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Posted February 1, 2014
SUMMARY: The Commonwealth provides something astounding for Harry's accommodations during the tournament, something neither the headmaster, nor the Ministry likes in the least; an incident after class results in tighter security around Harry, and a very nasty message being delivered to the headmaster; and the first task of the tournament has a rather unexpected outcome.
11: THE FIRST TASK
November 8 – 24, 2004
Harry guessed the object to be at least twenty-five hundred feet in length, and easily three hundred feet high, including the cluster of masts and antennas which protruded from the structure near its middle. Near what Harry guessed was the front, in enormous letters of a simple font was the word RAGNAR.
"Jesus Christ," Tommy swore.
"It's... it's a ship," said Mazhe, equally astounded.
"Her Majesty's Ship Ragnar, flagship of the Atlantic fleet," said Justin, with a mad grin, "Looks like your accommodation will be on Commonwealth soil. Twenty-five-hundred feet of it anyway."
"How the hell does it fly?!" Tommy was still struck dumb at what he was seeing.
"Magic, of course," answered Justin, simply, as they now hurried toward where the lawyers were gathered. Harry, meanwhile, was smirking madly. How would the whiskered wanker deal with THIS?!
The loud crack had certainly been heard inside the castle, and within minutes, a large number of its occupants, including some of the teachers, were streaming out onto the grounds. Harry couldn't hear what was being said, but there was lots of fingers pointing at the massive object now dominating the landscape. The ship was completely white, with numerous windows and hatches along the side—Harry lost count at twenty-six different floors, or decks. The upper part of the ship seemed to be carved by a series of large hatches, of which one of them was opening.
Then, something was ejected from said hatch, and it blasted into the sky, making a wide turn over the grounds. It somewhat resembled an aircraft, but the wings were really small—if they could be considered wings. It was clear this craft was completely powered by magic, exactly as a broom was... and come to think of it, it seemed to handle EXACTLY like a broom.
It was making a rapid descent now, and within thirty seconds of it blasting out the side of the ship, it hovered a few feet from the group. Up close, it was roughly twenty feet in length, and other than the rather short wing span, it very closely resembled an extremely compact jet fighter. On the side of the cockpit was the label: CAPT. DAN "DITCH" ROWLAND. The canopy slid back to reveal the pilot, dressed in a Muggle flight suit.
"Harry Potter?" he asked, simply.
"That would be me," Harry answered calmly. Inwardly, his heart was racing. Once again, the Commonwealth was bending over backwards, for him.
"This is a port key that will take you and your party up to the ship. The commander's waiting to meet you."
"Thank you, captain," said Harry, accepting the object—a soccer ball of all things.
"Pleasure's all mine, Mr. Potter."
The pilot gave a salute and pulled the canopy closed, and within moments, the aircraft was back in the air, flying back toward the ship.
"Ditch?" Justin had to giggle. "Have to wonder how he earned that nickname."
"Mr. Potter. You have the port key?" questioned Mr. Sampson.
"Yeah."
"Excellent. If we could gather around then. The ship's commander will be waiting for us," said Miss Connor. The group gathered around Harry, and put fingers on the port key.
"Activate," Harry whispered, and they were whisked away with a blur of appendages.
Albus Dumbledore was shocked. He had expected the Commonwealth to provide a Wizarding tent or something of the sort... but to bring a fearsome military vessel inside of England's borders? The Minister will have a fit!
"Well, this is most certainly unexpected, Albus," said McGonagall. They were observing from the massive front doors to the castle.
"I had expected something somewhat... smaller," Dumbledore confessed. "I have to protest this intrusion."
"And have the Commonwealth pull Harry away from the school altogether? You'll do no such thing, Albus. I have to wonder why is it you keep provoking the boy?"
"There are things in motion which all depend on young Harry. If he continues on the path he's on, he will forsake his destiny, and our world will be consumed by darkness. It is that simple," Dumbledore answered, gravely.
"I can only see a boy who is more than happy with the circle of friends around him. If there is a part for him to play in our future then let it be. Continuously provoking him will only lead to more grief for him, and for the school. You do remember the last meeting of the board of governors?"
"Yes, I remember all too well." Dumbledore frowned, seeing the plane-like object fly out of the side of the ship.
"I would rather it be some time before I must take over your duties full-time, Albus. But you keep at whatever you're playing at, and that is exactly what will happen."
"Oh, I strongly doubt that. The Commonwealth may protest and make noise now and then, but where it matters, there isn't a lot they can do. Not being a member of the Confederation significantly limits their influence."
"My opinion, however, along with the opinions of my colleagues, most certainly DO count, now, don't they?" said McGonagall, waspishly. "I do truly take exception to your attitude toward Potter; it borders on obsession."
The group landed in what looked like an upscale reception area. Harry landed on his feet this time, and wasted no time helping Tommy to his feet—he was the only one to land uncomfortably. Port key travel was old hat for most of them by this point.
"Mr. Potter? Welcome aboard." The speaker was an elderly man, and by the uniform he wore, Harry knew he was the ship's captain. He had a ruddy face, and grey eyes.
"Sir," Harry simply said.
"Captain Stephen O'Toole," said the man, "Welcome aboard the HMS Ragnar."
"Thank you for coming. I, uh, didn't expect this."
"The crown is displeased with the continued obsessive attention the nation of your birth continues to foist on you, Mr. Potter. Commander Tyrone Dawson, I'm the Ragnar's XO, and your comfort will be my responsibility during your stay with us." He offered a hand, and Harry shook it.
"Uh, this is Mazhe, Justin, and Tommy, and-" Harry began to introduce.
"Albert Sampson, and my colleague, Joyce Conner, Crown Attorney's office."
"Naturally, we're handling things from a legal standpoint," said Miss Connor.
"I have your contact information in my mobile," said Justin.
"Uh, if you'll follow me then, I'll show you all to the guest quarters you've been assigned," said Commander Dawson.
From the outside, the Ragnar looked enormous. Inside, she was colossal. It seemed to take nearly a half-hour to get from the entry hall to the guest quarters. There were numerous corridors, several flights of stairs, and an elevator ride before they at last arrived.
"This place is enormous," Harry commented.
"Lots of expansion charms, and of course you know of the Orb of Magnus. It was instrumental in the construction," the commander explained.
"The government still hasn't scratched the surface of what it's capable of, Harry," Justin reminded him.
"Here we are," said Commander Dawson, as they came to a stop in front of a set of double doors. He put his hand on the doors, and they momentarily glowed blue before opening on their own accord. "Come on inside."
"Damn," said Tommy, as they walked in. It was a modern version of the set of rooms they'd been provided with back at Hogwarts. There was a large if simple fireplace along one wall, with seating for at least ten people. Doors led off the room on both sides, with a set of windows opposite the fireplace, affording them a view of the outside—in this case, Hogwarts and its grounds.
"Through the door to your left, is a more formal conference room. Since this place is yours for the long term, feel free to adjust things to your liking. The door to the right leads to a suite of rooms, more than enough for all of you—and it's my understanding you have a few friends back at the castle and such. Once you get settled, we'll set up appropriate security clearance so they may be allowed to visit."
