XVII

PRIME MINISTER HEDWIG


Harry Potter became even more cool within the school—and even with the other two visiting ones—after his idiotic stunt.

Them Durmstrang lads just couldn't believe that little runt outdid Krum (and he didn't even need to use that broom!); and our friends from France always managed, with their tricky Frenchy ways, to throw an admiring-slash-suspicious gaze at—now—their main foe, our back-up Hogwarts champion—the one who put on the greatest show. Even the papers—both domestic(ated) and, really, the whole international press—went completely bananas!

If I were to humbly guess, I'd say that Harry trying to sing to the Hungarian Horntail was not such a Big Thing™. But that large-scale lizard answering back—well, 'tis new, that we had to give the lad.

Anyhoo, baby boo, that was absolutely rad, but also a total drag, for suddenly Harry had become the most interesting person in the world—once more—and, of course, that people couldn't ignore.

Already Professor Dumbledore had to make up a postal ward, lest Harry and an extremely protective Hedwig be engulfed by a horde of owls—or is it a band? Or a clique? Or even a pack?

I'll search it real quick and be right back.

And when I finally think I'm getting this language right, it once again becomes weird just out of spite! Oh, what a plight it is to write in English—but also what a great delight!

Would you believe those dunderheads in that green and pleasant place had the grace to call a group of owls a parliament?! Oh, what a joy it is to read about this land of such dear souls, and to toy—with equal parts respect and cheek—with their funny way to speak.

I have to confess I'm a big-time fan of it! The sillier it becomes, the harder it is to write—I'm already working with crumbs, but yet I must persist and get this right: to bring wholesomeness and whimsy, even if with great fight to this wonderful tale it so pleases me to write. The prose and the rhyme can be a bit repetitive and self-indulging, one can say, but that's how I found joy doing it, anyway. And I put a bunch of words between 'confess' and what I wanted to finish this paragraph with, so I'll have to improvise, I guess—but I digress.

A parliament then, eh?! If so, I do have to say (and I swear this isn't only to rhyme):

HEDWIG FOR PRIME MINISTER!

Whack!

A metafictional white wing hit the back of my head, telling me that she will not be a candidate this year.

Labour's loss, I guess (once again; what a mess!). She glared regally at me as I'm writing this, already ordering me to get back to the story.

Whack!

'Hey, what did I write wrong? Oh no, please don't tell me you are a Tory!'

Whack! Whack! Whack!

'Alright, I get it. I'll just shut up and get back to it.'


Anyway, I kind of lost my way babbling away up there, but there will not be anymore meta-puns in chapter, I swear.

And speaking of Babbling, the Runes professor was becoming a total pain, as she was preparing herself to pick Katie's brain.

But before we write that, we have to address the elephant in the room: the reason why Harry didn't even need to use his broom in the First Task. One may ask why Harry was the first in some three hundred years to do such a feat. The answer, my dear friends, is not very neat.

You see, Sirius Black remembered reading about that ritual on the Black family library when he was just a wee lad. Back then, he hadn't put much importance on the section that read 'Sacrifices and Side Effects', a concept, to him, apparently still a bit complex. It was just a tad bit rash, but it was a plan—that is, a bad plan, if we were judging it by Katie and Hermione's repeated attempts to squash it again and again.

Harry really shouldn't have let Sirius reason with him—we have to remember he was still a bit mad from his years in prison—especially concerning such a quacky idea on a whim; and, again, especially when Luna Lovegood promptly agreed with him that it was a very good plan.

But desperation worked its magical ways, and suddenly the thought of adapting an old ritual that the man just happened to remember was becoming a better alternative than dying in a blaze, by red-hot dragon-fire in that bleak December.

Or was it November? Meh, forgot the details.

But I have not forgotten the wondrous body of conspiracy theories surrounding that day—and that it absolutely pales when compared to the truth.

Harry Potter had to pay a great price for that talent, sacrificing that which no man would willingly part away:

In small letters at the end of the page that Sirius had forgot to read, there was inscribed the sacrificial cost to obtain such a great deed.

It was no first born, or the dripping blood of a dying loved one; 'twas not a part of one's soul, or even some prized possession. No, it was something much more valuable to a Man—something that would fright most, without a question.

Re-reading canon, I guess I could understand just now why everyone was so afraid when Voldemort had his body once again—he crossed a threshold to power that men could only be dragged into, he had overcome Man's greatest weakness and pride; he had nothing to lose, he had nothing more to hide.

My friends, the Dragon's voice ritual asked for a sacrifice: not of Harry's humanity, not of his soul, not of his firstborn heir, but rather …

It hurts even to type!

It sacrificed Harry's hair!


Perhaps this is a fight that most women will never know in full—save for those that truly were dealt a spoonful of bad luck—but it is one a great deal of men will go through.

One can either withstand it with dignity and grace, or fall prey to it trying to save face. Katie was dragging Leanne and The Cod downstairs to have their first meal of the day when she saw something that made her sway. There, in front of the mirror of the Common Room, one could find Ron, Hermione and a creature of some kind in the spot between the two—or at least that's what she thought it was.

Its head was white, gleaming, round and well-polished, like a big moon or a big white balloon.

The only clue for who it was came when the boy turned in her direction, and Katie's expression became marred with horror as she put a hand in front of her mouth, appalled.

That lovely hair she liked so much was gone—Harry Potter had become bald!

Not-so-hairy-Harry turned back towards the mirror once again, his face equal parts shock and pain.

It didn't take too long for Ron and Hermione to laugh, and they were soon joined by Leanne and The Cod. Katie wanted to, but she made an effort not to—a great effort, judging by her odd expression.

She took Harry by the hand and tried to coax the boy towards the Hospital Wing, with a tow of their friends in the procession laughing and making bad jokes about yet another one of Harry's forays into the whimsy and the wacky ways of magic.

Too bad this one was so tragic!


Madam Pomfrey was quite at loss at what to do, especially as it appeared that was another kind of magic interfering with her work. Harry's face was very cross as he had a tiny suspicion on what that magic was.

So that's how Sirius chose to repay Harry, then–what a traitor! That Harry trusted him so much with this one only made the pain greater!


Oh, I'd forgotten to tell you all about that part. Sorry about that. It's just that canon really blows up in this chapter, and there's just so many things to tell that I don't even know where the hell to start!

When Harry discovered Dobby working in the castle, he thought it would be less of a hassle if he managed to get the little house-elf at … err, a safe distance from him. He still liked the little guy; he just didn't want the strange thing to try 'helping' him again by his own whim.

Harry teamed up with Ron, and made a win-win out of the whole thing–Sirius would stop living like crap, while at the same time, it would make Dobby–our distinct and good chap–stay a healthy distance away.

Dobby happily accepted to help Harry Potter, and promised not to reveal anything about Sirius to anyone–Harry and Ron made sure of the wording on that part for a full day before getting it done. Harry tried to pay him double, but the little thing didn't want the trouble of so much money to spend, something that he would learn only later on with his great–and, for a plethora of reasons, eventual–friend, Sirius.

So this whole affair ended with Sirius and Buckbeak in the care of a very … err, proactive house-elf. Dobby at first, took it too literally when 'Harry-Potter-Sir' mentioned it to him not to let Sirius be seen anywhere. They only discovered that the elf locked them on their cave, when they visited their friend, on a Hogsmeade week-end.

But even then, Sirius didn't complain much. After all, with the mad-elf's magical touch, he finally had somewhere decent to sleep, some books to keep him smart, a great heap of food at every meal, and even some state-of-the-art pranking tools, that Dobby managed to ste–

I mean, that he managed to err, obtain.

Sirius wondered again and again what kind of rules the little guy seemed to play by. It seemed there was only one thing constant–he had to help Harry, even to the point of making everyone wary.

Harry didn't know that, but Sirius told me something about the elf that had him scratching his head trying to figure out what kind of ally, truly, was Dobby.

Would you believe that the little guy thought of a way to try helping Harry, by spiking his food with some kind of awful potion that would make him sweat his blood off before the Second Task? Sirius had to sit down with him and ask about his notion of keeping him safe–repeatedly, calmly, and trying not to let a clue show on his face:

"Dobby, what the f*** is wrong with you?!"


So, Sirius finally got a nice place to stay, after thirteen years of hell in a cell. His cave was now full of his fave books and stuff, and Buckbeak was even getting fat (but don't tell it to his face, unless you want things to get rough)–but it seemed that wasn't enough. Oh, Harry would make Sirius pay!

We can only hope Dobby doesn't hear about it–that elf doesn't play!

Harry swore that when he got his hands on that dog, he would scalp that fur of his to make a nice black wig. But at the present moment, the thought of being bald was proving to be too big of a challenge.

Harry looked towards Madam Pomfrey and his friends in desperation, but there was only resignation or frustration on their faces—well, at least the ones who were trying not to laugh.

"I could try and contact a colleague of mine in St. Mungo's on your behalf, Mr Potter, but I'm not sure she will be able to do much more. If I may say, I'm quite good on this area, as every week there's some lad or lass who manages to lose their hair to some bad batch of potions or a bad personal care spell. But in your case … well," she then conjured a red beret, much to Harry's dismay. "I would suggest something like this. What do you think, Miss Bell?"

Madam Pomfrey knew she shouldn't have made that joke, but if it was indeed a side effect of that ritual, as she thought it was, it would be good if the bloke overcame that first stage of grief—that is, denial—and just got accustomed soon to that new style. And who better to cheer him up and give him some relief than the boy's crush?

Oh, yes, even Madam Pomfrey noticed it—that blush on both of their faces was a textbook-sign of it, if anything.

Katie looked at the witch in fright before looking at Harry once again.

It wasn't that bad, if she was honest with herself. It just didn't feel right at the moment because it was quite a shock—but it wasn't such a bad sight.

And she would have loved to tell him that—that he was still cute, and wouldn't even need no hat.

But we have to remember our dear golden witch has a particular talent in these kinds of situations. Something seemed to switch on her brain, and she just put her foot on her mouth again.

"It's—it's quite nice, Harry. It's more sleek, and … you know, aerodynamic and stuff. And it will be sick to fly faster without all that hair and … well, you look more tough, and—you know—I was just joking there, you don't look like Dobby at all without your hair."

Harry blinked.

"You hadn't said that before."

Katie gulped, as her face threatened to fall to the floor. Ron's and Hermione's expressions once again were beginning to crack.

"Well, now I've said it, and take it back. I mean, you don't look like an earless Dobby from the back, like at all. Believe me, I swear," she said, fidgeting with her own hair.

Harry stared at her blushing, stammering face, and to his friends who were trying their best to afford him some grace and not to laugh at his expense. He thought of all the times in the past where Aunt Petunia took offence to his hair—it was a part of him and his stand against the world. For as long as he remembered there were always some strand of his hair sticking to the air, always defying: gravity, the wind, and Aunt Petunia trying her best: with pomades and creams, with many curses and screams, trying to flatten it out.

There was even an episode where they had a bad fallout and Aunt Petunia grabbed a pair of rusty scissors and made him lose almost all his hair, with only some bangs to hide his scar! It was his luck that his accidental magic managed to grow it overnight—that was one of his fondest memories, by far.

Wait—that was it!

His wild accidental magic had saved him once from that terrible fate—perhaps that option wasn't still out of his plate!

