Chapter 26: Winter 1994
"Why are you skipping the Yule Ball, Harry?"
Harry looked up from his book to find Professor McGonagall sitting across from him, somehow expectant and disapproving at the same time. They were in the staff room, Madam Pomfrey having bribed Harry yet again to attend tonight's meeting for her.
"I'm returning home for Christmas," he replied.
"Much to James's displeasure," Uncle Remus added from beside him.
"Don't you have marking to do?" Harry asked, shooting him a disgruntled look.
Uncle Remus grinned and tickled Harry's nose with the end of his quill. "Disapproving of your life choices is far more entertaining."
Harry swatted him away. "You're acting like I'm dropping out of Hogwarts to join the circus."
"And missing the Yule Ball while you're at it," Professor McGonagall said with a pointed look.
"I have an appointment at St Mungo's," Harry admitted.
Uncle Remus scoffed. "On the twenty-eighth."
Abandoning any pretences of not listening in, Professor Flitwick frowned."It's nothing serious, I hope."
"Just some headaches," Harry replied with a reassuring smile.
This statement, whilst true, wasn't entirely accurate. He was indeed having headaches, after all. Just really, really bad ones that could no longer be alleviated with a Headache Cure. He'd been having them off and on since summer, but they'd become progressively worse since November.
"You're too stressed," Professor Sprout said. "I dare say a night of frivolity would be good for you."
Stress had very little to do with it, truth be told. According to Madam Pomfrey, the pain was most likely caused by the cursed scar on his forehead. After several weeks of careful study, she declared it too far outside her area of expertise and set up an appointment with one of St Mungo's curse specialists. She had pulled a lot of strings to get him in so quickly, and Harry wasn't about to miss it. Especially if it offered him some relief from the headaches.
"There must be another day for your appointment, surely," Professor McGonagall said, head nodding along in agreement. "The Yule Ball is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to attend."
"Not before Easter," Harry replied. "This isn't something I can put off."
"We're not saying you should, Harry," Uncle Remus said. "I am more than happy to take you home the day after the ball. Or James could meet you in Hogsmeade. Hoping the train isn't your only option here."
Harry groaned in defeat, burying his face in his hands. "What's it matter anyway?"
Uncle Remus gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. "We just hate to see you miss out on more than you already have."
It was an unfortunate side effect of Harry's apprenticeship; he wasn't enrolled in Hogwarts' traditional classes, so he always felt a bit disconnected from his peers. Even now, he felt more comfortable being harassed about his personal life by his former professors than sitting in the middle of the Slytherin common room.
"You deserve a night of fun," Professor McGonagall added.
Harry looked at her from between his fingers. "Is this your convoluted way of asking me to be your date, Professor?"
Professor McGonagall looked torn between laughing and scolding him for his cheek. "And steal you from your many admirers? I would never."
Other than Cordelia Gamp, Harry wasn't entirely sure who these admirers were supposed to be. "Well, if you won't accompany me, I can't think of who else I'd go with."
"What about Ginny?" Uncle Remus said.
"Miss Weasley is already attending with Neville Longbottom," Professor Sprout offered almost apologetically.
Something akin to betrayal stabbed in his gut, although he wasn't entirely sure why. It's not like Ginny had known Harry would change his plans and ask her to the ball. And if she hadn't accepted Longbottom's invitation, she wouldn't've been able to attend at all. He didn't own Ginny; she was allowed to have other friends. And yet…
Pushing his feelings aside for future examination, Harry asked, "How long do I have to decide?"
Professor McGonagall gave him a warm smile. "You'll stay?"
"Only if you promise to save me a dance."
She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, although her reply was cut short by the arrival of Professor Dumbledore, wearing velvet robes in a festive crimson, and Professor Moody, who dropped heavily into the chair on Harry's other side. Harry arranged his belongings to make room for him, but Moody plucked a book off the top of Harry's stack before he could cram them back into his bag.
"How to Start a Pandemic Without Really Trying," Moody read aloud. With one eye trained on the cover, he gave Harry a suspicious cross-eyed glare. "Interesting reading you've got here, Harry."
There was a jolt of uneasy bafflement at the sound of his given name. Sure, it wasn't uncommon for the other professors to call him 'Harry,' but they'd known him for years. Moody had met him once at the Magical Library of England and never spoken to him again. He hadn't so much as mentioned looking into cursed object-induced possession as he had promised, and after so many months, Harry thought it would be too awkward to bring it up.
With a tight-lipped smile, Harry took his book back. "I've got an exam on infectious diseases next week."
The awkward moment was broken (or perhaps increased) by Professor Snape, who said in a somewhat bland and mocking tone, "As fascinating as all of this is, might I suggest we begin our meeting?"
The staff meeting commenced with little fanfare. The main topic of discussion centred around patrols and chaperone rotations during the Yule Ball. Harry's presence was largely unnecessary other than passing along Madam Pomfrey's concerns regarding alcohol poisoning and teenage pregnancy.
The following morning, Harry arrived at the Great Hall far earlier than he usually would, knowing Luna liked to arrive before all of the good bananas were gone. He found her at the Ravenclaw table, scrutinising the fruit bowl, and dropped onto the bench across from her.
"Good morning, Harry Potter," she said dreamily. "Were the Nocnitsa causing you problems again?"
Harry was so used to Luna's bizarre creatures that he didn't even blink at the question. "Not this time," he replied.
Luna briefly searched his face before letting out a slight hum and returning to her original task. Finally selecting a suitable banana, she peeled it and reached for the Marmite. "You're not usually up this early. I assumed you've been having nightmares again."
Harry blinked, momentarily thrown for a loop. He had been having a lot of nightmares lately—ever since the World Cup, actually—but he hadn't mentioned them to anyone. Mainly because he couldn't remember them after jerking awake in the dead of night, with only that lingering, indistinct feeling of unease that informed him that he had had a bad dream.
"Actually, I wanted to speak with you," he said, steering the conversation towards safer topics.
She hummed around a mouthful of Marmite-covered banana.
"You're staying at the castle for Christmas break, right?"
"Daddy's on an expedition in Chile at the moment," she explained with a serene smile. "He's searching for a Dhumnguer. It's a massive fish-like creature whose blood has healing properties. Would you like him to send along his findings? It might be helpful for the Hospital Wing."
"Er, that's alright."
She nodded. "That's probably for the best, I suppose. It's poisonous to red-heads."
"We do seem to have a lot of those at Hogwarts," Harry agreed.
Luna nodded thoughtfully and went back to her banana.
"If you're staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, you'll be here for the Yule Ball," Harry said.
"Yes. Ginny's already agreed to take pictures for me," she replied. There wasn't a hint of jealousy in her voice at the prospect that she was the only one of their friend group who wasn't attending. Then again, it probably hadn't occurred to Luna to be jealous.
"Would you like to go?" Harry asked before he lost his nerve. "With me, I mean?"
Luna froze, her silvery eyes flicking up at him with suspicion. "Why?"
"Professor McGonagall won't stop harassing me about skipping it," he admitted. "And I figured that since you're my only other friend not going…"
Luna pursed her lips and set her banana down on her plate. "I don't want to date you," she said bluntly.
Alarm jolted through Harry at her blunt declaration. "Oh no! That's not—as friends Luna. I don't want a date."
The effect was instantaneous. The stern look vanished, replaced with pure joy. "I would love to go to the Yule Ball as your friend, Harry Potter."
Although he hadn't expected her to turn his invitation down, he was relieved nonetheless. "I'll let McGonagall know."
"I'll have to find dress robes," she said. "I've never been to a ball before. Certainly not with a friend."