"Though I doubt Dumbledore will ever allow it," Harry muttered.
"Let us worry about Dumbledore," said Miss Connor.
"Thanks for doing this. I didn't sleep very well the last couple of nights—even with my circle of friends around me. I don't trust the old man far as I can throw him."
"What about meals and stuff like that?" Tommy asked.
"You're all welcome to join the crew in the mess hall, but if you like, we can have meals sent here. The conference room can double as a dining room," Commander Dawson explained.
"I guess... for now, I'd like for us to eat in private," Harry decided, "If that's okay with everyone else. Even as kind a gesture as this is, I'm not cool with the extra attention. It's one of the reasons I don't like shopping in Diagon Alley."
"That is to be expected. But realize, Mr. Potter, you are the most important person in our world, that coming from the Guardians of the Magnus. The government wants to ensure you're protected and equipped with the proper tools and knowledge for when the time comes for you to face your destiny."
Harry let out a sigh, and ran a hand through his hair.
"I guess I should expect that by now. At least you guys aren't coddling me and keeping me in the dark about things. Contrary to Dumbledore and the stupid British Ministry."
"On the issue of your ongoing lessons and training. Once you get settled, call up to the AIC—" the commander pointed to a telephone set on the wall by the door, "It's One-two-zero. We'll send someone down to show you where the ship's library and research facility is, as well as the athletic centre."
"What's AIC?" Harry asked.
"Action Information Centre," the Commander answered, "It's the operations centre for the ship. For now, strictly off limits for all of you, as are a number of other places, given the military nature of the ship."
"I understand."
"We'll keep him from wandering too far," said Justin, smirking.
"And Mr. Fraser. There is a satellite office for your Ministry here as well, I'll have someone show you where it is later on."
"Well. That makes things easy," said Justin.
"So not everyone's military here then," Tommy guessed.
"No. The Ragnar's military in nature, but it's grown to a reasonable-sized city over the years."
"How old is she?"
"The keel was laid in 1934, and she was finished ten years later. What you see now is the result of many years of expansions and improvements."
"If my knowledge of these ships is right, there is a push on to have a civilian government established and make them official cities of the Commonwealth rather than simply fighting platforms."
"There has been much talk about that, yes," the Commander agreed, "But Captain O'Toole and the commanders of the other ships disagree with that. We are first and foremost a fighting platform, built to enforce the safety and sovereignty of Valicadia."
"And you?"
"I have to agree with my captain. We are here to preserve democracy, not to practice it."(1)
"XO report to the AIC," came a voice from the speaker below the telephone set. They could also hear it outside, over the public address system.
"Forgive me, looks like I'm needed," said the Commander, "Take some time to get settled in, and I'll try and get back down in an hour or so."
"Thank you, Commander," said Harry. The Commander gave a salute, then left the suite.
"This is outstanding," said Justin, looking impressed.
"C'mon, let's get settled. Harry, maybe you could call Dobby and get him to bring our stuff from the castle," Mazhe suggested.
"Yeah, good thinking. Let's pick out rooms first though..."
By the time dinner rolled around, they had settled into rooms, and had Dobby collect everything from the guest rooms at Hogwarts. Harry then had the elf deliver a letter to Professor McGonagall thanking her for the temporary accommodations over the weekend, and equally informing her they had now settled into more long-term accommodations thanks to the Commonwealth. He also asked for a class schedule, letting her know an owl would reach him even though he was on board the ship.
Later that evening, a reply came by owl. Surprisingly, the bird flew right through the window, as if the glass were not there at all. It was obviously a school owl, and Harry quickly relieved it of its letter. It did not wait for a reply but simply took off, leaving the way it came. Harry grinned, seeing Tommy's expression.
"You've not met Hedwig yet."
"Where is she anyway, Harry?" Justin asked.
"With the Weasleys. Now that I'm sort of back at Hogwarts, guess I should fetch her."
Harry broke the seal on the envelope and pulled out the parchment inside. There were actually two items, one of which being the class schedule.
Potter,
Though I know you aren't happy about being back at Hogwarts, it is good to somewhat have you back with us, and I say that only with honest intentions. Find enclosed your class schedule for this year. I do not know what sort of lessons and training you have been receiving so far this term, but if you wish to attend classes, it is not that late in the term for you to get caught up. I will avail myself should you need any extra tutoring, although knowing what you do, that is unlikely.
Our first Hogsmeade weekend will be November 20, and our last day of term is December 16.
Should you have any further questions or concerns, do not hesitate to come visit me in my office, or send me an owl.
Best wishes and the best of luck in the tournament.
Professor McGonagall
Harry gave a brief smile, as he slid the parchment back into its envelope. Professor McGonagall was definitely an ally at the school, although those were generally hard to come by these days. Most of the school was giving him frigid glares and downright shunning him, thinking he was a cheat, somehow managing to trick an extremely old and powerful magical artefact.
Of all the students, however, Malfoy and his henchmen were the worst. They had managed to create badges which alternated between "Support Cedric Diggory" and "Potter Stinks". There was no way the Slytherins had managed to do that, he mused. More than likely Malfoy had paid someone to do the charms. There was nothing that would convince Harry otherwise.
Naturally, the Daily Prophet was having a field day with regards to his entry into the tournament, calling him a cheat and an attention-getter. Hermione had been sure to show them the previous editions, and the Commonwealth lawyers were making lots of notes from them. There was a question of whether the Commonwealth would be able to do anything about it, and once again, Harry certainly appreciated the effort the government was putting into his comfort.
12 November, 2004 / 12 Sun's Dusk, 4E199
The week had moved along pretty quickly all in all. He realized he didn't have to do too much as far as the schedule was concerned, with the afternoon free on Wednesdays, and the mornings free on Tuesdays, he was able to change his training schedule with his teachers in Riften. They were all aware, of course, that there would likely be times he would still miss, considering the tournament, among other things.
He otherwise took part in the regular year four schedule, and had just left Potions, heading up to the Great Hall for dinner. Snape was slightly less-volitile this year, bordering on fair for a change. The lesson had covered antidotes, and Harry had received an 'A' for the period. Occupied with his thoughts, he never saw it coming.
Next thing Harry knew, he was looking at the white-washed ceiling of the hospital wing.
"...completely unacceptable, headmaster! He is a guest of the school and yet this happens!" Alice was breathing fire, letting the bumbling buffoon have it with both barrels. "Harry won't be spending another second within this castle's walls, if he doesn't want to... never in all my life..."
"Harry?!" He turned to find Hermione sitting at his bedside, and she wasn't alone. Ron was there, as was Mazhe, Justin, and surprisingly, Tommy. Harry tried to move, but found he was bound from the neck down.
"Right mess you've got yourself into, Mr. Potter," said Madam Pomfrey, frowning, and shooing the others out of the way so she could check on him.
"What happened?" Harry found his voice raspy and dry.
"Bludgeoning curse. You're lucky they didn't break your spinal cord, but I've been forced to regrow your spine. You'll be in for a rough night. Drink this."
"Regrow his spine?"