Harry closed his eyes and tried to feel for it—and in almost all stories he would fail, but because I love whimsy and this fandom is not yet prepared for One Spell Man, Katie and friends could only watch the boy become pale and sweaty as the top of his head gradually sprouted back his hair.

Madam Pomfrey could only stare at the boy, her face filled with amazement and disbelief, which only lasted for a brief moment before she exclaimed aloud, completely awestruck:

"What in the wiggling, wobbling, fickly, flying fu—"


It was totally unfair that Harry Potter pulled a deus ex machina to grow back his hair, so I'll have to pull on his rug. The boy was absolutely smug after once again going against the grain and refusing to accept what life had thrown his way. But there would be a day, at last, when Harry would fail, and only—truly—Deus ex machina would prevail. But it wasn't that day yet—for now, I'm only able to trim him down.

Harry Potter was not a Metamorphomagus—at least that's what our specialist seemed to favour at the moment.

Harry's magic and appearance already had its favourite flavour, and would not be coaxed out of that—granted, he could sprout some formidable moles, grow back his hair, and make his skin very tanned or very fair; but give him some minutes, and it would return back to what it always had been—with the same warts and hair and all!

And Katie sighed in relief at that small win.

On the other hand, Tonks—who had answered Madam Pomfrey's call—looked like she had just lost her twin! But she did not give up, and became half the reason why this story becomes fu****-up in this chapter.

Oh, yes, Tonks finally came to the show:

When Madam Pomfrey oversaw the boy grow his hair back, in that eerie and wonderful way, she had this wildest theory—was Harry Potter a Metamorphomagus or was there another kind of magic at play?

She called Miss Tonks, who promptly came to the castle and began to hassle our favourite wizard.

"Be formless, shapeless. Clear your mind, leave everything behind. Now, think of that stupid face and the way it oinks all around the place, all smelly, with a big belly. Be a pig, Harry!"

Harry opened his eyes and glared at the pig-snouted, pink-haired witch, who only threw him a big smile as she pulled on his nose and rose from where she was sitting in front of him.

"I just saw it now, bubbling under your skin!" she squealed.

Katie arched her eyebrows.

"Really? I thought that was just Harry trying not to grin."

Tonks turned to face her with a spin.

"Nah, you heard Madam Pomfrey. I'm the specialist in this one, Miss Bell—"

Katie only kept staring at the witch, waiting.

"—even if I don't know what the hell I'm doing, anyway!"

Ah, that was more like it. Granted, Katie only had known Tonks for a day or two, but she already understood that the witch had a particular flair for just blundering into things without too much care. But she was very, very cool, and was already gathering some fame around the school.

Perhaps walking around with her face half-morphed into a pig had done the trick; or perhaps it was that red buzz cut of a hair that made her look like a walking matchstick. Whatever it was, one couldn't just not pay attention whenever there was even just a mention of Tonks—and her new sidekick at her side.

People didn't know what Harry Potter had done, but that pretty girl just wouldn't shake off his hide.

Which is perhaps why Katie Bell hadn't felt the need to say good-bye to the pair, and seemed to be always there besides them.

Something that Tonks did not miss in the least.

"Go and take a shower before we go down for the feast—there's some kind of foreign holiday and they will be serving some good food today. Chop, chop!"

Harry went out to hop from where he was sitting and darted away quickly to wash the sweat off his face. Tonks turned to face Katie, who suddenly seemed quite interested in the space in front of her.

"I'll not steal your boyfriend, you know?"

Katie's face turned to an unhealthy shade of red, as she kept looking ahead.

"He's—he's not … my boyfriend. He is just a friend. I just wanted to spend some time with him—I mean, as a friend! Just a friend!"

Tonks snorted.

"Really, dear? Strange, I don't see the other ones here."

"They just didn't understand what it meant to him, and his fear of losing all that hair."

Tonks just grinned at Katie.

"Alright, alright, I get it. You don't need to lie to me, girl. I won't tell him anything, I swear."

Katie stared at that stupid pig face for a few moments before answering back.

"Is it that easy to notice?"

"Well, I always had a knack to notice these things," said Tonks with a smile. "But trust me, o my dear Miss Bell, only the blind cannot see it."

Tonks decided that she had already teased the girl enough and felt inclined to help her somewhat.

"Tell you what, I'll give you some tips with the boys, Miss Bell. There is a kind of spell that I always used a while ago—"

And the contents of that small talk were legendary on their own. But, for the sake of wordcount and mystery, I think the reader will excuse me if I say that a great part of this story is to not know what the hell they were talking about.

But our dear Katie Bell trying not to freak out while Harry engaged in conversation once again were enough tips to us. Well, that and Tonks trying not to look at the pair with something akin to The Cod's level of fixation.

People were beginning to notice our dear Miss Bell's most hidden crush. And as always, in these kind of situations, she tried to bury herself deeper onto her shell, fighting back a blush and a shy smile. But now she hadn't that escape, because of that vile pink-haired woman at her side.

"Katie was telling me that you looked like a very daring and brave knight when you fought the dragon, Harry."

"I didn't say such a thing!"

And yet her Gryffindor impetuousness always seemed to shine through.

"But yes, it was very cool, even when it tried to smite you."

Katie looked at Tonks with a glare, but she just smiled innocently at the pair, trying to think of some more ways to prod them both, much to Katie's loath.

Things were fine for a few days—but soon enough Tonks's clumsy ways finally caught up to her, and she fell face-first onto the plot.


But just before we get to that, there are a few loose threads that we have to look at.

It was a pleasant Thursday morning when Prof. Babbling announced she would take a look at their personal projects. The Cod was surprised when he got full marks. He laughed with delight, and his wand let out a brilliant stream of sparks, igniting the rune, shining it bright. Prof. Babbling quickly whipped her wand and stopped it before it went all out.

Unfortunately, it wasn't quick enough—which perhaps explained the great boom heard throughout the castle. Prof. Babbling had, however, the good mind to weave a spell around his work, and Katie saw the fleur-de-lis shining with a blinding white light towards The Cod's face, that was now full of fright.

Prof. Babbling drew up to her full short height and turned towards the boy.

"Wonderful, splendid–what a marvellous piece of work. It will serve your project with Professor Hagrid just right, Mr Loweland, although I think we have to tone down that light. Thirty-five points to Gryffindor!"

Katie and the rest of the class was completely at loss at that, and The Cod gave them a victorious smirk before joining them, full of attitude and sass.

Some of them passed, some of the projects just looked half-assed. They each got a chewing and at least some kind of praise at what they were doing—except for those that just did not try, of course.

But she never called Katie's name, as she sat there looking lame and very anxious.

"Alright, everyone. Those who have yet to get it done: we'll take another look at the projects on the next term. Only those that didn't even start it yet will have to serve some kind of detention," she saw Katie squirm, trying to get her attention. "If you're already finished, congratulations—and if you wish to build upon your projects, I will be accepting applications just after the holidays. I see you, Miss Bell, all right. Mr Thompson, there was a wonderful potential with that spell. Mr Loweland, I think I have another idea for your project as well, but I'll send you a letter when I make some more research. Miss Ahmed, I think if you exchange yew as a medium for birch, you'll have a wonderful result—"

And so it went, with all of Katie's classmates getting their feedback while Katie remained there. She didn't know why Prof. Babbling was doing that, but she wasn't very content being ignored.

She remained on her seat at the end of the class. The Cod waited a little for her but Prof. Babbling said they would perhaps take a bit too long, and that he should go along. Katie became curious at that but waved The Cod good-bye anyway.

And she understood why Prof. Babbling didn't want her to show her project in front of her schoolmates. Katie and Prof. Babbling spoke well into the afternoon, and yet the end of it seemed to come so soon!

Katie learned so much on that day—she tried to teach some of it to me, but I'm a bit too stupid to understand it anyway. Only at the last-but-one chapter did I finally get some of what she meant to say—but I'll give the reader at least some of Prof. Babbling's explanation, anyway:

"This is a very powerful symbol, Katie. One that was directly linked to many tragedies of the past. It is a symbol of hope, of the sun, of victory at last. It was very misused for this kind of reason—to get at least some minimal fraction of its symbolic power. Some engraved it on their equipment while they committed some of the most atrocious kinds of action. A friend of mine said that he felt the need to take a shower whenever he had to use this rune. I urge you, then, to be very careful with this one. However, I believe there is tremendous potential with what you've done so far—it's quite simple, but quite dangerous, if I understood it right. Could you go over it again?"

"Certainly. Well, I just thought that we did not need to use the Germanic methods to write and to ignite the rune. While this is not new, there are some ways it has never been looked through. It's a very common symbol between systems, but it has similar motifs between all of them: force, power, might. But there is also its main root, which is light behind it all. I thought that if we combined some other kind of inscripting tradition, we could deconstruct it and write it again, but this time using a novelty that the experts hadn't yet then."

Prof. Babbling nodded enthusiastically.

"You mean, the secrets on your boyfriend's scar?"

Katie blushed.

"He's not—he's not my boyfriend. He's just a friend."

"Oh, my apologies. That was rather forward from me, too. This idea is just so interesting—I didn't meant to intrude this far in your affairs."

Meh, who cares? It's not like Katie was fooling anyone now, was she?

No, that's not right, there was one person she was trying to bluff, still.

Well, it was none other than our dear Katie Bell herself.

"By the way, I assume you had something to do with that golden shield he used on the First Task. Mr Potter is quite good with his Runes, so, if I may ask, why did he go with that particular one? I would've suggested the use of a Meyerian Matrix to spun the flames against the beast, but enchanted gold seemed to get the job done, at least."

Katie tried to think of a way to explain that one didn't have the time to scratch such complex runes the size of a dime onto the ground—but while she thought of that, she saw the Professor's hands fly on the parchment, making tiny symbols tie with each other and rise together. Katie's eyes tried to follow through, but she couldn't get it in full—rather she could just about understand the broad strokes that the Professor used to coax meaning out.

This is all good and stuff, but it is already enough for us all, so let's not dawdle too much on this—we shall end this scene with Katie enthusiastically making diagrams with her quill, and Prof. Babbling right at her side, making corrections and acting as her guide.

Let's put these nerdy things aside for a while, before I become cross-eyed. There's just one more boring scene until we finally come back with style—they need to be there, I swear.

For the weather's fair, but heavy is the air that will soon make its way there. It is after all, the calm before the storm; it's the call to prepare.


On the Friday, she had DADA class with Professor Moody. And on that day, he was … well, very, very moody!

Whereas before the retired Auror was just a very broody and curt kind of guy, Katie had the impression that there was something very, very weird—and it wasn't only his mad-eye!

They were learning Stupefy on that day, and for whatever reason, he seemed to pay extra attention to Vincent Rosier.

"Again."

"Stupefy!"

Derwent fell on his back on the pillows, but yet didn't become slack. He got up again and pointed his wand to his friend.

"Stop, Mr Corken. I want to see Mr Rosier's spell again."

Some of the class turned towards the Slytherin pair. Katie, who was practicing her spell with Millicent was surprised at the glare on her face towards the Professor.

"Stupefy!"

Prof. Moody snarled as Rosier's spell hit Derwent in vain.

"Again."

"Stupefy!"

His wand shook with effort and there was a sweat stain on his shirt.

"Again."

"Stupefy!"

"Again!"