"I can't say I have either." He laughed, and their conversation drifted to their upcoming day. Their friends trickled into the Great Hall slowly, joining them at the Ravenclaw table in various states of sleepiness. Ginny predictably scowled at everyone before she finished her morning tea, particularly Cedric, the token morning person in their group. Still, even she managed to smile when Luna proudly exclaimed how she and Harry were going to the Yule Ball ("as friends!") together.
At least until Grace arrived.
"I need your help," Grace hissed, squeezing between Harry and Ginny.
Cedric looked torn between concerned and hurt that Grace had neglected to kiss him good morning. "What's up?" he asked.
It was then that Harry noticed that Grace was wearing a pair of mittens, which looked strangely deflated on her hands.
"I might have fucked up," Grace admitted in a low voice, shooting cautious looks to their closest neighbours, clearly checking to make sure that they weren't eavesdropping. Deciding it was safe, she lifted her hands to her face and pulled her mittens off with her teeth.
Harry let out a startled giggle before slapping his hands over his mouth. He thought his reaction was understandable.
"Shut up," she growled, trying (and failing) to stuff her hands-turned-paws back in the mittens.
Harry stopped her and bent over to inspect the damage. He recognised the strawberry blonde fur instantly. "Were you trying to change into your fox?" he asked, mildly concerned. Mishaps like this weren't uncommon the first few times an Animagus attempted their animal form. They were nearly as common for someone who had completed the transformation a year ago.
"I was playing around with it," she admitted sullenly. "After I saw Krum at the first task…"
Harry nodded in understanding. He probably would've done the same thing if he had the free time. Whilst not particularly useful, the ability to hold two different forms was an impressive feat of concentration and magical control.
"You really shouldn't mess around like this without someone around to help." He drew out his wand and gave her paws a little tap, frowning when they didn't revert to their original state. "When did you do this?"
"Last night."
His head snapped up in disbelief. "You spent the night like this?" That would explain why he couldn't easily undo the transformation. Much like a stain on the front of your robes, the longer a botched self-transfiguration was left to set, the harder it was to undo. "Grace, your room is right down the corridor from mine. Why didn't you come and get me?"
"Well, I couldn't exactly open my door, could I?" she snapped. "I don't have opposable thumbs!"
"I let her out this morning," Teddy explained helpfully. He had taken Grace's usual spot beside Cedric and watched their interaction with undisguised and unrepentant glee.
Grace raised her right paw as if to perform a rude hand gesture, only to remember that she no longer had any fingers. She settled for a nasty glare.
Harry sighed and rammed the last of his toast into his mouth before standing up. "To the Hospital Wing with you."
"Can't you just fix it right now?"
"It's going to take a while. I can do it here if you'd like, but people will notice."
She scowled but nodded, clambering to her feet. The tips of her paws peeked out from her sleeves, and Harry paused to ram them back into her mittens.
"We'll see you at lunch," Harry said, waving to their friends before ushering Grace out of the Great Hall.
They were halfway up the Grand Staircase when someone called out his name. He turned to find Maia, surrounded by her admirers, marching into the Entrance Hall.
"Breakfast is this way!" she called out. "Join us."
Harry offered her a tight smile. "I'll sit with you at lunch," he promised. He gently pushed Grace to keep moving, only to find he couldn't. A glance down showed that his legs had been transfigured into marble. The counter-spell was easy enough to perform, but Harry was annoyed that his cousin had been able to pull off such a stunt in the first place. Years of harassment and bullying had taught him to be far more aware of his surroundings.
"I asked you to join me," Maia said in that slow, deliberate way that made her orders sound like a suggestion. With even, graceful steps, she glided up the staircase until she came to stop in front of them, a single eyebrow raised, allowing him to recant his rejection.
His chest tightened with irritation, and it took every bit of willpower not to snap back at his cousin. Instead, he focused on regaining control of his legs. "I really can't right now. We're a bit busy at the moment."
"You're never too busy for family," Maia chided in a falsely sweet voice.
From down below, the Durmstrang delegation nodded in agreement. Harry tried not to roll his eyes. And Snape accused him of having a gang of followers.
"Duty calls, I'm afraid," Harry replied, finally breaking the transfiguration. He pressed a firm hand to Grace's shoulder, ushering her on. "I'll see—"
"You're being rude, cousin," Maia said, her pleasant expression, fake as it was, melting away. Underneath, Harry caught a glimpse of something cold and calculating—a side to Maia he decided he didn't like one bit. "I want you to eat breakfast with us."
"He said no," Grace snapped, speaking at last. "You've got an entire crowd to appeal to your vanities. Might I suggest choosing one of them?"
Maia's face—which was so much like his own—twisted into a dark scowl. Her hazel eyes at last flicked towards Grace. "I see you're injured, little lamb," she cooed.
With reflexes Harry didn't know she possessed, Maia whipped out her wand and shot a spell at Grace, who stumbled directly into her waiting arms.
"What's this?" she asked, ripping the glove off and exposing Grace's paw. "I'd heard you were a Mudblood, but I didn't realise you were a literal animal!"
Harry leapt forward and managed to wrestle Grace moments before she sank her vulpine teeth into Maia's arm.
"Go," Harry commanded, pointing in the general direction of the Hospital Wing. "I'll catch up." He didn't wait to see if Grace had complied before rounding back on Maia.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Harry hissed.
Maia had the audacity to roll her eyes. "You're so melodramatic. I don't even know why I bother with you."
Harry's blood thundered in his ears. He drew his wand. "Stay away from her."
Maia's eyes widened with delight. "Are you turning to violence, Healer Potter?" she asked in a sing-song voice.
"Harry," Grace murmured, and he jumped when he felt a furry paw on his hand. "She's not worth it."
"On the contrary," Maia said with a saccharine smile. "I'm worth far more than you."
"Hardly," Harry snapped. "You're a disgrace to your family.
Maia let out a tittering laugh before correcting, "Our family."
Harry paused, his eyes narrowing as he weighed her and found her wanting. "If this is how a Ganas acts, I'm proud to be called Potter." He didn't stick around to see her reaction. Spinning on his heel, Harry grabbed Grace by the elbow and marched her up the staircase.
They made it to the Hospital Wing without further delay. Harry spent the next several hours reversing Grace's botched transformation.
"We need to go to Snape," Harry said as he worked.
Grace rolled her eyes. "And what is he supposed to do about it?"
"Well, we've got to do something about her," Harry snapped. "She can't get away with this."
"She called me a few mean names. They're nothing I haven't heard before."
Calling someone a 'Mudblood' wasn't the same as calling someone a mean name, and they both knew it. Harry couldn't even chalk Maia's use of it up to a cultural difference or blame it on the language barrier. Maia knew precisely what she was saying when she used that foul word. The only thing Harry didn't understand was why. Granted, he had only met his cousin a few months ago, but she had never given him any indications of being a blood supremacist. Unless she had, and he had somehow missed it?
Pursing his lips, Harry tried to recall every interaction he'd had with his cousin. Had there been a time when she had shown her true colours? What had been his reaction? And what did it say about him if he continued associating with her?
As if she could read his thoughts, Grace sighed. "You don't get it, do you?"
Her question brought Harry up short. "Get what?"
Grace gave him a look that was somewhere between pitying and exasperated. "I wasn't the one she wanted to hurt."
Genius Fratris
Maia's hostile behaviour was yet another stress Harry did not need in his life. Whilst it had been relatively harmless this time, he knew that there was always a possibility that it could escalate. She might even go after his other friends. Although Cedric could defend himself against Maia, the same could not be said for Teddy, Ginny, Grace, and Luna. As talented as his friends were, Maia benefited from several more years of schooling than his younger friends. It was this realisation that spurred Harry and Cedric to get creative.