Tommy looked ill at the thought, as Madam Pomfrey pressed a cup to Harry's lips. Harry took a gulp, and promptly sprayed the bed with it.
"Uhg!"
"What do you expect, young man, pumpkin juice?!"
Harry grimaced, and took another gulp of the nasty concoction, narrowly able to force it down. He swallowed.
"Last... thing I remember... I was headed up to the Great Hall after Potions."
"A Prefect found you in the dungeons an hour ago. We contacted Professor McGonagall when you didn't return to the ship at 7 o'clock as we agreed," said Justin.
"What... what time is it now?"
"Going on midnight," Justin answered.
"We were just going to find McGonagall ourselves," said Hermione, "You did say you were going to take dinner with us."
"Yeah, Hermione thought it was odd when you didn't show," Ron threw in.
"Thanks for looking out for me, guys, but... you've got class in the morning. G-get some rest."
"Harry..."
"I'm okay. Really, guys." Harry thought for a moment. "Justin, I... need you to take Mazhe back to the College and let Tolfdir know I won't be able to teach my morning Alteration class tomorrow."
"I can see to that myself, Harry, Tolfdir knows who I am."
"Uh, right. Okay."
"You're sure you're okay, Harry?" Hermione pressed.
"I'll be fine. These guys have my back as it is. Get some sleep, guys, I mean it."
Hermione got up and gave Harry's hand a squeeze. Then, with Ron following, she left the hospital wing.
"She's a keeper, Harry," said Tommy.
"I think if she wasn't forced to attend here, she would likely stick with us instead—"
Harry let out a hiss, feeling the powerful potion begin to take effect. It was going to be a long night indeed. Justin gave Harry a pointed look, but he too stood up and left the room.
"You won't be walking the castle alone from this point onward," said Mazhe, as though his say was final. "That's if you want to stay at all. I think it's a better idea if you stay away from this castle altogether, even with the extra protection detail." He jerked his head toward the door.
It was then Harry noticed the extra people. Two individuals, dressed in black uniforms, standing rigidly on either side of the doors.
"Who are they?"
"Justin said they were members of the Special Operations Unit, some specialized unit that's under the direct authority of the Queen," Mazhe answered.
"Special forces," Tommy clarified.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"Everyone having to bend over backward for me! I hate this!" Harry shouted. He again tried to sit up, forgetting he was practically frozen from the neck down.
"And shouting ain't gonna help it either."
"Make me feel better though," Harry snapped, "Gods."
"Harry, I only want—"
"OH, look who it is, my favourite person in the WHOLE world," Harry snarked, sarcastically. "Finally decided to wade into the conversation, did we?"
"Now Harry..."
"Piss off, you useless wanker."
"I will not be spoken to in that manner, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore, dangerously.
Mazhe and Tommy stood up.
"Harry's not interested in speaking to you right now. Leave," said Mazhe, a purple orb forming in his left hand.
"I assure you, this event is most disturbing, and although I know you don't believe it, I am truly sorry this happened to you, Harry. The professors are conducting a thorough investigation to get to the bottom of who might be responsible, and they will be punished accordingly."
"Trust me, headmaster, I already have a way of finding out who was responsible, and I'll see to that shortly. That's all I'll say on the matter right now. Mr. Jarvis?!"
"What do you need?"
"Can you come here a second?"
"Of course."
Everyone watched while Will approached the bed. Harry asked him to bend close, and whispered something in his ear. Will reached into Harry's pocket, and collected something.
"You're sure about this?"
"Yeah. And the other thing. I think Ron's got it."
"Alice and I will look after things." Will looked at Dumbledore. "I think you'd better go. You've got a school to run, don't you?"
"Alas, I do. Get well, Harry."
Harry watched the headmaster leave, along with the two social workers.
"What did you ask Will to do?" Tommy asked.
"I can't tell you."
"Why not?"
"It's just better none of you know, okay? You have to trust me." Harry thought for a moment. "Did anyone let Sirius and Remus know?"
"They should be here shortly," said Mazhe, "At least that's what Miss Wheeler was saying."
"Here, Mr. Potter. One more dose of Skele-Gro, and a dreamless sleep potion. It'll help you rest while the medicine does the work," said Madam Pomfrey.
"Thank you... I think." He looked at his friends. "Stay with me?"
"Always," said Mazhe.
"Likewise. Shit, you're a magnet for trouble," said Tommy.
"Not telling me anything I don't know." He lifted his head up to take the foul potion. He was out of it in under a minute.
"Just so we're all on the same page. He goes nowhere alone away from the Ragnar," said Tommy, firmly.
"I'll let Farengar know I'm tied up here for the foreseeable future. Harry means the world to me and it would destroy me to know that something happened and I could have prevented it. Even the incident here bothers me greatly. The Arch-mage is going to be in a rage when he finds out!"
Mazhe glanced over at the door, where the two black-clad soldiers stood at the ready.
"Wonder if they're temporary, or permanent?"
"Permanent would be a solution. This is where Justin could've been a help here. Knows more about the working of the government than any of us," said Mazhe. "Gods, what a mess."
Sometime later, Tommy woke to see someone stuffing something in Harry's pocket. He was about to confront the individual, but relaxed, realizing it was Will, likely returning whatever it was he'd taken earlier. Mazhe was sleeping at this point, likely no more comfortable than he was.
Waiting for Will to leave, he quietly got up and went to Harry's bed, and reached into his pocket. He was only looking, right? The item turned out to be what looked like an hourglass suspended in the middle of a hoop, attached to a long chain. It was a strange object, that was for certain. Clearly, Mr. Jarvis had needed it for something... but what exactly? He'd seen the man leave, and he looked rather pleased with himself. He carefully replaced the item.
"Shouldn't be snooping in other people's pockets."
Tommy gave a start, and flexed, about ready to nail whoever it was who'd snuck up on him. It was one of the S.O.U. soldiers.
"Just curious," he answered, calming himself down. Having a go at someone in SpecOps was suicide, plain and simple, no matter WHAT country they were from.
"Some things are better left unanswered, Mr. Riordan, don't you agree?"
"Secrets don't do anyone any good either." 'Says you,' his inner conscience said. He mentally shoved that thought off into a corner.
"That is also true. Secrets do have a way of coming out, they always do. Just trust that Mr. Potter will tell you when he's ready."
"So... your detail... this temporary, or permanent?"
"For as long as Mr. Potter is in the castle. Meaning, for the foreseeable future. I'm part of a platoon assigned to your security. Lieutenant Commander Brandon McAllister, Her Majesty's Special Operations Unit."
Brandon offered a hand, and Tommy shook it.
"You used to be military, too, if my intel is correct."
"United States Marine Corps."
"Bad business that was. Though I cannot relate directly, friendly fire incidents are always demoralizing. We've had our share... treat that sort of thing like a crime in the Commonwealth... at least until proven otherwise."
"But it doesn't fix things once it's done. Shit like that shouldn't happen in the first place."
Brandon could tell he was taking the conversation in a dangerous direction.
"You're fitting in well with Harry and his friends?"
"Yeah. Harry's a good kid. Acts older than he is."