This time, no one could deny: Prof. Moody said it louder and there was something else in his voice that made even those that tried to ignore him, look in their direction, as once again Rosier went on to try:

"Stupefy!"

And yet it was in vain.

"Again!"

"Stupefy!"

"AGAIN!"

"Stop, please!"

The whole class shared the unease, but it was Millicent who had let out the cry. Moody's magical eye turned back to her while his natural one remained fixed on the trembling and agitated Vincent Rosier.

The whole class was looking fixedly at his electric blue magical eye; save for Millicent who was looking at a trembling Rosier; save for Katie who paid special attention to his natural eye and his scarred face.

The Cod's father wrote to him explaining a bit about the old Auror, and particularly about Evan Rosier, who disfigured Moody's face before he was killed by the very same person in the space in front of them.

Perhaps the week she had spent with Tonks looking at the minimal changes in appearance had paid off. Or perhaps it was just something of her imagination that she should brush-off.

Katie, The Cod and Leanne had discussed and thought that Prof. Moody had it out for the boy because of his uncle, and would enjoy bothering him just a little not to be too suspicious as some kind of sick revenge or as a power trip.

However, in his slip, Katie noticed something of a different kind. Rather, it looked as if Prof. Moody was trying to hide disappointment behind his 'normal' eye—confined deep within, but without a doubt therein.


The Cod and Leanne were blabbering about their new projects they would be working in the next year, while Katie just nodded and went to steer the pair, stair after stair, in the direction of the Great Hall. The look in Moody's eye bothered her the most above all.

The other two had not noticed anything, she was sure. Was she just looking too much into it, or was there something more?

"Anyways, Professor Babbling told Hagrid and I that she would be able to make the stone model fly if we manage to make it just a bit bigger. The guy is even more excited than I am—could you imagine? A house-sized stone dragon? Hagrid says I won't even need to take the exam if we manage to get this done—perhaps even the Transfiguration one. They were working on it yesterday–I'll have to check with him today if they could get that thing to work right again. What about you, Leanne?"

"Hagrid said that the salamander idea I had will have to wait at least until Spring, so that's off the table for now. Anyhow, in my other elective, Professor Vector said my math was a bit off, but that she doesn't expect me to finish it for many years still, but that I shouldn't give up. Besides, Arithmancy is pretty hard and takes a lot of skill, and it's not something we can just make it all up, can we?" she said, with a wry undertone.

The Cod glared at her.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, you Big Fish, forget I said anything. What about you Katie?"

Katie didn't hear it at first, but cursed and paid attention to them when The Cod pinched her arm.

"Oi, what's gotten into you?" she said, jumping in alarm, before throwing a punch at his arm.

"Fifth-year project. Do you have one? Are you still working with Prof. McGonagall?"

"Nah, just with Babbling for now. And it's a ton of work, already. I don't even know how I'll manage it."

They entered the Great Hall and joined our other favourite trio and a young witch with fluorescent green long hair.

"Hey there, Harry, Ron, Hermione. Alright, Tonks?"

"What's up?"—"Alright?"—"Hello there."

"Wotcher," she replied back enthusiastically, before she looked at their faces and noted their absolute glee. "Wow, what's the problem with you three?"

Leanne looked between The Cod, who just shrugged his shoulders while looking to the Slytherin crowd to Katie, that just seemed disinclined to voice her thoughts aloud.

"Well, Professor Moody was a bit … strange in today's class."

And perhaps in some other universes Tonks would have just laughed and regaled them with a tale of some sort about her old teacher, but something made her stop short. She glanced at Katie's expression and listened attentively as Leanne continued to answer her question.

"They bloody deserve it, if you want to know what I think," said Ron, trying to look discreetly at Rosier who was shakily trying to have a drink across the hall.

"We don't want to know that at all, Ron. And besides, to think that the man had the gall to do such a thing! Do you remember when he used the Unforgivables on that spider?" said Hermione. "There were people in the class that were tight like a bow-string."

"Ministry Order. They want us to know that stuff, for some reason. Lupin showed them to us, too, last year, remember?" The Cod answered with a huff.

"Wait," said Harry. "But, remind me, didn't you guys say that he used a puppet or a doll of some kind? Professor Moody didn't use anything like that, he just used a spider—he even used the Killing Curse on it."

"What? But Professor Lupin said that the curse only works on non-intelligent beings if they are hit by accident. How did he kill the spider, then?"

They looked at Tonks for some kind of answer, and the witch took a few seconds to say anything again.

"I think maybe it was just some kind of transfiguration. He used some nasty stuff when he trained us, but that was necessary for our formation. I just don't understand why he would use that stuff with you all. I mean, he is a tough guy, but he isn't that mad—even if his name is Mad-Eye Moody."

She mulled over that for a moment or two.

"Tell you what. I'll see what the old man is up to. Taking a break from being an Auror for so many years must have shaken some marbles behind that crazy eye of his. Don't worry, I'll talk to the guy," she said, while stuffing her mouth with the rest of her dessert and waving them good-bye.

Now, let's be very careful with how we'll work this through. The reader got already many-a-clue, but we have to consider that we're not getting the whole unfiltered view.

Sitting there, with her friends beside her chair, with the noise and fanfare of laughter and cheers just constantly invading her ears, perhaps Katie would have just as easily dismissed everything and quickly went back to her meal. But Katie looked back towards the downcast trio of Millicent, Derwent and Vincent, and decided she had to, at least, get out of there.

"I'll take a walk, alright? See you guys later."

But Harry had learned, too, a thing or two from Tonks, and quickly fell on step with our dear Miss Bell.

"So, what's up?"

Katie bit her lip before answering his question, walking up yet another set of moving stairs.

"I don't know. I just felt there was something kind of weird, and felt the hairs on my forearm stand up. You know how Tonks can just look at someone's face, and get it when there's something out of place?"

"Well, she has to, doesn't she? She has a new one every day, in any case."

"Quit playing, Harry. This is serious. I mean … I could be imagining things, maybe it's just I've been trying to learn what she was doing with you and don't know yet to discern some things. You know what, let's just go back to the Great Hall," she said dejectedly before making a turn.

But Harry grasped her hand.

"I don't think it would hurt if we at least check if there's something amiss. Then, at least, you'll lessen your concern. And they don't miss us this much. Let's go and see this."

Katie sent him a small smile at that and began pulling him in the direction of Moody's office.

"Not there, I know a shortcut that will get us right onto the corridor. It's just somewhere … here! Found it," he said now pulling her his way.

The dark passage ended in a mirror that they could jump through at this special spot to get in and out, but that thankfully kept away any sound from passing through when troublemakers needed an escape route. Harry and Katie jumped through, but they were certainly not prepared for the view that greeted the pair.

They were in the middle of a long corridor, with Moody at one end, with their friend, Tonks at the other, with craters on the floor and with every door all around them locked. Moody seemed to be looking at them with his electric blue eye all the way through because quickly he sent a spell towards the mirror on their back.

"Hello, Potter, Bell. Good of you both to join the little Auror in her attack."


The problem with fictional villains is that they tend to talk too much sh** when they should worry about getting that first hit. Harry quickly whipped out his wand and threw a well-placed Expelliarmus at the dude's leg.

Well, that's at least what he told everyone. The truth was, he shoot it too early before getting the wand totally in position, and it was only his plot armour that permitted his half-baked spell coming to fruition.

Moody's big peg leg quickly detached from the man and flew quickly towards them. It was a good thing our favourite pair were Quidditch pros—if it were anyone else, perhaps they would have just froze, and take that thing to the head.

Nevertheless, they were still in deep throes, as the mirror behind them shattered, showering glass shards all over the pair and on the passage.

"Come here quickly, Harry, Katie. Hide behind me and stay near."

Harry and Katie didn't need to hear that twice and ran like a swift pair of mice towards Tonks's side, trying to ignore the shards that had bitten their hide and hid behind her shield. Harry tried to knock the door behind them down, and Katie's face contorted in a frown as she tried just about every charm that she knew, but it just remained locked-up still.

The corridor was lined with windows throughout all of it. Katie gazed at the ground below and tried to calculate the odds of not being transformed into a gooey dough if she jumped. She remembered Cho had fallen from her broom once—she had survived, hadn't she? But from what height had she fallen, Katie didn't know. From where she was she could see the top of just about every tree in the forest!

"Harry, your broom. Summon it to you," said Tonks with a commanding voice.

"Accio Firebolt!"

Katie lifted her wand. She never tried to summon something so far away. But now she had no choice.

"Accio Cleansweep Five!"

The man was getting back up, and to the surprise of them all, he didn't seem to need the wood leg for the one that had been blown-up.

He had actually two perfectly fine legs, and a perfectly handsome face, full of arrogance and grace, with just a tiny, wittle boatload of absolutely cuckoo marring his expression.

"Yes, it was me all along. Are you surprised, mudbloods, that it took everyone so long?"

Tonks temporarily set her shield down for now and sent that weird dude some kind of nasty spell because of his terrible attitude.

"I don't know you at all, you oddball. Eat sh** and go die in a ditch, Death Eater."

The man began to send spell after spell at them, while Tonks just stood fixed on her place, her face determined as she adapted the shield for every spell until she could think of a plan to quell that strange man. But for now, her main mission was to get Harry and Katie safely down.

Katie tried to make that shield Prof. Babbling had suggested with her wand pointed at the floor, but it just wouldn't work, so she joined Harry in sending spells against the man's attempts to block the windows on the wall.

And then, out of nowhere, the Firebolt appeared. She cheered and motioned for Tonks to join them. A small part of her once again felt a bit put down because only Harry had managed to summon his broom around, but she would not let that cloud her head right now.

Which made it all the better when just after a few seconds, her go-getter of a broom powered through the corridor, even managing to hit the man on the side of his face. Katie's face opened in a full blown smile as she put her hands in place and mounted it.

"Let's go, Tonks."

The man who was duelling her tried to hit Katie and Harry, but Tonks was quick to put herself between them and parry his incessant barrage of curses and just about every kind of dark spell.

"It's alright, Bell. Go and warn Professor Dumbledore of what is happening here."

Harry and Katie hesitated, apprehension and fear colouring their expression. Katie glanced tentatively at Harry, who nodded at her unspoken question.

"We cannot leave you here on your own!" said Katie.

"Yeah. We will not let you face him alone," completed Harry.

Just then, Tonks contorted herself and blocked a scary-looking curse from doing its worse to Harry's chest.

"You two will help me more if you hurry up and go get Professor Dumbledore."

The pair did not like that idea at all.

"But how will you–"

BOOM!

The man had sent a curse to the ceiling, trying to make it run debris all over them. Tonks quickly pushed them with a spell towards the windows, and flung herself to the other side of the room, where Katie had tried to weave her rune thing on the floor.

"Don't worry about me. I'm a trained Auror. I've already locked every door around so he would not flee, or make a disaster within the school. Now go after the Headmaster. Now!–the both of you."

Harry and Katie didn't bother to contest her once again. In both of their faces there was a mix of distress and surprise and admiration–but there was also pain, because there was nothing that they could do. But they still had to try–Katie threw her beloved broom her way, and got on Harry's broom as they prepared to fly away.

It was what they needed to do–they were only fifteen and fourteen, mind you! And though Harry always managed to get things done, the man attacking them only needed an opening to hit them square–just one!

