The Lie I've Lived
I Belong to Nowhere
By JBern
Author Notes:
Disclaimer - After reading book 7, I don't even want to imagine that I own Harry Potter any more. I don't own it and never will.
Acknowledgements- Zanymuggle for his editing work. The rest of Alpha Fight Club for all the encouragement and helpful suggestions. I make the story - they make it better. Thanks also to Aaran St. Vines for his comments as well.
Chapter 7 — I Belong to Nowhere
Thursday September 15th, 1994
I’ve always been an early riser. Poor sleeping habits mixed with the need to get up and make the Dursleys breakfast have left their mark on me. Another one of those subtle differences between me and James "wake me up at the crack of noon" Potter. Even so, five in the morning is pushing it. It’s way too early to be brewing potions, but at least the formula is a simple enough pain reliever.
Madame Pomfrey has an eye for detail. "Potter, your wrist is too limp when stirring. I hope you don’t hold your wand like that."
Ignoring the fact that she just called me a "limp wrist", I concentrate on the boiling cauldron in front of me and keep reminding myself that this is much better than Snape.
"Do you know what today is Mr. Potter?"
"Thursday."
"Yes, but today is the day that Madame Hooch takes the first years out for their initial flying lesson. This whole weekend is usually the busiest of the year. Of the thirty-six new students this year, twenty-one are Muggleborn. Even if they make it through the lesson without an injury, they won’t listen to her warnings and better than half of them will try some unsupervised flying over the weekend. If we’re lucky, all we’ll see are bumps, bruises and a few cuts, but there’s a reason we keep bone growth serum on hand. This year, with you around, I’m going to go down there in person and try to nip some of this foolishness in the bud."
"You should take some Balus Oil down with you and make them taste a teaspoon to give them an idea what they’re in store for if they fall from their brooms." I laugh knowing how foul that particular plant extract tastes. It is the base material for the Skele-Gro potion and part of what gives it a "unique" flavor.
I glance and catch her smiling at me, "You have a mean streak, Mr. Potter. I like that idea." I wish I could take credit for it, but it was one of the ways James’ mum kept him out of the broom shed. "Now don’t forget to set your egg timer. Five minutes of simmer followed by one minute of stirring, do that two more times and begin decanting. The cauldron should yield ten doses. I’ll be able to verify that they are medicinal grade by lunchtime."
My potion skills impress her. I wonder if word has already reached Snape. The blood replenishers I did earlier this week actually made "medical grade." My blister salve didn’t, but in my defense, James was much better with liquids than he was with creams. James always used to annoy Lily by insisting that girls were much better at creams because they used makeup all the time. Lupin and Pettigrew disagreed and found themselves with a James and Sirius special makeover administered while they were asleep. When the glamours were dropped at breakfast, the two of them looked like those mime artists that performed in Muggle parks.
The Nurse came back from the storeroom with a bottle of Balus Oil. Any of the firsties dumb enough to get injured after tasting that filth must really want to learn how to fly!
"Harry, I’m going to the morning staff meeting and then to breakfast. Assuming Professor McGonagall is there, I will let her know that I will be using your services until the practical portion of the flying lesson ends. When Xiomara moves on to basic storage and upkeep, you’ll be free to go to your Transfiguration lecture. I’ll send one of the elves up with your breakfast."
"Thanks, but I’ll make arrangements with the elf that I employ."
"Very good, use my touchstone if anything serious comes up."
Dobby makes all my food and delivers it. I’ve had better tasting House Elf food, but Dobby has specific orders from me to avoid all other Hogwarts students. The Marauders used to trick the House Elves into spiking the food all the time.
Just because I carry three bezoars in my belt pouch doesn’t mean I’m paranoid…
Thirty minutes later, I was cleaning out my cauldron when my first patients of the morning showed up. As had been predicted, the Slytherins seemed to be coming to the Infirmary much more frequently than normal, especially since everyone knew when the staff meetings were.
Millicent Bulstrode ushers an oddly walking Tracey Davis into the clinic. They are the two "outcasts" of Slytherin, with their genetics working against them. Millicent’s abnormally large and not very easy on the eyes, destined to be the girl picked up at the bar by the bloke whose alcohol consumption had successfully squashed his common sense. I hope she likes the smell of alcohol and sweat! Still, I could be wrong; she might find a handsome prince — albeit one with a unibrow fetish.
Tracey, on the other hand, is quite attractive and already starting to develop some nice curves. A couple of years from now, she’ll be a force to be reckoned with. Her problem isn’t her looks, it’s her Muggleborn mother. In a House that puts blood superiority before everything else, she’s a second-class citizen who’s tolerated because of her father’s wealth and influence.
There’s a cute little Death Eater soap opera behind the origins of Tracey Davis. It’s about a reluctant Death Eater ordered to kill a Muggleborn witch. Instead, he hid her and fell in love with her. After my little encounter with his master, he was able to thumb his nose at all his former cohorts, marry the witch, legally accept their love child and do a two year stint in Azkaban.
"Ladies, what seems to be the problem?"
"Someone pranked Tracey’s soap. Show him your hands." She’s got some nasty boils on her hand.
"Coated the soap bar with some pus, huh? Easily solved, I’ll get some boil reducer cream. It’ll take away the pain and speed the healing. You’ll want to keep your hands wrapped. The boils will be gone by Sunday."
Tracey kept shifting uncomfortably. "It’s not just my hands. I was washing somewhere else when I noticed it."
"Oh." I say, filing away the little tidbit of where Miss Davis starts washing first. "Well, I can summon Nurse Pomfrey from the staff meeting?"
"Shit! It hurts so much, I don’t care who puts it on! Just fix me!" For such a smallish girl, she has a healthy set of lungs on her.
I head to the cabinet to get the cream and a pair of latex gloves. Shockingly, not all of the Wizarding World is as backwards as it appears. "Fine! Millicent, would you mind applying the cream ‘down there?’ It’ll be less awkward that way."
"Bugger off, Potter! I’m not putting my hands down there."