"What if they stick together—a safety in numbers sort of thing?" Cedric asked a few days later.
It was the last day of classes before the Christmas holidays, and they were holed up in Slytherin's Study whilst their friends attended lessons. Harry himself was done for the year, having taken his Step test the day before, and Cedric's Herbology lesson had been cancelled because Professor Sprout's crop of Mandrakes caught laryngitis.
"It's hardly practical," Harry pointed out. "Besides, we can hardly find Luna on the best of days. But what if we asked the portraits to keep an eye on—"
Cedric was shaking his head before Harry could finish. "It will be too late by the time they locate us. Besides, there are too many places where there aren't any portraits—all Maia has to do is corner them in a classroom. If she hurts them there, we might not know for hours."
Harry let out an angry sigh. "What we need is a way to track her. They could avoid a run-in if they knew she was nearby."
Cedric froze, his grey eyes wide. "The Map."
It took Harry a moment to realise what he was referring to, and he swore under his breath. "We're so stupid."
They leapt out of their seats and scurried over to the table Cedric had claimed as his own. There, buried under dozens of books and notes, they found the Marauder's Map. Or, at least, their rendition, considering Snape still had the original. It was incomplete, as the spells needed to create it had been too advanced for them in years past, and this year, with the Tournament and Harry's tests, neither of them had had the time to work on it. But even without pinpointing the location of everyone in the castle, it was still a functional map of Hogwarts. In Harry's humble opinion, it was even better than the original, with its addition of rooms that Harry's father and uncles had never discovered.
"What if we made one for each of us?" Harry asked as he inspected the map.
Cedric hummed and consulted his notes. "I can't foresee it being a problem so long as we do it before the charms are applied. According to Uncle Sirius, the Duplication Charm interacts with one of the tracking charms—causes the entire map to sing…"
It was fortunate Harry had a break from the Hospital Wing because, over the next week, Harry and Cedric spent every waking moment on the map. They rarely left the Study except to shower and attend to their prefect duties—not even to sleep.
One would think that, with the term he'd had, jumping straight into a complex project would be the last thing he'd want to do; however, this could not be further from the truth. There was something invigorating about collaborating with Cedric on their harebrained scheme, and he found that he enjoyed the creative outlet it provided. And when their friends gathered around their maps several days later, Harry felt immense satisfaction for completing the project.
"So we can see anyone on the Map?" Ginny asked, her voice hushed with awe.
Harry hummed in confirmation and ran his finger along his until he spotted John tucked safely away in Gryffindor Tower. "The charm is tied to the Hall of Pillars," Harry explained absentmindedly. "The founders carved thousands of runes into each pillar, creating the enchantments that protect the school. My dad and one of his friends managed to sneak in back in the seventies and add runes that can sense any being's essence within the castle."
"Was it Uncle Sirius or Remus?" asked Grace.
Harry froze as something hot squirmed in the pit of his stomach. "No, someone else," he replied in a tone that invited no further discussion.
Thankfully, the conversation moved to safer topics, although they didn't linger in the Study as long as they usually would. It was Christmas Eve, and although the Yule Ball wouldn't take place until the following evening, Grace had claimed that they needed to get their beauty sleep.
"Especially you, Harry," she jived. "We can't have you looking like that next to Luna."
Luna scrutinised him as their friends laughed at his expense. "You probably should do something about the hair, Harry," she agreed solemnly. "The Krampus won't like that it's uncombed."
Harry nodded like he knew what the hell she was talking about. "I'll do my best."
Genius Fratris
Harry grudgingly admitted that Professor McGonagall was right to bully him into attending the Yule Ball. Not that he'd ever say this to her, of course. Still, even if it weren't for the company of his friends, he was excited to see the Great Hall decorated so spectacularly. Snow fell from the ceiling, enchanted to feel warm when it landed on them. Garlands of ivy and holly hung overhead, with little jars of fairy lights casting a warm glow over the hundreds of round tables, each seating a dozen students. Harry and his friends claimed one such table near the middle of the hall, with the exception of Grace and Cedric, who were forced to sit at the front of the Great Hall with the Tournament organisers.
"Is that your brother?" Harry asked Ginny as they sat down for dinner. She was sitting on his right, and Neville Longbottom, her date, sat on her other side, looking awkward and uncomfortable in his own skin.
"Probably. I have loads of them," she said flippantly. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, sending a waft of her floral shampoo in Harry's direction.
He playfully elbowed her in the side. "Why is Percy here?"
Ginny craned around, frowning when she spotted her older brother sitting with the Tournament organisers. Unlike Ginny's faded green dress robes, Percy's were a sharp (if perhaps a little bland) charcoal and clearly new. "Haven't the foggiest. He never said anything. Granted, it's not like we exchange letters very often, but…" she pursed her lips in thought. "Should I stand on my chair and wave enthusiastically at him?"
"It might embarrass him," Harry replied.
"Is that a yes?"
"Please don't," Longbottom cut in.
Ginny glared, and Harry intervened before she could lay into him. "He still works for Barty Crouch, right?"
"And loving every second of it," Ginny replied with an eye-roll. "At least Crouch calls him by the right name now."
"Barty Crouch is notorious for sending prank letters to people," Luna added casually. She had removed her Butterbeer cork necklace for the night and instead wore a crown of woven spruce boughs, complete with pine cones and little paper birds charmed to chirp periodically. Sitting on Harry's left side in her cranberry-coloured robes, she looked very festive indeed. "He uses the pseudonym 'Roger Pack,' but everyone knows it's him."
Harry, who had only briefly met Barty Crouch, knew instantly that this statement was ludicrous. Even if Luna wasn't prone to spewing conspiracy theories, one look at Barty Crouch informed anyone with half a working brain cell that he was the last person on Earth ever to send a prank letter. Still, he diplomatically gave her a tight smile and replied, "He doesn't seem like the type."
Luna gave him a stern look. "Don't judge him for it, Harry. We all have our hobbies."
The arrival of dinner saved Harry from formulating a reply. The meal was pleasant, if perhaps a touch awkward, although Harry thought that might've had something to do with the addition of Longbottom and Daphne Greengrass, Ginny and Teddy's dates. Longbottom couldn't relax enough to join in on their conversations, stuttering and blushing whenever anyone looked at him for more than a few seconds. And Greengrass…
She wasn't a mean girl by any stretch of the imagination, just…intense. Greengrass spent most of the evening watching everyone with a shrewd eye, rarely adding anything to the conversation, and speaking only when directly addressed. Unlike her charismatic and gregarious younger sister, Daphne had a habit of fading into the background of any social situation she found herself in, content to observe the goings-on rather than partake in them. In fact, Harry could've easily forgotten that Daphne existed if it weren't for said younger sister, who chattered his ear off during her weekly check-ups.
Stilted dinner conversations aside, the meal itself was good. But even more enjoyable was when the tables were cleared away, and the champions took to the dance floor. The Tournament organisers had somehow managed to get the Weird Sisters to play, and Harry watched with glee as Cedric attempted to lead Grace through a basic waltz.
He knew he should've felt bad for laughing, but watching Grace dance reminded Harry greatly of the time John had put socks on his three-legged cat, Wobbles. Her movements were oddly jerky, and despite her musical inclinations, Grace seemed to lack any sense of internal beat. She trod on Cedric's toes so many times that he abandoned all attempts to lead her and placed her on the tops of his feet instead.
"Please tell me you know how to dance, Luna?" Harry asked when other couples joined the champions on the dance floor.
Luna smiled and took his hand. "Of course," she said in her airy voice. "It solves most of the world's problems, after all."
