A Study in Magic
by Books of Change
Warning/Notes: This is a BBC Sherlock and Harry Potter crossover AU. The HP timeline and BBC Sherlock's timeline has been shifted forwards and backwards to match up. One major BBC Sherlock character's gender has changed for the sake of the plot. The story was planned and written before season 2 (but incorporating elements of thereof as much as possible). Readers beware!
Chapter Fifty Four: Life Crises
It was nearly nine at night, and John was trying to put Benedict to sleep. Benedict, however, was in a lively and energetic mood since his five minute workout of lifting his head up, thus wasn't interested in sleeping. At length John gave up and put him in his bouncer seat.
John was watching Benedict squealing and grasping at the crocheted vegetables hanging over his bouncer seat when a mobile phone pinged. John dug out the electronic mobile phone and checked the new message:
Failed to bridge truce. Returning. SH
John sighed a little after absorbing the message. Then John put the phone away, sniffed Benedict's nappy, and confirmed he'd relieved himself. So John lifted Benedict out of the bouncer seat and started changing him with sanitized hands.
"Your daddy is an idiot," John informed Benedict as she fanned his naked bum.
Benedict was wearing a fresh nappy and wiggling in his bouncer seat when John heard the door downstairs open and shut. John turned to study the flat's green door while listening to the approaching footsteps.
The door opened and Sherlock stepped into the sitting room. John noted the white down feathers in Sherlock's hair and coat, the bruise on his cheekbone, and the deep cuts on his hands when he removed his gloves.
"Though I admire the ingenuity of sending Hedwig to find me, I object to you ordering her peck me until I returned your calls," Sherlock stated as he draped his coat over the spare chair.
"That's what you get for going AWOL for days," John replied. "I see she didn't hold back."
"No. She even brought reinforcements."
John's eyebrows went up.
"There was another owl," Sherlock clarified, "a male snowy; Sasha, if I were to make a guess."
"Will it show up on YouTube?"
"Possibly, but doubtful."
"Shame."
John padded over to Sherlock. Sherlock leaned his gaunt frame against John once the distance between them vanished, and John round her arms around his torso.
For a while the two of them stood there at the threshold, holding each other up.
"We knew it was going to be a long-shot," said John. "He might still talk to me. Hopefully that will be enough."
"One hopes," Sherlock sighed. "It may have worked if I didn't mention Lily Evans."
"He reacted badly, I take it."
"It was unspeakably ghastly. I think his past history with Lily Potter was supposed to remain a secret between him and Dumbledore. He was quick to accuse Dumbledore of giving away hints, and refused to listen to my explanation that it was a shot in the dark based on old census data and how he avoids referencing Harry's mother."
John shook her head sadly. "He always did think he knows better."
"Regardless, I only needed to use my imagination to see how bad the idea was," said Sherlock ruefully. "If you married my archenemy and I was forced on a daily basis to see the child you had with said archenemy and later died to protect, I might act even as Snape has done. Who knows?"
"Yeah, you're lucky all your archenemies were either psychopaths or right tossers, because there were days when I was very tempted."
Sherlock flinched. "…I didn't need that mental image, John."
"You asked for it," John retorted.
John and Sherlock eventually moved to the sitting room table, where Benedict was on the verge of wiggling out of his bouncer seat. Benedict took one look at Sherlock and started crying.
"You know me," Sherlock protested as he picked him up. "Benedict, I'm your father."
"You've been away for almost two weeks, he probably forgot," said John, laughing at Sherlock's look of consternation. "So what you have been up to?"
"…Looking and thinking," said Sherlock as he stared down at the squalling Benedict, as though he was willing Benedict to recall him. "LV has an agent working for him, and it isn't Pettigrew. We know this because in Harry's vision LV received a letter when Pettigrew was present. Pettigrew's duties are likely limited to the day-to-day care of LV considering his general untrustworthiness. Therefore the letter-writer, who is the second agent, is in charge of the lion-share of LV's comeback preparations. One of these must be amassing funds. Lestrade noticed wizards are getting cleverer at exploiting Muggles. And not only are they becoming cleverer in their methods, but they are becoming more organized in their methodology. Ergo, at least one magical well-versed in Muggle crime is orchestrating the efforts. From the last crime scene we know the Little Hangleton murderer, who is certainly one of LV's agents, is working with a military man who is also a wizard. The latter wizard's military history is evidence he has good working knowledge of our world. Such people are vanishingly few considering the Muggle-Magic divide, thus we may postulate the military man is the wizard organizing the magic criminals. We may also further postulate the agent employed the military man for the express purpose of gathering funds through the Muggle world."
John took Benedict away from Sherlock after digesting all this. Benedict hiccoughed into John's neck as he slowly calmed down.
"So: LV's agent is employing a military man who is also a wizard. Said military man is well-versed in organized crime, and is currently running a flourishing drug-running business for LV," said John.
"Yes, excellent summary."
"And you are looking for this other wizard."
"Your ability to restate the obvious improves every day, John."
"Thanks," John sighed. "Sounds like bad news all around except for LV."
"The man's expertise doesn't bode well for us, certainly," said Sherlock sombrely. "Do you recall the death of Mrs. Stewart, of Lauder, who jumped to her death from a bridge after her entire lifesavings were plundered last year? No? Well, then you should remember Moriarty's last scheme only worked as well as it did because several key members of the Secret Service including Mycroft were Confunded to believe a universal code that unlocks all electronic security measures can be real. The money laundering scheme also used the Confundus Charm to enchant non-magic people like Mrs. Stewart to reveal their bank account information to the culprit. What does this suggest?"
John stopped patting Benedict's back for a moment as the implications sunk in.
"…They might have been done by the same person," John breathed.
"The chances are high," agreed Sherlock. "Both schemes required high levels of magic expertise and Muggle world knowledge. According to Lupin and Black, the Confundus Charm is a difficult spell even for those who have N.E.W.T. level skills in charms. The subtly and elegance of the charm work certainly suggest mastery gained through extensive practice … meaning the culprit likely has a long history of using magic for Muggle crime."
John thought about it for a moment.
"How did Moriarty and LV find him?" John wondered. "Hiding magic from us Muggles is something magic kids are trained to do from the moment they learn about magic. Unless they were, I don't know, close cousins or something, how could Moriarty even know about this wizard? And if the guy was mostly involved in muggle crime, how would anyone in the wizarding world be aware of his expertise?"
"How Moriarty got to know the wizard, we may never know. All we do know is that Moriarty paid him liberally and used him in only high-class jobs which no ordinary criminal could have undertaken. His identity was so carefully concealed that even when Moriarty's criminal empire was broken up, Mycroft wasn't sure he existed. But he does exist. Mycroft wouldn't have had an active Confundus charm on him otherwise. Also, Moriarty confessed under the influence of a truth serum that his right-hand man 'had skills you wouldn't believe' and 'worth every hundred grand."