"Alright, so I guess it’s going to be me then." I stop by the portrait of Headmistress Derwent, who is surveying the unfolding comedy in front of us. "Pardon me, Madame. Could I float your portrait into the examination area? I need to treat a female in her, well, in her private areas and would like a witness."
"I’ll be your witness," Bulstrode says — a little too quickly.
"Well, you can come as well, but the Headmistress here was also a top-notch Healer. I need her to make certain that I do this in a professional manner."
I turn my back to them and use my wand to levitate the painting across the room. I don’t need to see the alarmed expressions being exchanged.
"Okay then. Millicent, would you draw the curtains? There’s no need to give anyone else coming in a free show. Tracey, you can go ahead and disrobe. It’ll be easiest if you lie down on the bed. I can float you if necessary, but the pain should stop when you stop moving."
The Slytherin witch starts dropping her robe when a pop interrupts us and she shrieks letting if fall completely and covering her breasts with her contaminated hands. Now I have to do them too!
"Mr. Harry Potter’s breakfast!" Dobby practically screams. "Oh, I did not knows, you is busy healing people. Do you want Dobby to go?"
"No, Dobby. This should only take a minute. Just stand quietly over there next to Miss Bulstrode. Tracey! You need to watch where you put your hands. Here go ahead and get some of the cream on your hands and then rub it where you just put them. Sweet Merlin! Sir Nicolas! Don’t rise up out of the floor like that! You could have scared me to death!"
"Please accept my apologies, young healer. I’ve brought the Friar and we wished to speak with you about a private matter concerning an upcoming Deathday."
"Oh, good morning to you too, Friar. I’ll get to you two in a second, as soon as I’m finished with Miss Davis here. Just float over there please."
"Get them out of here!" Tracey shrieks.
"Honestly, young miss, we’re dead." The Friar responds sounding rather irritated.
"What kind of infirmary are you running here?" Millicent hisses at me. Before I can answer a ball of fire appears directly in the chest of the Fat Friar and trilling Fawkes drops the Sorting Hat on Dobby’s head.
"Not the Elf! Damn you, you immortal chicken! One of these days… Eh? What have we here — Potter, two witches, one of them naked, two ghosts, a painting and an elf? Sounds like the start of an interesting joke. What’s the punchline?"
Poor Tracey looks ready to run, clothes or no clothes, and me without a camera. Millicent looks ready to strangle me. "Not now, Hat! Dobby, take the Hat off and get outside the curtain. Sir Nicolas, Honored Friar, would you please wait on the other side of the curtain? I’ll be with you as soon as I can."
"Anything I can do Potter?" The Hat asks being unusually helpful.
"Shutting up would be nice." Using the gloves, I apply the cream to her privates and making certain that her breasts are adequately cared for.
"You must be enjoying yourself," Tracey squeaks at me throwing her robes back on the second I finish.
"You don’t really interest me, Tracey. Anyone who would debase themselves so much to get into Malfoy’s good graces is too insecure for me." I didn’t respond to her look of shock and occupied myself with wrapping her hands in gauze. "Medical advice time: you’ll need to have someone take notes for you today and help you eat. Every four hours, unwrap your hands and reapply the cream. When you go to the loo, do your lower areas and chest. Any medical questions?"
I wait for a moment staring into her blue eyes and making a point to ignore her barely-covered body. She doesn’t say anything so I continue, "Good. Now, personal advice time: you two have been here for over three years now. If your Housemates don’t like you by now, they probably never will. Doing stupid shit like this because Malfoy wants to spread rumors about me being some kind of perv makes you his tool, not his friend. Let Pansy and Daphne know that the next time one of you tries this, I’ll find something unique about the patterns and send for the Divination Professor. While she does an interpretation of the boils, I’ll get Creevey’s camera so we can have a photographic record!"
Both of them gape at me. Just because they’re crafty and ambitious doesn’t make them the best liars. "How did you know?"
Waving my wand I throw back the privacy curtains and glance back over my shoulder at them. "Because I’m Harry bloody Potter. Not much goes on in this castle that I don’t know about. You’d do well to remember that! Now run along, girls." I watch as they flee from the ward.
Thanking the portrait, I put it back where I first got it and wash the latex smell off my hands so I can finally eat some breakfast.
The hat laughs, "Nice punchline there, Potter. You really showed those ignorant little barely-pubescent twats."
Where does the Hat come up with these lines? I’m not sure I really want to know. "They’ll think twice about following one of Malfoy’s ridiculous schemes again."
A third ghost floats in to the room and joins the laughing ghosts of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. There is no laughter from him as the Bloody Baron removes his helm. "I agree, descendant. You have chased two of my snakes back into their holes, yet I know this will not stop them."
"I know you’re right, but let me savor the moment, Lord Baron. Thank you for your timely warning."
------
The Bloody Baron actually being a Potter is rather bizarre even for my "abnormal" life. He agreed to help me, but I need to scratch his back as well. Most every student who has ever been in this school wonders about the blood stains on his tunic. I know the answer.
Lord Baron William Potter was more commonly known in the court of King Henry II as William de Tracy, and the blood staining his tunic belongs to none other than Saint Thomas Becket. The price of killing a holy man at the King of England’s request doomed him to the unending limbo of the afterlife.
No Potter had ever been placed in Slytherin since then. He was shocked when I told him I almost was. The Potter family renounced him because the death of the Archbishop of Canterbury hadn’t quite gone over with the public all that well. They cursed him to never seek out the family again, but since I sought him out things were different now.
What could I possibly give a ghost? Well, he requires a few things to move on after all this time. The first is to be welcomed back into the family, which is easy enough for me to do as soon as I turn seventeen — again. The land and monies gifted to him for the deed need to be sold. The Dursleys were kind enough to take care of part of that for me and the money will put a nice sized dent in the Potter vaults, but I’ll still never need to work a day in my hopefully long life. The last piece of the puzzle is I must ask the current Archbishop of Canterbury to forgive William Potter.
That of course might be a bit tricky, but I’ll figure out a way to get it done after I can return him to the family and he’s going to help make certain that I live long enough for all this to take place.