She said this with such decisiveness that Harry couldn't help but agree. They danced several more sets together before Cedric insisted they swap partners, and Harry had to endure the menace that was Grace's two left feet. He tried to distract himself by watching the other dancers, spying John dancing enthusiastically with Parvati Patil; Ron scowling in the corner as he glared at Hermione; Ginny forcing Percy to dance with her; and Longbottom, who hovered awkwardly at the edge of the dance floor, desperately wanting to partake but not knowing how to find a partner.
When the song was over, Harry happily returned Grace to Cedric before hunting down McGonagall for the dance she had promised. From there, he danced with the Ravenclaw seeker Cho Chang, a Fifth-Year Hufflepuff called Owens, Katie Bell (much to George Weasley's ire), several sets with Ginny, and, inexplicably, Daphne Greengrass.
"Are you having an enjoyable evening, Greengrass?" Harry asked after a full minute of silence.
She shrugged. "It's better than going with Malfoy."
"Oh? Do you not like him?"
"Nobody likes him," she replied blandly. "Even if I found him tolerable, it's not worth being shunned over."
Harry closed his eyes as he attempted to comprehend her words. "Why would you be shunned for going to a dance with Malfoy?" He glanced around the Great Hall until he found the boy in question standing in a corner with Crabbe and Goyle.
Greengrass gave him a look he couldn't interpret. "Anyone caught talking to him gets shunned," she explained slowly, as if he were a toddler.
"When did this start?" Harry asked. With all his tests this year, he hadn't had time to keep up with the Hogwarts rumour mill.
She shrugged again. "October, maybe? Did you really not know what you started?"
He gave her an incredulous look. "What I started?"
Greengrass watched him for a moment, cataloguing his reaction. "Fascinating."
She didn't elaborate further, and Harry was only partially glad when the song ended and she drifted off. In a daze, Harry wandered off in the other direction, finding himself at the refreshment table without any recollection as to how he got there.
Greengrass's words echoed through his head on a loop, but try as he might, he couldn't make sense of them. To his knowledge, he'd never told anyone to shun Malfoy. The closest he got was advising John and their collective friends to ignore him. But that was hardly the same thing.
Unless…
"You look pensive, Potter."
Harry turned to find Percy Weasley beside him, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the ball.
"After all we've been through, I think you can call me Harry," he said.
Percy jerked his chin down. "Only if you call me Percy."
"I don't have a choice in a crowd this size," Harry teased. "I'd end up summoning half the school if I used your surname."
Percy rolled his eyes but didn't seem all too offended. "How have you been?"
"I keep myself busy," Harry replied lightly.
"With those exams," Percy added. "Ginny was telling me about them."
Harry shrugged. "Honesty? They're probably the least of my worries at the moment, what with—well. You didn't come to the ball to listen to me complain," he said with a little self-deprecating laugh. "No offence, but why are you here?"
"Mr Crouch sent me," Percy explained, his chest puffing up with pride. "He's been under the weather lately. I've been standing in for him in the meantime."
Admittedly, he'd hardly spoken to the man, but that didn't sound like the Bartemius Crouch that Harry knew. "It's nothing serious, I hope?"
"Not at all," he said in a rush, almost as a reflex. But even as he said it, something flickered across Percy's face. He glanced over his shoulder. "Well, nothing officially. I really shouldn't say anything, but…"
"You're worried?" Harry guessed.
"He's been rather…confused, I suppose. It's the oddest thing. We'll have a conversation one day, and the next, he'll deny it ever happened."
Harry pursed his lips and motioned for Percy to follow. They slipped out of the warmth of the Great Hall and out onto the chilly grounds. Paths had been cut into the ankle-deep snow, and they followed one into the rose garden, which someone had decorated with hundreds of fairy lights and carved ice sculptures.
"Have there been any other symptoms?" Harry asked quietly. They were alone at the moment, but in a place like Hogwarts, there was always a risk of being overheard.
Percy let out a heavy sigh and considered the question. "Sometimes his words don't make sense. He'll speak in English, but the way he says it makes it impossible to understand him."
Harry thought he understood what Percy was explaining. John did it sometimes when he imposed English words on Greek grammar. "How many languages does Crouch speak?"
"Two hundred."
That would do it, Harry thought. The symptoms particularly made sense in light of this information. There was only one way to learn that many languages. "He's a Hatter."
Percy jolted and gave Harry a panicked look. "It's not widely known," he said, confirming Harry's suspicions.
"It's not illegal," Harry replied, although he understood Percy's desire for secrecy. 'Hatters' were people who overused Thinking Caps—magically enhanced hats that allowed the wearer to learn anything to a high level of proficiency in a matter of hours. And whilst this sounded all well and good, the use of Thinking Caps was not without any risks. Wearing too many Caps too close together could scramble someone's brain. "You think he's abusing them?"
Barty Crouch, pompous bastard that he was, seemed like the type. He probably used a few and got cocky.
"Possibly?" Percy sighed as if he desperately wanted to be wrong but knew he wasn't. "The symptoms fit, only I haven't seen him using them."
"He could be wearing them at home," Harry pointed out. "Have you told anyone?"
Percy let out a mirthless laugh. "Who would I go to? Mr Crouch is the head of the department, and I can hardly make an appointment with the Minister."
"Maybe you should," Harry said. "Just to get it on the record. Merlin forbid something happen, but if it did, people would wonder how you didn't notice."
"I know, I know, I—" Percy gave him a sideways look. "I've never heard anyone say it like that."
Harry frowned, confused. "Like what?"
Percy watched him for a long moment. "You're nothing like I thought."
"I'm sorry?" Harry apologised, not sure if he should feel offended by the statement.
He shook his head. "Don't be."
They wandered along one of the paths, each lost in their thoughts.
"May I pick your brain on something?" Harry asked after some time.
Percy nodded, half eager, half self-importantly, and waved for Harry to continue.
"What do you know about the Muggle-born Protection Act?" Harry asked.
Percy rattled off a long list of legal jargon that Harry couldn't parse. When at last he exhausted himself, Harry continued.
"Did you know that British Muggleborns are required to attend Hogwarts?"
"I should think so," Percy said pompously. "We've got a Statute of Secrecy to uphold, and we can't have untrained children running around and ruining that."
"I don't disagree, it's just…" Harry pursed his lips as he considered his next words before shaking his head. "Never mind. It's not important."
Harry felt something brush against his elbow, and when he looked over, he found the sanctimonious expression had melted off Percy's face. "What troubles you?"
Harry shook his head. "It's nothing. I don't want to burden you with it."
Something flickered in Percy's light blue eyes that reminded Harry of Marcus. "I wouldn't have asked otherwise."
Harry let out a slow breath. "It's just…I've got this patient—a Muggleborn—and she desperately wants to leave Hogwarts. She says she doesn't feel safe here, and after the events of the last three years, I can't say I blame her."
Percy frowned. "Could she not enrol in a correspondence course?"
"That was the first thing I suggested. But the law explicitly states that Hogwarts is the only place for Muggleborns to learn magic. And failure to do so—"
"Results in the removal of the child from the home, with the parents' memories modified," Percy finished. Harry watched as the pieces clicked into place for Percy. "Surely, you must have misinterpreted this law."
"If I have, then so has Dumbledore. My patient practically begged him to be let out," Harry said. "I dunno…it just seems…"
"Unfair?" Percy supplied.
Harry nodded. "Especially because dozens of Wizarding families elect for private tutoring. Why are they permitted to homeschool their children but not Muggles?"
Percy tilted his head as he considered this. "I suppose that the point of the law is to ensure that Muggleborns are given a premier education."
"Even if they don't want it?"
"Why wouldn't they?"
