Chapter 12. bugs and dragonology
Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, November 24th/sup 1994
Marcus Longhurst could be described as many things, but stuck on his emotions wasn't one of them. Therefore, finding himself in nearly permanent state of anger since 31st of October came as a surprise. Nothing, not even constant threats from Adam Thornbush at his own time, or Dumbledor's machinations over Harry Potter, were able to force the hardened flier feel the same for even a whole day. But dragging a fourteen-year-old into the deadliest tournament known for man? Sending a pack of journalists, an illegal animagus amongst them, to interview said child? Bringing dragons, Hungarian horntail amongst them, for the first task? That was too much. Even though the time traveler had read all of this in history books, experiencing it first-hand was way too much. Knowing that he couldn't change a thing despite being so close to the boy only fueled his, no, Sirius' fury. So, Marcus found himself in the same state of anger again the day of the first task.
The stands were full, positively buzzing with excitement. Banners waved in the wind, gold exchanged hands, children cheered their heros or hurled insults at each other. The double-minded wizard though paid no heed to the kerfuffle around him, waiting with barely controlled ire for Harry. The first dragon was brought into the arena, Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts retrieved the golden egg… the second beast got positioned, the French champion performed her task… the fierce Chinese fireball appeared, Victor Krum got his trophy… and then he emerged from the tent, no longer fragile thanks to the summer training, but anyway shorter than his fellow champions, clad in some peculiar cloak emitting an aura of blue light around him, making him look like a chunk of melting dry ice. The child, paying no attention to the light or anything around him, raised his wand: "accio Firebolt!" the slim but sterdy broom, the same hand enchanted flameproof, waterproof, unbreakable Firebolt extreme Marcus had procured sored from somewhere behind the stands, slapping into the boys outstretched palm. The Hungarian horntail, largest and fiercest of the four beasts brought for the contest, finally spotted her opponent and greeted him with a jet of flame. Instead of dodging, to Marcus' ever rising ire and terror, Harry just mounted his broom and took flight, barely avoiding the sweeping tail…
At first Marcus wanted to bang his head on anything hard: how could the boy take such risks? Try and outfly a dragon, really? Any dragonologist would pull their hair out at such a foolishness. But seeing young Gryffindor in the air, seemingly untouchable by the dragons flames and expertly avoiding the tail, somewhat mollified the wizard. The Firebolt seemed unstoppable, even in such close quarters with deadly inferno, weaving and dodging and diving, reminiscent of world class acrobatic flying routine. And when Harry swooped into nearly instinctual Ronski faint, leaving the airborn dragon some hundred metres above, mr Longhurst the flier couldn't help but cheer with everyone – the youngest champion performed better than his of age counterparts, earning full points from absolutely everyone. The Gryffindor gang swept their hero up before Marcus could reach him, but it didn't matter. the now no longer furious man would let the schoolchildren congratulate their champion, and then a dinner in the Goldcrest perch was in order (it was a Thursday, after all, and lions had a free period on Friday mornings). the remaining things to do were acquiring a permition slip from Dumbledor (easy piecy when Alexa got involved), extricating Harry from the Gryffindor party room (not so easy even with the elf's help) and aperating to the isles of Scilly…
Some time and a lot of meaningless negotiations with Dumbledor later, two wizards stepped into a familiar house in the cliff. Being keyed into the wards since summer, Alexa went ahead to prepare everything for what appeared to turn into a full party. Regulus had taken a day off along with Anna Maria, in case Harry needed medical attention (no one trusted the school healer after she deliberately overlooked so many obvious injuries). Naturally, that meant a full contingent of unspeakables, young and old, as well as Amelia Bones and a pink-haired auror Marcus vaguely remembered was called Nymphodora or something (Sirius' memories weren't as precise as one could expect), along with a bunch of lower rank ministry workers, were present too. In other words, the garden with its fully powered impervious shield and warming charms had turned into a party zone for that evening.
After the infinity of handshakes and presentations, the dinner commenced with elven hero song performed by the surprisingly well-organised assortment of people. Apparently the elf had outdone herself, planting memories of her singing in everyone's head, but seemed to enjoy directing the impromptu choir. Then the meal was brought (artistically floated on a large board suspitiously reminiscent of dragon arena from the task) outside. And what a meal it was, worthy of a king: three whole lambs, ten wild ducks, rabbits, bread rolls shaped exactly like broomsticks (with bristles and logos), potato dragons, not to mention innumerable broad-bellied amphorae of cider and wine… no one even blinked at the fact that, beside Anna Maria cooking a storm all day almost matching Alexa's skill, half of Hogwarts house elves came to help their leader, with an excuse of everyone at school having picknic baskets prepared in advance for lunch. The food was just too appealing to ignore, the drinks too fragrant to pass, the story of Harry's performance, being exadurated more and more as evening progressed – too interesting to miss. In other words, everything went smoothly, everyone were enjoying themselves, eating and drinking and laughing; some couples even started dancing at some point in what little clear space the enormous table allowed, to the rhythm of most famous traditional music. Songs, both English and Elven, echoed through the stretch of silent beach outside, not at all restrained by silencing charms… til a sound, a pop signaling floo call, cut off even the loudest voices.
The first to stand and approach the fireplace, fury barely in check, was Amelia Bones. It seemed just the right thing to do, for from the flames the face of night shift auror stared at her timidly.
"Proudfoot? It better be important, or else…" – Amelia had no patience for miscreants interrupting her evening out, but slightly tipsy voice and red cheeks ruined the impression. The auror though was not quite himself from fear for reasons unknown.
"Amelia? Ap-pologies for interruption… if you could…"
"spit it already!" – her patience snapped, head sobering instantly. "it's for those illegal dragon eggs, isn't it?" it was by now a public secret that, despite warnings from her department, the fools calling themselves the tournament committee imported four nesting mothers with original eggs semi-illegally. At any moment, dragonologists would come all wands blazing to her door, after printing Harry's phenomenal outflying of the horntail of course.
"no, it isn't." good, because if it was, she would need the assistance from equally… red-faced unspeakables. "someone dropped another illegal animagus in your office, madam." Not so good, because it meant another ton of paperwork on Monday. Only one question circled her head. "who, for Merlin's sake?"
"Skeeter, the water beetle." What the… "Skeeter? How on earth do you know it's that… bug?" she didn't know any other animagus with such form, but better be sure…
"came in a jar, unbreakable, impervious, with a note. Handwriting similar to that of the elf…" elf? Only one elf was capable of such shenanigans, and she had an alibi, or not? Suddenly everything clicked into places: Alexa the strange (a nickname half of the ministry used by now) asking for permission to obtain large quantity of grade 3 fire protection potion, Potter's clothes glowing with that airy blue light before the task, dragon fire having no effect on the boy. Perhaps Skeeter somehow (and everyone knew how) got wind of all that, and the elf used the chance to capture her at last. So, Sirius Black, be it indirectly, did half of the work for the aurors again, and the esteemed DMLE director had nothing to add at the moment. "leave her be, Proudfoot, will clean up the mess on Monday. Dismissed", - she barked, before returning to the party. After all, that excuse of a journalist that revealed Sirius' double patronus as well as ruined Harry Potter's life for a whole month, could wait, but the real hero could not. And she made the only sensible thing to do – raised her glass "to bugs and dragonology", mirrored by everyone of age in the room.
That was the moment Marcus' ire finally discipated, never to return for such a long time.