His part of the bargain is keeping an eye out for me and letting me know about things like this stupid plot or that Malfoy is trying to convince Peter Yaxley that he should try and really hurt me. The boy has an unhealthy infatuation with me. I’m already starting to think about doing something about it, but I have more important fish to fry — namely Severus Snape.
I’m rather popular with the Puffs and the Claws these days after my comments to He-Who-Does-Not-Bathe were circulated with near record speed around the castle. Chuckling, I decide that I need to spread that name around the school. The ghosts and Dobby leave and I catch up with the Hat while managing to get through my breakfast before the next student arrives. It’s Colin with his camera. I must be repaying a debt of karma for invoking the boy’s name in front of the girls earlier.
"Good morning Colin. Is there something I can do for you?"
"Is the Nurse in?"
"No, but she’ll be back around ten. Would you like to come back?"
"Yes. No. I don’t know. I’ve got this problem…"
Resisting the urge to comment on what his "problem" might really be, I add. "What kind of problem?"
"I think I’ve been hexed?"
"Really? How?"
His voice is barely above a whisper, "I’ve got hair where I shouldn’t have."
"Come again?"
"I’ve got hair growing on my thing!" Naturally, he shouts that which gets the Hat laughing. Thank the powers above that no one else is here in the Ward. I sigh and start explaining that there comes a time in a boy wizard’s life when he starts experiencing changes. I graciously refuse his offer to "look at it" and instead hand him a pamphlet called Young Wizard — Big Changes and gently push him out the door telling him to pass it on to his kid brother when he’s done.
No matter what, this is still better than Snape. I’d say that it probably could get worse, but I don’t want to give fate any other reasons to look in my direction today.
------
Professor McGonagall acknowledges me as I enter the classroom. She’s busy trying to reverse the switching spell on Neville, whose ears are now parts from a cactus. How did he bollocks it up that bad? I watched her lean down and speak into his ears which listen from the aforementioned plant.
This class was with the Ravenclaws so no real worries about someone trying to "get me." Hermione and Ron are in the front row. I ignore all the glances as I join them.
"What’s the assignment?"
Hermione looks up at me and wags a tulip where her smallest finger is supposed to be, "Switching spells. We’re supposed to switch our pinky for the flower in the pot." Her finger moves in the flowerpot mimicking her movements. Ron’s finger is still on his hand as he reexamines the text in front of him.
"How did Neville…"
"Don’t ask. You don’t want to know."
"Okay." So, fun with switching spells. It gets old real quick. It’s actually a precursor to full Apparition. Not wanting to be bored, I opted to have a bit of fun.
"Hey, Ron! Watch this." I switched Hermione’s finger in the flowerpot for mine. I now had her smallish finger on my hand. "Now move your finger." I watch as the finger currently residing on my left hand moves under her control. "Neat, huh? Just be glad you didn’t switch with a nose picker."
She shrieks as I realize my error. "Put it back right now! Have you even read up on switching human parts? Do you know what you’re doing?" Hey what do you know, everyone’s looking at us now, including James Potter’s favorite instructor.
"Mr. Potter! What have you done?"
"I just switched my finger for Hermione’s."
The Marauders called her "Mirthless McGonagall" for a reason, her eyes lock with mine. "Do you know the rules and consequences of switching living components?"
To lie or not to lie, that is the question. I shouldn’t know NEWT level material, but "being ahead" is preferable to "being a dunderhead" — odds of getting detentions are much less. "Galbreth’s seven principles — yes, I knew what I was doing. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise."
She covers her surprise well, though Hermione doesn’t. "Very well Mr. Potter, reverse the change."
I know she’s watching my wand movements with a critical eye. I opt not to go over the top and switch them all at once. So I switch my finger back for Hermione’s and then put the tulip back in the pot and hold my finger out for the Professor’s examination and she ensures that both fingers are back on properly.
"Yes, very good work. Normally, I would award points; however, since you missed the lecture regarding safety and opted to start casting spells less than a minute into the room, I will take five points for your disregard of classroom safety and see you in detention Saturday afternoon at three PM, sharp."
Those around us know that she was cutting my Hogsmeade visit short. It makes me angry, and I’m almost tempted to give her some cheek. It would get me out of a date that I don’t really want to go on anyway, but I bite my tongue and pull my Transfiguration tome out of my bag and pretend to look at theory that I was well beyond.
One thing that’s bugs me since I got these new memories is McGonagall. War really took its toll on her. She was always stern in class, but while she wasn’t Slughorn with his ‘Slug Club,’ she would occasionally have small groups of her older students up for tea in James Potter’s time. Of course, most of those students met very bad ends. Since Harry had been here, I didn’t recall her doing that at all.
Ron gives me a "tough luck mate" look, but it’s Hermione who really isn’t helping. "Harry! You don’t just go mucking around and casting spells! Doubly so, when you weren’t here for the safety portion of the lecture!"
I consider how much trouble I would get in if I did some more NEWT level work and transfigured her into a duplicate of Crookshanks. I put up with her whispered hissy fit for another thirty seconds.
"…honestly, what has gotten into you? Just because you read about Advanced Transfiguration doesn’t mean you should try it the first chance you get!"
I give her a sideways glance and whisper back at her. "You’ve made your point. Now shut up."
Hermione’s used to just going on for as long as she wants. I could have clubbed her and got less of a stunned look on her face. She’s quiet for the rest of the class.
I suppose I should feel bad, but I don’t. As we leave the class, I follow the Claws and locate my target.
"Michael, Michael Corner!"
The black haired youth turns, surprised that I am even talking to him, "Yes."
"A word if you please?"
He motions to Anthony and Terry to go on without him. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, I’ve seen you staring at Ginny Weasley lately…"
His expression darkens, "Oh, is this the part where you tell me that she’s yours and to stay away from her? I thought you were dating one of your chasers! How about leaving some for the rest of us?"
I chuckle, "You’ve got it all wrong Michael. This is the part where I tell you to stop wasting time and ask her to Hogsmeade already. Listen, she’s kind of hung up on me and you’d really be helping me out. She’s a nice girl, but she’s not my type. You’d be doing me a big favor."