The incredulous tone of Percy's voice rankled Harry in a way he couldn't quite articulate. "I would suppose it has something to do with this world: some people discriminate against them, and they're tossed into a culture they don't understand and expected to conform. They might even have plans for their life that have nothing to do with magic."
Percy gave Harry a disbelieving look. "Why would they care about those things when they could have magic?"
"Because the Muggle world is interesting, too," Harry explained. "My friend is a Muggleborn, and she showed me some of her mother's old medical texts. Did you know that Muggles are eighteen per cent more dense than Magicals? And their immune system is way more robust than ours—the things Muggles can survive that would kill a Wizard!"
"You sound like my father," Percy noted with dry amusement.
"Is that such a bad thing?" Harry asked. "Muggles are fascinating. And the things they've learned…did you know they've been to the moon? Like, a man actually stood on the moon! My patient told me she wants to be the first person to go to Mars."
"Magicals can't leave Earth," Percy pointed out. "Our bodies can't withstand the force of gravity it would experience if we tried to leave the atmosphere. It's a well-known fact."
"I know," Harry conceded. "I've already explained why going to Mars would be bad for her. But that doesn't change the fact that this was a dream for her. A dream that's been crushed because she can't learn about the necessary things an astronaut needs to know. The closest she'll ever get to Mars is by looking at it through a telescope."
Percy sighed and stopped walking. "Why are you telling me this?"
"It's just that…this law. It doesn't consider that Muggleborns might not want to uproot their lives to join our world. Shouldn't they be given a choice?"
"They need to learn to control their magic," Percy said. "It's a security risk if they don't."
"But why Hogwarts? Why are they forced to come here when Wizarding families aren't? Why are they given the luxury of choice, but the same can't be afforded to Muggle-borns?"
"Practising magic is dangerous. Hogwarts is the safest place to learn."
"There are other schools—day schools that don't require boarding. There are private tutors that are equipped to fix any accidents," Harry let out a sigh and shook his head. "This law seems like it…"
"Disproportionately affects Muggle-borns?" Percy's tone was harsh, and a muscle twitched in his jaw as he stared out over the Black Lake. After a moment, he added sarcastically, "The name does suggest that it would."
"I'm sure you know the law better than I," Harry said after a moment. "Maybe I have misinterpreted it. It's no secret that my father doesn't support this law, so perhaps that's coloured my understanding of it."
"The law is supposed to promote greater equality for Muggle-borns in the Wizarding world," Percy said.
"On paper, perhaps it accomplishes that," Harry said.
Percy nodded. "Equality isn't the same as fairness," he conceded. "I'd never considered it."
They continued their walk through the grounds in silence.
"What do you want from me?" Percy asked.
Harry blinked in surprise. "What do you mean?"
Percy gave him a calculated look. "I must inform you that I am only Mr Crouch's assistant. We work in the Department of International Magical Co-operation. The Muggle-born Protection Act has nothing to do with my division."
"I know I—-" Harry broke off before grabbing Percy by the arm. "Merlin. Did you think I brought you out here to convince you to overturn the law?"
Percy raised an eyebrow. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to.
Harry shook his head. "I'm fully aware that you have no power here," Harry said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I'm not here to convince you of anything."
"Then what do you want?" Percy asked, his face twisting into a scowl resembling Mrs Weasley's.
Harry shrugged. "I just want to help my patient."
"And you think I'm the one to do it?"
"Mate, I'm asking for advice here. You were Headboy. I figured you would know how to—" Harry broke off, his expression shuttering. "You know what? Forget it. I'm sorry for pulling you away from the ball."
"Harry…"
"Let's go back inside. It's cold." He spun on his heel and started towards the castle.
He made it ten feet before Percy seized his arm and forced him to turn around.
"What do you need, Harry?" Percy asked. His voice had lost the hard, suspicious edge from before, and for the second time that evening, Harry was reminded of Marcus. The sight of the earnest, fraternal expression made Harry's chest ache.
"I don't know," Harry replied.
"Yes, you do," Percy insisted, gently squeezing his shoulder. "Just ask me."
Harry shook his head. "That's just the thing. I don't know. I've got about a million other things I need to do, and everyone keeps expecting me to fix their problems."
"You're empathetic and competent. Of course people are going to come to you."
"I'm exhausted, stressed, and can't even fix my own problems."
"It certainly doesn't seem like that to the rest of us," Percy said. "Especially not with your brother running around, singing your praises."
Harry filed this away for later contemplation and redirected the conversation. "But I haven't the foggiest on what the hell I'm doing," he admitted. "What do I do?"
Percy released a heavy sigh and looked out across the snow-covered grounds. They stood in the snowy rose garden for quite some time, Percy's hands still gripping Harry's arms. Harry waited on bated breath, his heart pounding in his chest, as Percy thought.
"You want my advice?" he asked at last, inclining his head towards Harry.
Harry nodded his head. "Please."
"Go back inside and enjoy the rest of your night. Then, you're going to bed and get a good night's rest."
Harry rolled his eyes, but it seemed that Percy wasn't done.
"Then you're going to put away your books and notes for the rest of the holidays and spend time with your friends and family. And eat something too—you look like you've lost at least a stone since August."
"I meant, what do I do about my patient," Harry clarified. If he wanted to be mothered, he would have gone to Remus or Cedric.
"You do nothing," Percy said simply. "You focus on passing your exams and spending time with your friends. You're in over your head with this Muggleborn Protection Act."
Harry's heart plummeted to his shoes. "I can't just—"
"Meanwhile," Percy said, raising his voice. "I will look into this."
"Percy, no. You're busy enough as it is. I can't ask you—-"
"You're not asking. I'm telling you what's happening, as clearly, you can't do it alone. I will look into this matter with your patient."
"I don't—-"
"If you didn't want me to help, you shouldn't have asked me anything," Percy explained. The pompousness was back in his voice, but something in his eyes gave Harry pause. Percy wasn't offering because he thought Harry was correct and this law was unfair. He was offering because Harry had asked. "Now, let's go back inside. You're right. It's entirely too cold out tonight to linger outside for long."
With a warm hand on Harry's shoulder, he led him back towards the castle, where joyous laughter and lively music wafted across the grounds, golden light cutting across the dark courtyard. And as they walked, Harry couldn't decide if he felt more horrified or ashamed by how easy it had been to manipulate Percy Weasley.
Genius Fratris
"Judging by the fact you've been ignoring our owls, I think it is safe to say that the appointment didn't go well."
Harry startled, sending the book in his lap tumbling to the floor. He twisted in his seat and found Marcus hovering in the doorway of the library. Harry, who had never seen Marcus wear anything other than black or grey, thought the crimson robes he wore looked oddly out of place.
"What are you doing here?" He gasped.
Marcus arched an unimpressed eyebrow. "Checking up on you," he drawled. "Seeing as you're incapable of long-distance communication."
"I meant… I thought you were visiting Wood's family in Scotland," Harry corrected. He summoned his book, checking it over for any dents. It was undamaged, but he continued to fiddle with it as he avoided Marcus' eyes.
"Came back early."
"Right," Harry muttered. There was an awkward beat of silence before Harry remembered his manners. "Won't you sit?"
Marcus sidled further into the room and lowered himself into the chair across from Harry's. Harry retook his seat and called for Acorn to bring tea.
"The appointment?" Marcus prompted once the house-elf had disappeared.
Harry fiddled with his fingers as he recalled the Healer's words. "There's nothing they could do for me."
Marcus frowned. "They couldn't find anything wrong?"
Harry shook his head. "No, it's…" he took a shuddering breath. "They think it's a parasite. In my scar." He pointed needlessly to his forehead, where the tip of his jagged scar peeked out from beneath his fringe.
