James wanted to know. "The spell-work would point to a Ravenclaw."
Harry shook his head. "They'd have to have help from the tower," he said.
"That doesn't eliminate us," Sirius pointed out. "I could smuggle your broom for someone like Bambi to spell." James looked nonplussed.
"Do you want me to rat on you to Crouch?" Harry asked irritably.
"No, just don't get why'd you go easy on us." Sirius looked at him intently.
Harry sighed. "I like you," he said, "though I might reconsider that, if you keep insisting on being annoying prats. For what it's worth, I don't believe you guys tried to kill me."
James didn't seem to have found anything wrong with that reasoning, but Sirius looked bemused. "And you didn't say anything about Van der Velde, because you like her too?"
"There is nothing to say, about Asta," Harry was exasperated. "Except that she saved my neck. I did mention that bit, don't worry." Harry felt thoroughly fed up with the conversation. "Right. I am 've been warned."
The next couple of days passed in a flurry of owls and an occasional raven. Minnie (the family snowy owl), Floyd and Gordon all were carrying letters, notes and even a Howler. (Harry succumbed to the stress, and send one to his Grandfather. Julius seemed to like Crouch well enough, and had argued that legilimency, was unpleasant, but necessary means to the end.) For the moment Harry's obstinacy seemed to have won the day, but his family was worried, and just as obstinate about getting to the bottom of the matter. Harry knew they wouldn't leave well alone, and even advised James to send the cloak back home for the duration of the investigation.
Thankfully it wasn't the only thing to occupy his thoughts. He finally broke down and 'fessed up to the twins about the Room of Requirement. They were appropriately amazed, and postponed their project in favour of conducting some extremely risqué experiments with it. For his part Harry was astounded that none of those had even occurred to him during his teenage years first time around. He could see that his friends at least were going to use the Room for more than just pranking and magical research. When they finally got down to the latter Harry started to feel somewhat daunted by the complexity of his undertaking. He couldn't properly say to have understood half of the theory that was mentioned in the manuals as a matter of course. It seemed that he would have to study all the fusty tomes Ralf had sent to him after all.
There was some fascinating new gossip as well. McLaggen suddenly became a topic of everyone's conversation when he broke up with the pretty and popular Daisy Sackville and took up with a Gryffindor seventh year Maud Dern. There were so much wrong about that development that the entire school had been buzzing for days. Maud was a pureblood from an ancient house, but that was about the only thing to recommend her. The family had frittered their fortune and standing a few generations back, and it showed, as the girl had to buy all her things second-hand, and had next to no pocket money. Someone like Ginny might not have allowed trifles like that to slow them down, but Maud was tall, lanky and plain with pale long horsy face, her unattractiveness accentuated by long, shapeless conservative clothing. Everyone knew her home situation was dismal what with a useless moocher of a father and a mother working for peanuts as an apothecary's assistant. Essentially Maud was a female version of Snape, only completely friendless and not that gifted magically. She was a decent potion-brewer though. Because of that and her unfortunate looks she was given a cruel nickname 'Antidote'.
It was inconceivable that McLaggen, who regarded himself as the Prince of Gryffindor, would look twice at such a girl. She was much older, unpopular and was deemed ugly. Harry could well remember McLaggen himself calling her Antidote, sometimes even in her hearing. Recalling Merope Gaunt, Harry even half suspected the foul play, but if anyone showed the signs of sick devotion, it was Maud, while McLaggen was being his usual obnoxious self, preening and strutting and sneaking glances at the Ravenklaw table. That Daisy instead of laughing her head off at this turn of events was said to be completely devastated by McLaggen's betrayal was even more incomprehensible to Harry. He also couldn't quite get past the queer coincidence of Crouch starting his investigation and McLaggen damping Daisy. In his guts Harry knew there was something there that begged for a second look, but he couldn't even begin to connect the dots.
What with the fascinating new scandals and piled up homework Harry and the twins were sitting in the Common Room writing essays for a change when a very pale and ill-looking Remus approached them with some intimidating looking volume.
"Are you, guys still interested in that Aztec thing?" he asked.
"Sure," Gideon said. "Did you find anything?"
"Not much. I, uh, needed time to settle down and then I got sick…"Remus trailed blushing.
"Well, it's not exactly your responsibility," Harry interjected. "Anything you've done is greatly appreciated."
"Right. I haven't found anything about the amulet itself," but there is something on the whole Cortes debacle."
"Well," Fabian said. "Spill."
"It's about the gold. Basically the entire expedition was the brainchild of the Supreme Magus of the Pyrenean Assembly, Aron the Beardless. You see the Inquisition had been busy rounding witches and wizards, and what with Aron being a Moor on top of everything else…"
"Wait," Harry interjected, "Why would that even matter? For the wizards, I mean. Didn't Wendolin the Weird let herself burned like hundred times?"
Remus shook his head.