"You seriously don’t like her that way?"
"Right in one! If you need me to at some point, I’ll put in a good word with her brothers for you." He doesn’t need to know how little my word means with them at the moment.
Corner looks gobsmacked. "You’d really do that for me. Wow, thanks! Any idea how I should go about it?"
"Just go up and ask her. The straightforward approach is the best one. You’ll probably get full marks if you do it in front of other people. I bet if you do it in front of Ron, he’ll get angry and then Ginny will accept just to spite him. If I’m around she’ll definitely accept to try and make me jealous…"
"I don’t know if I want her going out with me because of that," he answers skeptically.
"Look, getting the date is just a matter of getting a yes or a no from a girl. Once you’re on the date, it’s all on you and what you make of it. What’s wrong?"
"She’s going to be comparing me to you." Shit! Come on Corner! Grow a pair!
"Just be you, Michael. You’ll never know if you don’t try. If she’s not into you, then you get some practice in for the next girl you ask out."
I make sure to sit with Katie at lunch when Corner goes up to Ginny to make his move. Hermione’s still fuming so Bell, Spinnet, and Johnson are much better company, though Fred and George still don’t look too happy to see me. I see Ginny cast a glance in my direction as she loudly accepts his invitation.
Good luck there Corner, I’ll be rooting for you.
------
"Now that I’ve finally got you all here, let’s talk about the Unforgivables." I was missing the first day and four Slytherins ended up getting sick after a rather unfortunate accident in Herbology last week, so this is the first time the whole class is together.
Most everyone has heard about what he did with the spiders for the third years and above already. They all had this dazed look of glee plastered on their faces — oh sorry, I meant intellectual curiosity. Anyone care for a taste of the forbidden fruit?
Moody’s eye swerves and locks on me, "Tell the class, Potter, how long did you have aches in your body after being on the receiving end of a Cruciatus curse?"
"Six days."
"That’s right class! Six days of feeling miserable! All from less than ten seconds of a curse and if you dig a bit deeper, guess what? Potter got off lucky. Most people are pretty much incapacitated by the curse. Potter kept his wits about him and that’s why he’s alive today. Longer exposure to the curse can do bad things to a person — things from which people don’t recover."
There are two people in the room who know what he means. A sideways glance at Neville and I see his lip quivering slightly.
"So, let’s take a gander at our little spider and see how well it does against this curse." He enlarges it and I notice him silently casting a weak sonorous charm on it with a slight of hand. Moody’s a crafty bugger. We’re really going to hear it scream.
"Crucio!" That thing really lets loose. I can empathize with it. He lets up after about five seconds and the thing can barely move. "Back in the war, Death Eaters would use that curse to incapacitate their opponents and then have their way with them. That’s why using this curse on another human being will get you a one way ticket to Azkaban."
He moves on to demonstrate the Imperius curse, making that lethargic spider ignore its injuries and jump around the room as if nothing were wrong. Moody delights in having it go after the Slytherins. I make no move as it leaps onto my desk. Trying to picture how much pain I’d be in if someone made me do that right after cursing me, I decide that the killing will be a mercy killing.
I know the way Moody operates. He’s gauging our reactions, even if this isn’t an Auror training class or private dueling instruction. James had him as an off and on tutor for almost a full year before the war forced Alastor to focus his attention solely on the war effort.
Ron on the other hand, practically wets himself.
Eventually, Moody has his fill of sadistic joy — probably why Snivellus wants to teach the class so badly — and makes his thrall hop down and move slowly down the center of the aisle — dead spider walking. Moody starts it from the back of the room to drive home that he’s forcing the creature to walk to its death. It’s the same creepy shit that Death Eaters would do with children in front of their parents. He makes it climb on the empty desk at the front of the room and execute a bow for the class.
Then he kills it. Even the Slytherins look pretty shaken up.
"You’ve all heard about this little demonstration, but there’s something the other classes have been keeping from you. I’ve been given special dispensation to use the Imperius curse on the lot of you. The Headmaster is here to supervise." Albus Dumbledore suddenly appears standing by the blackboard and I curse myself for not looking for any signs of disillusionment or notice-me-not fields. This is Alastor fucking Moody after all! He’s the same wizard who killed a Death Eater trying to break into his home by animating a hidden Muggle bear trap and decapitating the bastard. Then, he used the headless body to strangle the guy’s shocked partner! Most people know him as Mad Eye Moody. A few of the Order members called him Hardcore Moody — with good reason.
"Good day to you all. What you are about to experience will no doubt amuse you, but let me remind you that the person about to do the soft shoe on the desk could just as easily be ordered to take their wand and cause you great bodily harm."
With the Headmaster’s warning, Moody proceeds. Again, I notice that Moody seems to heap a bit more humiliation upon the Slytherins. I don’t join in with everyone’s nervous tittering. This spell isn’t a toy! I’m actually surprised that Dumbledore and the Board let this go. Finally it’s my turn.
I feel the pleasant warmth wash over me and the voice commanding me to hop onto the table. My hands tremble as I start to rise. The voice becomes more demanding, but I find I’m actually getting traction against it! Either Moody’s gotten really weak over the years or, I’ve gotten stronger — much stronger. Powerful or strong willed folks can break the hold over time, but James could never shrug it off like I can now — the only way I can properly describe it is "wicked!"
Barely out of my chair, I break the spell’s hold on me and return to my seat. Moody and Dumbledore both look shocked. Moody tries again. Nope! It’s not happening.
On the third try, I speak up, "If the killing curse didn’t work, why do you think this one would?"
Dumbledore laughs, "At this point in the lecture, I intended to have Alastor attempt the curse on my person and command me to slay you all, but as Mr. Potter here has demonstrated, a sufficiently strong-minded and powerful wizard or witch can resist the curse and overcome its enthralling effect. Well done, indeed!"
