“Okay, what happened to the skrewts and who the hell is that?”

This is what Niamh exclaimed when she and Harry arrived at Hagrid’s hut after Divination on their first day back to find an elderly witch with short gray hair standing in front of the wooden hut.

The woman glared mildly at Niamh and said sharply, “My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank and I am your temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher.”

Harry looked behind her at Hagrid’s hut and saw none of the lights were on and the curtains were closed.  He did however hear a whimper from inside and guessed Fang was still there.  Focusing on Professor Grubbly-Plank again, he asked, “And where might our normal Care of Magical Creatures teacher be?”

“He is indisposed.  Now,” she said to the rest of the class, who were standing behind Harry and Niamh, “follow me.”

Niamh grumbled under her breath as they followed the old woman behind the hut to where the Beauxbatons horses were stabled.  Tethered to a tree was a large unicorn, its coat a brilliant white that stood out against the snow.

Harry crossed his arms across his chest and snorted as many of the girls “oooohed!”

“Oh, yeah, they ‘ooo’ when they see a unicorn.  How about a Darcorn?  Now there’s a unicorn!”

“Potter, what are you mumbling about?”

Harry turned to look down at Draco, who had suddenly appeared on his left.  Niamh frowned slightly and reached for her wand but stopped when Harry gave her a stern glare, shaking his head slightly.

“Unicorns, Malfoy.  Surely you know the difference between that creature over there that half the girls are cooing over and a more – ah, how shall I say this? – dangerous creature?”

Draco frowned and hissed, “You had better not be considering going after a Darcorn, Potter.  Those things are dangerous!”

Harry smirked at that and Draco’s jaw fell.

“Bloody hell…  You’ve seen one, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Malfoy.  And apparently so have you, as that’s something you seem to fear.”

“Don’t remind me…  Hello, O’Feir.”

“’Lo, Malfoy,” spat Niamh, scowling.

“Hey, Potter?  Have you heard?  Hagrid’s in the paper!”

Harry turned his head to watch Pansy as she sauntered up to him, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet in her hand.  She smirked at him then waved the paper in front of his face.

“What?” she asked when he didn’t take it.  “Don’t want to see what happened to the clutz?”

Harry, no emotion on his face, took the paper from her and read the rather lengthy article, surprise flickering in the back of his eyes when he saw the mention of Hagrid being a half-giant.  He remembered the night of the ball when he and Ginny had accidentally overheard the conversation between Hagrid and Madame Maxime.  And there hadn’t been another soul around that he had seen!

But, he thought grimly, keeping his anger off his face, Skeeter would find some way to find that out.  But how?  Madame Maxime wouldn’t have said anything – her reaction said that much.  And Ginny wouldn’t do that.  So how did Skeeter know?

Beside him Niamh made an indignant sound and snapped, “Hagrid’s as harmless as a – a – a ruddy caterpillar!”

Pansy snorted and said contemptuously, “Apparently not.  And now he’s ashamed to show his face.  Not that I blame him.  If I were half-giant, I’d hide my face too!”

Niamh let out a snarl, and before Harry could react, had leapt upon Pansy, her wand drawn.  Pansy let out a squeal and went down under the other girl.

Harry watched as they rolled across the ground then calmly folded the paper, drew his wand, and set it on fire.  Tossing it over his shoulder, he watched as Niamh hit Pansy with the hex he’d taught her just the night before.  Now Pansy had wriggling masses of snakes for hair.

Draco watched them as well then looked at Harry as Professor Grubbly-Plank noticed the fight and ran over.  As she tried to separate the two girls, he asked, “Shouldn’t you do something?”

“And what, pray tell, might I do?” asked Harry in a tone not unlike his father’s.  He tilted his head sideways and arched an eyebrow at Draco.  “Perhaps knock Niamh unconscious?  Because that would be the only way she’d not hex anyone.  And even then, I’m not sure.”

Draco eyed the taller boy then looked back at the battling girls, who had finally been separated.  Professor Grubbly-Plank held them at arm’s length from each other, her face a mask of fury.  Niamh, wand in hand and a small amount of sweat on her brow, was smiling sinisterly in pleasure.  Pansy, on the other hand, was feeling of her hair and face.  Niamh had also hit her with a hex that made her front teeth lengthen to below her chin.  The blond shrieked and wailed, “My hair!  My teeth!”

“Looks good on her,” remarked Ron as he came up to stand beside Harry.  He then noticed Draco and his eyes snapped to Harry, narrowing slightly.

“Malfoy.”

“Hello and goodbye, Weasley.  I’ll be seeing you, Potter.”

“I believe that’s because we sleep in the same dorm.”