"But they can remove it, right?" Marcus asked, his brow furrowed.
"They tried. I nearly levelled St Mungo's." Harry closed his eyes and tried to will himself calm. The pain had been indescribable, and he'd blacked out three seconds into the procedure. But before he had, he'd let loose such a powerful wave of accidental magic that the hospital had shaken. He'd later found out they'd had to evacuate the hospital to check its structural integrity.
Marcus let out a low whistle. "You don't do anything in halves, do you?"
Harry gave him a half-hearted shrug and looked away. He knew Marcus was trying to lighten the situation, but he wished he wouldn't. Outbursts of accidental magic at his age were humiliating.
"So what now?"
"They said the parasite wasn't hurting me, so they elected to leave it."
"Except it is hurting you," Marcus insisted. "You've been having headaches for how long?"
"Too long," Harry said. "Dad's taking me to the Asklepion for a second opinion."
"Good. When?"
"June, once term ends."
Marcus gave him an incredulous look. "You're going to put up with debilitating headaches for another six months?"
"With my tests, there really isn't a good time."
"That's a load of shite, and you know it," Marcus snapped, crossing his arms across his chest. "You could take those in your sleep."
"You flatter me, but—"
Marcus didn't wait for him to finish. "What's the real reason?" He waited for Harry to reply, who pursed his lips and looked away. "Is this some sort of self-sabotage? Or have you found some new flaw in the universe you've decided is your fault and need to punish yourself for?"
Harry scowled. "That's not it."
"Then what is it?"
Harry threw his hands up in the air. "They're not going to find anything, are they?"
"Yeah, you're right. The best Healers in the world will take one look at your scar and toss in the towel."
"I'm serious," Harry snapped. "They won't find anything because I won't be able to tell them what happened that night!"
"Why not?"
Harry threw him a dirty look. "You know why. Whenever I try to talk about it, my voice—" he waved his hand as if to say, 'Well, you know.' Because he did. Everyone knew about Harry's mute episodes. They'd become less frequent over the years, but trying to talk about that infamous Halloween was a guaranteed way to trigger one. "The Healers didn't even bother to ask me this time. They knew it was useless."
I was useless, Harry almost added, disgust crawling through his veins like a venomous spider. He stood abruptly and moved to one of the windows that overlooked the western grounds of Potter Manor. His father and Uncle Sirius were walking through the garden, their heads bowed low. Whilst he couldn't be entirely sure what they were discussing so intently, he could hazard a guess it had something to do with him. Their conversations invariably turned to him on days like this—after something happened to him and he fell silent, and his father had no idea what to do with him.
He hated that he was so paralysed by his fears that he robbed himself of the choice to speak. Because that was what he really wanted. A choice. He wanted to be able to keep secrets, not be forced to keep silent. Why couldn't he just be brave? He wanted desperately to tell someone what happened that night, if only so he didn't have to bear this secret alone.
But he wasn't really alone, was he? Whispered a small voice inside of him. Because there was someone who knew, someone he'd told, however incompletely. She'd kept his secret and had never changed how she acted around him or thought differently about him. True, he hadn't meant to tell Ginny his secret… but he had, hadn't he?
And if he'd done it then…maybe he could do it again.
"Voldemort gave me the scar. When he—" Harry's throat seized, and it felt as if he were trying to swallow a thousand hot rocks. "He didn't try to kill my brother."
Marcus had risen at some point during Harry's agonising and moved to stand behind him. In the window's reflection, Harry could see Marcus's lips part in surprise, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I don't understand."
Harry took a deep, shuddering breath, his throat seizing as if his body were trying to keep this secret locked away. The scared, traumatised little boy trapped inside his body tried to convince him there was still time to take it all back, to remain silent. But the Harry he was now… he didn't want to stay silent anymore. His silence had never served him. It didn't protect him from anything—it only hurt him.
"John's not the one who survived the Killing Curse," Harry managed to whisper. "I did."
Harry tensed, waiting for the inevitable questions, the 'hows?' he couldn't give and the 'why's' he didn't want to. Maybe there would be accusations that he was lying or simply misremembering. (As if such a thing were possible. Harry wanted nothing more than to forget.)
But that didn't happen.
Instead, Marcus placed a warm hand on his shoulder and gently turned him around. "You're the Boy Who Lived," he said.
Harry wished he could deny it—and he had tried for many years. He'd tried to convince himself that maybe Voldemort hadn't hit him with the Killing Curse, that he'd missed, or Harry had merely thought he'd been hit when really the curse had hit John, who had been cradled in his arms.
"I can't believe I didn't…" Marcus said. "Your Boggart. It was all but announced in the middle of the Great Hall. And all this time, no one knew."
"Voldemort knows that it's me," Harry admitted.
For the first time, doubt crept into Marcus's expression. "Voldemort's dead, Harry."
"He's not. Not really," Harry disagreed. It was as if a dam had broken open, and now that the truth was trickling out, he couldn't stop. "I fought him in my Third Year."
He explained the events that went down in the death maze and how Professor Quirrell had hosted Voldemort's soul for the entire year. As he spoke, Marcus's face lost more and more of its colour. By the time he'd finished, Marcus looked ready to faint.
"I don't know what to say," Marcus said, covering his mouth with one of his hands. "The others don't know?"
"Ginny knows some of it," Harry admitted. "I didn't plan on telling her, but…"
"You need to tell them," Marcus insisted. When Harry began to protest, he held up a hand. "I'm serious, Harry. They need to know."
"It's not like they can do anything about it."
"That's not the point," he snapped. "You can't keep these things to yourself. At least tell Cedric."
But Harry was already shaking his head. "Ced's got enough on his plate with the Tournament. The last thing he needs is this dumped on him."
"He'll want to know," Marcus said, although Harry could see his resolve wavering. As much as Cedric tried not to show it, everyone could see the pressure was getting to him. Between (what he considered) his sub-par performance in the First Task and his increased popularity, Cedric was as stressed as Harry had ever seen him.
Still, there was truth to Marcus's words. Cedric would want to know even if he couldn't help in any way. "Maybe after the tournament," Harry compromised.
Marcus clearly wanted to disagree, but he settled on a disapproving scowl. "And what are we going to do in the meantime?"
"I don't know," Harry said. He hadn't been lying when he said he wouldn't have time to visit the Asklepion before June. "Suffer, I suppose."
Marcus looked ready to throttle him. "Dispense the theatrics," he snapped. "So you can't visit the Asklepion until June. But what about that bloke? Rodriguez."
"What about him?"
"Write to him," Marcus said as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Ask him for his opinion."
Something hot and panicky squirmed in Harry's gut. "I wouldn't even know what to say."
"Then it's a good thing I'm here, isn't it?" Marcus asked. He placed a hand on Harry's neck and steered him towards Harry's pile of books, locating a spare bit of parchment within the mess. "Grab a quill. We've got a letter to send."
Genius Fratris
Two weeks later, Harry was back at Hogwarts. He still hadn't heard from Rodriguez, but Harry honestly wasn't expecting to for quite some time. When he wasn't at the Asklepion, Rodriguez lived with his family in Texas. It would take ages for Hedwig to reach him, let alone return with a reply. In the meantime, Harry tried to bury himself in his studies and keep Cedric alive.
As he had most days since returning, Harry was holed up with his friends in the Hogwarts library, desperately searching for a way for Cedric to breathe underwater for an hour.
"Just use gillyweed," Harry said, briefly looking up from his notes on aconite poisoning.
"It feels like cheating," Cedric repeated for the millionth time since Harry had first suggested it.