Moody gives me a single point for standing up to the Imperius curse, but says that having that ability is worth more than he could ever give me. He holds Neville after class, who asks me to wait for him. Hermione practically bolts from the room dragging Ron with her. I’ve got to watch myself; she’s radiating jealousy and anger right now. Dumbledore just basically told her that I am either more strong willed or more powerful than she is or will likely ever be. The truth hurts, no two ways about it.
Five minutes goes by and I almost give up and start heading for dinner when he comes out holding a plant book in his hands.
"Sorry Harry, he wanted to give me this book and to make sure I wasn’t too upset by today’s lecture."
"Are you okay?" It makes sense, Frank and Mad Eye ran in the same circles. He’s a callous bastard, but he has a heartbeat like the rest of us.
"I’ll get by. Harry, I’m tired of being a joke like I was in Transfiguration today. I’m tired of people laughing at me. I want to be more like you. You said we could go get a wand that suits me. Can we still do that?"
It will cut into even further into my "date" with Katie, but this isn’t the first time a Longbottom ever asked a Potter for help or vice versa. "It’ll be tight, but I’ll make it happen. We’ll have to go bright and early. If we’re in and out of Ollivander’s quick enough, we can stop by and see your parents."
"Thanks Harry."
------
Friday night, I finish my shift in the Ward rather uneventfully for a change and make my way to the room that once held the Mirror of Erised. It’s so far out of the way that no one would be out here with only a little over one hour before curfew. Still, I drop a proximity warning spell in the corridor outside before I enter and remove my invisibility cloak. On the floor, I spread out the map and scan the area around the room and for two particular names. Dumbledore is in his office with Sprout and Moody is in his quarters with Bartemius Crouch of all people. Now that is one seriously strange duo, but he’s a Ministry type in charge of making this tournament happen and Moody is here for security. Politics sure does make for unusual bedfellows.
With both of the people who could possibly be wandering around and detect what I am about to do otherwise occupied, I summon Dobby and put a silencing charm on the walls of the room.
I start with Dobby tossing small rubber balls at me — object to object Transfiguration. The balls become parchment, straw, metal and wood without changing shape. I’m through the first exercise; change the material, onto the next exercise. I leave the material intact, but change the form. Soon I have a pile of rubber chickens, cats, squirrels and flowers lying atop the ball shaped objects. The elf starts varying the speeds at my request and they become harder to hit. It helps my aim as I begin the third progression changing both material and shape. I’m grossly out of form. If the "real" James Potter walked in at this moment, I doubt he could resist mocking me.
Even so, amongst the pile of debris in front of me are real flowers, broken plates, a tuba and two chickens being chased by a ginger-haired cat of indeterminate sexuality. I sort of flubbed the wand movements on that one. At least, "it" won’t be around long enough to get all angry with me.
A surge of power through my wand and I cancel all my spells watching the three balls that had been running around the room bounce off a wall and come to rest. I wandlessly summon them and return them to my elf, because it’s conjuration time!
While the elf sends them at me even faster, I conjure barriers of stone, tin and glass. I shoot large balls to intercept them working on both my aim and speed. I levitate the stone shield wandlessly and use my wand to cast the clearview charm on it allowing me to see through the shield. Feeling the drain of the multiple spells, I push harder blocking with my construct as I send my own volley of rubber balls out of my wand at the elf who laughs and scampers to an fro. Damn, he’s fast. It’s probably a good thing there’s never been a house elf uprising.
Twenty minutes of this and I’m spent. At the peak of James’ training he could do this for almost forty-five, but considering this is only my fourth time really cutting loose, I know I can be easily at James’ level by the winter holidays as my technique improves and I figure out how to best expend my power. How far I can go beyond that is the real question! Conjuring and Transfiguration are two of the most wasteful of the magical branches. Charms, jinxes, hexes, and animation are straightforward power to purpose, whereas the other two leave too much power "on the table."
Soon, I will start mixing charms and hexes into the mixture and I consider how I can make my exercises more practical by setting up targets while having Dobby and someone or something else hurl the balls at me. I could charm a barrel and make it into some kind of pitching machine like they use in American baseball.
I spend some time in my Animagus form just to keep in practice. This week was the first time I’d been able to get out and do a bit of running in my pronghorn form at the edge of the Forbidden Forrest. I caught Hagrid watching me once or twice and saw that there were some vegetables left out for me. I thought about taking them, but they smelled tainted. Sure enough, Hagrid wants to "examine" his new visitor. If he didn’t find me interesting, he’d probably butcher me and feed me to those wretched blast end thingamajigs he’s breeding. Really, he’s a gentle guy — honest.
I’d stay longer, but we’re meeting Dung near the Shrieking Shack tomorrow early. He keeps several Portkeys on his body to assist in his "profession" — whatever the hell that is! It’s best that I don’t ask. For a few more of my galleons, he’s giving us a lift to Diagon Alley. He even has a line on a Pensieve for me. Thirty two hundred galleons is a bit steep, but I’m guessing five hundred of that is going right into Dung’s bottomless pockets, but I can always sign a note against the Potter fortune and for a nasty rate of interest the Goblins at Gringotts would jump on it.
------
Covered in soot and glamours I stumble back through the Floo at the Hogshead. My Occlumency holds as I pass through Aberforth’s age line and I head out the door trying not to draw too much attention to myself.
What a waste of a day! Neville got his wand after trying nearly every single wand in Ollivander’s shop. It took two bloody hours! Furthermore, despite my repeated requests, the old man refused to sell me a spare until I’m seventeen. While Neville was visiting Frank and Alice, Dung and I went into Knockturn Alley to check out this Pensieve. I should have known when the rat bastard shopkeeper wanted fifty galleons up front to test it out. It was suspicious enough when he tried to get me to buy or get out at ten minutes into the memory. I refused and at fifteen minutes, the blasted thing quit working and tossed me out rather violently into some crystal ware that was no doubt arranged for me to break. I wasted another twenty minutes bickering with the bastard when he gets some goons to come out after us for the extra money the slimy git was demanding. I led them off and told Dung to get Neville back to Hogsmeade or else!
I rub the spot on my shoulder where one winged me with a bludgeoner before I could disillusion myself. Once disillusioned, I was able to get out my invisibility cloak and really disappear while they were looking for distortion patterns.