"What about LV? How could he have known about the military wizard?"
Sherlock placed a printed mug-shot of a man on the table.
"This is the wizard Lestrade initially arrested for the money laundering case," he said.
John studied the man in the photograph. He had a receding hairline, the brow of a philosopher, a thin, projecting nose, cold glassy-blue eyes, and drooping, cynical lids. His skin looked weather-beaten and sunbaked, and there was something insolent about the way he set his lips, like he was trying not to show how amused he was at his own arrest.
"He was released after convincing the Magical Law Enforcement that he himself was a victim of a Confundus charm," Sherlock explained. "I'm inclined to think he was the perpetuator. His military background is plain on his face and shoulders."
"Looks like a sniper."
"He was; for her majesty's royal marines, judging from his hands, stance and build."
"Harry might know him, then."
"Ask her if she does," said Sherlock. "He called himself Parker, but I doubt that's his real name. We need to find out who he really is. We have this photograph, but I can't rule out the possibility he was using a disguise. Once we get a name and an approximate birthdate, we can find his Muggle identity from the military records."
"You still haven't answered how LV could've known him."
"He was arrested once, John," said Sherlock impatiently. "The Ministry of Magic is aware of his existence. Lestrade said the Magical Law Enforcement was reluctant to let 'Parker' go, but had to because they couldn't prove he was the mastermind behind the money laundering scheme. If LV's second agent infiltrated the Ministry of Magic—and I have no reason to doubt he has—then it is not a stretch to imagine the agent had learned about 'Parker' from his Ministry colleagues and made contact."
John nodded in understanding.
"Makes sense. It still amazes me how you can make all these connections," said John. "I better tell this to the kids. I'd hate for them to not know what they're up against if they ever encounter Parker."
"They're looking for the agent?" asked Sherlock, eyebrows ascending.
"Dumbledore asked them to. He told them the agent has to be one of the Ministry of Magic employees involved in the Triwizard Tournament since he bamboozled the goblet of fire to make Harry the fourth champion. Thank God it didn't work."
Sherlock made a small 'oh' sound.
"The goblet deliberated four times. Of course. How could I have overlooked this?"
"At least someone didn't," said John. "The kids are using their tournament filming and broadcasting activities to get in touch with the Ministry. They even formed an undercover media company to make it look like they're serious about filming and broadcasting. The company's technically a subsidiary of the MMN since Jackie's funding the whole thing, but she's letting them make the decisions."
"Clever," said Sherlock in approval. "How far are they in the set up?"
"They're meeting Ludo Bagman this coming Saturday to tell him they're now responsible for the Tournament broadcast. You don't have to worry about them botching it up. Jeremy's going to be there as a consultant." John paused. "I'm acting as shadow director since it was the only way to get Molly Weasley to agree. She's having kittens about Ron starting a business." John started imitating Molly's anxious voice. "'How could Ms. Shin let them start a business, they're much too young! Ron has never done anything like this before, and what if he loses the money she gave him?'" John rolled her eyes. "Seriously, if she knew the amount of fecks Jack doesn't give …"
"The MMN only stays afloat because of her inability to be irresponsible," Sherlock agreed.
"It's thriving, actually. Did you know she makes close to a million Galleons a month?"
Sherlock blinked at John.
"Her revenue doubled since Ron headed the World Cup broadcast," said John. "Molly really has nothing to worry about. Ron is worth every knut invested."
Sherlock snorted. "What is Harry's role?"
"He's the main camera guy. I figured he should be as close to the real action as possible without actually being in the middle of it. He's not into the business aspects of the cover anyway."
"Sensible," Sherlock approved. "As a cameraman, he will be able to observe and investigate without drawing too much attention."
Then he paused.
"…So how is he coping?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, he's not just contemplating his navel, though he does have his moments," answered John sombrely. "He's a bit guarded around his friends, but he's open to talking to me."
"What do you talk about?"
"Funerals."
There was a short pause.
"Funerals," Sherlock repeated.
"Yep," said John. "I plan on taking him to a funeral."
"Why?"
"I think he should."
Sherlock wordlessly regarded John.
"You won't be the only person giving me flack about it," said John stoically.
"Don't equate me with Black," Sherlock retorted. "I've always deferred to your wisdom when it comes to Harry's upbringing. You obviously think it is helpful. I just want to know why."
John and Sherlock regarded each other for a long time. Benedict blinked quietly in his mother's arms, as though he was aware of the weightiness of the situation.
"…He needs to know death is serious business," John eventually answered. "I don't want him to trivialize his own death. Life isn't a commodity you can give and take away. I mean, isn't this what the wizarding world is going to ask him to do: If you die for us, you will be doing a terribly noble thing. We'll do our best to remember your sacrifice afterwards." John drew in a deep breath before hissing: "How dare they ask him to give up his life when they don't have the power to give it back!"
Sherlock remained expressionless as he said: "So you believe as much as you value death you shall value life."
"Yes," said John harshly.
Sherlock nodded as he looked up to the ceiling.
"I'm glad we're on the same page, John," he said. "My worry was that, in the end, Harry will willingly walk to his death because he'd imagine you doing so under the same circumstances. We can possibly keep him alive, but we can't make him want to live. If you think going to a funeral will give him the will to live, by all means go."
John exhaled unsteadily.
"Thanks."
-oo00oo-
In the morning after the riot in the entrance hall, Harry quickly sensed many of his fellow Gryffindors were upset at him. He received glares from several upper-classmen at the common room, and Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas whispered to each other at the Gryffindor table, not looking up or responding to Harry's good mornings. Harry felt nothing but a dull ache at this; though anger made a feeble effort to flare up in his chest, it quickly skulked back to the pit from whence it came as soon as he thought how he was going to defend himself. Why would they think the fight was petty when they didn't have death hanging over their heads? How could they understand him when they never had an occasion to think they could die any time because the alternative was unthinkable?
So Harry ignored the murmurings and picked at his breakfast.
"Hogsmeade trip today!" said Ron brightly. "You're going, aren't you Harry?"
"Yeah, sure," Harry said, not feeling excited, but not feeling reluctant either. Ever since receiving the fateful/fatal announcement and that talk with Dumbledore, Harry experienced wild motivation swings. Most days he was almost normal, going to class, doing homework, practicing violin and working on his given task without anyone the wiser (including himself). But other days … an all-enveloping lethargy that made even getting out of bed a herculean task was all he could manage. Apparently today was the latter sort of day.
"Great. We can have our meeting with Mr. Jeremy there at the Three Broomsticks. Then we can take a nice break." Ron sighed deeply. "Who'd've thought starting a company was so much bloody work?"