Draco gave Harry what appeared to be an amused look then headed for the castle, which was where Professor Grubbly-Plank had already dragged Pansy and Niamh.

“What was that about?” asked Ron as soon as the blond Slytherin was out of hearing range.  “I thought you two hated each other.”

“Change of heart,” mumbled Harry, stuffing his hands in his pockets and heading towards the castle.  Ron peered after him, a look of confusion on his face.  He then snorted and shook his head.

“Change of heart, my arse…”

/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

“Harry,” said Niamh loudly a few days later.

Snick.  Tink.  Snick.  Snick.

“Harry,” said Niamh louder.

Snick.  Snick.  Click.  “Damn.”  Snick.

“Harry!”

Harry, scowling out from underneath the fringe of dark hair that had fallen over his face, looked up from where he was working on the boom box again.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to Hogsmeade today?”

“And take the chance to see that excuse for a woman again?  No thanks.”

“Harry…”

“Yes?”

Niamh threw up her hands and growled, “Nevermind.”  She got up and stormed out of the common room after that, grumbling under her breath.  Harry watched her as she went, brow furrowed.  He then sat the screwdriver and pliers in his hands down and leaned back against the couch, propping his feet up on the table.  Tilting his head to look at Hedwig, who was curled up on a nearby pillow, he asked, “Any idea what’s up with her?”

The snake lifted her head and flicked her tongue out at him in response.  She then dropped her head back down and Harry sighed.

“I guess that’s a ‘no’ then…”

/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

The Boy-Who-Lived in Love?

It seems that the boy who was deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents has found it once more, writes Rita Skeeter.  Fourteen-year-old Harry Potter appears to have found solace in his friend and fellow Housemate Ginny Weasley, the only daughter of Arthur Weasley.

Miss Weasley, a year younger than Mr. Potter, is said by classmates to often be found in his company along with two other young ladies; Misses Hermione Granger and Niamh O’Feir.  But, it seems that Miss Granger and Miss O’Feir have become occupied with two of the other champions; Mr. Viktor Krum and Mr. Cedric Diggory.

However, there are some who say that Miss Weasley was known the year before to be very close to another of Harry Potter’s friends; Mika Davids, another Housemate who was transferred to Durmstrang for the year.

Perhaps Harry Potter should be careful whom he gives his heart to if Miss Weasley’s charms have captured both his and Mr. David’s interests.

Harry snorted contemptuously as he put down the paper and proceeded to scowl at nothing in particular.  A Gryffindor seventh year walking by turned to him and snapped, “What are you looking at, Potter?”

Harry eyed him coldly and spat, “Not you.”

The Gryffindor snorted and walked on.

“Why, Potter, I had no idea you turned that way.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” growled Harry, folding the paper and tossing it on top of his empty plate.  He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, barely sensing the movement of an arm reaching across him to pick up the paper.  There was a rustle of pages and then Draco whistled softly.

“Oh, I see.  Well…I find that interesting.”

“What?” asked Harry without opening his eyes.

“I had no idea you had a crush on the Vixen.”

Harry’s eyes flew open and he turned to stare at Draco in shock.

“The what?”

“Vixen,” replied Draco, looking at him coolly over the top of the paper.  “Surely you’ve heard Weasley referred to as that.”

“Not until this moment.  Who’s calling her that?”

“Half the boy’s in the school since they saw her in that dress,” replied Draco.

Harry grinned evilly and said, “And would you be one of those boy’s, Malfoy?”

Draco snorted and folded the paper, tossing it back onto Harry’s plate.  He rose from his chair and said, “Honestly, Potter.  How could you think that?”

“Just a question.”

“And besides…Davids has threatened half the boy’s in Serpens that if they even dream of touching her, he’ll rip out their hearts with his bare hands.  Good day.”

“Hmphf,” grunted Harry.  He then remembered something and smiled.  Ah, yes.  Tonight was the night to figure the secret in that damned wailing egg.

/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

Harry got out of Arx Serpens through the passage behind one of the couches, crawling through with the Invisibility Cloak tossed over his shoulders, the Marauder’s Map in his back pocket, and the heavy egg rolling before him.  As soon as he reached the spot where it opened out into the corridor, he stopped, pulling out the map and tapping it with his wand.

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

The lines on the map sprang up and Harry saw Filch combing the third floor passageways and no one even remotely awake in the dungeons.  Grinning, he stuffed it back into his pocket and pulled the hood of the cloak over his head.  Then, picking up the egg, he crawled out from behind the statue that hid the tunnel and sprinted up the steps out of the dungeons.