"He has to. You know about what he has to face eventually?"
"He's told me enough. Your world is just as fucked up as ours is, I guess."
"Very true. Magic is only a part of someone, not all of it. So even though someone's a witch or a wizard, it still comes back to the choices they make; what they decide to do with that gift.
"Many years ago, there was another young man named Tom... Tom Riddle. He was orphaned at birth, mistreated as a child, and offered very poor guidance when he attended Hogwarts. While he studied here, he began to gather followers, and eventually invented a new name for himself..."
Brandon pulled his wand from a holster strapped to his forearm, and used it to write: TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE in the air. With a gesture, the letters rearranged to form the words: I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.
"The worst dark wizard in recent memory. People here are still afraid to say his name... they call him 'You-know-who', or 'He-who-must-not-be-named'."
"Afraid of a name?" Tommy shook his head.
"Even in the Commonwealth, there were some who were terrified of what he could do. He wanted you dead, you died, it was that simple. You remember those green flashes of light during the fiasco at SPARTA?"
"How could I forget?"
"The killing curse. It was Voldemort's favourite. And, on October 31st, 1991, he broke into the home of James and Lily Potter, after hearing a prophecy that could refer to their son. He killed them both, then turned the wand on Harry."
"He was afraid of a baby?" To Tommy, it sounded ludicrous.
"I know. It's completely insane. But some people think the Dark Lord was insane at the time. Anyway, he used his favourite curse a third time in the Potter residence... with unexpected results."
"The boy-who-lived," Tommy remembered.
"Yes. That scar on his forehead... you notice it always looks fresh and angry?"
"Because that's where the... spell hit."
"Exactly. It's why he's famous. And... it's why we have to do everything we can to ensure he's ready when the time comes to face Voldemort again."
"That is the only reason I have done such as I have."
Both Tommy and Brandon turned to see Dumbledore standing a short distance away from the bed, dimly lit by the light coming through the windows.
"No, professor, the only thing you continue to do is undermine the efforts of the Commonwealth, and get him back within your clutches. He spends all of four days within this castle's walls, and something outrageous happens. His training schedule for—" Brandon looked at his watch a moment, "—today is now out the window, as is likely tomorrow's. The government is now forced to spend more money and resources providing security for her majesty's ward... because you either can't or won't. I'd love to know which it is, headmaster."
"We take the security of our students here very seriously, mister—"
"Brandon McAllister, Her Majesty's Special Operations Unit. I guess it is appropriate that I hand you this..."
Brandon dug into his utility vest, and pulled out a sealed parchment.
"Given the chaos earlier, I didn't have time." He handed it over to the headmaster.
Dumbledore opened it. The writing was in deep-blue ink, and the parchment was expensive. There was an elaborate herald at the top of the parchment—the Royal herald of the Commonwealth, Dumbledore remembered. He didn't have a chance to actually read it, as it seemed to morph into an angry face, exactly like a howler.
"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," came the Queen's rather loud voice.
Brandon had recently experienced her displeasure in person, and suppressed a shudder, but smirked. Dumbledore was about to get a taste of it himself.
"Let it be known that We, Queen Susan the Second, Queen of Valicadia, are greatly displeased with you and the governing body of England's Wizarding community.
"By your position, you are expected to provide some level of security to all who reside at or visit Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. Instead, Our ward has befallen a grave injury having spent only four days in and about your supposedly safe institution. This, along with the number of past incidents involving Our ward and numerous others, make it very clear to Us you have no interest in providing adequate security for Our said ward.
"It is therefore Our royal directive that a detachment of Our Special Operations Unit be assigned to provide security to Our ward. Be it also directed that, should you or Magical England move to interfere with Our placed security, we will remove Our ward from your school, even if that action would go against the spirit of the tournament magical England is so determined Our ward participate in.
Given at Our Court at Trevelyan in the thirty-sixth year of Our Reign, by the grace of our creators, Queen Susan the Second."
The parchment shredded itself into a thousand tiny pieces.
"Someone done got served," Tommy mocked, viciously. In the short time around Harry, he had already formed a dislike for the man. And over the past few hours seeing his behaviour, only cemented that opinion.
"If it is what her majesty requires, then so be it," said Dumbledore, sadly.
"And just so we're clear here, we perceive you as a threat to her majesty's ward, headmaster. Wards are being placed on his property and his person for his protection, and under no circumstances will he ever be permitted to be alone with you," said Brandon, with finality.
"I see."
"No, you don't," said Tommy.
"I agree," said Brandon, "You only say that, but trust me when I say, there are a lot of eyes watching you, headmaster. We know you have a lot of political pull, but there is a limit to even that. One day those favours you can pull in will dry up, and you will answer for the things you are doing, and have done in the past."
"Someone just got read the riot act," said Mazhe, sleepily. As he focused clearly, he frowned, seeing the headmaster present.
"Professor Dumbledore was just leaving," said Brandon. Dumbledore gave them all another sad look, and retreated from the room.
"Harry's still asleep?"
"Soundly by the looks of it," said Brandon, "It'll be a while before he wakes."
"You heard us talking earlier?"
"Somewhat."
"How closely will you guys be following us?"
"There'll be one of us with Harry at all times. Two of us in the Great Hall during meals. Two will be stationed outside of your suite on board the Ragnar, and she is our base of operations."
"Good. I know Harry will hate it, but really. They don't deserve him."
"You're right, um, Mazhe, they don't. But none of us deserve the chaos and fear that would unfold should Voldemort come back. Even if a select few can't appreciate how important Harry is, it is his destiny. It's our job to make sure he can live up to it and get the job done when the time comes."
"I guess that's the thing that's keeping me focused right now," said Tommy. "Everything I knew... family... brother... gone. If... I can help here... I don't feel lost. Miss Ferris was happy to hear that when I told her."
"Something to fight for."
That got a slow nod from Tommy.
"Just, whatever you do, don't hurt him. He needs to be surrounded by people he can trust. So what I mean, is don't do something that betrays his trust," said Mazhe, "He might as well be my brother, that goes without saying, right?"
"I know."
"What he means, Tom, is there will be some out there who might try and use you to get to Harry. Just be aware of that. If someone's acting a little too nice to you, or they offer you food, treats, something to drink, all of it could be a set up."
"Something in the food," Tommy guessed.
"Yes. Potions can be mixed with things that can be eaten or drank, although many of them lose their potency if used in such a way," Brandon explained. "Example, someone puts a strong sleeping potion in a cupcake, and gives it to you."
"I'd be knocked out and they could do whatever they want with me."
"Exactly. Continuing the scenario, yes, they knock you out, take you to a secluded location, and cast a Confundus charm on you. Convince you that you need to attack Harry. Or lead Harry away from the grounds, where someone far more dangerous could be waiting. Wost case, they cast the Imperius curse on you. You're by now familiar with the three unforgivable curses?"
"Yeah. They've made sure."
"You know what the Imperius curse does then."
Another slow nod from Tommy.
"The whole point here, magic is a wonderful gift, ability and so on, but it can be used to do terrible things. Harry has a lot of enemies here, and even as students, they can pull off some terrible acts."