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Julia, Neville and Ginny had got down on the business of thinking up ways to hide their investigation as soon as they finished talking to John. Hermione cleverly suggested that they should use their Triwizard Tournament filming activities, as it would allow them to spend many (explainable) hours in the music room and get to know all the people involved in organizing the tournament. The latter was crucial, since the agent was deeply involved in the tournament as well. Julia further elaborated the idea by suggesting they make a show of creating other mixed-media programs to broadcast over the MMN, as it would give them an excuse to research non-school things in the library and interview strangers. Ron declared the ideas were so good it didn't have to be a show. Later, when John gave their cover the green light, Ron presented to Miss Jackie the idea of broadcasting more mixed-media programs over the MMN. She accepted the proposal, but with one caveat:
"The Magical Mobile Network is a telecommunications company, Ron," she said. "What you want to do is media broadcasting. Telecom and media may be closely related, but they're not the same thing. So I suggest you create a media broadcasting company and try the idea under your own name."
Ron gaped for a long time.
"…You think we should start our own business?!" he squawked.
"Yes," said Miss. Jackie simply. "I really think you can do it, and why not? If you're worried about the money: don't. I'll give you the triwizard tournament broadcast as a seeding project and ten thousand Galleons for your setup costs. You can use my computer equipment, too."
Thus Ron left the meeting in a state of shock. Once everyone else got over their own shock, the six of them decided to name the undercover company OBH—not short for Open-source Broadcasting Headquarters or whatever else people may assume, but 'Oh, Bloody Hell'.
"I still can't believe she gave us so much money just like that," Ron marvelled.
"Well, she is one of the richest people in Wizarding Europe," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "She can easily afford to invest ten thousand. Still, it was very nice of her to help us out…"
"Yeah, it's good, it's very great, but you do realise we have to, you know, actually start this company?" Ron said.
"You mean you'll have to start the company," said Ginny.
Ron goggled at his sister. "You can't be serious! I can't start a company by myself!"
"She told you should start the company and gave the money to you," Ginny pointed out. "That means you should be the owner."
Ron was driven speechless.
"Don't worry, Ron. We'll act as your business partners," Hermione assured. "Now, the first thing we need to do is make the OBH a real business…"
They asked Miss Jackie how this was done. She told them all businesses in the wizarding world were what Muggles called 'private small businesses,' thus weren't subjected to the same kind of rules and regulations as corporations or conglomerates. In short, anyone could start a business, provided the owner reported his/her earnings and qualified expenses to the Ministry of Magic or to the traders' guild the owner was a member of. However, since all of them were minors, their parents/guardians had to know about their earnings so they could properly file taxes.
"Speaking of which, Ron, did your mother get a copy of all your paystubs?" Miss Jackie asked.
"Yeah," said Ron. "And I give mum half of my pay; more than what you asked me to."
Miss Jackie smiled warmly. "And you wonder why I think you can run your own company," she said, making Ron turn red around the ears. "The OBH is yours, so I don't have much say on what you should do, but I advise you to keep honouring your parents with your earnings. Speaking of, I told Jeremy I gave you the triwizard tournament broadcast project. He'll contact you soon."
Mr. Jeremy called Ron over the MMN within twelve hours.
"Jack told me she sold the tournament broadcast project to the media broadcasting company you've started. Is this true?" he asked, disbelief etched all over his face.
"Uh, yeah," said Ron.
"Precocious aren't you, starting a media company at your age?"
"It just kind of happened," said Ron defensively. "So do you still want to help out? I don't mind hiring you."
"Count me in," said Mr. Jeremy, eyes gleaming.
Ron and Mr. Jeremy agreed to meet on the following weekend at Hogsmeade. Mr. Jeremy Owled a lot of paperwork for Ron to read in preparation for the meeting. Ron picked one roll of parchment at random, and visibly withered in his seat after reading the first paragraph, which was full of complicated words written in a tiny script. Hermione alone had the courage and brains to read all the documents and make sense of the contents.
"Looks like the Ministry is entitled to twenty percent of the tournament broadcast revenue generated on the first week of airing," Hermione reported. "In exchange we have full access to all tournament areas. We can film the task preparation process as long as we don't broadcast it before the champions go through their assigned tasks. The ministry can refuse to let us film something if it's against any nondisclosure rules, but we have final say on what gets broadcasted over the MMN."
"Couldn't he list that out in bullet-points?" Ron groaned.
"I'm just summarizing. There are a lot of important little details here," Hermione said. "For instance, it says here this agreement only relates to the tournament broadcast and not any other broadcasts MMN decides to do, and—"
"I'll take your word for it," Ron interrupted. "Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you for being so bloody brilliant?"
Hermione turned pink.
Harry, Ron, Hermione and Julia quickly immersed themselves in work. They were very lucky to have Hermione organizing their tasks and overseeing the fine details, because otherwise they would've missed the fact the Ministry hadn't been paid what they were due from broadcasting the champion selection ceremony and the late penalties that could've garnered was enough to make the OBH go bankrupt. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Julia spent all of their free time in the library for the remainder of the week, working out how much they owed the Ministry and fitting in their homework somewhere in between. Harry and Ron hunted down the expense and earnings data, Julia crunched all the numbers, and Hermione put everything together into a neat report using the charts and graphs Ron, Julia and Harry had made.
"You know, before now I thought Miss Jackie was paying Ron far too much," Ginny remarked as she watched Ron do something viciously complicated for his report. "He really does earn every Knut, doesn't he?"
"You have no idea," said Julia, not looking away from the laptop she was using to create pie-charts.
While they cocooned in the library, everyone noticed Viktor Krum was in the library an awful lot too. Harry wondered what he was up to. Was he studying, or was he looking for things to help him through the first task? Hermione often complained about Krum being there— not that he ever bothered them— but because groups of giggling girls often turned up to spy on him from behind bookshelves, and Hermione found the noise distracting.
"He's not even good-looking!" she muttered angrily, glaring at Krum's sharp profile. "They only like him because he's famous! They wouldn't look twice at him if he couldn't do that Wonky-Faint thing—"
"Wronski Feint," Ron muttered as he continued to stare avidly at Krum. Unlike Hermione, he was always keen to spot Krum in the library.
Ginny and Neville mostly hovered during the hellish two weeks. They wanted to help, but neither of them took Muggle Studies or worked for Miss Jackie before, so they lacked the necessary skills and knowledge.
This didn't stop them from trying, however.
"You can teach us how, we can learn!" Ginny argued.
"I don't have time to teach!" said Hermione shrilly, looking almost hysterical as she typed frantically away. "Don't you know we have to get these done by next Friday?!"