"Wendolin was a Derbyshire witch," he dismissed. "British wizards were pretty united against the Church fundamentalists, but in Spain there were quite a few who offered their services to Torquemada. He was himself a squib, so he was well-versed in the wizading culture, and well-connected too."
"That's daft," Gideon said, "why would they do that?"
"Internal squabbles," Remus said impatiently. "They hoped to topple Aron. Anyway, the wizards of the New World didn't embrace wand magic, and as a result they lived in harmony with other magical races. Goblins in particular loved to work with them and let them use their gold without the usual bitchiness and the exorbitant fees. The old world wizards reckoned that such state of affairs undermined their policies. So after Torquemada finally croaked, Aron saw an opening to stump out the opposition. He first arranged for the election of a Spanish Pope with ties to the Pyrenean Assembly, and once Borgia was installed sold him on the idea that plundering the Goblin gold in the New World was the surest way to replenish the Papal Treasury. In exchange he called the Inquisition off Aron's back. And of course Aron saw the weakening of the Goblins as a bonus. Mind you Borgia died before these plans came to fruition, but even his more fundamentalist successors weren't immune to the idea of quantities of gold coming their way."
"That's why they were so eager to melt artefacts into ingots?" Harry asked fascinated. "So they couldn't be traced?"
"It's probably more to do with the fear of Goblin magic," Remus said pensively. "Aron dispatched a few wizards with Cortes, but wizading magic is different, they were probably just covering their asses."
"So how come our amulet is not Goblin-made?"
"I don't know," Remus sounded absurdly apologetic. "Some sources state that by the time Cortes showed-up there appeared a few human goldsmiths and even smithies that worked bronze…The trouble is, these are muggle sources so they are incomplete…"
"Why couldn't Goblins just sell Aztecs some iron weapons if they were so friendly?"
"Goblins have a firm policy on not arming humans," Remus sounded surprised at Harry's ignorance. "It would be like wizards selling goblins a few wands."
"Huh," no wonder Griphook was so agitated about the sword, Harry thought. "Could it be a muggle artefact?" Harry wondered.
"Right," Fabian snorted. "You weren't there when that thing was de-cursed. If muggles are capable of that—"
"I know, but it is perfectly possible to enchant a muggle object."
"Even is the artefact is a muggle one, the creature depicted is magical, if extinct," Remus pointed out.
"Is it?" Harry and Gideon chorused.
"Of course," Remus looked at them surprised. "Quetzalcoatl was like Mesoamerican Merlin and Arthur in one."
"You gotta be kidding," Harry felt his brains melting. "Are you saying that this plumy snake thing is actually some kind of ancient animagus?"
"The Feathered Serpent," Remus corrected. "Or the Flying Reptile. And yes."
Before Harry could consult Hernandez on the subject of Mesoamerican most famous amimagus he had a letter to Ralf to owl. On his way back from the owlery he made a detour to a bathroom only to stumble on James and Sirius who were busy trying to change a Petrified Snape's tie into the Hufflepuff colours.
"Expeliarmus! Finite Incantatem! I see you two are back to two-on-one chivalrous pranking," Harry was too tired to manage righteous indignation.
"What do you care?" Sirius demanded exasperated.
"Fortunately for you, I don't. I am not a prefect, thank Merlin," Harry sneered. He tossed all three boys their wands. "Scram," he ordered turning away.
He heard Snape shouting some nasty hex, and James following with the disarming jinx. Immediately his back exploded in searing pain. Harry hissed, and torn off his robes and shirt, craning his neck to see his back in the bathroom mirror. Sure enough his entire right side was covered with ugly looking festering boils.
"You little dunderhead!" he rounded on a newly disarmed Snape. "You do realise that there are senior Aurors in the school right this moment investigating the broom incident?"
Snape paled.
"I've nothing to do with that!"
"Yeah? Good luck telling that to the Aurors. They've got a murder attempt on their hands and the whole lot of nothing to go on. The only persons of interest are well-connected purebloods. What do you bet that they won't take one look at you and think you'll make a perfect scapegoat?"
Snape was staring at him with wide open horrified eyes.
"I—" he stopped obviously fighting tears.
"Do you know how to reverse it?"
"Not with a spell. You'll need a strong boil solution."
"Then you'd better brew it, wouldn't you?"
"How? I mean, where? I can't exactly set up a lab in my dormitory."
"That's not my problem," Harry said coldly. "And hurry up, you've got exactly twenty four hours, before I go to Pomfrey," Harry glanced at his watch. "You are not my friend, Severus, so I won't play martyr even a second longer for you, understand?"
"Why are you playing martyr at all then?" Snape was scowling at him suspiciously.
"Because now you'll owe me a favour, and one day I'll be sure to call it in."
Snape nodded, snatched his wand from James's slackened grip, and ran out of the bathroom.