He checked the map periodically as he traveled down the corridors, not seeing a single soul wandering about.  He pondered at that because generally someone was walking through the castle (beside Filch and Mrs. Norris, that is), then shrugged it off as he found the statue of Boris the Bewildered.  Counting down to the right door, he whispered, “Pine fresh.”  The door opened and he slipped inside, bolting it behind him to avoid being disturbed.

“Slytherin’s ghost,” he breathed as he looked around at the room, taking off his cloak.  “Prefects get a ruddy good deal.”

The room was all white marble with and candle-filled chandelier on the ceiling, along with an empty rectangular swimming pool set into the floor.  Golden taps were all around the pool’s edges and there was even…

“A diving board,” said Harry seriously, eying the contraption at the other end of the pool.  “You must be joking.”  He eyed the portrait of a mermaid on the wall, watching her sleep for a moment before he sighed and grabbed a fluffy white towel from where they were stacked in a corner.  Setting the egg, cloak, and map down by the edge of the pool, he turned on one of the taps and watched as water mixed with silver and green bubbles poured out.  Waiting until the pool as filled fairly well, Harry turned off the tap and pulled off his t-shirt and pants then dove into the water.

He laughed a little as he swam around, enjoying the feel of swimming for the first time in a few years.  Argil had – at four years old – thrown him into the river and told him to swim.  A terrified Harry had sunk halfway down before he’d fought his way to the surface and began paddling furiously for shore, choking on dank water.  Argil had beaten him afterwards then thrown him back into the room where he slept, where Harry curled up in a corner under his ratty blanket and cried himself to sleep.  That had been the last time he’d cried until Niamh had been Petrified in their second year.

Sighing, he swam over and grabbed the egg, opening it a hairsbreadth.  The head splitting wailing soared out, echoing off the marble, and he immediately snapped it shut, scowling.  He thought back over Cedric’s words and muttered, “Mull things over.  Aye, I’ll mull things over, ye bloody Hufflepuffian.  I’ll mull things right over yer melon of a head and hit you so hard with a curse that Helga Hufflepuff will feel it!”

“You know,” said a voice from behind him as he finished his tirade, “you could just put it in the water.”

Harry turned and saw the ghost of a glum-looking girl sitting cross-legged on top of one of the taps.

“Hello, Myrtle.”

Myrtle smiled at him and Harry swore he saw her eyes roving over the scars on his chest behind her thick glasses.

“Hello.”

“Er…what are you doing in here?  Sneaking up to watch prefects bathe?”

“Sometimes.”

Oh good Lord, thought Harry.

“Anyway,” said Myrtle, “I’d try putting the egg in the water.  That’s what Cedric Diggory did.”

“Did he?” said Harry in a dark tone.  “Now why didn’t he tell me that?”

Myrtle shrugged and Harry looked at the egg in his hands.  He frowned and thought, What the hell, lowering the egg beneath the water and opening it.  Voices seemed to be coming from the egg now that it was underwater and before Myrtle could get out the words “You have to put…”, he had ducked under the water.

“Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing about the ground,

And while you’re searching, ponder this:

We’ve take what you’ll sorely miss,

An hour long you’ll have to look,

And to recover what we took,

But past an hour – the prospect’s black,

Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.”

Harry bobbed back up again and reached up a hand to brush his hair out of his face.

“Hear it?”

Harry scowled mildly at Myrtle then slid back under the water in answer.  He had the song memorized then and now was trying to figure it out as he set the egg back on the edge of the pool.

“So,” he thought out loud, “I have to look for people, but they’re not above ground.  Being as that egg only works underwater, I presume that’s where they are.”  His eyes fell on the picture on the wall and he slid under the water in shock.  As he bobbed back up, Myrtle asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” hacked Harry as he attempted to cough up the water he’d swallowed.  He then looked at her and asked, “Are there merpeople in the lake?”

The ghost clapped and looked gleeful.

“Oh, very good!  It took Diggory much longer than that.  And she was awake then.”  Myrtle jerked her head towards the sleeping mermaid.

“Ah,” said Harry, swimming over to the side and leaning his elbows on it, chin resting on top of them.  He saw Myrtle leaning forward on her tap and peering at his back and scowled, snapping, “Do you mind?”

The ghost looked a little flustered and if Harry didn’t know better, he’d have said she’d blushed.

The teen sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, thinking.  He then voiced his thoughts out loud.

“Okay.  So – if we have to underwater to the merpeople, that means they’ve taken something.  Something important like that song says.”  He frowned now.  What of his were they going to take?  And how on earth were they going to get it?  He’d locked his trunk up tighter than Moody probably did his house.

Then another thought came to him.  How in Merlin’s name was he supposed to breathe underwater?  Certainly he could swim, Argil had seen to that by throwing him in the river.  But breathe underwater?  Hmm, maybe his father could help him there…

“Myrtle, would you mind closing your eyes?”