Ginny demanded to Ron that he teach her and Neville as soon as he handed over his work to Hermione. Ron's teaching attempts usually ended in blazing rows, Ron yelling at Ginny for not doing what he told her to do, Ginny shouting right back, accusing Ron of not explaining properly and Neville shrinking from them both. Harry and Julia took over the coaching after the nth blowup. For the first coaching session, Harry oversaw Ginny and Julia, Neville. They had to switch afterwards because Ginny was so anxious to do well in front of Harry that she made all manner of mistakes and Harry didn't know enough about computers to fix these mistakes; Julia, on the other hand, couldn't explain things simply enough for Neville to understand because whereas Julia used computers since she was three and did computer programming on the side, Neville needed to be told there was a connection between the movement of the mouse and the movement of the cursor. The huge disparity in their knowledge often left Neville red-faced and confused and Julia taking time-outs to scream into a pillow in a corner. Neville eventually figured out how to click icons once Harry started coaching, but Ginny's ill-will towards computers steadily mounted as she kept confusing the purpose of the keyboard and their short-keys and the mouse's functionality again and again and again.
Tempers were at a breaking-point when Hermione shrieked she was done, the reports were done, and they could owl the reports to the ministry now. They wasted no time running to the Owlry. The moment they stepped into the drafty and cold tower, they were immediately ambushed by a large flock of very bored owls.
"Clear off!" Ron roared, waving a fist at the sea of fluttering wings and outstretched talons. As soon as the owls cleared off, Ron shouted: "PIG! Damn it, Pig, where are you!? Come here, you stupid little— OUCH!"
Pigwidgeon had collided right into Ron's forehead. The tiny owl plummeted to the ground half-way before righting himself. Then he started twittering like mad as he circled around Ron's head, ecstatic at the idea of delivering a letter for the first time. Ron snatched him out of the air and plunked him on the nearest perch. All of the owls around them glared coldly at Pigwidgeon, a few clicking their beaks in disapproval and others showing their tails, apparently disgusted at the unworthy way he was acting as a Post Owl.
"Take this to Ludo Bagman, ASAP," snarled Ron as he secured the report to Pigwidgeon's tiny leg. "Stop wiggling! Now don't you dare lose these reports, we spent ages making it!"
Ron tossed Pigwidgeon out of an open window. They watched the tiny owl fly off to a distance until he disappeared from sight. A boneless exhaustion enveloped them all as their anxiety drained away.
"That had to be the worst two weeks we ever had," said Hermione tiredly.
"What are you talking about, don't you just love the Sense of Accomplishment after days of hell?" said Ron sarcastically.
"I think I'd rather buy a Sense of Accomplishment from someone else," sighed Julia.
They staggered downstairs, intending to have a large dinner and a good long sleep afterwards.
"We're not done yet," Hermione reminded them as they trudged through the halls. "This is only the setup. We still have to figure out who You-Know-Who's new agent is."
"I'm only going to say this once," said Ron sternly. "We are NOT going to talk about work today. It's bad enough we had two bloody weeks of nothing but."
Unfortunately, they couldn't relax until much later. Instead of an uneventful walk to the Great Hall, they found the entrance hall embroiled in a huge riot. Harry was immediately pushed to the centre when Malfoy spotted him and tried to goad Harry and Cedric into having a wizard's duel, much to the crowd's apparent approval. Harry never thought he'd ever feel grateful to see Snape, but he did when Professors Snape and McGonagall showed up after he blew up on everyone. Harry had no appetite when McGonagall dismissed him and Cedric, so he returned to Gryffindor tower and fell into his bed, hoping for dreamless sleep.
It didn't come. Harry tossed and turned all night, tormented by featureless nightmares. Then morning came, and Harry was tempted to wrap his invisibility cloak around him and duck under his bed. Ron drew back the curtains of his four-poster and overturned his covers before he could find the energy to do so. Only an hour passed since then, and he already had more work to look forward to. The nightmare just didn't seem to end.
For the second time since the term started, something inside Harry collapsed and refused to move.
"I want to go home," he mumbled, dropping his face into his hands.
"You can go after Hogsmeade," said Hermione gently. "Make it a two day trip."
"Yeah, you haven't visited John and Benedict for two weeks," said Ron.
Harry said nothing. He had meant he wanted to go home and never come back. Pretend like magic didn't exist so he could forget about Voldemort … forget about death…
"Harry?" said Ginny worriedly.
Reluctantly, Harry lifted his head. "Sorry, just felt really tired," he muttered.
His friends watched him carefully for a moment.
"What do you really want to do, Harry?" asked Hermione.
Harry blinked at her.
"I don't think you enjoy business stuff," said Hermione. "I mean, OBH is important and all, but I think Ron and I can take of most of it. Right?"
"Yeah, we're totally fine," said Ron quickly.
"But…" Harry protested.
"You don't have to worry about it," said Hermione firmly. "All you have to worry about is the filming and we're well set on that front. So, what do you want to do?"
Harry hesitated. What he wanted was learning he didn't have to die, but that wasn't something he could do. He'd loved to help Miss Jackie and Dr. Ju, but Harry figured he'd be more of a hindrance than help. Moreover, Dumbledore gave him a task, and Harry didn't want to disappoint him, not when Dumbledore trusted him so much. However, Hermione was right; though it was necessary for the investigation, he didn't enjoy working on the OBH. But what else was there to do? It wasn't like they had any new leads or fresh ideas …
"I don't know," said Harry honestly.
"Let's play a game of Quidditch, then," said Ron. "Come on— two on two, Fred and George can play … and we can use the Quidditch pitch; no one's using it now…"
"Ron," said Hermione, in an I-don't-think-you're-being-very-sensitive sort of voice, "Harry doesn't want to play Quidditch … he's worried, and he wants to see Benedict …"
"Yeah, I want to play Quidditch," said Harry suddenly. "Let's do it after the meeting and a round of butter beer at the Three Broomsticks."
Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering something that sounded very much like "Boys", which made Ginny giggle.
Harry set off to Hogmeade after breakfast with all his close friends, Ginny and Julia able to join now that they became third years. The six of them stopped by Honeydukes Sweetshop first, and emerged later eating large cream-filled chocolates. Then they headed to the Three Broomsticks pub.
The Three Broomsticks was packed, mainly with Hogwarts students enjoying their free afternoon, but also with a variety of magical people Harry rarely saw anywhere else. Julia spotted Mr. Jeremy at a table in the corner, dressed in a beautifully cut pearly grey suit and black shirt. They edged towards him.
"Hello, Sunshine," said Mr. Jeremy, beaming at Julia.
"Now I know you're up to something," Julia said, eyes narrowed.
"I feel wounded," said Mr. Jeremy, putting on a theatrical expression of pain for a second. Then just as quickly he put it away and became very business-like: "Bagman will be here in a minute. He was very impressed at the report by the way— said it was the prettiest report he'd seen by far. Have you got the gold ready?"
Harry patted his messenger bag. Mr. Jeremy nodded in approval.