Tonks was already at a strain trying to protect the pair. It was an eye-opening experience, that they both would not forget–that is what they swore then and there.

Harry jumped through the window, with the broom under him going fast, while Katie held on steadfast, hugging him tight. She looked back at the now smoking part of the castle, her face filled with anguish at the sight.


Harry and Katie were surprised at seeing the Headmaster opening the front door of the Castle with a swift wave of his wand, and his tall figure seemed to practically command power and authority.

If I were to guess, I'd say that they had at least listened that great 'boom' in that tower.

They dismounted the broom and told it all quickly to the Headmaster, whose face became grim. He quickly grabbed a hold of the Firebolt, and–to the surprise of many–summoned the small Professor Flitwick to go with him–with annoyance in his face, but at the same time with resolve taking its place on his countenance.

The students didn't know whether to laugh or just to stare in amazement as the spindly Headmaster and the tiny Charms master cut the skies towards the fight.

And their situation was not improved in the least when quick after them, passed that huge lady from Beauxbatons, taking flight on one of those giant winged-horses that pulled her carriage.

And it only got worse as apparently Rubeus Hagrid came out of fu***** nowhere, getting to the air all the way down from his hut on something that looked suspiciously like a small stone dragon.

"Go, Hagrid!" yelled The Cod, his face filled with wonder and pride, as the rest of the student body could only stare wide-eyed at that bungled downsized dragon stone model–statue–thingy.

It didn't take too long for the other adults to get a hint, and soon each one that was near was either trying to keep the stupid ones from getting to the air, too, or getting into a mad sprint to get their own broom and fly quickly to where the action was currently–probably–already over and through.

But the day was not over for the professors and the Ministry folks that had quickly arrived at the scene.

Tonks really messed the plot up. You just had to see the amount of paperwork–it was obscene!

But hey, I won't complain–the story could use a giddy-up, even if that meant having a metamorphomagus sprawl over it all, after a mighty stumble into the plot; after mingling with our favourite lot.


Dobby, the House-Elf, was just polishing an oak shelf on Harry Potter Dogfather's Cave–when Professor Dumbledore called him away. The Headmaster knew about that whole thing, mainly because Dobby wouldn't sway about being paid both by Harry and Hogwarts.

Dumbledore hadn't thought of employing the elf to help Sirius–he, of course, suggested some more amenable places for the man to stay, but it seemed he didn't want to get away from Harry.

While the house-elves of the castle owed their loyalty to him, they had to put Hogwarts first, and shouldn't be burdened with that secret, in case the Ministry coerced them that it would be better for the students if they spilled. But Dobby wasn't bound to anyone–he was the only elf capable of getting that done. And Dobby was absolutely thrilled to do so!

It was genius–no, it was absolutely ingenious!

And if I knew the difference between these two words, I would be a super-duper mega-genius! Is there? Meh, these questions get us nowhere.

Professor Dumbledore, some others folks Dobby didn't know, and that funny pig-faced girl wrote Harry and Katie a letter, that Dobby had … err, orders to give it to Harry Potter or to Harry Potter's Girl when they were alone.

But the poor thing couldn't withstand his friend not being in the known, staring at the space in front of him, with his expression full of worry and his body filled with tension.

Dobby tried to help, but it seemed dropping the chandelier and sicking the Blast-Ended Skrewts on them wasn't enough to get their attention–Dobby was thinking very hard of more direct ways to warn the boy, when he realised something that filled him with joy.

Dobby remembered he was a free house-elf! He would only accept to take orders from Harry Potter himself! The others, even if they were kind and good to him and to Harry Potter, could not make him do anything!

Dobby had a great smile at that realisation: any order they gave him was more like … a recommendation.

Yes, that's what the house-elf told himself. Which perhaps explains why Harry was faced, in the middle of supper, with the Great Hall filled to the brim with all students, by his favourite-slash-most-feared weird house-elf, and with absolutely everyone staring at him.

"Harry-Potter-Sir, here's a letter from …" Dobby paused, looking around, a bit shy.

But he was a brave elf, and wouldn't let anyone stand between Harry and his friends. But he also wouldn't let anyone pry into Harry Potter's affairs. Our dear and well-intentioned house-elf glanced at the loopy calligraphy of Professor Dumbledore, and put on airs around himself.

"From … you know who," he said, pointing out the fancy script on the letter. He then thought better, and remembered something Harry Potter's Godfather had taught him, and gave Harry Potter a cheeky wink, before vanishing in a blink.

Dobby patted himself on the back for yet another opportunity to help Harry Potter.

He just could not understand why Sirius Black seemed to laugh so much when he told him.


And if you think the sh**-storm is over, just sit down and enjoy the show, my dear reader. No–better yet, take cover. After all, who would ever want to get hit by flying and raining sh**?

Chaos reigned absolutely supreme!

Some of them-not-so-bright lads would scream 'You-Know-Who is back!' Some were confused: 'is this because of Black?' Others would get up and say 'Harry has turned dark!', and others yelled: 'get your hands out of there, Mark!'

Okay, that last one was certainly a bit strange.

There was a reason the Great Hall was fu***** filled to the brim for a change, after all. They were all waiting to see if there would be an Evening Prophet on that day. And there should be–after all, what would make so many Ministry folks make their way in and out of the castle the whole day?

And I'm not even bullsh****** you with the Evening Prophet, my dear reader–that's a real thing from the books, I swear. It is fair play to use it, then. People were already on edge because classes had been cancelled for the day–they deserved at least to know what was happening anyway.

Harry Potter and Katie Bell had told their stories, and some of the staff even confirmed that they were telling the truth. But our dear Hogwarts youth already learned how to read in-between everything they were saying. That story was yet to spin.

A flurry of owls above made everyone stop, and plop down, eager to read the news.

It didn't take too long for gasps to sound. Some of the Beauxbatons students, Fleur included, came to where Harry and his group was, trying to get what the hell was going around.

Our dear Katie Bell did a quick reading of it and looked at Harry's face. There was anger, sadness, fear, but also an expression under it all that, albeit the others wouldn't notice so swiftly, she was quick to place–there was hope. Harry had told her about this Rita Skeeter–everything about the woman sounded like a big nope!

But if she was the reason why Harry would stop saying his good-bye with so much dread, year-after-year at the end of the term, she would be a dear to Katie.

Of course, just because she thought that, I'll have to make her eat her words. But this time, there won't even need be a chapter inbetween–this one's a rollercoaster, so let's hold on tight, shall we? People were beginning to crowd, so Hermione began to read aloud:

YOU-KNOW-WHO IS BACK – WERE WE ALL WRONG ABOUT SIRIUS BLACK?
by Rita Skeeter

Yes, you read that right–it pains us all from the 'Daily Prophet' to write these news, but we have to bring this to light. The so-written LORD VOLDEMORT, whose name we all learned not to say back in our heyday, is back. You-Know-Who is back, and this time, he's back to stay. Earlier today, while the future of wizardry assembled in the Great Hall to have dinner at midday, there sounded a great boom upstairs that made everyone's hairs stand on end; that put everyone on alert. Hogwarts staff quickly went out to see what was going about, to see if there was anyone hurt and to help protect the students, when Professor Albus Dumbledore sat down on a stair, put his ears on the wall, concentrating, his eyes closed, his golden half-moon glasses barely standing on his hook-nosed face, and began to listen. Some thought he had lost it there and then, but it seemed the leader of the fight against the Dark wasn't doing that in vain. Professor Dumbledore turned back towards the front door, to greet a most peculiar pair, who had quite a tale in store. It was the brave Mr Harry James Potter and the fair Miss Catherine Claire Bell–

"My name is not Catherine! It's just Katie, why doesn't anyone believe me–it's just Katie Bell!"

"Shh!" – "Quiet!" – "Stop speaking!" – "Stop squeaking!"

–who had a fantastic tale to tell–one that no one would believe if it were not for the smoke coming out of the Northeast Tower. At that moment, bystanders described as if there was some kind of power acting up, as promptly the Hogwarts Headmaster, the Beauxbatons Headmaster, Madame Olympe Maxime, and many of the staff went decisively into action against what almost turned out to be a disaster. Hogwarts's status as the best leading school in the world was shown yet again–

At that Fleur and some of her friends scoffed, but they didn't dare interrupt Hermione again, or to deign to answer that.

–and it seemed the school itself developed some kind of brain, and joined the fight. We were all once students at that marvellous place year-after-year and yet we did not pay attention to something that was so clear–the Hogwarts motto: DRACO DORMIENS NUNQUAM TITTILANDUS; or in good and honest English, 'never tickle a sleeping dragon'. And the dragon awoke today, readers, with many reports of Professor Rubeus Hagrid, despite his lack of formal education, managing to find a way to ride a flying stone beast towards the Northeast Tower. Testimonials are rare for what they found, but one thing is certain: Auror Nymphadora Tonks duelled a CONVICTED Death-Eater to a stand-still, with the impressive use of light curses and a marvellous kind of golden shield–

Huh? Katie wondered if that was her runes doing their thing.

while locking the felon within the area. The identity of this Death Eater is yet to be revealed, as the records of this operation are still sealed, but we have to remember that all of the convicted Death-Eaters are accounted for (see more in page 4), with the exception of Sirius Black (and there's a great story there to unpack).

The Daily Prophet had access to court records to make accurate profiles, complete, with the crimes, trials, sorted by name and date (see more in page 8). This either means that there was an Azkaban prisoner unaccounted for, or that at least one of those acquitted, were not completely faithful to their testimonies before (see more in page 4). Moreover, this situation raises suspicion about the situation with Sirius Black, especially after today's many news in stack. The responsible for the attack was detained, and chained in a secret location, separate from the Dementors–who some Ministry officials say may be at suspicion. We contacted Azkaban's Bureaucracy, but they refused to comment anything at the time we are printing this edition.

Questioning of the suspect led to the producing of information, that prompted a special and prompt cooperation between former war-veterans and the Aurors, to make a raid in Little Hangleton, a small unremarkable village in Lincolnshire. There is still very little information about the raid, but the reports of many Aurors and Hit-Wizards all share one thing in common, that made us all afraid: You-Know-Who yet still lives. Him and his companion lived in poor conditions, apparently resorting to being thieves so as to not get any attention.

Our team received these news with apprehension, but we have consulted multiple sources that confirmed the same thing–that night in Godric's Hollow wasn't enough to bring an end to this. Learn about the details on the raid and reports about the appearance of You-Know-Who (see more in page 2). His companion, to further add to the surprise, turned out to be a man with a guise resembling the late Mr Peter Hallstead Pettigrew OM, previously believed to be dead. Records of the confession and trial of Sirius Black, who fled Azkaban on July 1993 are missing. We, at the Daily Prophet–

Hermione continued reading, but Katie already had enough when the reporter got her name wrong, and read the rest quickly while everyone seemed to follow along with the girl.

Voldemort had escaped everyone! Of course he had: he was already thirteen years on the run–this was was still far from being over; it was very far from being won; the war was still there for them to take-over.

She glanced away from Hermione in her reading and stared at Harry, trying to decipher once again that wonderful mix of emotions that were bleeding through his face.

Voldemort returned, then. Once again. She knew that he'd had never went away for full, at least ever since that day at the end of her Second Year, when Harry faced him on his own and managed to pull yet another win. But the sheer presence of the moment only downed on her just there and then.