"Never mind people like Dumbledore," Mazhe threw in, scowling, "Gods... the man's obsessive in his schemes around Harry."
"Yes, including Dumbledore. Oh, he would never stoop to doing anything on his own—"
"Not true," came Harry's sleepy voice.
"Harry. You should still be asleep," said Mazhe, arching an eyebrow.
"Should, but aren't." He tried to sit up, but couldn't, still in a body bind.
"Eric, you mind fetching Madam Pomfrey?"
"No, I'm fine—ow."
His entire back felt like it was being stabbed many times over, as the medicine continued to do its work. The other S.O.U. soldier, meanwhile, disappeared into an office close to the doors leading out of the hospital wing.
"Err... Dumbledore already has tried to Obliviate me once, he's tried to cast a compulsion charm on me once, he's tampered with my guardians, he's seized my inheritance and all my bank vaults, hired incompetent teachers... so yeah, he's capable—ow." His back flared again.
The second soldier returned with Madam Pomfrey in tow.
"Good grief, Mr. Potter, that potion should have made you rest all night."
"Should've, but didn't."
"We'll just have to give you another, then. It's either that or you be in excruciating pain for the night."
"I think I'll take the option behind door number one."
Madam Pomfrey produced another sleeping potion.
Classes became somewhat awkward for the next while. As expected, Dumbledore chose not to warn the teaching staff about the security arrangements, but left it up to Harry to have to explain things.
Professor Sprout was more than cordial, welcoming the extra guests and inviting them to pull up stools and join the lesson. Brandon declined, choosing to remain at the door to the greenhouse, since he was working an official assignment, and participating in the lesson would be a distraction.
Hagrid behaved the same as Professor Sprout, also inviting Harry's extra friends to join in the lesson, and likewise, only Justin participated this time. Or in this case, he worked somewhat like a teaching assistant, having taken Care of Magical Creatures as a student back in the Commonwealth. Hagrid was quite impressed with his knowledge.
Professor Babbling, meanwhile, was less accommodating, being rather cold toward the intruders, all but forcing Mazhe to stand by the door with Eric, the other S.O.U. soldier. This action made Harry feel bad for his friend, considering it was a double period which was supposed to last until dinner.
"Fine then," Harry decided, "Guys..."
"Leaving the classroom will lose you points, Mr. Potter," said the professor.
"I'm not officially here as a student, Professor. You could give my friend the courtesy as a guest of the school, but you instead treat him as a nuisance."
"The headmaster did not inform me he sanctioned the addition of 'personal security', Mr. Potter."
"Be it as it may, Professor, your headmaster has no say in the matter. Now if you will not accommodate two extra people in your classroom, then Harry will continue his study of this course on his own time, and sit your exam at the end of the school year," said Eric, evenly.
Professor Babbling huffed, then indicated a vacant desk beside Harry—there seemed to be a lot of those as of late.
"Thank you, Professor," said Harry, "For your information, this is Mazhe, and Eric."
Mid-way through the lesson, there came a knock at the door.
"Come in," said Professor Babbling.
The door opened, revealing Colin Creevey.
"May I help you?"
"Excuse me, but... I'm supposed to take Harry Potter downstairs," Colin explained.
"For what reason?" Eric questioned, regarding the boy sharply.
"Mr. Bagman wants him... sir..." Colin answered nervously, seeing the imposing soldier. He looked intimidating in his uniform. "All the champions have to go... they're taking photographs."
Harry resisted the urge to bang his head on his desk. That was the last thing he needed at this point. Likely some publicity shoot or the like.
"Can I decline?"
"I... don't think so, Harry," Colin answered.
Harry cursed under his breath.
"Forgive the second distraction, Professor. I'd honestly rather to continue with the class."
"You may go," Professor Babbling said simply.
The classroom they had picked was on the first floor. It was relatively small, and all the furniture had been pushed aside, save for a few desks, set up for what was clearly a photo shoot. The other champions were already present: Viktor Krum stood off by himself, not talking to anyone, while Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delecour were engaged in light conversation. There was a man holding a large black camera present, and he looked eager to begin. Ludo Bagman was also there, and Harry had only got a little way into the room before he was spotted.
"Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come... nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment—"
"Wand weighing?" Harry repeated nervously.
"Now just a second," said Eric, pulling out his mobile phone. "We should have been better informed of any sort of function related to the tournament—I assume this is a tournament function?"
"Indeed it is, indeed it is!" said Bagman, clearly excited about the whole affair. Eric frowned a moment, but punched in a number.
"Miss Connor? Second Lieutenant Gomrass with Harry's protection detail... no, nothing serious... no... tournament function... how do I proceed? ...Okay, will do..." He pressed a button on the mobile, then re-clipped it to his belt.
"If you want Harry's cooperation, we're gonna have to wait about twenty minutes for legal council."
"But surely—"
"Mr. Bagman, Mr. Potter did not willingly enter this tournament. No offence, Mr. Diggory, Mr. Krum, and Miss Delecour, but as it stands, anything surrounding the tournament will be observed by Commonwealth legal council. They have told me to pass on word that he is not obligated to participate in any function outside of the three official tasks the tournament entails, as par the official tournament rules."
"Indeed, it is as the rules are written. I believe we can wait, considering the expert is still upstairs, speaking with Professor Dumbledore. After the wand-weighing, there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter. She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet."
It was then they noticed the witch sitting at one of the desks. She wore magenta robes, jewelled spectacles, and had a bag with her made of crocodile skin. Her fingernails were at least two inches long, and they were painted crimson. Her outfit screamed obnoxious.
"Well, maybe not that small, Ludo," said the witch, her eyes on Harry. "I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry. "The youngest champion, you know... to add a bit of colour?"
"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is - if Harry has no objection?"
"Actually, I do," said Harry, bluntly.
"Are you sure? Just a few words-"
"Excuse me, madam, but do you understand the common language?" asked Mazhe, nastily.
"I beg your pardon?" Rita looked offended.
"I asked if you understand the common language. Or better yet, do you understand what the word NO means?"
Rita looked like she'd been slapped, but smiled again, turning her attention back to Harry.
"It's for the Prophet, Harry, surely—"
"I said, NO. As in, I have absolutely nothing to say to you."
Harry turned back to Ludo Bagman.
"I will participate in the wand-weighing, but not the photo shoot."
The two Commonwealth attorneys actually arrived before Dumbledore.
"I trust things are in order?" Miss Connor asked.
"They are now. Rita Skeeter wanted to interview me, I told her no."
"Though she tried to persist," said Mazhe, sourly.
"We'll only be staying for the actual ceremony. Harry, they may still take pictures of the actual ceremony."
"Fine. But I won't remain for the photo shoot after."
From there, the actual ceremony only took about twenty minutes, as Mr. Ollivander examined each of the four wands, and commented on their make and their condition. Harry was more than glad to escape the room. After the encounter with Rita, he felt like he needed a soak under the shower back on board the Ragnar.