"You also need a receipt for him to sign. I don't know if you've drawn one up, but—"
Hermione promptly set a sheet of parchment on the table. "I wrote it up last night," she said brightly.
"Gosh, you're on top of everything," said Mr. Jeremy admiringly as he read through the parchment, and Hermione glowed. "Okay, this looks good. I'll just add that signing this receipt marks an end to your financial obligations to the Ministry of Magic in regards to the champion selection broadcast."
"Do we really need to specify that?" Ron asked as Mr. Jeremy wrote down the clause.
"Oh yes," said Mr. Jeremy grimly. "I once had to pay a middleman twice for a shipment of dragon hide because I didn't specify that in my receipt. I'm not about to make that mistake again!"
Ron gaped in disbelief as Mr. Jeremy dotted the last full stop. Then Mr. Jeremy took out his wand and started muttering a long incantation.
"You're adding a binding magical contract, too?" asked Hermione, surprised.
"You're in fourth year and you already know the incantation to magical contracts?" said Mr. Jeremy, looking very impressed. "But yes, I always add binding magical contracts to receipts. The wizarding world doesn't have legally binding contracts, you know— just magically binding ones. So if a guy makes a deal in bad faith, you're doomed."
"That's so cut-throat," said Julia, crunching her face.
"That's what makes it fun," said Mr. Jeremy. "No game is fun without a bit of risk."
"I think I prefer boring."
Mr. Jeremy continued to chat with Ron, Hermione and Julia. Harry tuned out and watched the people in the pub instead. All of them looked cheerful and relaxed. Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott were swapping Chocolate Frog cards at a nearby table. Right over by the door he saw Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Quidditch team Seeker, and a large group of her girlfriends. There was a pair of students he didn't know, cuddling at their table by a window.
What wouldn't he have given to be one of these people, sitting around laughing and talking, with nothing to worry about but homework? He imagined how it would have felt to be here if he didn't have death hanging over his head. He wouldn't feel as he did now, for one thing. He and his friends would probably be happily imagining what deadly dangerous task the school champions would be facing on Tuesday. He'd have been really looking forward to it, watching them do whatever it was, cheering on Cedric with everyone else. Then Harry wondered how this could ever be a good thing. John had claimed living like she was already dead was the best thing that happened to her. But how could it be, when it left Harry feeling hopeless, anxious and unmotivated all at once? He wanted his old forgetfulness of death back. At least he was happy back then…
"Ah!" said Mr. Jeremy. "Just the man we've been waiting for! Mr. Ludo Bagman!"
"Jeremy!" Bagman called happily as he bounced over. "Good to see you, mate! Good to see you!"
Bagman sat down at their table and smiled, looking around at him. He was wearing sedate robes of dark forest green today, but he was as boyishly exuberant as he was back at the World Cup.
"Mr. Bagman, this is Ron Weasley. He's in charge of the broadcast," said Mr. Jeremy, patting Ron's shoulder. "I believe you know his father, Arthur Weasley?"
"Of course!" said Bagman, beaming. "Arthur is an old mate of mine; helped my brother Otto this past summer…"
"Lovely," said Mr. Jeremy. "Ron, why don't you introduce Mr. Bagman your team?"
"Uh, okay," said Ron, looking caught off-guard. "Errr, this is Hermione Granger. She … oversees everything and is on top of everything—" (Hermione turned pink and pleased) "—this is Julia Lestrade, she does the editing—" (Julia did a small bow) "—and this is Harry Potter. He's our cameraman."
Bagman did the smallest of double takes when he heard Harry's name, and his eyes performed the familiar flick upward to the scar on Harry's forehead.
"And this is Neville Longbottom and my sister Ginny. They … just joined," Ron ended lamely.
"Thank you, Ron," said Mr. Jeremy, taking over the conversation again. "Now first things first: we'd like to pay the Ministry what they are due…"
At Mr. Jeremy's prompting, Harry took out from his messenger bag the drawstring bag that contained twenty percent of revenues the champion selection ceremony broadcast generated on the first week. Bagman's eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets as the bag thudded on the table, the seams of the bag straining to contain all the gold Galleons and silver sickles inside (calculated accurately to the last knut—not that they needed to add any knuts).
"…Everything seems to be in order," said Bagman, staring wide-eyed at the bag's contents.
"Sign here please," said Hermione, pushing the receipt with a quill lying diagonally across it.
Bagman signed the parchment immediately without reading the contents. Julia raised an eyebrow at that.
"Now that that's settled, we'd like to talk about the first task preparations," said Mr. Jeremy smoothly. "You don't have trouble with us filming it, do you?"
"Of course not," boomed Bagman, waving a hand. "The reserve keepers are scheduled to arrive at Hogwarts today—you can take a peek whenever you like! You just have to keep quiet until the champions tackle them … mind, I don't think it would make any difference even if they did know, considering—"
"How about this evening?" Mr. Jeremy asked, cutting off Bagman.
"Oh, I don't know," said Hermione anxiously. "Harry was planning to go visit home this weekend, and…"
"I can do the filming," said Julia.
"You're supposed to go see Isaac today, Julia," Mr. Jeremy objected. "You haven't seen him for over a month."
"But…"
"It's fine. I can do it," said Harry quickly. "I can go home on Sunday—that was when I planned to go anyway."
"You were?" asked Neville, startled.
"Yeah," said Harry as he checked his calendar. "Professor Lupin being sick and all…"
All the students at the table went round-eyed as they remembered there was a full moon that night.
"Are you going to be there?" asked Harry before Mr. Jeremy could ask about the significance of Lupin being sick.
"No, I'm not allowed to enter Hogwarts until the day of the first task," Mr. Jeremy replied. "You'll have to ask Hagrid. Anyway, Mr. Bagman—"
"Good lord, I've got to run!" said Bagman suddenly, looking rather alarmed as he stared at a window where Fred and George could be seen passing by. "Sorry, but I just remembered something—I'll see you on Tuesday!"
Then clutching the money bag tightly, Bagman Disapparated with a small pop.
"—He's so easy to work with," said Mr. Jeremy, smiling crookedly. "Wished he stayed longer—I was going to pitch the idea of starting a magical sports channel on the MMN."
"Couldn't you have told us this before?" Julia grumbled.
"Well I just got the idea, so I couldn't have," said Mr. Jeremy.
"You keep doing that," said Hermione, frowning. "You can't just take over just because you have an idea."
"Was it a bad idea?" asked Mr. Jeremy, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, no—"
"Then why are you complaining?" said Mr. Jeremy impatiently. "You can't schedule opportunities. You grab them when they come along."
"But we're the ones who have to do all the work!" Julia exclaimed. "Magical Sports channels don't just magically appear, you know!"
"Didn't Jackie nuna already build the foundation for this sort of thing?"