“Yes,” replied the ghost.

Harry groaned then turned his fiercest glare on her and snapped, “Eyes.  Now.  Or I’ll use the Banishing Charm on you.”

Myrtle gave him a surly look but closed her eyes as he climbed out and dried himself off.  He’d just gotten his pants back on when the ghost opened her eyes and eyed him hungrily.  Harry shook his head and tugged his shirt over his head before leaning down to pick up the map, egg, and cloak.  He pulled the latter on as Myrtle asked, “Will you come and visit me in my bathroom sometime?”

Harry blinked owlishly at her then said, “Er…maybe.”  Yes, he thought when he’d started for the door, checking the map to make sure no one was around.  When I have to go back down into the Chamber of Secrets, which I doubt will ever happen.

Creeping out into the hallway, Harry spotted Filch down in the dungeons, but nowhere near Arx Serpens or the statue that hid the tunnel back into the common room.  He smiled then noticed something very odd.  Someone was in his father’s office and it wasn’t his father…

The dot was labeled “Bartemius Crouch” and Harry looked at it twice to make sure it was really there.  What would Crouch be doing in his father’s office at half-past midnight?

Frowning, Harry sprinted down the stairs leading to the dungeons, his bare feet making only faint sounds on the stone floors as he ran.  Then he came to a screeching halt as he heard the sounds of his father’s voice and Filch.

“Could it have been a student, professor?”

“I don’t know who it was, Filch, but they would have to had been very powerful to break through my wards.  And I don’t know of any student that could do that.”

Harry frowned and crept up to the corner, peering around it at his father and Filch.  Filch was wearing an old flannel dressing gown and his father a pair of black pants and a worn gray t-shirt with a dressing robe thrown over it.  He then looked at the map again and saw the “Bartemius Crouch” dot walking down the corridor towards the two men.  Then he stuffed the thing into his pocket, suddenly remembering that the statue he wanted was in the next corridor over and Filch was standing right in front of the main door into Arx Serpens.

Damn!

“Mowr?”

Harry looked down at his feet and saw Mrs. Norris standing there, looking up at him curiously with her red eyes.  He knelt down beside her, checking to make sure neither man had heard her.  Running a hand over her back, he watched around the corner as suddenly there was the familiar clunking sound of Moody approaching.  He leaned back against the wall.  If Moody’s eye could see through the back of his head and Harry’s robes, then it could damn well see through an Invisibility Cloak.

“Did I hear that correctly, Snape?  Someone broke into your office?”

“Perhaps,” said Snape, his glare in his voice.

Moody growled, “Who’d want to break into your office?”

“A student, I daresay.”

He’s contradicting himself, thought Harry as he listened to the conversation, Mrs. Norris climbing into his lap and settling herself there as he sat cross-legged on the floor.  The cat purred like a steam engine and Harry could only hope no one heard her.

“Reckon they were after potions ingredients?  Or are you hiding anything else in your office?”

“You know very well that I’m hiding nothing, Moody.  You searched my office thoroughly.”

“Auror’s privilege, Snape.  Dumbledore told me to keep an eye on things.”

“Dumbledore,” said Snape, “happens to trust me.”

“’Course Dumbledore trusts you.  He’s a trust man.  Believes in second chances.  But – some spots just don’t come off, do they?”

Harry scowled and Mrs. Norris stopped purring in his lap, sensing his anger.  She stood on her hind legs, paws on his chest, and batted at his nose.  Harry frowned then smiled slightly, running his hand over her furry ears.  He whispered, “I’m not angry at you, Norri.  Just Moody.  The nerve!”

Snape growled, “Mmm.  Some spots never do come off.  Even those that are invisible.  Good night, gentlemen.”  Harry then heard the sound of his father’s office door slam and winced.  He looked down at Mrs. Norris then peered around the corner, watching as Filch walked off but Moody just stood there.  Slumping against the wall, he sighed and looked down at the cat in his lap.

“Well,” he said, “looks like I’ll be sleeping outside tonight.”

Mrs. Norris purred and rubbed her head up against his chest and he smiled.

“You want to come with me, Norri?”

The cat purred again and Harry grinned.

“Alright.  Let’s go before Moody comes this way.”

Harry quickly rose and padded down the corridor, Mrs. Norris trailing behind him.  He slid into the tunnel hidden behind a full-length mirror and lay down, using his arm as a pillow and the cloak as a blanket.  The warm, purring sensation that was Mrs. Norris curled up against his chest and Harry smiled, breathing in the scents of cat fur and stone and dust before he dropped off into sleep.