While Harry, Mazhe, and Eric left, however, the Commonwealth attorneys remained behind, delivering three envelopes to the other champions. The Daily Prophet was likely to write up a nasty article. The National Daily Chronicle, on the other hand, might produce something far more constructive.
The following morning was his weekly blacksmithing lesson in Riften, but even so, Harry was laden with an extra member. It seemed like the Queen's directive was a little more far-reaching than first thought. Tommy had his meeting with Healer Ferris, but Justin and Mazhe made the trip, since there was always ways to occupy themselves while Harry attended his lesson. Brandon and Eric were content to watch, not having seen blacksmithing of that nature before.
The afternoon Potions lesson was somewhat...interesting as well. Harry somewhat dreaded it, considering he never exactly got along with Snape. They had all came to the consensus that, if a teacher wasn't willing to cooperate, then Harry wouldn't attend. Better to just continue independently, rather than be a disruption.
Malfoy had tried to stir the pot, but very quickly shut his mouth, seeing Brandon present. Mistaking him for a Muggle had proven even more embarrassing, as Brandon had simply smiled, drawing his wand.
"Mr. Malfoy, is it? You might consider weighing your options before engaging something without knowing all the factors."
"Is that a threat?" Pansy Parkinson sneered.
"No, it's something called common sense."
The door to the classroom was yanked open, and the imposing professor leered over the students.
"Well? Inside. Now."
Everyone filed in, with Harry and his escorts being the last.
"Do tell, Potter, why is it that you bring two additional... individuals into my classroom... one of them being a Muggle?" Snape sneered.
"For my protection, Professor. If this is not acceptable, I won't attend class, and complete my assignments for you on my own."
"I see." Snape seemed to think on the matter a moment. "Names."
"Brandon McAllister, Her Majesty's Special Operations Unit."
"And Tom Riordan."
"Sir, there may be alternates, particularly if this match doesn't work."
"If this match doesn't work," Snape drawled, then snapped, "This is not a revolving door where you may parade around your merry band of misfits and miscreants, Potter. This is a classroom."
That earned a snigger out of Malfoy and his burly friends.
"In which you are expected to teach a lesson, Professor. Might I suggest we get started, rather than wasting time debating an issue that has long since been resolved?" Brandon pressed.
Snape gave Brandon a look that could kill.
"You. Sit. There."
Snape jerked a bony finger at Tommy, indicating he take a seat at the workbench beside Harry and Hermione.
"Open your books to page one-thirty-six. Instructions are..." he gestured with his wand, and a set of instructions appeared on the blackboard, "on the blackboard. You have until the end of the period."
Harry was more than thankful when the bell rang to end the period. Snape was definitely not impressed with the intrusion. Gryffindor had certainly paid for it, even though Harry was no longer officially a student. Neville had nearly melted his cauldron at least three times during the lesson, all from the extra nervousness that came with Snape's extra sour mood.
At dinner, Harry was momentarily startled as an owl dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet in front of him. His heart sank, as his eyes fell on the photo which took up most of the page. It was the photo took as Harry handed Mr. Ollivander his wand to have it weighed, and it kept playing over and over again. HARRY POTTER: Troubled boy or attention-seeker? The headline proclaimed.
The article was a page-turner, and for the wrong reasons. Even without an interview, the vile reporter had interviewed other students, none of them of which he considered anywhere near a friend. Malfoy? Were they kidding?! Given the circumstances, most of the population of Hogwarts was quite willing to say anything, if it did damage. Who cared if it was true or not?
He snatched the paper angrily, and shredded it into tiny pieces.
"Not helping, Harry," said Hermione, sympathetically. That only earned a glare from the boy.
"I'm ready to murder her in her sleep."
"Definitely won't help," said Brandon, who stood behind them. "Though I don't need to tell you that."
"Wouldn't blame him though. From what Mazhe said, the woman was a douche bag," said Tommy, who had taken the spot beside Harry.
That got a scandalous glare from Hermione.
"You can't say that here!" she admonished.
Brandon couldn't help but smirk. Tommy had summed up the vile woman quite nicely.
"Thanks, mate," Harry grinned, clapping his muscular friend on the back, "Though calling her, err—" he did his best not to laugh, considering the glares they were getting from Hermione. "Well... but seriously."
"I'm sure the Commonwealth will put a muzzle on her pretty quick," said Brandon, with a vicious smirk.
Charms the following morning went very smoothly, with Professor Flitwick being very welcoming of the two additions to the classroom. Brandon again took point by the doorway, but Mazhe was keen to participate, having been around Harry and his way of doing magic for long enough. Flitwick was both curious and impressed that someone raised in a different world was easily able participate in the lesson (Mazhe borrowed Harry's wand during the practical part of the lesson).
That afternoon saw Harry again return to Riften, this time for his weekly session with Niruin first (Archery), and then Delvin (Stealth). They took dinner in the Ragged Flagon, rather than try and make it back to Hogwarts. Harry had been sure to let his friends know he would not return that night.
The following morning, Harry arrived at breakfast to whispers and stares.
"Now what's wrong?" he muttered, as he took a seat at his usual place.
"It's Rita Skeeter. She's been reported missing," said Hermione.
Harry smirked viciously.
"Good. Maybe someone's shut her up. I strongly doubt I was the only one she pissed off in her long, illustrious career."
"Harry, this is serious. The last article she published was about you!"
"And I was here at the school, or back on business in the Commonwealth. I have more than enough witnesses that can vouch for my whereabouts. Though quite honestly, I don't feel sorry for her. Tommy summed her up quite nicely—Gods, I felt like I needed a shower after talking for her all of thirty seconds."
"And where is Mr. Riordan this morning?" Ginny asked. She tended to sit close to her brother, and Harry, of course.
"He's got other business he tends to in the mornings. You normally won't find him around the castle before lunch."
"He is quite fit."
"And he won't appreciate someone like you eyeing him either, Gin," said Ron, rolling his eyes.
"He's about three times your age anyway," Harry smirked.
"About that. All your friends look about twice your age. I noticed."
"It's where I grew up, Ginny. Mazhe, well, he's closest to my own age, but he's still five years older than me."
"Oh, you mean the ginger boy." Lavender Brown had decided to weigh in on the conversation.
"Sorry, ladies, but I think Mazhe might be spoken for as well. And even if he wasn't, I have a feeling he doesn't play your end of the pitch, if you get my drift."
"You mean he's bent?" Lavender was disappointed.
"Is that what they call it?" Harry shrugged. Brandon coughed, but Harry could tell he was covering up a laugh. "But I'm just guessing there, right?"
"And where is he this morning anyway?"
"He has classes of his own, uh, elsewhere... where I would be, if I weren't here," Harry answered.
Immediately after dinner, as Harry and Brandon returned to the Ragnar, they found Mazhe looking a little out of sorts.
"What happened?"
"Harry. There's something you need to see. Bring your invisibility cloak."
"I insist on coming," said Brandon, producing his own cloak.
"What's going on?"
"You won't believe it unless you see it, just, I'm sure it's got something to do with the tournament," said Mazhe, shaking his head. Harry huffed, but he trusted his best friend.