"Yes, but it's not as simple as plug-and-play! We have to film everything and edit everything and…"
"Then hire more help! Aren't people queuing up to work for the MMN?"
"Don't you know what happened the last time we tried to hire someone to help?" said Hermione incredulously. "We had hundreds of unqualified candidates! It was a complete nightmare!"
"How high did you set the bar?"
"All we asked for was someone who could turn-on a bloody computer! How much lower were we supposed to set it?" Ron cried.
"Well—" Mr. Jeremy started, but at that point Harry had enough.
"I'm sorry Mr. Jeremy, but the Triwizard Tournament is all we can handle right now," he said loudly. "If we do more, your sister's going to pull the plug and sack us all. You know she will."
Mr. Jeremy shut his mouth at that. Then he pursed his lips.
"She would," he admitted grudgingly. Then he sighed. "I'm sorry, I got carried away."
"Yeah, you did," Julia quipped.
"I said I was sorry," Mr. Jeremy grumbled. "I suppose they're no way you could add more employees?"
"People don't even know we exist," Ron pointed out.
"Yet," Mr. Jeremy said. "Just you wait. This company is going to change the entire wizarding world, and then everyone is going to know. The broadcasting project already changed the way wizards and witches think. They're starting to realise they can see places and events they can't go to personally— the Quidditch World Cup and Triwizard Tournament, case in point. They're hungry for more, and you're the only one in the game providing what they want. There's no way it won't become big."
Ron nodded eagerly.
"You know, the wizarding world really needs people like you and my sister," Mr. Jeremy said. "Jackie nuna's MMN was the first bit of proper innovation I've seen in decades. Now you lot are making more innovations on top of it. Between the two of you, the wizarding world is finally seeing some much needed change. Our world's been stagnant for too long—I mean, just look at the edition changes Hogwarts textbooks went through: there hasn't been a major update for the last eighty years! If that doesn't indicate stagnant, I don't know what is. But most wizards are too busy squabbling over blood-purity and maintaining status quo. It's ridiculous."
Hermione started listening intently at this point. Ron and Ginny were also transfixed. Neville looked a bit confused, but nevertheless interested, and Julia was inscrutable.
"This really can't continue," said Mr. Jeremy seriously, stabbing his right forefinger on the table. "Any culture that remains stagnant for long is on its way out. We wizards used to be the leaders — now we're barely able to stagger after Muggles and lately we're not even doing that. Wizards only started thinking about magical photographs years after Muggles popularized them, you know; clearly Muggle-borns are the ones to introduce the concept."
"Louise Tablot," said Hermione immediately. "He's the Muggle-born wizard who developed the first wizarding photograph in 1890."
"Exactly," said Mr. Jeremy. "But as I was saying: today's wizardry is stagnant and on its way out. We need a new kind of wizard before our culture dies. I think we should resurrect the old meaning of 'wizard', which is 'wizen one' or 'wise one'. The contemporary wizard is someone who can navigate both the wizarding world and muggle world, someone who can handle both magic and science; a truly wise one."
Hermione actually shivered with excitement.
"And I think Jacqueline is the model we need to sell," Mr. Jeremy went on. "No offence to you, Harry, but I think Jackie nuna is in a better position to be the icon we need. Once the ordinary wizard and witch is sold to the idea people like Jacqueline are cool, well … things are going to get interesting."
Mr. Jeremy looked at them all meaningfully.
"We can make this happen," he said earnestly. "I know we can. We just have to keep doing what we're doing right now and do it well. I'm counting on you."
"Yeah," said Ron breathlessly. "Yeah, you can count on us."
"I know," said Mr. Jeremy, looking at Ron with fierce pride.
Mr. Jeremy departed after bidding them all farewell. Ron, Hermione and Ginny started talking excitedly as soon as he left.
"See, I told you he isn't bad!" said Ron. "I always come out of a meeting feeling inspired!"
"He does sound like a visionary," said Hermione, nodding in approval. "I mean he has his faults, but his ideas are sound."
"And he was in Slytherin," Ginny said. "He's the first Slytherin who doesn't buy pure-blood rubbish I've ever seen. That definitely counts as something." Then she looked at the quiet half of the table. "You don't look very excited, Julia."
"I heard the speech like fifty times," said Julia dryly. "It's gets wearying after a while. Anyway, I don't think he got it quite right."
"Why?" asked Ron, Hermione and Ginny at once.
"If we make people who can weave in and out of the Magic world and Muggle world the cool people, what about people like Hagrid?" she said, pointing her chin at the opposite side of the pub.
They looked and saw the back of Hagrid's enormous shaggy head. Hagrid had his usual enormous tankard in front of him and he was leaning low to talk to Remus. Remus noticed them at their corner and muttered something to Hagrid. The pair of them looked at their direction and waved cheerfully.
"All right there?" said Hagrid loudly.
The six of them waved back, smiling awkwardly. Then, slowly, they turned their attentions back to each other.
"It's not just Hagrid," said Julia quietly. "What about goblins, centaurs and House-elves? Where do they fit in?"
"And what if you're just not clever enough to learn muggle stuff?" said Neville gloomily. "I know I'm not."
"Don't call yourself that," said Ginny sharply. "You're not as stupid as everyone makes you out to be."
"You know how to use a computer," said Ron. "You can't say that about most of our kind."
Neville just shook his head. From the stricken look on Hermione's face and her silence, Harry could tell she knew why he was so. Harry, on his part, didn't say anything. Because his reason for not being impressed at Mr. Jeremy's ideas was guarantee to upset everyone: it wouldn't matter to him either way because he was going to be dead.
Yes, it was best not to say that.
-oo00oo-
Harry kept his silence until the afternoon when they returned to Hogwarts and he, Ron, Ginny and Julia played two-on-two Quidditch at the pitch; Harry and Julia against Ginny and Ron, Neville and Hermione watching. Ginny was good, Ron was decent, and Julia was an excellent flier, but rather inept at handling the Quaffle, so they were reasonably well matched.
After an enjoyable hour of throwing a Quaffle through the goal hoops—but no longer than that, least they trigger Madam Pomfrey's disobedient patient senses, to say nothing of Hermione's anxiety over Harry's EIA— the six of them headed back to the castle.
"What d'you think the first task is going to be about?" asked Ron.
"Well, Bagman said the reserve keepers are going to arrive this evening," said Hermione "Since he said reserve keeper, I'm thinking it will feature a magical beast. And the only magical beast that has its own reserve is…"
"…Dragons," Harry and Julia said together.
Neville paled and Ron whistled.
"Blimey, I don't envy Diggory right now," he said fervently.
"Should we tell Hagrid? You know how much he loves dragons," said Harry.
"He would know already, wouldn't he, since he's supposed to take you there?" said Hermione. "But let's go. We haven't visited Hagrid in ages."