Staying close to Harry now meant painting a target on her head. The terrible possibilities filled her with dread.

But something stupid and brave came quick to wash that vision away. Perhaps she just valued her friend so much, or perhaps there was a touch of something more to her decision, but she would not let things go any other way.

She grasped his hand tight and sent him a reassuring smile; and his eyes–his precious green and expressive eyes–seemed to uncloud for just a moment–there!–and things just felt right.

Ron put his hand on Harry's shoulder, his expression getting just a tad bit older, while Hermione got up from her seat and gave the boy a firm and sweet hug. Leanne, The Cod, Luna, Ginny, Neville and even some people that Katie never talked with came to show the boy their support–and amidst chaos surged joy!

"Don't let him get you Harry!" – "Don't open his letter!" – "Kick his a** again, Harry!" – "We're all together in this, mate!" – "They'll catch him this time, just you wait."

And this all is already becoming really cheesy, but believe me, my dear reader, it was actually this easy. Once upon a time, Wizarding Britain would not bend its knee, even to a Voldemort in its prime. There was valour in them, that was being called upon once again. There was this greatness in Voldemort's terrifying reign because only he had managed to bring so much pain to that part of the world. It is very easy for us to judge, far away in our comfortable seats, the way they seemed to be always scared to bits, when Voldemort came back, but be assured: Wizarding Britain would not so easily crack.

Which made it all the more impressive that Voldemort managed to almost bring them down; which made the notion and roles of heroic figures like Dumbledore and Potter all the more impressive and oppressive–like Kings of a game already in motion, for heavy are the heads that wear the crown.

The Dark Lord once again marked Harry as his equal–too good that this time the reason for that was something as fickle and whimsical and completely made-up as a wild house-elf. But it served its purpose with grace, as the chess-pieces settled in their place, with Voldemort and–this time–Harry at opposite sides of this fight.

And it would be right to say that almost everyone clapped, believe it or not; but not in that cliché and blasé way–and Fleur is there to confirm my French is okay–but rather in a kind of nervous way, timid at first, but that grew in intensity at the prospect and outrage of their lives being threatened once again headfirst.

The imagery of the wonderful Hogwarts Great Hall, filled to the brim with nervous but determined student faces, while Harry received a 'declaration of war' letter from 'You-Know-Who' would go down in history as the day that Wizarding Britain answered the call–and it would be known as the Rendezvous of Voldemort's Downfall.

The painting of that moment would decorate the Ministry of Magic's Entrance Hall someday–but that was still so far away …

For now we have to just follow the show, and see what is yet to roll.


The reasons for Ms Skeeter's apparent change were not as strange as one might think. She was moved by a desire to get everyone's most juicy secrets put to ink. But there was something above all that people wanted to know–that is: about Harry Potter, who seemed different from any wizard she'd ever known.

Our dear Ms Skeeter played idly with a piece of writing sitting on her table, while wondering if it would be right to publish it now. Things were chaotic in a way that served to enable her to get easily and without hassle into the castle, while at the same time putting everyone on her hand, always fearing that she would change her tone and paint the incompetence of everyone in command of the Ministry.

But she so loved this kind of gossip, and she was certain Witch Weekly would pay her retirement just with that little piece of writing.

Accidents and tragedies happened everyday, sports would sell really well whenever there was an important match, and the Aurors managing to catch some deranged criminal were okay, but there was something the public was always eager to read–and if you don't believe me, just update your fan-fiction site feed for a famous pair!

And the whole Yule Ball affair was due to be announced in just a day or two! It was the perfect occasion for her article to push through.

Rita grinned as she prepared her devious plot, and finished the article with a flowery title, right there on the spot, before owling the lot at Witch Weekly her new masterpiece:

'A story with many parts: Harry Potter and the Art of Breaking Hearts'

But there was little peace for Rita, as there were now other things begging her attention. She glanced at her notes on Igor Karkaroff, the Durmstrang Headmaster, and felt a thrill as she pulled her Quick-Quotes Quill, as she got ready to bring about yet another PR disaster.

And most interesting of all, although I believe she would choose to omit this piece of information until she had more to work than just a close call of a meeting that she only managed to eavesdrop the end, there was a name, connected to Karkaroff's frame–quite a lame one, if you'd ask me.

In the parchment on her hand, there it was: Mr Ophiucus Vebruary Loweland.

Ophiucus Loweland the Second, for the record. Not our fool of a big fish.

And yet, I've got the impression he will have to withstand the brunt of it, mind you.

In due time, of course: for now, The Cod's dad was only an 'anonymous source'–which he had not the slightest suspicion of being or agreeing to, at first!


Harry and Katie were just having one of their walks around the lake, trying to bring their minds around to everything that was at stake now.

They talked about the last war, about the Death Eaters that had been rotting in prison, about the reason so many had managed to get away, about the place where Voldemort might want to stay and hide. They talked about silly things, too, like this weird blue patch of grass they had passed through, even if that was by Katie's insistence who always pinched him on his side when he talked too much about all that serious stuff.

"I've tried everything and yet it isn't enough. That Golden Egg just keep shrieking bloody murder. Neville managed to get me an earmuff that they use with the Mandrakes, but the thing just kept yelling further."

Katie smiled.

"Well, at least it's good practice for when you become a Dad, ha!"

Katie let out a small laughter, but she was surprised when Harry stayed silent. His expression was so strange–there was surprise and a great tad of something more.

Something that Katie saw before, and always looked forward to gaze at: there was hope–which he desperately tried not to show, but that always made itself known; at least for Katie.

Katie wondered what Harry would see if he found a way to glance at that freaky Mirror of Erised once again. She had never saw the thing, which she only knew from Harry's tales, but he had told enough details about it to her that she understood: he didn't want only to bring his parents to life–he wanted a family to call his own.

She wondered if he would see himself with a wife and some children now that he was a bit older. He did not need to say it to her that it was the thing he desired the most: she saw how he looked at the Weasleys, at how the Bells were close, even to the Grangers, who'd been so formal one would think they were strangers–but there was no denying that behind that middle-class attitude, that Hermione's parents absolutely loved their shrewd and kind daughter.

And that is what Harry Potter wanted for himself.

If Katie could, she would do her best to help him get to his dream. And if she imagined Harry Potter's wife to be a fair-haired woman, with a beautiful gleam in her grey eyes, she would absolutely deny it and not say a thing more–after all, our dear Golden Witch, in matters sentimental, could be dumb-as-a-door, or stubborn-as-they-came.

But these kinds of thoughts were already shaking her off her game, so she decided to spare them both and change the subject.

"Has Professor Dumbledore come back? Or Tonks? The last we've heard from them is that letter on the day of the attack."

Harry grinned at that.

"No, not ever since You-Know-Who's letter. I don't know what got into Dobby to make him say that–I bet Sirius has something to do with it, that prat. But, yeah–ever since that day, they went away from school and didn't return."

"I miss my broom–the school ones just don't have it in them."

"I would lend you the Firebolt, but I'm already helping Ginny with it nowadays."

Katie felt a jolt surge through her.

Wait a minute. Wait just a fu***** minute. What was that about?

"Ginny? What's going on there between you two?" she said, her tone almost innocent–and she would've succeeded if it were not for her glare and her disgruntled pout. But Harry missed missed that, too.

"Oh, it's just that she asked me some tips for the next match, and I decided to lend her the Firebolt so she would have better chances to catch the Snitch next time. I don't know how good is the Hufflepuff Seeker, but Cedric would not just leave his position for someone who isn't a prime candidate."

Katie's head spun as she tried to conceal the image of sweet lil' Ginny with the shrewd girl that Harry was describing to her.

"Let me guess, she said that she was afraid to fly on the thing, and asked for you to fly it with her, at least until she got the ring of it."

Harry's astonishment came back again at its full-size.

"Well, yes. How did you know? I thought we'd found a spot away from prying eyes. Ginny didn't want us to get caught–she wants this as a surprise for the next match."

Of course Ginny wanted to keep away the prying eyes. What a crafty little witch! Katie couldn't even get too mad at the girl–after all, she still had to train a lot to catch the Snitch. It was the perfect excuse!

Oh, but Katie saw right through her ruse! It wasn't even an original one–Cho had used the same approach just a few months ago! But very well done, Ginny.

But Katie couldn't let this happen! It would … it would distract Harry from focusing on the Golden Egg's clue! Yes, that was it!

And only because of that, mind you.

And she not-so-subtly-at-all spoke that to him, amidst many other things, as the afternoon wasted away, as they made their way all around the lake. There was some wizarding construction crew scouting it, too–apparently Professor Dumbledore wanted to build some kind of new structure over it, and they were trying to understand how to get through the lake to make the foundations for it.

Harry and Katie sat under a tree, gazing at the gentlemen who were throwing spells from the shore and at Durmstrang's boat, which waved gently in that pleasant afternoon. Every now and then, some Durmstrang students appeared on the deck–some even waved at them, to which they waved back.

Harry was looking at Krum and some of his friends, who'd apparently not much appreciation for comfort in their lives, as they practiced their dives in the cold waters around the boat–something that Harry took note to investigate the reasons why when he could–when he remembered something that he had to talk to Katie about.

But he hesitated. How could he talk about it and not sound like he was trying to spy on her?

Which he was–we have to call him out! He had been wondering if there was something still between The Cod and Katie–he did not know why, but the thought of it just bothered him. He had nothing against the guy, he just didn't want Katie to get through that again–and that was the only reason why, wink wink!

But he saw something one day that he just couldn't let it stay. The Cod was still Katie's friend–she deserved to know. He decided just to be direct about it. The earlier she knew it, the best she could try and discover what was going on.

"Katie, did The Cod ever talked about changing schools again? I mean, you said to me that he didn't want to, but the attack made a lot of people to think that perhaps another school might be a little more sane. Hagrid told me that Madame Maxime is visited by at least one Hogwarts student everyday. It's just that … well, the other day, I scanned the Marauder's Map and saw the dot of Ophiucus Loweland, having a private meeting with Igor Karkaroff."

Katie did not know what to say. To her, that was a story that had already went away. Had The Cod changed his mind about something? Her eyes began to squint as she thought back on their conversations to see if she could find a minimal hint of anything–but there wasn't a clue.

"I also saw Rita Skeeter going around–how was she doing that, without getting into anyone's view, I don't know, but we have to be careful with that one. She wrote that article aglow about me, especially because I didn't put too much of a fuzz in that interview like the other three champions, but I don't doubt she would just jump the gun if she managed to get some gossip to write."

And how right you are, my dear Harry. Witch Weekly's team was already doing their fourth print in advance on what they bet would be their greatest revenue stream of that fiscal year.

They talked a lot more on that day, but for the sake of wordcount, I'll let the reader fill in this part of the conversation. The day wasted away, but before it finally came to an end, a new figure appeared walking towards them.

Albus Dumbledore explained what happened to Harry and his friend, before he asked to have a private conversation with the boy–and on that day, Harry learned many things about Voldemort that made almost made him lose all of his joy.


Dumbledore and Harry walked towards a spot a few steps into the forest, near Hagrid's Hut, very far away from the shortcut they usually took to go to the lake.