Wincing at the throbbing pain in his back Harry examined the ruined robes and shirt.
"Not good," he stated resignedly. "Could you, guys, ask the twins to get me something to wear? I am not up to transfiguring stuff right now."
"You'll never last twenty four hours without the numbing potion," James frowned.
"I'd better," Harry grimaced, "What with my life supposedly in danger, Pomfrey would be sure to alert the Aurors, if I ask so much for a headache remedy."
An hour or so later Harry was sitting on his four-poster gritting his teeth in pain and trying to distract himself with the Hernandez's book. James was right, he acknowledged, he overestimated his tolerance to pain. He wondered what would happen if he broke down in the middle of Transfiguration. And what of the Quidditch practice tomorrow? Not good. Why he was even covering for that little git?
"Hey, Hagel. You busy?" Sirius interrupted his miserable ruminations.
"What is it," Harry snapped.
"Just thought you might like some of this," Sirius smirked brandishing a vial with purple liquid. The numbing potion.
"How did you get it?"
"We have our ways."
"I bet you do. Thanks!"
"There was the boil solution too in the cabinet, but I figured you'll want to hold Snivellus to your bargain."
"Not especially. But I appreciate the thought."
"If you don't want a favour from him, why did you say you do?" Sirius sounded baffled.
"I said it because that's the reasoning he understands. He'd never believe it if said I don't want to get him in trouble. Besides, I might well need a favour one day."
"Why do you care one way or another? Or do you like him as well?"
Harry sighed, and drank the potion.
"Not really. He isn't very likable, is he? You can be as much of a git as him, when you want to, Sirius. And I know better than anyone that some of your pranks are downright malicious. Yet most people can't help liking you and James. It's not fair, you know. Lily is about the only good thing that has happened to Snape in all his wretched existence and I just don't want to add to his misery, if I can help it."
"What do you know of his existence?"
"Apart from the fact that you and James are the bane of it? All his things are second-hand and his cloths don't even fit properly. His personal hygiene sucks, he is socially inept and emotionally stunted. You can tell he is from a very unhappy home, it's not exactly the twelve uses of dragon blood."
"You don't need to be from a happy home to know how to wash your hair!"
"I suppose not. You need to be taught these things though. It is pretty obvious that he wasn't. I understand his mother is a witch, and yet she can't be bothered to resize his cloths, never mind find shirts that don't look like girls' blouses. What chance does he have to be a normal kid?"
Sirius rolled his eyes.
"Watch it: you are going to be beatified any moment now," he snorted.
"You didn't say so when I kept you two out of trouble," Harry said evenly. "Anyway, thanks. This stuff is working."
Next morning another Puff he didn't recognise gave Harry a note with in Dumbledore's spiky handwriting. He was expected at the Headmaster's office at six. Fortunately Snape came through with the potion well before that time, for as soon as Harry came into the circular room he realised that he'd need all his wits about him. Unnumbed.
This time McGonagall and his father were present, and instead of Crouch a slightly younger Auror with a distinctive leonine head as yet unmarred with silver was sitting across Dumbledore's desk. Before Harry had time to decide whether he was better or worse off with Scrimgeour instead of Crouch, Dumbledore introduced the man and explained that since Harry's parents had refused to give their agreement to legilimency he would have to undergo a questioning under Veritaserum. That was probably why Crouch had bailed on the investigation, Harry realised. He wouldn't have taken kindly to Martin's refusal. Judging by Scrimgeour's expression the Auror deemed the task well beneath his dignity. That could actually be to Harry's advantage. After all, with Veritaserum everything depends on the person who asks questions. If Harry could manage to keep his wits about him he just might be able pull through it without implicating the marauders. Well, he'd just have to. He'd resisted Voldemort's Imperius at fourteen; he should be able to handle Scrimgeour.
"I understand, Sir," he nodded to the Headmaster.
A/N:
There was some concern that Harry is depicted in my story as not a very good flyer or a very able wizard. That's not how I see it. In canon Harry was a great flyer, yes, but he had always had superior brooms. At one point Draco had a slightly newer model, but he was a worse flyer. And then Harry got his Firebolt and that was that. No one could hope to keep up, no matter how good they were. I thought it would be interested to see for once how he would fare against a very good flyer on a better broom. And he still won the match! So he is really very good.
As for his magic. In canon Harry performed extraordinary feats in extraordinary circumstances. Outside those circumstances he was neither overly gifted, not particularly ambitious. In my story he is actually both talented and accomplished beyond his years (and there going to be more on that as the story progresses). He had no trouble winning his duel against older students. And he certainly drew on his superior experience during the owlery skirmish. I mean he didn't know any of those hexes at thirteen in canon. But I think it is important to remember that the marauders (and Snape, for that matter) were quite extraordinary in their own right in canon. Everyone said so. So I didn't want it to be too easy a victory. Besides, I think all too powerful Harry would be a bit boring…