They changed directions and headed to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where Hagrid's cabin was located at. As they neared the one room cabin, they saw the gigantic powder-blue carriage the delegation from Beauxbatons had arrived in parked two hundred yards from Hagrid's front door. The elephantine flying horses that had pulled the carriage were now grazing in a makeshift paddock alongside it.
Harry knocked on Hagrid's door, and Fang's booming barks answered instantly.
"'Bout time!" said Hagrid, when he'd flung open the door. "Thought you lot'd forgotten where I live!"
"We've been really busy, Hag—" Hermione started to say, but then she stopped dead, looking up at Hagrid, apparently lost for words.
Hagrid was wearing his best (and very horrible) hairy brown suit, plus a checked yellow-and-orange tie. This wasn't the worst of it, though; he had evidently tried to tame his hair, using large quantities of what appeared to be axle grease and a comb. It was now slicked down into two bunches and Harry could see the comb's broken teeth tangled in it. The look didn't really suit Hagrid at all. For a moment, Hermione goggled at him, then, obviously deciding not to comment, she said, "Erm—where are the skrewts?"
"Out by the pumpkin patch," said Hagrid happily. "They're gettin' massive, mus' be nearly four foot long now. On'y trouble is they've started killin' each other."
"Oh no, really?" said Hermione, shooting a repressive look at Ron, who, staring at Hagrid's odd hairstyle, had just opened his mouth to say something about it.
"Yeah," said Hagrid sadly. "S' okay, though, I've got 'em in separate boxes now. Still got abou' fifteen."
"Well, that's lucky," said Ron. Hagrid missed the sarcasm.
They entered the cabin and sat down at the enormous wooden table that stood in front of the fire beneath the quantity of cured hams and dead birds hanging from the ceiling. Hagrid started to make tea, and soon they were immersed in discussions about the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. It soon became clear Hagrid knew what it was about.
"You wait," he said, grinning. "You jus' wait. Yer going ter see some stuff yeh've never seen before. Firs' task… ah, but I'm not supposed ter say."
"It couldn't be dragons, could it?" Ron said slyly, but Hagrid just shook his head, grinning.
They ended up having dinner with Hagrid, though they didn't eat much— Hagrid had made what he said was a beef casserole, but after Hermione unearthed a large talon in hers, she and everyone else lost their appetites. However, they enjoyed themselves trying to make Hagrid admit he knew about the dragons, speculating how the champions would react to them, and how they should film it.
By half past five it was growing dark, and everyone except Harry decided it was time to get back up to the castle. Harry of course had to stay behind to 'film' the first task preparations and told Hagrid as much.
"I'll come with yeh," said Hagrid, putting away his darning. "Jus' give us a sec."
There was an air of enormous excitement about Hagrid. As they watched, he put a flower that resembled an oversized artichoke into his buttonhole.
"Why the flower, Hagrid?" asked Julia.
"Got summat ter do," said Hagrid.
"Like what?" Harry said warily, wondering if the skrewts had laid eggs, or Hagrid had managed to buy another giant three-headed dog off a stranger in a pub, and he was off to celebrate the occasion.
"Jus' come with me, keep quiet, an' keep yerself covered with yer cloak," said Hagrid. "We won' take Fang, he won' like it. The res' o' you should head back…"
"How do you even know I have my cloak?" Harry asked even as he took his Invisibility Cloak out from his messenger bag.
But Hagrid wasn't listening; he was opening the cabin door and striding off into the evening. The six of them looked out the window and found, to their great surprise, that Hagrid was heading to the Beauxbatons carriage.
"Why there?" said Hermione in amazement.
"And what's with the hair and the suit?" said Harry in an undertone.
"Look!" said Ron suddenly, pointing out of the window.
Getting to their feet very cautiously, so that Hagrid wouldn't spot them, the six of them peered through the window and saw Hagrid knock three times on the door bearing the crossed golden wands.
Madame Maxime opened it. She was wearing a silk shawl wrapped around her massive shoulders. She smiled when she saw Hagrid. Hagrid beamed back at her, face pink and misty-eyed, and held out a hand to help her down the golden steps.
"He fancies her!" said Ron incredulously. "Well, if they end up having children, they'll be setting a world record—bet any baby of theirs would weigh about a ton."
"You better follow them now, Harry," said Julia as she watched Hagrid offer Madame Maxime his arm with horrified fascination. "Just don't ever tell me what you saw—ever."
They let themselves out of the cabin and shut the door behind them. It was surprisingly dark outside. Ron, Hermione, Julia, Neville and Ginny headed back to the castle, and Harry, wrapped in his invisibility cloak, ran to keep up with Hagrid and Madame Maxime.
"Wair is it you are taking me, 'Agrid?" said Madame Maxime playfully.
"Yeh'll enjoy this," said Hagrid gruffly, "worth seein', trust me. On'y— don' go tellin' anyone I showed yeh, right? Yeh're not s'posed ter know."
"Of course not," said Madame Maxime, fluttering her long black eyelashes.
Harry sighed irritably as he jogged along in their wake. It was obvious to him Madame Maxime was milking Hagrid's regard for her for all its worth. Sherlock was absolutely correct about love turning people stupid(er).
They walked so far around the perimeter of the forest that the castle and the lake were out of sight. Then Harry heard something. Men were shouting up ahead … then came a deafening, earsplitting roar…
Hagrid led Madame Maxime around a clump of trees and came to a halt. Harry hurried up alongside them—for a split second, he thought he was seeing bonfires, and men darting around them—and then his mouth fell open.
Dragons.
Three fully grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons were rearing onto their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, roaring and snorting—torrents of fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground on their outstretched necks. There was a silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the ground; a red one with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, which was shooting mushroom-shaped fire clouds into the air; and a gigantic black one, more lizard-like than the others, which was nearest to them. At least thirty wizards, seven or eight to each dragon, were attempting to control them, pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs. Mesmerized, Harry looked up, high above him, and saw the eyes of the black dragon, with vertical pupils like a cat's, bulging with either fear or rage, he couldn't tell which. It was making a horrible noise, a yowling, screeching scream…
"Keep back there, Hagrid!" yelled a wizard near the fence, straining on the chain he was holding. "They can shoot fire at a range of twenty feet, you know! I've seen this Horntail do forty!"
"Is'n' it beautiful?" said Hagrid softly.
"It's no good!" yelled another wizard. "Stunning Spells, on the count of three!"
Harry saw each of the dragon keepers pull out his wand.
"Stupefy!" they shouted in unison, and the Stunning Spells shot into the darkness like fiery rockets, bursting in showers of stars on the dragons' scaly hides—
Harry watched the dragon nearest to them teeter dangerously on its back legs; its jaws stretched wide in a silent howl; its nostrils were suddenly devoid of flame, though still smoking — then, very slowly, it fell. Several tons of sinewy, scaly dragon hit the ground with a thud that Harry could have sworn made the trees behind him quake.