I quickly use my wand to clean all the dirt and grime off of me and get rid of the glamours. I hurry towards the little hill where I’m supposed to meet Katie for our picnic while brushing up on my excuses. I’m only one hour late, okay an hour and a half, she’ll understand right?
The blanket and basket are still there. Aw, she left a note for me. The note is in a red envelope. I wonder what it has to say.
"You unbelievable arse! I can’t believe you stood me up! I should have listened to Angie and Alicia! Here I was defending you to them and telling them that you aren’t really an arrogant little berk! Turns out I was wrong! I hope you and Neville effing Longbottom had fun wherever you went to on your super secret mission that you refused to tell me about! Here’s a news flash for you Mister Harry Potter! You’re not a very good boyfriend! Maybe you should try growing up and getting a little maturity into that pompous block of stone that sits between your shoulders."
Oddly enough, the cracks about maturity actually hurt a little. No doubt "Potter the Arsehole" stories are already spreading around the castle. Part of me wouldn’t mind telling her that I took a good friend to see visit his sick parents because it was the right thing to do and watch her try and back pedal and apologize. The rest of me is a bit relieved that whatever it was, it’s over and I can stop pretending that I wanted to date her in the first place. Maybe I should date a few more girls and treat them poorly too?
From behind, I heard a couple of sniggers and turn to see Fred and George standing there each with a set of Omnioculars.
"We figure Katie deserves to see you get chewed out. Since our dates are back at the castle listening to her cry in her cups, we didn’t have anything else to do."
"Good for you boys. You deserve a biscuit." I say in a mocking tone and take one out of the basket and then realizing that Fred and George have been here waiting for me, I put it right back where it was. Eating isn’t really a good idea.
"Do you know what I want to know, Fred?" They start circling around the picnic blanket crossing each other’s path.
"Pray do tell, George?"
"Why is it when we spoke to that one despicable wretch of a Ravenclaw did he say that Harry here encouraged him to ask our little sister out? Take a problem off his hands, so to speak? He seems to have a mysterious way with girls doesn’t he? Rather arrogant if you ask me." They must be plenty angry. They’re not doing that whole finishing each other’s sentences thing.
"Too true, brother of mine! I was wondering the same thing myself. Perhaps you’d care to comment on that Harry, or is it Percy Potter?" The jibe at me being Percy is pretty low, even for them.
"I say, should we curse him? He’d look good with some good old Bat Bogey’s flying about?"
"Oh what a splendid…" I’d lost track of who is who, but the moment they reached for their wands mine is out. They had Omnis in their hands and I am a very fast draw.
"Think again."
"Perhaps not then, but you only delay the inevitable Potter. We would have let you off easier, if you had just taken it like a man. Oh, who are we kidding, we wouldn’t, but as dear Katie so eloquently expressed, we to have doubts about your maturity. I predict you’re going to have a miserable year."
"Let us go now brother before we incur the wrath of Harry Potter."
"Quite right. He does seem to be an angry individual."
"Perhaps he needs some time to thing about it? Oh Blanket!"
The moment one of them says that, the blanket rises up and starts wrapping itself around me. They didn’t mess with the food; they charmed the blanket and put a voice activated trigger on it. It’s got a sticking charm on it too. My wand and arm are pinned to my chest leaving me wrapped in the colorful blanket. Quickly, I evaluate my options. I could Apparate, but I’m not advertising that today. My Animagus transformation could rip through this, but again not a good idea.
They take several shots with their Omnis of them standing next to my trussed up body and even produce someone’s wizarding camera to take some more keepsakes. I must admit the one with me floating in the air and Fred holding a saw to my stomach like a Muggle stage magician will probably turn out to be a hoot. They make several threatening comments, but they’re not Dudley-like thugs. They prefer humiliation over physical beatings, things like making peoples hair fallout or vanishing clothes, pranks in food or drink that turn you different colors or into an animal.
By not begging for my release, I deny them their fun. Finally they grow bored trying to get a response and simply roll me down the hill. The Weasley twins turn and start back towards the castle.
"Hard to believe we borrowed Dad’s car to rescue this piece of rubbish? Or gave him our map?"
I speak up for the first time, "Don’t kid yourselves, you would have found another reason to use the car at some point. From the way you two drove it, it looked like you’d done it before. Considering the map was made by James Potter, Sirius Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew, you were just returning my rightful property."
They pause for a moment. Apparently, they never knew who the Marauders actually were. "Oh, not only is he poor with the ladies, he’s a bit of an ingrate as well. Know this, Poncey Potter: we no longer consider you a friend of the family. We’re not even certain you’re a true Gryffindor. You step out of line and we’ll be there to make your life a living hell."
"Well spoken, brother! Do we tell McGonagall that he’ll be late for his detention?"
"Are you sure you want to talk to her, George?"
"I thought I was George. Quite right, sorry old bean, unlike that berk Corner, we’re not inclined to do you any favors there, Harold. Better luck next time…"
I figure they’ll have a time release on it for either just before or after my detention is supposed to begin. One has me sprinting and making a bloody fool of myself and the other ensures that I do get into more trouble.
I wait five more minutes to make certain they don’t come back for more photographic fun and transform ripping through the blanket with my animal form. The shoulder still hurts from my souvenir to Knockturn, but I was right that the blanket couldn’t hold up to my transformation.
Quickly turning back, I grab my wand and cancel the enchantment. My clothes need repair which takes another moment, and I check for any signs of any other recording device or spell. It’s tempting to conjure some fake blood and spray it on the tattered remains of the blanket and skiv off detention to have some tea with Hagrid and see what happens when I don’t return to the castle, but I’ve had enough fun for one day.
I don’t have time for an idiotic prank war. I’ll try ignoring them at first, but if they persist, I’ll go into the memories of James Potter and show them what nasty looks like — shit we wouldn’t even use on Snape.
------
My day gets worse upon reentering the Gryffindor common room. Detention with McGonagall consisted of her lecturing me for forty-five minutes before making me write lines about the importance of safety in the classroom along with a bonus assignment on Galbreth’s seven principles of advanced switching spells. I’d have rather just started on that instead of the lines.