There in an unremarkable clearing stood a very remarkable tree. Its trunk and branches were twisted and torn, old and in some parts of it full of mould and little insects. But the leaves of the tree stood out, even as the cold and the season stripped out all the other ones around them. It vibrated with magic and life, and Harry understood why Dumbledore chose this spot to talk about something so full of strife.

"For whatever reason, students don't usually venture near this tree. I think they are missing an incredible opportunity to witness a grand kind of magic, don't you agree?"

Harry nodded, looking amazed at the thing. It looked dead, and yet full of magic.

"They say Helga Hufflepuff herself planted this tree on top of the tombstone of one of the first Hogwarts professors. Some find that story so tragic, but I have to confess that this story, above many, was the one that impressed me the most about our wonderful school. He–well, at least most sources point to him being a man–was an exception the rule, and the reason Helga took to destroy or to sell most of her prized possessions, with the exception of a particular and very interesting Golden Cup."

Harry became curious at that description.

"What was his name, Professor Dumbledore?"

And at that Albus smiled.

"Well, that's just the thing, Harry. Nobody knows. He asked for his name, his fame and his deeds to be forever erased from history. This is the tomb of the unknown Headmaster, the first one to govern Hogwarts after the Founders, and the disaster that ripped their friendship apart. The reports say that he was a very kind man, with an enormous heart, very knowledgeable and wise, and that he began many traditions of this great school. But they also said he had a thing for fame, and an arrogance that he only just managed to keep in–Helga, in her diaries, described him as a 'proud well-intended fool'. And, to me, that's why he is such an inspiration: he died without a name, leaving behind only the vital foundations in which we built this school, taking great care to not having them being credited to him. This tree was personally enchanted not to wither by Helga Hufflepuff in her deathbed, forever marking the spot of the unknown headmaster. The tree became dead, but its leaves remained all the same, shining a bright light in the dark forest that surrounds the school."

Harry mulled over those words. He also thought that the guy must have been very cool, but these ideas around having a great name sounded so distant from him. To a man like Professor Dumbledore they might have some weight, but to Harry, who lived away from a fame he'd never enjoyed, they didn't sound very great.

"I say this, Harry, because it ties into what I mean to discuss with you. What do you know and think about the so-called Purebloods world-view?"

Harry went on a proper tirade about the thing, and the harm they managed to bring to their friend crew. He talked about Malfoy, about Dobby, about the Carrows, about Vincent, Millicent and Derwent and their prejudice. Dumbledore nodded all the while, with a patient smile affixed on his face.

"A tragedy, isn't it? And do you know why they think so? Why they think so highly about themselves, why do they mistreat house-elves, why they put so much value over their family name, and do such horrible things that would bring shame to anyone just a bit sane?"

"No, I don't, Professor Dumbledore. I imagine it isn't a very good reason, however."

Dumbledore smiled at Harry, and made a magical dome around themselves, protecting them from being heard and from the season.

"The reasons why are hard to understand, but I'll try nonetheless," he said, with a sigh. "There's very little records to point out when magic first appeared, because whenever a particular group managed to seize control over it, they always became feared."

Dumbledore gazed at the tree with sadness in his expression before continuing.

"This kind of magic we are able to do, Harry, is of a very destructive kind. Some called us a different species, when the term was first brought to mind; some called ourselves a spark of divinity, a glimpse of the possibilities in the infinity. Wizards always thought too much about themselves, too much indeed. They had to, of course–only that justified all manner of dark deed and sorcery they used to control and to misguide humanity over the years, stoking their fears, making mortal enemies of amicable peers, and flooding the soil wherever they passed with tears.

"This magic that enables us to make a tree everlast, to make a giant and warm stone castle in the middle of the Scottish Highlands, to make waters fill a desert vast and to bring comfort and happiness without a hassle, with just the wave of a wand, comes with great power: to make any creature a slave, to dominate all life from our grand and impenetrable ivory tower, to command everything and everyone–a swish and flick, and it's done.

"But we never defeated death, Harry. Death is the last enemy that shall be destroyed, and that is what guided wizardry through the ages. Our bloodied pages stank of death, of which we never got apart. I am of the opinion that to defeat death is to die, to part from life only when it comes to visit us, to embrace it warmly, hopefully with a placid heart, after a life well-lived, never shortened or prolonged by will–we all got a purpose to fulfil, that and nothing more. But that's not what wizardry chose to believe, since the days of yore.

"In my youth, I was invited to a little private club, who wanted to bring back the old wizards way; we had an oath we used to say, and I remember the words to this day still:

"By and only by my will: magic is might, and might is right. Long is the night before and after our days, so we must make our ways to shine the world bright. Long before the end, I shall see you again, my friend. As was the will of those before, as is the will of those who'll come–let our enemy of yore have its fate: death will be won. And worthy shall be the wait. Cheers, friends from now, friends to come and friends from before: we'll finally live again once more!"

Professor Dumbledore had distaste written all over his face as he continued.

"Wizarding folklore, however interesting, sometimes pushes too deep in matters better left to mystery. It was luck or something great that made me get out of that before it was too late. But that's what misguides wizardry to this day: this vanity, this ambition, to get away from death, to never give the last breath.

"The family names, the houses, the titles and the great deeds–they all became but a pale shadow of what they once were. They had a purpose of their own, Harry. Wizardry has a necessity upon itself to become known–that's why the Statute of Secrecy is such a fundamental cornerstone. I reject the notion that this will is something natural, deep within my heart. I would rather believe this is a product of a culture that never wanted to be apart from this life. We crave fame, and a great name because those before us had done, too. And look at the products of this culture: Voldemort is but the latest strife in a series of repeated tragedies, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over life, death and will. Wizards beguile themselves into anchoring to this world, and kill, and murder, and defile all things good to keep on it. As did Voldemort, as did many before him.

"Names have power, Harry. This cult of magic believes that while they die in matter, they live in magic. While they are remembered by their deeds, be they most good or absolutely tragic, they live–not in body, but in spirit. They need to be remembered Harry, because they need to be brought back."

Dumbledore's words cut right through Harry like a cold knife as he remembered his parents and the rest of the family on the Mirror of Erised. He wondered once more what kind of dark art they used to make that thing.

"They die with a discontent heart, unwilling to part from life, ordering their sons and heirs–'save me from the black deeps, remember to bring me back.' Their last aspiration as they give their final breath is to be remembered as the ancestor to a proud and powerful line of wizards, who would one day bring them back with the final incantation, curing the last disease of magic–that of death.

"Some become so scared of the next great adventure that they prefer to endure as the weakest light, becoming ghosts: white, intangible, pale imitations of what was once a life, forever mulling over the strife through which they were subjected to. But to live as a ghost is to deny that comeback, mind you.

"Some of those beliefs spilled onto the muggle world, of course. They tried to find recourse where they had not the magic to guide them through. You see the first signs of it in the figures of the pharaohs, buried with their servants, riches and instruments of power, desperately wishing that that was not their final hour."

And then Harry saw a glint of something great in Dumbledore's eyes.

"But we cannot ever escape death, Harry. That is the law of this plane, to all creatures of good heart. They–and us, too–had to prepare for when–and only when–it came, to be apart from this world. As we should, too. Death is the last enemy that shall be destroyed, Harry–my life is not in vain, I do dare to proclaim this, as was not those of our loved ones. There is greatness outside of this plane. However bright and joyful and delightful it is to live, and we must never give up on it, there will be an end to the pain that so often accompany us. Each and every one of us must tread this journey, and follow the lane towards the end. Death is the last enemy that shall be destroyed, Harry, but it is not The End. We must not shy away from it–we have to seize the day and welcome Death when it comes to our side–and only then.

"And it is only now we can finally understand Voldemort in his arrogance and pride. I chose this spot, of the unknown headmaster to show you, Harry, that there is a way. We must not let these kinds of evil ambitions play with our hearts. Voldemort delved deep within the dark arts to defeat death in his own way, but it will all be mote. Even if he succeeds, there'll be a day where he'll crave to go away, into the next great adventure. But we cannot, ever, go out looking for death–we must only welcome it in our last breath. We must always look to diminish ourselves, to be humble and kind, to not have regrets in our mind, to keep it to heart that death approaches fast and faster. We must try to let things go as the unknown headmaster. We must not be like Tom Riddle.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle–such a charming name. He was handsome, smart, cunning. He wouldn't know it, but he was the most precious thing of his mother's heart, who gave up all of her magic to give him a chance to live. But he closed it all off and delved deep into the darkest art. Voldemort– what a curious name. It is a play with some words in French that reflects his greatest aim–to flee from death, to never have that last breath. I told you all this, Harry so you can know this: Voldemort can be won. The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. No one has the right to bring it to anyone, but Voldemort has already that part done, when he mangled his soul–we must only help deliver him to his fate. That is a great weight, but it's something you and I, and the wizardry of our days must do.

"Harry, I discussed with Sirius and decided I should make you a much greater part of this. Voldemort will come after you, Harry, and I feel that this war is not my own–but I will not let you on your own, my dear boy. Beginning next year, I plan to teach you all I know. You will not face him alone, Harry."

Both of them faced the floor. For some reason Harry's eyes prickled at Professor Dumbledore's last words to him. Had he looked at the Headmaster, he would've seen a few tears decorating his grim expression. Harry's mind whirled fast as he tried to digest everything that had been thrown his way. The memory of that day would be forever imprinted on his mind.

But it was still not over–Harry was yet to know about the violations Voldemort committed against mankind. And there it began another influx of terrible information from the Headmaster's mouth:

"Harry, I want to talk to you about something called a Horcrux."


There was change in the air. It felt strange, intimidating, but nonetheless invigorating. But I have not forgotten to write about our rare-pair.

After all, it wouldn't be fair to the dear reader that filtered that specific tag. We have to remember that while things look dire, we must have in our sights that in the end, they will be okay. There will a be a final, happy day. Voldemort will eventually go away, even if he's now such a drag.

But for now:

Tonks came back–yay!

She was totally fine–alright!

She gave Katie back her broom–awesome!

Katie's shield saved her hide–hooray!

She became the professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts–who-hooo!

Wait.

What?

Oh yeah, apparently managing to bring a convicted Death-Eater back to Azkaban, saving the Potter brat and his girlfriend–'I'm not his girlfriend!', yelled a metafictional and self-delusional Katie Bell–from the guy, managing to uncover a vital piece of information on You-Know-Who's hideout, and even managing to get an Auror out of deformed-baby-Voldemort's spell way were enough for a field-promotion–by Alastor Moody himself.

There weren't many that were brave enough to challenge that motion. The retired Auror was a little … cranky after spending months in a cell.

This was equal parts great and horrifying to our dear Katie Bell.

It was great because Tonks was awesome, and was already fretting over whether teaching only the Expelliarmus spell family to the first-years was enough.

It was not so great because Tonks was … well, Tonks–and that was rough already on its own.

And it didn't help in the least, when shortly after a feast over the last few days, they announced the Yule Ball. Things were running wild, and Katie's face was more red than white these days–but then Witch Weekly had a new edition.

'A story with many parts: Harry Potter and the Art of Breaking Hearts'

And in the front page, there was her picture, in a circle of girls all around Harry, who was pictured in the middle.