"The Bubble-Headed charm isn't designed to withstand the pressure found at the bottom of the Black Lake," Harry said, trying yet again to steer Cedric away from this harebrained scheme. He nodded to the piles of arithmantical equations where Cedric had spent the better part of a month trying to improve the Bubble-Head charm. "I don't doubt you could do it, but I don't think you should be taking this risk when a much safer option is readily available."
"Here's a better idea," Grace interjected. "You steal the Durmstrang ship."
"I—what?" Cedric spluttered.
Grace nodded, a mischievous gleam in her eye. "Think about it: it can travel underwater. How else do you think the Durmstrang delegation got here?"
"That is terrible idea."
They all jumped and spun in their seats, only to find Viktor Krum scowling at them from the end of the Herbology section.
Grace recovered first and stuck her nose up in the air. "You're just jealous that I thought of it first," she replied breezily.
Krum's brow furrowed even further, and he stomped towards their table. "Only Headmaster Karkaroff can…" he trailed off as he searched for the correct word. Unable to produce it, he said it in Bulgarian before finishing, "…ship. It is connect to his ring."
"Okay, new plan," Grace said. "We knock out Karkaroff, nick his ring, and then steal the ship."
"She's joking, of course," Teddy interjected at Krum's thunderous expression. "We're not going to steal the ship."
"Maybe you won't," Grace said. "Maybe I want a magical ship for myself."
"Perhaps for your birthday, love," Harry replied.
"Would you like to join us, Viktor?" Cedric asked, redirecting the conversation.
To their immense surprise, Krum accepted the invitation. Harry scrabbled to move his books and notes to give him room.
"Have you figured out what you're going to do for the next task?" Grace asked as she twirled her quill between her fingers.
"You can't ask him that!" Teddy hissed under his breath. In an effort not to stare, he had pretended to return to his Transfiguration essay. Still, Harry noticed that the reference book he had picked up was upside down.
"Why not?" she asked. "Ced's already got it figured out."
"That's cheating!" Teddy insisted.
"Since when have you ever cared about cheating?" she teased, sticking the feathered end of her quill in his ear.
"I highly doubt he's got plans to steal Cedric's idea," Harry said diplomatically, summoning Grace's quill when Teddy started to hit her with his book. "If anything, Krum should be worried about Cedric stealing his."
"I am not worried," Krum said in a monotone.
"You've got it all worked out, then?" Cedric asked curiously.
Krum nodded. "I will be swimming."
Everyone at the table froze.
"Swimming?" Harry choked out, glancing at his friends. "Er, you do know what the clue meant, right?"
"Something will be stolen and hidden in merperson village in lake," Krum said, sounding bored. "I will swim and retrieve."
"Mate," Cedric said slowly, his face twisted in concern. "The lake's three hundred metres deep in some parts."
"And the task is in February," Grace added. "The water will be ice cold."
Krum nodded. "Yes."
They stared blankly at him, unable to comprehend the insanity they were hearing. Even Cedric's Bubble-Head charm sounded brilliant.
"Are… are you sure you don't want to steal my plans?" Cedric asked. "I don't mind."
"Or steal the Durmstrang ship?" Grace added.
"I will live," Krum said decisively. With a curt nod, he stood from the table and stomped back down the aisles of books, stopping to give Cedric a blank look. "Use gillyweed. It is safer."
He didn't wait for them to respond before disappearing into the depths of the library.
After several moments of stunned silence, Harry turned to Cedric. "I hate to say I told you so, but…"
Cedric refrained from hexing Harry. Barely. But in the end, he accepted the advice, and a month later, he swallowed a clump of gillyweed before diving into the Black Lake.
Harry wasn't sure what the Tournament organisers were thinking when they planned the second task because watching the Black Lake for an hour in the cold Scottish February wasn't exactly Harry's idea of fun. Unlike the first task, there was no way to watch the champions once they disappeared beneath the water, which had to be boring for the audience.
For him and Madam Pomfrey, it was a terrifying experience. The two of them stood on a floating platform erected in the middle of the lake, ready to assist when the champions emerged from the water. Although they hoped they wouldn't need it, the platform was also stocked with medical supplies for anything that could go wrong—from a cracked tooth to cardiac arrest.
"I hate this," Harry said as he glanced at the smooth, dark water. Of the three champions, Harry was the least terrified for Cedric. Gillyweed was at least relatively safe. The Bubble-Head charm Dealcour used less so. Still, it was a right side better than Krum, who had taken several deep breaths, transfigured his feet into flippers, and dove straight into the icy water. "If there's a problem at a hundred metres, we won't get to them in time."
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but believe I am missing the dragons right now," Madam Pomfrey agreed.
They sat in tense silence, dividing their attention between the parchment with the champions' vitals and the map of the Black Lake. Harry had considered using his map but thought better of it when he remembered Snape would be in attendance and would no doubt confiscate the new and improved version faster than he had the original map. Instead, Harry had gone to Flitwick for 'assistance' in creating a tracking system for the champions. Two weeks later, they had a map of the lake, and Flitwick thought Harry was a verifiable genius.
"How's he still alive?" Madam Pomfrey mused, watching the parchment with Krum's vitals. They watched in horrified awe as he steadily swam deeper into the lake, already deeper than Cedric and Delacour combined.
"He's going to reach the bottom soon," Harry noted before glancing at his watch. "If he keeps this up, he'll have finished the challenge in five minutes."
Harry's predictions proved accurate, and four minutes and thirty-two seconds later, Krum's head broke the surface, a dazed and shivering Hermione Granger at his side. For his part, Krum looked rather bored as he helped Hermione onto the platform and only accepted a blanket from Madam Pomfrey because she threw it over his shoulders.
"Okay, I was wrong. That was incredible," Harry said as he gave Krum a quick once over. Unlike Hermione, whose teeth chattered behind purple lips, Krum seemed largely unaffected by his plunge into the lake. Harry supposed it had something to do with Durmstrang's location up north because his diagnostic charms didn't register any sort of warming spell on him. "What must your lung capacity look like?"
"Eight litres," Krum replied, his tone monotonous. "I can hold my breath for fifteen minutes underwater. "
"Merlin," Harry gasped. "And here I thought the Animagus thing was incredible."
Krum watched him for a moment. "Not Quidditch?"
"Oh, well, that too, I suppose," Harry said with a sheepish grin.
"You're very odd," Krum replied after another pause.
"I've been called much worse," Harry said with a smile. "Anyway, that's you done. You're free to return to the shore." He pointed his wand at the water and conjured a small wooden boat for Krum and Hermione to clamber into. Once they were seated, he rapped the side of the boat and sent it zooming across the water.
"Perhaps with less speed next time, Harry," Madam Pomfrey replied.
"Krum's a Quidditch star. I'm sure he's loving it."
"And Miss Granger?"
Judging by the piercing shrieks, Hermione was less enthusiastic.
"She'll be fine."
Madam Pomfrey raised an unimpressed eyebrow and hummed in disapproval but didn't comment. With no more patients, they returned to watching the other champions' descent. The next half hour felt like an eternity; Harry was almost too afraid to blink lest he miss something critical.
"Delacour's heart rate is increasing," Madam Pomfrey noted. "She's sustained a shallow laceration on her right arm."
Harry wished there was a way to charm the lake clear. If he could just see…
"Sustained laceration to her back. Respiration is elevated."
"Reckon she's being attacked?" Harry asked, rolling his wand between his fingers.
"A Grindylow, if I had to guess," Madam Pomfrey agreed. "She's not very deep, and if she decided to swim through a kelp forest…"
"And now that blood's been drawn, more will come," Harry added, his jaw clenching. This was really not good. If they were going to extract Delacour from the competition, they needed to do it now.
"She's about twenty metres west of us," Harry estimated, consulting the map.
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. "We best be ready."