Walking in, I see the twins had been busy. At first I thought they things are being set up for Hermione’s birthday, but all the streamers lead back to pictures of me and my earlier encounter with the twins. Scooping up one of the pictures, I see I was right. This picture is a keeper. Looking around the common room is full of the older students. The Omnis are passed around like party favors. Everyone is quietly watching me. Katie’s there glaring daggers.
I slide it under my arm and start up the stairs when Angelina’s voice stops me. "Don’t you have anything to say for yourself, Potter?"
"I suppose, I could say nice decorations and good night. Sorry about the picnic Katie — nice Howler. I got tied up where I was and couldn’t get back in time and as you can see, I got tied up again. Maybe some other time," her expression hardens, "then again, maybe not."
Katie remains sullen, but apparently Johnson is angry enough for the both of them, "You realize if there was Quidditch this year, I’d bounce your scrawny little arse from the team right now. I have to decide over the course of the year whether keeping you is worth the trouble."
That would have set the "old me" off. Now I stop on the steps and stare back at her. A few choice words in the ear of Puddlemere’s General Manager could work their way out amongst the scouts and Angie could easily get screwed out of a shot in the Spring League until she’s out of Hogwarts. No, I’m not that cruel, not today at least. I want to find a bathtub and soak my shoulder and try to forget this day ever happened. "Assuming you’re Captain next year Angelina, you can make whatever decisions you feel will help the team win."
Neville’s waiting for me when I get upstairs. On my way to my detention I checked the map and made certain he was safely back at the castle. "Safely" is a misleading word as he is stuck to the wall and with his teeth grown to a ridiculous size. I go to release him, but Ron stops me.
"Harry, what the hell are you doing with Ginny?"
"I saw Corner liked her. I told him he should ask her out?"
"But you snogged her!"
I shrink Neville’s teeth back and look at Ron, "And you snogged Angelina and Alicia that day, big effing deal."
"Not to her, you prat!"
Maybe I should just have someone stun me, screw the hot soak. I consider letting Neville try that with his new wand, but then discard the idea. Neville shooting a spell at me? It will take some time before I’m that comfortable with him. "Would you listen to yourself? Up until a few hours ago, I was dating Katie and not your sister. I saw that Corner bloke really was interested and I thought Ginny might enjoy going out with someone who was really in to her."
"You were leading her on!"
"How so, buying her a birthday gift? Being nice to her? Going into a closet with her at a rigged party game? Rigged by your two brothers? Where were you today? Hanging out with Hermione? Did you go to stores together? Eat some Ice Cream? Are you leading her on?"
"Hermione! We’re just friends!"
"My point exactly! I’ve told Ginny that I’m not interested at this time, but everyone around here seems to believe that I’ve either proposed to Katie or Ginny depending on who you talked to."
"You’re a right foul git! You know that?" When he runs out of arguments, he insults. It usually doesn’t take long. Want to know what this feels like, go find someone ten years younger than you and argue with them and see how happy you are with the results.
I freed Neville from the wall, "Is that so, because I was late for a date? How long did you all let Neville hang out here on the wall?"
"Where were you today?"
I jerk my thumb at Neville, "With him."
"Where?"
"It’s none of your business, Ron. Drop it."
He leaves with his knickers in a twist. I wonder how much everyone else heard. I glance at Neville, who’s rubbing his shoulders. "How long did they leave you up there?"
"I couldn’t see the clock, so I’m not sure. They wanted to know where we went and I didn’t tell them. So, they left me here to think about it."
"Why didn’t you tell them?"
He points at the wall. "Most people always do stuff to me — case in point. You’re one of the first people to do something for me. You skived off a date with one of the prettiest girls in our house to help me out…" Neville trailed off not know what else to say.
I clap him on the shoulders. "I’d do it again too mate. So, you wanna try out that new wand of yours?"
"Sure" I wince realizing that when the Hat catches wind of this conversation it’ll start in on me about being a poof. Our last few sentences have so many homosexual connotations that it isn’t funny.
"Anyone show you how to make a Protego yet?"
"No."
"Well let’s get started."
------
I throw myself into my work over the next six weeks. People stop asking me about the fight at the World Cup. People stop asking me about Katie Bell dumping me. For the most part, people stop talking to me, which is no longer as annoying as it once was. I recall Hermione coolly thanking me for the gift certificate to Flourish and Bott’s that I picked up for her. She seems miffed that I never ask her to check over my homework anymore and am getting very high marks. She occasionally asks me Transfiguration trivia to see how much I know without asking outright. I feign ignorance on some of the problems just to make her feel better.
The problem with Hermione is I don’t feel like we’re meshing anymore. My new memories have upset the apple cart. Instead of my brilliant best friend, she’s this brilliant kid I know. The worst part is she’s acting like it’s a bloody competition! It’s just schoolwork, try fighting and losing a war. Of course the whole situation with the Weaselys has Hermione putting a bit of distance with me.
Poor Corner was ceremoniously dumped by an angry Ginny, who somehow decided this was completely my fault. The downside was a smack, a few rude names, the Ravenclaws all thinking I’m some kind of gigolo, the Hufflepuffs willing to believe whoever’s mouth is moving at the time, and some renewed grumbling from Ron and Hermione.
Isn’t it interesting how someone can go from being a "hero" for standing up to Snape one week to a "selfish, immature prat" shortly thereafter? I don’t attend classes with people — I attend them with sheep.
The one big upside is being left alone by the youngest Weasley and the "unofficial" Harry Potter fan club seems to have gone underground for now. Ron’s been much colder to me, but he’s always been a follower and between my gaff with Ginny coupled with his brother’s working on him seems to have driven a wedge between us. Well, it happened to the Beatles, it was bound to happen to us. Hopefully, I go on to future success like Paul and don’t end up getting cut down before my time like John.