There were … too many girls. Katie did not understand where all of that came from. I mean, come on, wasn't Penelope Clearwater dating Ron's brother? How the hell was she on that picture? And wasn't she eighteen? Come on, Harry Potter was fourteen–nobody saw anything wrong with that? And why did they put Fleur on it, too? Was there something going on between the Beauxbatons champion and Harry, and Katie just didn't have a clue?

She glanced at her on the other side of the Great Hall. The quarter-veela girl was all prim and proper, promptly ignoring all around her.

Katie squinted her eyes.

Oh, but those rosy cheeks didn't tell no lies.

How the hell could our little Katie Bell compete with that?

She couldn't believe what her eyes were seeing and purchased herself a copy of that. Best to know it directly from the source than to hear gossip all around her–it was the best for her well-being.

Some girls seemed to be frightened by the publication, going all around in a hurry. Some seemed to find so absurd there were so many faces on the thing that they just couldn't bring themselves to worry.

Hermione shrugged and went back to her breakfast, much to Ron's consternation. Leanne and Ginny just became as red as their hair and quickly got out of there. The Cod–yes, you read that right–became equally red; in fury however. Apparently Rita Skeeter wrote him as if he had turned into a girl because of his long hair!

Tonks just laughed out when she saw they had put her picture in.

"I look great in green, don't I?" she said, while changing her waist-length hair to the aforementioned colour. "What do you think, Katie? The colour of Harry's beautiful, expressive, charming, emerald green eye looks good on me, eh?!"

Katie's eyelids trembled as she ignored Tonks and read her part.

[…] and above all, she seems to be the closest to Harry Potter's heart. Miss Catherine Bell has many talents to speak of, including but not limited to a range of Quidditch tricks upon her sleeve, a melodious, but powerful voice she uses to yell at the team (and even to Harry on occasion), a great streak of perseverance to achieve many things which she sets her mind to, and–best of all–the most beautiful greyish-blue eyes this journalist has ever seen. And we haven't even talked about that beautiful golden hair of hers, that shines brightly when she takes to the air even in the usual gloomy dark Scottish days. But Miss Bell must be careful–for even if Mr Potter seems to favour those girls with their fair hair, there is nowadays an overabundance of them there in the school. Like one Miss Daphne Greengrass, mind you, who was a great surprise […]

Katie felt frankly disgusted at the whole thing. Her eyes scanned the whole article and she felt the need to hit that woman.

There had to be a way to have her on a string. Katie wondered if perhaps Hermione knew a way to help them get back at that nasty witch.

But our dear Hermione Granger was already mulling over what do to with Ms Skeeter.

Oh, that bi*** wouldn't know what hit her!


Katie thought that it should be the man who had to ask the girl on a date–call her old-fashioned, but she thought it was much more cute that way, and certainly worth the wait.

But as the hours ticked off, her feelings tended to go back and forth between being absolutely nervous about seeing Harry, and being absolutely pissed off at the guy.

C'mon, it really wasn't that difficult to tell. Half the world already knew it by the time Ms Skeeter published that article, and now the other half just learned about our dear Katie Bell's Most Secret Crush™.

If Harry had half-a-brain, he should've already invited her by now.

But it seemed the boy wasn't in a rush–if anything, he seemed even to run away from her, somehow.

Oh, Katie would snatch that map away from him the first opportunity she got.

But then The Cod heard a strange rumour that left her stomach in a knot.

They'd been saying that Fleur Delacour was asking around where Harry Potter had went. They said that she was angry about that article, but Katie was smarter than that and gleamed, in an instant, her intent.

'Twas no time for chivalry or anything of that kind. If Katie wasn't fast, they'd already pounce upon the boy before he could even think–she had to find Harry!

She preferred things had went another way, but, let's be frank, it was already 1994–it wouldn't do to be stuck in the days of yore just because of a silly tradition.

Katie thought long and hard and had a guess on where to look. Harry maybe was trying to run away from her, which meant that she had to have his way out barred. Perhaps he was trying to find that room with the secret door on the seventh-floor that Dobby had heard the other house-elves talk about. If so, she could block the door to the North Wing, so he would only have a particular staircase to go down. She could go around the place and scare him into that path–then, she could run and get him there.

How cute! Only a crush can make our dear Golden Witch act like a total psychopath!

Katie gazed at her reflection in a polished silver armour that lined the corridor and fixed her hair, and put a smile on her face. The suit of armour made an appreciative pose and waved her good-bye as she commenced her chase.

Love and its smaller precursors make us do the wildest things–things we can only look in retrospect at how silly they were. The thought of losing Harry to Fleur completely shook Katie off her game. It was one thing to handle Ginny, or Greengrass or even the girls that shared the class with him.

It was completely unfair trying to beat a quarter-veela, that could just gaze at the boy and snare him on a whim.

The sight of a young lass running through the seventh-floor, with a maniac smile on her face was hard to forget–as was Harry's face, filled with horror and embarrassment and fret, when the threat finally appeared in front of him. Katie had succeeded in her chase!

And he looked at Katie; and Katie looked at him.

And the cute little pair couldn't withstand each other's gaze, turning away from each other, both of them trying to hide the emotions just beneath the skin–just right there, practically screaming trying to get out.

If there was even an inkling of doubt about the corresponding feelings between the pair, you could scratch that out just looking at them both there.

But keep in mind they were certainly some of the most extraordinary dunderheads I'd ever known, so, even if it seems like 'tis finally the end of the show, hold on tight, because things are yet to grow.

To grow completely out of control!

"Harry, do you already have a date for the Yule Ball?"

The boy's eyes widened.

"Wh-what? I do. You already have one too, don't you?"

Katie blinked.

"Don't you?"

Harry blinked. Katie swallowed hard.

"You already have one … Well … I thought–"

"They said you already had a pair, Bell. I don't know what to say–"

Here it comes, my dear reader, that much-dreaded day: be prepared for your share of trauma, of cheer, of guilt, of sheer madness; of grudges, of feelings aplenty and lapses of reason; of sadness and joy, of plenty of emotions to toy and to play with. I declare open a new season, the maddest of them all: now begins the Hogwarts 1994 Yule Ball!


Katie Bell walked through the corridors trying to understand what had happened there.

Emotion was heavy in the air: intoxicating, unwieldy, domineering–and as always, it left its nasty smell whenever it passed through.

Like a big fart cloud, that always manages to find some unlucky noses to get into, even when the crowd is sparse.

As the reader may have noted, analogy is my passion, and I swear that I didn't take that comparison directly out of anyone's arse.

I mean, technically I did, but you know what I mean.

Anyway, Katie was sad about the whole thing, and that was a really bad day– and yada yada yada. Forgive me for this, but what she need now is some time away, not us getting into her way.

Harry was even more downcast if you would believe me, but the boy wouldn't go back on his word–he'd already promised to bring a distinct girl to the ball. And that small little lass stood as a cornerstone of the whole sh**-show.

Who she was? Well, if you must know:

It was none other than our little Luna Lovegood.


I'm meant to tell you all now about the all the trouble that led to our dear Katie Bell not managing to achieve our favourite rarepair. The thing is: Luna got into the midst–so take that trouble, and make it double.

So I frankly don't know where everything even began!

I mean, I know, of course; it's my fan-fiction ultimately–the whole show is all in my head.

I mean, I can make Harry turn up dead and them bring him back and that would be it. But if I did that now, without even some kind of clue, it wouldn't be a good show, would it?

And even if I did, the characters wrestle too much with the plot already on their own. This blast of keeping Harry and Katie apart is part of their story–the way to each other's heart will not be so easily treaded on. But their friendship is already too strong, their bonds are already tight.

Believe me when I say it that it doesn't feel right keeping them apart. But I must do so for now–I will not purposefully pull them away, but they have their part to play. And I think it will be worth the wait, even if it now feels slow, believe me.

Let's make a deal: I'll speedrun this whole Yule Ball ordeal, taking care only to write the scenes absolutely needed for the show to roll, all right?

After all, this chapter is already pushing through the 17k mark, so I must finish this story before I began to grow old, eh?

Anyone against it? No? Going once, going twice, sold!

Alright, let's not waste anyone's time. For now, I'll only write the scenes that the plot ask. Let's get on to rhyme away our way towards the end of the Second Task.


Once upon a time there lived a giant nasty booger on Hagrid's left nare.

Yes, I am aware of what I just promised. Believe me, it does have a part to play somewhere.

We have to remember that Hagrid was not a normal wizard. Rather, he was a very rare kind of person. Some people thought he was half-bear, half-troll or half-something-equally-droll. But the man was a half-giant, did you know?

How did Hagrid came to be, is a question that is impossible to answer–mainly so because Mr Hagrid Sr must have been the size of Fridwulfa's toe.

But life, uh … finds a way.

As it did again on that fateful day.

Hagrid and Madame Maxime were having a quiet stroll around the lake–something which Harry had told him the ladies liked–talking about anything and everything. Hagrid was intimidated at first around Madam Maxime, but they rapidly bonded over something only another half-giant would understand.

"I love 'zis rock-cake of yours, Mr 'Agrid. You must give me 'ze recipe for when I come back. I always tell 'ze elves to make 'zem sturdier, but 'zey still lack 'zis … croquant–I forrget 'ow to say it now."

Hagrid nodded.

"Yer welcome, Madame Maxime. I've just finished makin' them in my house, but I'll be glad ter show ye how, if you wanna see it someday?"

Madame Maxine lifted one well-trimmed eyebrow.

"You are verry brrazen, Mr Hagrid. But I like your way."

Hagrid began to stammer back, but Madame Maxime made a gesture to shush him.

"Let me just put these in 'ze chariot and we can finish our day with 'zis stroll, okay? I'll just grab my coat–it is so cold today," she said, before sneezing some not-so-little boogers on the ground.

Hagrid remembered then a tip that Charlie Weasley had taught him long ago, and took off his coat before she turned around.

"There's no need fer that, Madame Maxime, yer can have my own."

The half-giantess smiled at him, even as the man began to feel the cold all around–but still, he counted that as a win. Hagrid sneezed, too, and that booger on his left nare flew to the ground, joining the other one like two balls of glue, becoming one big ball of goo.

Love really was in the air! And on the ground, too.

So, I got only the textbook definition here to explain it to you, so I may have gotten it wrong somewhere, but basically when the bodily fluids of two people that really like each other very much come together, something is spawned after the whole affair. Normally it takes nine months or so, but that's not what happened, though–thank Merlin!

I'm talking about the boogers, okay? Only about them alright?

Sorry if that sight was too horrific to imagine. I promise I will try not to do it again. But I had to.

You see, I have this particular theory about giants: they are basically great reservoirs of magic that are never able to be filled to the brim, their thick skin only serving to keep all that magic in, never able to be used.

But what happens when that giant becomes small once again? Like Hagrid, like that snotty dame over there? Well, I think that all that magic has to go somewhere–that's why Hagrid can just make any kind of mutant, story-breaking and unfair cross-breed. That's why Madame Maxime managed to raise such a strong kind of winged-steed to pull her carriage. They just ooze magic out of their pores–because they just have those big stores of it.

So what happens when the snot of such two beautiful magnificent creatures mix? Hopefully not a lot, but not nothing either.

While the whole castle slept like a pile of bricks (hehehe), that eldritch thing bubbled and grew.

Thankfully it was not alive, as it would pain me terribly to think about the consequences of such a thing existing, but in its twisting it became something new; it became something blue.