Harry nodded and conjured another boat. His heart was pounding as he stepped inside and charmed it to glide to hover over Delacour. Whilst he waited for Madam Pomfrey's signal, he transfigured his shoes into flippers, applied every warming charm he knew, and cast a Bubble-Head of his own. And then…
A blast as loud as a canon sounded across the lake, and Harry dove.
The plunge into the Black Lake in late February was about as miserable as one would expect. Even with the warming charms, it felt as if a thousand knives were stabbing into Harry's skin. It was hard to focus on anything other than the pain as he swam, the water growing colder and darker with each kick that propelled him deeper. He reached the kelp forest and sent a blast of air at it to clear his way. Even still, long, slimy tendrils wrapped around his ankles, making descending all the more difficult.
He heard the Grindylows before he saw them, their high-pitched shrieks echoing eerily through the water. Even in the darkness, Harry could see their sickly green bodies swarming on something.
Merlin, there had to be a hundred of them, Harry thought as he aimed his wand at the mass, sending a jet of hot water at the Grindylows. They shrieked in fury and retreated to the safety of the kelp. Harry knew they wouldn't stay away for long, but it bought him enough time to reach Delacour.
She was unconscious, her silvery hair casting a ghostly glow on her lax face and the nearby kelp. Without the weight of the Grindylows dragging her down, she began to rise in the water, and Harry only had to reach out his hand to grab her arm. After reapplying her Bubble-Head, Harry kicked upwards, dragging them both towards the surface. He cast more Revulsion Jinxes behind him as he went, hoping the hot water would keep the Grindylows at bay.
After nearly cracking his skull on the bottom of his boat, Harry broke the surface. Delacour's head lulled, and he levitated her into the boat, a trickle of water escaping from her gaping mouth. Rapping the boat with his wand, he propelled it towards the platform even faster than Krum's had left it. He would've liked to be in it with her, but time was of the essence, and he wasn't sure if he could clamber into the boat without tipping it over. Instead, he endured the freezing swim back to the platform, where Madam Pomfrey was already working on Delacour.
Delacour looked no better dry than she did wet, and her skin was ashen as Madam Pomfrey attempted to clear her lungs of water.
"Dry yourself off," Madam Pomfrey commanded as he hauled himself onto the platform. "We'll need to reestablish sinus rhythm."
He did as instructed before kneeling on Delacour's other side. Over the next several minutes, they worked in tandem to resuscitate Delacour, their movements silent and precise, an efficient machine after years of working together.
Harry had never been so relieved to have someone cough several lungfuls of water in his face when Delacour's icy blue eyes snapped open.
"Welcome back," Harry replied drily, summoning a warm blanket and covering her.
Delacour's eyes rolled in their sockets, her gaze glassy. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a painful-sounding croak managed to escape.
"You were attacked by Grindylows," Harry explained as he lifted her onto a stretcher.
The disoriented look slowly receded from Delacour's eyes as awareness began to creep back in. "Gabrielle," she managed to croak after several failed attempts at speech. "Ma sœur."
Harry didn't speak French, but even he could understand her words. After all, Harry had been the one to place Gabrielle Delacour in an enchanted sleep at six that morning. "Your sister is safe," he promised.
Delacour continued to babble in unintelligible French as Harry levitated her stretcher and pushed her into the medical tent. The tent was blissfully warm and empty, except for Medusa, who was curled inside a drawer full of bandages.
"Her lungs are wet," Medusa noted as Harry transferred Delacour into a bed. She slid out of her drawer and landed on the floor with a dull thump before slithering to his side. Harry paused his work to pick her up so she could see better.
"What do you suggest?"
Medusa wound her way to his shoulders and inspected the scene. "The burn will set in soon," she explained, her tongue flicking against the shell of his ear.
Infection, Harry translated with a distracted nod. Delacour must still have water in her lungs. Summoning his potion's kit, Harry set to work brewing a Ghost Potion—the nightmarish cousin of the Pepper-up Potion. Unlike the Pepper-up, which required three habanero peppers, the Ghost Potion earned its reputation with the sickening inclusion of fourteen Ghost peppers. For obvious reasons, the Ghost Potion was not to be used lightly, especially if a Pepper-up would work.
Unfortunately for Delacour, the standard Pepper-up wouldn't do. Because of her near drowning, lake water had settled deep in her lungs. They'd managed to clear enough of it so she could breathe, but the rest would need to be cleared out to prevent pneumonia. Hence, the Ghost Potion.
"I won't lie to you. This will hurt like hell," Harry informed her as he siphoned a dosage into a flask. "Breathing out will help."
Delacour gave him no indication that she could understand him, but she accepted the potion just the same.
Harry knew the exact moment the potion began to work because Delacour screeched and let out a string of French profanities. Hot steam billowed from her nostrils, ears, and mouth like a grotesque kettle, and when she grabbed his arm, her nails dug in deep enough to draw blood. He allowed it, knowing his pain was only a fraction of what she was experiencing.
"Keeping breathing," he gently reminded her when her body tensed up and curled in on itself in a desperate attempt to escape the pain.
It was a brutal seven minutes as the potion worked its way through her body. By the end, Delacour's skin was pink and steaming, her face tear-stained and dripping with snot. Harry conjured a handkerchief for her and gave her a moment to collect herself whilst he cleaned up.
"My sister," Delacour croaked. "She will die."
Harry paused, halfway through scrubbing his cauldron. "Gabrielle will be fine," he insisted.
"Ze egg," Delacour began, tears welling in her eyes once more.
Harry abandoned his cleaning to move to her bedside. Taking her hand, he tried to give her a comforting smile. "Wasn't meant to be taken literally," he explained. "Professor Dumbledore is eccentric, but he's not cruel. Your sister will be perfectly fine."
"I failed her."
Harry considered reassuring her but knew she'd see his words as false platitudes. No words could ease her self-appointed shame, which went deeper than a bad score in a competition. If the situations were reversed, and he had been the one to fail to rescue John, Harry knew he'd never forgive himself. It was the principle of the matter, the deeply ingrained role of an older sibling to protect the younger, no matter the cost.
"Do better next time," Harry said, squeezing her hand.
Delacour gasped; hurt, fury, heartbreak, shame, and a dozen other emotions flickered across her face before it settled on understanding. She nodded slowly.
Harry released her hand and returned to his duties, making sure to keep an ear out for trouble. When Cedric returned with Grace ten minutes later, the second task of the Tournament concluded. Points were awarded; Krum's fifty points secured his spot in first place despite his unconventional methods; Cedric was in second place, earning forty-seven points for his admirable performance.
"Zey should have given me zero," Delacour spat when the judges awarded her twenty-five points, putting her in third place.
"Think of it this way," Harry said drily, "It makes up for being low-scored in the first task."
Delacour glared at him. "You are an awful boy."
"You're a miserable girl," he said with a cheeky grin.
Harry couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a hint of a smile play at the edge of her lips. Or maybe it was just her expression relaxing as two mermaids pushed an unharmed Gabrielle Delacour out of the water.
In the coming days, Cedric would begin preparations for the final task, and Harry would no doubt assist when he wasn't revising for his exams. The next four months would fly by, and so too would his Sixth Year at Hogwarts. He had books to read, essays to write, patients to care for, and unjust laws to look into. He still wasn't sleeping well, and his headaches were only increasing in frequency and intensity. Still…
With the champions safe and relatively unharmed, Harry allowed himself to relax, at least for a little while.
"Every man at some point in his life needs to be tested so he can find out if he's a righteous man or an indifferent one." ― Dannika Dark
A/N: Thank you all for the kind words of encouragement you left on the last chapter. You have no idea how much it means to me.