The twins have caught me a few times; pink robes, purple hair and the ever popular Pinocchio nose, but I have thwarted easily twice that number. Sadly, I’ve had to ask Sir Nicolas to keep an eye on them as well. He does so grudgingly, but out of respect for my decision to help the Baron. I choose not to respond, which will either make them try something more risky or make them give up. The riskiest thing they’ve tried so far was messing with my Firebolt on the day of tryouts for the All-House Quidditch squad.
I didn’t have to lift a finger as the twins tripped the anti-theft charms and got really nice jolt. There’s a reason that it’s the most expensive broom in the world. I calmly treated them and recommended that they get bed rest. I don’t know what broke my heart worse when they didn’t make the squad or when Cho Chang beat out Malfoy for the reserve seeker spot. .
A wailing Moaning Myrtle, followed by Peeves who was being chased by the Bloody Baron through his dormitory at two in the morning and then again at four had nothing to do with it. At least that’s what I heard happened. Cedric Diggory didn’t even sign up for tryouts. He’s got his heart set on the Tournament. With Hooch choosing the lineup, I didn’t have to worry about the fickle winds of public opinion.
My new favorite hangout is the Ward; people don’t come there except when they’re sick. That suits me just fine. Poppy lets me stay even when I’m not on duty and she’s been thoroughly impressed with my improving Potions skills. I can see that she’s already trying to encourage me towards a future as a healer and to forget all this Quidditch nonsense. When I’m not there, I go down to Hagrid’s hut and help him grade papers and tend his "pets." I suppose at some point people are going to start calling me anti-social. Sorry, I can’t help that I want conversation with adults, though with Hagrid it’s a bit of a stretch at times.
As for Snape, I started to go to Flitwick and ask him about a name Remus Lupin supposedly mentioned — Sarah Underhill. I stopped short and instead asked him an inane question about dueling that I already knew the answer to. I’d work on another way of getting that information out there. I don’t need to tear open an old wound for a nice man that probably still haunts him.
------
As Neville and I watch the students from Beauxbatons exit their carriage led by an absolutely stunning blonde and their massive Headmistress, he smiles goofily at me.
"Would you look at her, Harry?" he whispers.
I sigh looking at yet another example of the forbidden fruit and hope Neville is talking about the blonde, unless he likes them large and in charge. Hell, that little one, she’s a forbidden fruit stand! "She’s eye candy for certain. I’m looking to see who might be their Seeker." Fair play says the teams aren’t allowed to practice until they’ve arrived here. That means we’re at least three or four practices behind the other schools. If Krum isn’t his school’s champion, I get to fly against him unless he isn’t interested in our little games.
Being a fourth year again is one big effing bore. Basically, I belong to nowhere. I’d rather be hanging out with Ollie and Penny and working on my own. Instead, I have to skulk around the castle to find time to train myself and worry that someone’s going to spot me. Repeating Charms work that James breezed through once already. Here’s a big shocker! The stars are pretty much in the same spot as they were back in the 1970’s. I spend most of that class staring at our instructor’s firm little tushie. Trust me, all "this" gets old real quick. For anyone that’s ever dreamed of going back and doing it over, here’s my recommendation — don’t!
The only bright spot so far has been helping Neville out. Despite being a day older than me, he’s my kid brother. He’s already asked if I want to visit this summer. He’s stuck by me, a bit like a lost puppy and now we’re essentially the "Gryffindor Outcasts". Maybe we could pair up with Millicent and Tracey and all go to this Yule Ball thing together? A really cruel part of me wants to ask Ginny to it and see how much trouble that would stir up. I think going "stag" is in order, which is oh so true with me.
With his new wand, he’s not exactly setting the world on fire, but on the other hand, he isn’t setting other things on fire either. Longbottom is much improved and there are substantially fewer mishaps in Charms and Transfiguration, but he has a ways to go. Moody’s given him an occasional compliment. The big thing is building up his confidence.
Defense is fairly strange this year. Sometimes Moody is boring as hell and then other times he comes up with something fairly twisted. I was right, he’s even worse with teenagers than I apparently am! He spends almost every night in his quarters with Bartemius Crouch. A couple of nights, Crouch has been in Moody’s quarters alone, or I’ll spot Crouch in the hallways and occasionally with Dumbledore. Once he was in Snape’s supply closet! That is being pretty anal about the arrangements.
------
They announce that knockout blonde, Fleur Delacour as the Beauxbatons champion. The princess does her best beauty pageant imitation and is accepting all the well-wishes from her teary-eyed and jealous classmates. James Potter knew enough conversational French for me to recognize most of the opinions she’s been expressing and the insults she’s been hurling with a smile at all the idiots gawking at her. She’s a mean spirited wench who hides behind being having some Veela blood in her. It’s funny watching people get stupid around her. Ron’s especially funny. Um, I hate to rain on your parade, but you were selected by a goblet and not your peers there.
"…and the champion from Durmstrang is …Viktor Krum!" Most everyone cheers, but I groan. There goes my chance to fly against the best in the world. Too bad, I would have really liked that. He gets the clapping and hugging treatment as I wonder how good his understudy is. Even if I had lost to Krum, if I had kept him in check long enough for the Chasers to win, I’d be a lock for the next National team. Well, I’ll have to settle for trouncing whomever they stick on a broom against me.
I’m lost in thought until Dumbledore announces Cedric Diggory and the Hufflepuff table goes absolutely berserk. Looks like his gamble paid off. I clap for him, while I scan the room and spot Johnson, Davies, and some of the Slytherins who were certain they were going to be our champion.
The Headmaster is going into his speech again when the Goblet of Fire comes to life for the fourth time. There’s a confused hush over the crowd as he snatches the slip of paper out of the air. He looks stunned for a minute like he got one of those fortune cookies Lily used to enjoy opening up.
His piercing eyes search the crowd and stop on me. This can’t be good.
"Harry Potter!"
Yeah, definitely not good.
Author Notes:
Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Be sure to let me know what you think of it by reviewing, or commenting in the forums on FFA and DLP. There might be a bit of a delay in the next chapter because I am trying to finish To Fight the Coming Darkness and this weekend I start posting Turn Me Loose.~Jim