Seconds later, the three of them landed softly at the edge of a clearing in a wooded area. There were shouts in the distance, and occasionally, Harry thought he caught a sudden burst of fire. Mazhe simply gripped him by the shoulder, and led them onward, toward the racket.
"Cover us with your invisibility cloak... Brandon, same thing. I don't know if we're supposed to know about this or not."
"Then maybe we shouldn't be here."
"Trust me, you'll thank me," answered Mazhe, as Harry threw his invisibility cloak over them. They were still walking toward the ruckus.
"Holy mother..." Brandon muttered, as they got close.
There was an enormous enclosure, inside of which were four, real, scaly, fire-breathing dragons.
"Shhh... keep your voice down, we don't want to be seen or heard," said Mazhe, his voice barely above a whisper, as they crept closer.
The handlers, meanwhile, were having a terrible time getting the beasts calmed down, and finally resorted to stunning spells—and it took a group of them casting before it had any effect. Dragons tended to be resistant to most magic as it was. With each of them knocked out, handlers brought out a clutch of eggs wrapped in a blanket, and placed them at the side of each dragon.
"Jesus. Nesting mothers," Brandon muttered, "They'll be extra vicious."
Now, Harry truly appreciated what his friend had done. A dragon?! What the hell were these people thinking? And mothers protecting their young? He'd certainly experienced the terrible result of encroaching on such an animal—they hated the world during that time.
"How did you find this?"
"I, uh, sort of followed Hagrid the other night. He took Madam Maxime, the headmistress from Beauxbatons for a late-night stroll, and showed her this."
"So the other schools know," Harry assumed.
"Likely," Mazhe agreed.
"Then I need to tell Cedric. It's only fair. If we all know, he has the right to know as well... make it a level playing field and all that. C'mon, let's get back to the Ragnar."
November 23, 2004 / 23 Sun's Dusk, 4E199
The morning of the first task drew chilly and overcast. Given the overwhelming discomfort and pressure that came with it, Harry elected to eat breakfast aboard the Ragnar after the morning training session. Even though it had been getting progressively colder, he, Mazhe, Tommy, and Justin still continued their early morning routine.
"Harry listen to this," said Justin, a copy of the Daily Prophet in front of him, "Rita Skeeter was found roaming Diagon Alley absent of any clothing late yesterday evening. It is stated the missing reporter was babbling incoherently, and is now being examined by healers at St. Mungos..."
Unseen by the others, Brandon smirked into his coffee.
"A bit of just desserts if you ask me," said Mazhe, "Even I felt unclean after the encounter." He looked at Tommy. "How will we continue with our outdoor training when the snow flies?"
"I think the Ragnar's facilities might still suffice," said Brandon, "You guys haven't seen the virtual projection room, am I right?"
"The what?" Harry asked.
"Virtual projection room. Really advanced magic. The room can become whatever the user needs it to be, from a broom closet to... well, I mean, I've heard tell of a full-on battle being recreated inside it."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Tommy muttered between bites.
"This weekend, I'll see if we might have a bit of time with it. Given it's such a useful facility, it tends to be rather busy," Brandon explained.
"You know a lot about the ship."
"I was a marine before I was S.O.U.," Brandon answered, "Ragnar was my home for nearly eight years."
"Come join us in the mornings, then," Harry invited.
Brandon let out a laugh. "Certainly wouldn't hurt. Sure thing. Eric will probably join us too."
The morning passed all too soon for Harry, even though he had not attended his smithing lesson in Riften. He had informed Balimund the previous week that he wouldn't be attending because of the tournament, and in hindsight, it was a wise decision. His upcoming fight with a dragon had been beyond distracting, building ever since Mazhe had shown them to him. Now, he was walking the path up to the champions' tent like a prisoner being led to the gallows. The prospect was terrifying.
Inside the tent, Ludo Bagman held open a small bag, and asked each of the champions to reach inside of it. Fleur went first, withdrawing a tiny model of a dragon: a Welsh Green. Then it was Krum (a Chinese Fireball), and Cedric (a Swedish Short-snout). That meant... Harry reached in, and drew out the last of them: a Hungarian Horntail, the nastiest of the lot. It was typical, he thought. Only he would end up with such rotten luck.
Now, it was just a waiting game, as Fleur went first. He could hear the crowd in the stadium, and from the sound they made, he could somewhat guess what was going on—he would likely get a pensieve view of the entire event later on... that's if he survived. Dragons were truly some of the most frightening animals in the magical world, or any world for that matter. In Skyrim, they had one day ruled over the world, enslaving the human and mer populations under their tyranny.
He watched as Krum left the tent as the whistle sounded. Fleur had obviously been taken somewhere else at the end of the event—unless... Harry didn't want to think about it. He knew the statistics from past tournament. Participants' deaths were common, given the dangerous nature of the tasks in them. It was one of the reasons it had been so long since the last one was held.
The whistle sounded again, and this time it was Cedric's turn, leaving him alone in the tent. Brandon and Eric stood just outside, but only the champions were allowed inside the tent itself. For the first time in quite some time, Harry felt truly alone. He had to face the dragon alone, without the help of his circle. That frightened him on some level.
Then... it was his turn. When the whistle sounded, he stepped out of the tent, dressed in his armour (though he doubted it would truly do much good against the terrifying abilities of a dragon), and put his best foot forward, wanting to show no fear as he travelled the path down to the stands erected for this event. He stepped through the gap in the enclosure.
There seemed to be thousands of people present, all of them looking down at him expectantly. The entire school was there, as were the professors—they were gathered in one particular section, along with a few familiar faces sitting with Dumbledore: Barty Crouch, Madame Maxime and Igor Karkaroff—headmistress and headmaster from the foreign schools, and Ludo Bagman. He guessed they were the judges.
His heart lifted significantly, seeing a section containing his circle of friends, both from the Commonwealth and from the school. Even more impressive, was the fact they weren't alone. It looked like well over a hundred people, all of them from the Commonwealth. Even some of the Ragnar's crew were present, including her captain. Harry was touched by the gesture.
The dragon rested at the opposite end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs. Seeing her at night was scary enough. Now, she looked absolutely terrifying. She was black, with enormous, leathery wings, and yellow eyes that watched his every move.
What to do? This was a dragon he was facing! Dragon... dov... but that was a different world. Surely the species of dragons here had nothing in common with the ancient dragons from Tamriel? Still, there was no harm in trying. 'Four bells, damn the torpedoes,' he thought. Harry drew his wand and touched it to the side of his throat. "Sonorus."
"Drem, sahrot dovah,(2)" said Harry, with hesitation, "Mu ni meyz voth tahrodis... krosis." He had memorized many of the words he had read in the books Farengar had shared with him, but even then, tyring to form complete sentences was another thing altogether.
The dragon looked at him with fearsome yellow eyes. It hadn't worked.
"Quietus," he whispered.
Now what to do. He could summon his broom... though that might not work, given it was in his rooms on board the Ragnar. He could resort to what he learned in Skyrim, but, killing the creature would probably not win him any favours—
"Dovahkiin," said the dragon.
One could hear a pin drop in that enclosure. Harry almost dropped his wand in shock. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect it to actually work! Now that he had her attention, how to explain what he needed?