The dragon keepers lowered their wands and walked forward to their fallen charges, each of which was the size of a small hill. They hurried to tighten the chains and fasten them securely to iron pegs, which they forced deep into the ground with their wands.
"Wan' a closer look?" Hagrid asked Madame Maxime excitedly. The pair of them moved right up to the fence, and Harry followed. The wizard who had warned Hagrid not to come any closer turned, and Harry realized who it was: Charlie Weasley.
"All right, Hagrid?" he panted, coming over to talk. "They should be okay now — we put them out with a Sleeping Draft on the way here, thought it might be better for them to wake up in the dark and the quiet — but, like you saw, they weren't happy, not happy at all—"
"What breeds you got here, Charlie?" said Hagrid, gazing at the closest dragon, the black one, with something chose to reverence. Its eyes were still just open. Harry could see a strip of gleaming yellow beneath its wrinkled black eyelid.
"This is a Hungarian Horntail," said Charlie. "There's a Swedish Short-Snout, that blue-grey and a Chinese Fireball, that's the red."
Charlie looked around; Madame Maxime was strolling away around the edge of the enclosure, gazing at the stunned dragons.
"I didn't know you were bringing her, Hagrid," Charlie said, frowning. "The champions aren't supposed to know what's coming—she's bound to tell her student, isn't she?"
"Jus' thought she'd like ter see 'em," shrugged Hagrid, still gazing, enraptured, at the dragons.
"Really romantic date, Hagrid," said Charlie, shaking his head.
"Three…" said Hagrid, "so it's one fer each o' the champions, is it? What've they gotta do — fight 'em?"
"Just get past them, I think," said Charlie. "We'll be on hand if it gets nasty, Extinguishing Spells at the ready. They wanted nesting mothers, I don't know why … but I tell you this, I don't envy the one who gets the Horntail. Vicious thing. Its back end's as dangerous as its front, look."
Charlie pointed toward the Horntail's tail, and Harry saw long, bronze-coloured spikes protruding along it every few inches.
Five of Charlie's fellow keepers staggered up to the Horntail at that moment, carrying a clutch of huge granite-grey eggs between them in a blanket. They placed them carefully at the Horntail's side. Hagrid let out a moan of longing.
"I've got them counted, Hagrid," said Charlie sternly. Then he asked. "Where is Harry? They told us he'd be here."
"Around," said Hagrid. He was still gazing at the eggs.
"I hope he doesn't have to get close when he does whatever he needs to do to record the champions facing this lot," said Charlie grimly, looking out over the dragons' enclosure. "I didn't dare tell Mum what the first task was about; she just about fainted when Ron told her Harry was going to be the cameraman, and then exploded on Harry's mum for letting him do something so dangerous…"
Harry had had enough. Trusting to the fact that Hagrid wouldn't miss him, with the attractions of three dragons and Madame Maxime to occupy him, he turned silently and began to walk away, back to the castle.
…And almost ran into Karkaroff on the way back. Harry side-stepped quickly, and silently watched Karkaroff creep under under the cover of the trees and edged forward toward the place where the dragons were.
Harry had no doubt whatsoever what Karkaroff was up to. He had sneaked off his ship to try and find out what the first task was going to be. He might even have spotted Hagrid and Madame Maxime heading off around the forest together — they were hardly difficult to spot at a distance. And now all Karkaroff had to do was follow the sound of voices, and he, like Madame Maxime, would know what was in store for the champions. By the looks of it, the only champion who would be facing the dragon without warning on Tuesday was Cedric.
Harry felt rage roiling up his gut at once. Cedric could easily die armed with nothing but his wand against a fifty-foot-high, scaly, spike-ridden, fire-breathing dragon. Without any warning or preparation. With everyone watching. Like his death was some exciting show. DAMN IT!
Harry checked his watch. Dinner was almost over now, and he had no idea where Cedric might be. But he had to do something.
Harry hurried over to castle. As luck would have it, Cedric was leaving the Great Hall by himself. Harry quietly followed him until they'd reached the third floor corridor, which was empty of everyone but himself and Cedric. There Harry took off his invisibility cloak, stuffed it quickly back into his messenger bag, and called out:
"Hey!"
Cedric flinched a bit before turning. He started when he realised who called him.
"Hi," said Cedric warily. "Can I help you?"
"Cedric," said Harry, "the first task is dragons."
Cedric blinked.
"What?" he said.
"Dragons," said Harry, speaking quickly in case someone might enter the hall. "They've got three, one for each champion, and you got to get past them."
Cedric stared at him. Harry saw the panic flickering in Cedric's grey eyes.
"Are you sure?" Cedric said in a hushed voice.
"Dead sure," said Harry. "I've seen them."
"But how did you find out? No one is supposed to know."
"Never mind," said Harry — because he wasn't supposed to tell anyone and if anyone found out what he was doing, he was going to be in trouble. "But I'm not the only one who knows. Fleur and Krum will know by now. Maxime and Karkaroff both saw the dragons too."
Cedric stared at Harry, and there was a puzzled, almost suspicious look in his eyes.
"Why are you telling me?" he asked.
Harry wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond. He had far too many reasons, and not all them he could say.
"…It's just fair," he finally said. "And I wouldn't let even my worst enemy face a dragon unprepared."
Cedric still looked at him in a slightly suspicious way. Harry decided he'd done his part.
"That's all," he said. "Good luck on Tuesday. Hope you do well."
And with that, Harry walked away.
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: I had written a version of this chapter last week, but I hated it. So I scraped it and wrote it again. And again. This is the version that struck the best chord … and I'm still not quite satisfied. :( This has to be the longest chapter I wrote for ASIM…
In my head, Harriet Watson was a Royal Marine. John and Harry had an intense but mostly friendly rivalry over their respective military careers until Harry retired from the military and John was medically discharged.
I had to wonder how the Ministry of Magic regulates businesses for this chapter. There wasn't a lot to go on. Diagon Alley is full of mom-and-pop shops, and Fred and George started their private mail-order business without having to go through Ministry of Magic, and it didn't look like they had to declare the WWW as a legal business entity when opened their brick-and-mortar shop. Considering the primary business of the MoM is keeping magic secret and how loose they are about other laws, I figure if wizards and witches pay income and property tax, all business earnings minus qualified expenses would count as income and business estate as property, thus taxed that way. This doesn't cover corporations or conglomerates, but the HP-verse doesn't appear to have them.
Hermione is sharp about any kind of superiority agenda, but in one area she has a blind-spot: intelligence. She is extremely brainy, and is impatient towards people who are not as brainy as she. Jeremy's ideas flatter her natural inclination towards intelligence/cleverness so she wasn't as critical to them.