"Brit dovah," he said, "We not dragonborn. We seek that among your children that does not belong."
"That among my children," the dragon hissed, looking down at her clutch, while Harry dared approach. Perhaps that was a mistake.
"Yol—"
"No! We seek it that they placed with your children. Only that."
"Only that."
"Yes. Peace not treachery."
The dragon again looked at her clutch of eggs, then snatched the thing that did not belong, and threw it toward Harry. He caught it expertly.
"Pogaan kogaan,(3)" said Harry, bowing low. The Horntail seemed to reciprocate, and the stands seemed to explode into cheers and applause.
"It has been long since one has spoken in our tongue, young one." Harry was stunned, as the dragon spoke clean English.
"I have been visiting a place where I have come to learn some of your language, my lady."
"Pardon the intrusion," came Dumbledore's voice, "but-"
"Yol... TOOR SHUL!"
A bloom of fire was sent in the judges' direction, and the crowd again fell deathly silent, as they were rather graphically reminded that a deadly animal was still in their midst. Mazhe, meanwhile, looked unsettled, hearing the three words the dragon had just spoke. They had spoken to something deep inside of him... something he had already experienced once before.
"This conversation is private, headmaster," said Harry, quickly erecting a strong privacy ward. "Tahrodis mey. It would give me great pleasure to see him reduced to cinders. That one has krozah far too often in my affairs. However, there is still a use for him." Harry sat on the ground, cross-legged.
Some time later, it was Ludo Bagman who dared interrupt the conversation.
"Mr. Potter, we would love to give you your scores, so we might release everyone back to the school."
"If we could be left alone after that—barring my friends of course." He got to his feet, and gave a wave to the section in question.
The scores were handed out. Madam Maxime raised her wand, and a '10' formed in the air. Next came Dumbledore. Another '10'. Ludo Bagman, a '10'. Barty Crouch, a '10'. And Karkaroff, a '5'. No surprise there, really. He would have to wait until later to find out how everyone else did, as for the moment, he was a little busy.
"Perhaps, if I may, I would love to come speak with you before you have to be returned to Romania."
"It would be acceptable, young mage. Your words are complicated, perhaps you might be willing to learn of our language."
"I would like that very much... though that might be difficult—complicated in its own right."
With that, he gave a bow, removed his privacy charms, then strode out of the enclosure, to another round of thunderous applause. He had just stolen the show.
There, he was quickly surrounded by his friends, all of them in various degrees of awe at what had just happened.
"Harry, you... you spoke to a dragon!" Ron was floored.
"He's been learning that since he was eight," said Mazhe, "But Gods... never would have imagined."
"Neither did I. I thought it was worth a shot... The heroes of Sovngarde have smiled on me today, I think."
"The divines perhaps watch over you with a ready sword, my friend."
"The gods of Tamriel," Hermione guessed.
"They are, yes. Harry has always had a great amount of luck in our world."
"And a few good friends watching my flank," said Harry, giving a mad grin. The tremendous pressure which had been mounting since his discovery of the dragons had melted away in one fell-swoop. Not to mention, he had the privilege of speaking with a creature on a level not accomplished in their world in thousands of years.
The healers' tent was a busy place, with Madam Pomfrey attending to Cedric, who had a nasty burn on the side of his face. She was covering it with some sort of orange paste. Viktor was seated on another bed, completely uninjured. The same could be said about Fleur, save for her outfit, which had been singed.
Further thought was interrupted by Ludo Bagman.
"Well done, all of you!" he said, pleased as though he personally had just got past a dragon. "Now, just a quick few words. You've got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February 24th - but we're giving you something to think about in the meantime! If you look down at those golden eggs you're all holding, you will see that they open. . . see the hinges there? You need to solve the clue inside the egg - because it will tell you what the second task is, and enable you to prepare for it! All clear? Sure? Well, off you go, then!" He was gone.
"So you're coming up to Gryffindor tower for a bit, then," Ron guessed.
"How can I not? I know you guys will go all night, me being a student or not," Harry grinned.
As expected, the Gryffindor common room was a riot of activity, as he, Mazhe, Justin, Tommy, Brandon, and Eric pushed their way in. There was food and drink, the twins were in their element handing out treats of their own, and everything was as loud and boisterous as a celebration after a Quidditch match. The egg was resting on a table half-cluttered with empty butterbeer bottles so everyone could get a good look at it.
"Care for a jam tart?" questioned Fred. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were seated in front of the fire. Harry smirked, looking at the plate Fred was holding.
"I haven't done anything to them. It's the custard creams you have to look out for—"
Tommy, who had just into one of the aforementioned treats, spit it out at once, and gave Fred a glare. He had already experienced some of their pranks.
"Guys... really."
"Oh come on Harry, we're making a killing with this sort of thing."
"If you live to see your next birthday," Tommy muttered dangerously. He thought a moment. "Where'd all the food come from?"
"The kitchens, of course." George had joined his twin. "House elves, right helpful."
The discussion degenerated rapidly, as Hermione was terribly upset with the idea of house elves doing all the cooking and cleaning in the castle. Harry finally got up, not wanting to be in between Ron and Hermione as they argued.
"How about—" He didn't finish, since Tommy suddenly turned into an enormous yellow canary. Colin, who had been snapping pictures of the party, was quite happy to photograph the incident. Mazhe was doubled over with laughter, as was Brandon for that matter, while Justin simply smirked. It was a pretty good prank all in all.
"Canary creams! George and I invented them! Seven Sickles each, a bargain!"
Within a minute, Tommy had molted and his feathers vanished, restoring him to his former self. He simply looked himself over and shook his head.
"Christ."
"He's not seen nothin' yet," said Seamus, grinning madly.
"Right. Since I have a second event I'm attending back on board the Ragnar, how about we find out what's inside the egg?" said Harry. There were cheers of agreement.
"What, not staying, Harry?" said Fred, looking disappointed.
"Sacrilege is what it is, brother of mine!" George piped up.
"Sorry guys, but after all this... pressure... I really just wanna get back to the Ragnar. So..."
Just as Bagman had said, there was indeed a small knob on top of the egg. Harry held the egg with both hands, and turned the small knob. It snapped open, to reveal... nothing. Well, nothing except for an ungodly screeching sound that much reminded him of fingernails being dragged down a blackboard. The entire room winced, and even the portraits reacted poorly. He slammed it shut, ending the noise.
"Gods, that would wake the dead," said Mazhe.
"We could try," Harry smirked.
UP NEXT: Harry receives an invitation to an event which conflicts with the Yule Ball; and incidents in both Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions have long-term consequences.
AUTHOR NOTES: (1) Megsjedi and a few others correctly guessed, this was taken from the 1995 movie "Crimson Tide".
(2) Drem, sahrot dovah. Mu ni meyz voth tahrodis... krosis. – Peace, mighty dragon. We not with treachery... sorrow/sorry. The second sentence, Harry 'shoots from the hip', and so isn't properly formed. He trusts the dragon will understand what he's trying to say.
(3) pogaan kogaan – many thanks