It had slipped into the ground and where it fell now the grass grew tall and had turned a bright shade of blue.

Luna Lovegood thought this was very interesting and thought this merited an investigation. She went all around it in a ring, trying to understand the thing. She was not so studied, though, and did not know what it was, so she called for the help of Professor Sprout.

The Herbology Master came out of her greenhouses and had a good look at the thing. She told Luna not to worry so much, as perhaps someone had been testing their magical mulch on that patch–she did put the Sixth-Years to a task similar to that. Perhaps that was just a different batch of fertilizer they had been testing.

But Luna was not very satisfied with that answer. Grass had turned blue, and nobody seemed to have a clue on why.

She went to Professor Snape. The man let out a sigh but accompanied her anyways, putting on his everyday sneer. Professor Snape seemed to do that a lot these days–at least when she was near.

The man had taken one look at the thing, cut some of it to test and told her it was nothing–a colour-changing spell, at best.

But Luna was still not very satisfied with that answer. Grass had turned blue and she needed help from someone who knew what could be going on. She thought about going to Ginny, to Harry, to Hermione, or even to Ron, but she didn't think they would take her seriously. Perhaps Neville would do, but Luna hadn't seen the boy, too.

But then she remembered there was someone on the castle very serious about grass. Someone that wouldn't tolerate it being any other colour–why, it was even in her name.

She came back to the Great Hall and went on to call on for the aid of Daphne Greengrass.


I never really did get that part of the story. Someone told me there was a lot of annoyed yelling–"Tori!" or something like that.

What matters truly is that while Daphne was followed by Luna, who had her arms linked with Astoria Greengrass, the group saw quite the interesting pair pass by.

For some reason Daphne and her friends jumped behind some trees at that. Luna didn't understand why they were doing that, but pulled Astoria with her, who seemed to have been wanting to tease her older sister.

"–Harry, you prat! Don't do that. It takes a lot of time to braid it back."

"Ah, but your hair is so much prettier when you let it stack. Like this, look–"

Luna thought that scene was very charming. Harry really could be disarming when he tried. She understood why Ginny still liked him so much.

Sometimes he treated Luna so well she even thought he liked her a bit more than just a friend.

But Luna understood that place was already filled by Katie Bell.

Or by Ginny–she was the person Luna spent the most time with; her best friend.

Or by Hermione. Granted, Luna thought she liked Ron the most, but it almost didn't look like it.

Or by Leanne. Luna was sure she liked The Cod, but those two had yet a long way to go.

Or by Cho. At least while Cedric insisted on taking it slow.

Or by The Cod … Nah, that one was just odd.

Or by Daphne. Daphne liked Harry, didn't her?

Judging by that sad-slash-disappointed face she was making, that probably wasn't that far off the mark. Even Luna liked Harry–he just had that kind of energy in place around him.

Right there and then, things began to shake. She saw Astoria talking to her sister about some kind of plan to get Harry to the ball while they all watched the pair make their way around the lake. Luna just stayed quiet–people tended to ignore her when she did that–and watched as Astoria went on a riot to try and convince her sister to join in on her plan, again and again.

But Daphne was too decent for that. Luna sighed in relief. She didn't think it was fair for Daphne to get Harry's attention that way.

It took Luna almost an entire day to understand that while perhaps Daphne might not go that way, her brash sister might not be okay with her favourite person in the world being rejected.

It was almost too late when Luna realised Astoria had went with the plan, and she only had a small amount of time to make her decision.

She thought hard about it and decided it would be best for everyone if she could manage to make things fair. Which meant, of course, to not let Harry anywhere near Fleur–yes, she was just that breath-taking.

Luna did what she thought was best for her friend Harry. And if perhaps she was rooting a little for Ginny to be the one who got the spot at the end, she would never tell.

Of course she liked Katie Bell, but, c'mon, let's make this fair, okay? Worst of all, she didn't have a way to know which rumours were true and which ones Astoria had planted to push her sister through. She even had heard talking about Neville asking Ginny–time was already due.

She found him brooding over The Cod's dot on the map in a classroom on the seventh-floor. He tore his eyes away from the map to look at her.

"Harry, would you do me the honour of being my date at the Yule Ball? I mean, as a friend. The third-years can't really participate, and I would really like to go and spend some time with you."

Harry was surprised with her asking, so out of the blue, but shot her a beautiful smile.

Perhaps Luna understood a little of what her other friends were going through.

Crisis averted for now–for just the shortest while.

With all of that being said, something still made her frown:

Luna still didn't know why that grass had turned blue.


Hold on tight and join me on my plight: to write the convoluted plot in which our favourite lot became involved into.

Ron said that he heard in from Seamus, that heard it all from Dean, that overheard it being gossiped by Parvati, who swore she had told it to him, who heard it first from Lavender Brown, who apparently first came upon the subject after listening to Hagrid talking to Madame Maxime somehow, who was talking to Fleur about Viktor Krum and his friends, who were apparently diving in the lake near a spot where Astoria and some other of her snake friends were suspiciously near, that: Hermione was going to the ball with Viktor Krum and that Fleur was going to ask Harry to become her dance-pair in the ballroom.

And because this Ron was a bit more mature than those we already know, he thought of another pretty girl to take to the ball–he liked Hermione, but our tall friend wouldn't be waiting at her hand. So he invited Leanne to go with him.

Leanne was pleasantly surprised with that, and decided to go with Ron on a whim–that new attitude on the slim and tall boy hadn't gone unnoticed, much to his joy.

But The Cod hadn't liked that very much. And, as such, he decided to invite a nice girl to go with him, too, not too dissimilar to Ron, mind you. The Cod asked Hermione Granger to go with him to the ball, who quickly agreed, to the surprise of all–much more so of Ron.

Hermione had already said no to Viktor Krum once–she thought that, with his new, attitude, Ron would not take so long. That he decided upon taking Leanne to the feast instead of her hurt Hermione a little–but she nonetheless pushed through her feelings and told herself he would enjoy the party, at least.

This didn't bode well between Ron and The Cod. Especially because Ron and half the school already knew that The Cod was taking Katie Bell to the dance–but, odd, he denied anything about that.

Ginny had heard about Harry asking Fleur Delacour to go with him, so when Neville asked her to be his pair, she agreed right then and there. But Ginny got more than a little angry, when to the surprise of all, suddenly appeared a rumour that Neville Longbottom was taking two girls to the ball: Ginny Weasley and Daphne Greengrass.

It seemed Astoria's little plan had backfired on her–the overwhelming threat of Fleur asking the boy to go with her was becoming all too real, and Daphne almost hadn't a pair after the whole ordeal.

A nice boy named Justin Finch-Fletchley asked her though–a muggleborn, with an old muggle family, for hundreds of generations or so. And that was enough trouble for Daphne on her own.

Luna found Harry first, and did an act of damage control–she got to him before the worst happened: that, of course, being Fleur to ask him to go with her–which she did, in fact, but Harry kept his promise to Luna and rejected her proposition with tact.

Which seemed to make Fleur even more interested in our scar-faced guy, as one would find her gaze searching Harry's eye more than once as the days passed by.

And our dear Katie Bell, you ask?

Well, now that most of the boys already had their pair, Katie thought she would have no one to take her there–but one of the lads was still without a pair.

She was surprised to see Viktor Krum awaiting her after a practice flight.


"Catherine Bell, vill you go to the ball vith me?"

Katie blinked at the Bulgarian lad.

"Alright there, Krum? Good afternoon to you too. Before answering, I would like to ask: why me?"

Krum rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

"Vell, good afternoon. Sorry I'm so curt–I'm still getting the hang of English and don't know yet how to flirt."

Katie became as red as a tomato at what he said.

"To–to … flirt?"

"By your face, I think flirt means some other thing in English then. It's conversation in Bulgaria–"

What a fuc**** liar!

"–anyway: I vink you are cute, you fly well, you are not a crazy fan, you are a few of them that can talk with no stutter, you seem nice, you already almost haff a boyfriend in Harry Potter (too bad anover girl got him first), so my girlfriend von't yell at me. So, Catherina Bell, vill you go to the ball vith me?"

Katie smiled at the boy. His accent was a bit funny (and completely mind-numbing to write), but she thought he was alright.

"Is the thing with Harry that obvious to everyone?"

Krum didn't hesitate.

"Yes."

"Really, no time to think at all about the question?"

"No question."

"No, I mean. Is it really obvious–"

"Sorry, I meant: no question as like no doubt about that," he said with a teasing smile.

Katie was still stubborn to the core–but hearing that once more was slowly serving to chip her attitude away.

"I would love to go to the ball with you, Viktor Krum."

"Please, call me Viktor."

"Please call me Katie–like, that's my real name, for real. It isn't short for anything, I swear."

They both shared a laugh at that.

"On one condition, though," Katie said, innocently passing a hand through her hair.

At that, Krum's smile faltered. But he saw her teasing smile and decided to wait.

"You have to tell me a clue about what's going to be the next TriWizard trial."

Krum hesitated. But Katie caved in and did not let him answer that.

"Sorry. You don't have to say anything about it–it was just a little play with you."

But Krum surprised her, too.

"It is alright. That follower of You-Know-Who had no right to put Harry Potter in this. I think it's alright that vee help him. I vill talk to him after the ball."

And at that, Katie's face opened into a wide smile, as she went to hug the tall and broody guy. Mirth was clearly visible on his eye as Katie asked another question.

"By the way, it wouldn't have anything to do with water, would it? We saw you and your other friends jumping on the lake the other day."

Krum laughed at her.

"You ask too many questions, Katie Bell."

"Well, what's the answer then?"

"See you at the ball, Katie."

"Hey, come back. What a gall to leave a girl on her own–"


It was time: the day of the Yule Ball had finally arrived. Katie glanced at the mirror in what felt the hundredth-time after mid-day, trying to see if everything was okay.

Her mother had helped her pick a wonderful golden dress with turquoise details. Our dear and most cherished knobbly girl from Wales was becoming a very kind and cute girl.

She chose her dress with something more modest in mind, but with a nice skirt that she could twirl around. Perhaps the other girls found her choice a bit childish, but Katie would be vindicated as the night wasted away, and her dress still looked nice at the end of the day.

The champions had to arrive an hour earlier or so–that's why Katie kissed Leanne on her forehead and went down the dormitory main stair, slow so as to not alert much more people–but she bet they were probably already waiting her there.

Harry had offered to accompany her to the Great Hall. Katie put her hand on the door and tried to slow down–she just knew that now all the heavy-gossipers were behind that door, but she calmed down and opened it all the way through. Harry got into her view, in his elegant emerald-green wizarding formal robes, and with a silly expression on his face. Katie then made a silly pose to them to break the ice.

In that moment, Harry once more thought twice about going to the ball with Luna. He would not tell it at that moment to our dear Katie Bell, but that was one of the memories that became embedded into his mind well onto today–he was just amazed at her on that day.

He could only see her in that moment, and she seemed to be shining her own light, so amazing that she was on that night. She slowly made her way to his place, and he tried to concentrate on something other than her lovely face.

She got to his side and smiled awkwardly at the guy.

"There's a nasty gunk under you left eye, Harry," said Katie, with a blush on her face.

Harry just laughed softly at her.

"You're looking very pretty too, Katie–even if I thought I'd seen a big canary at first."

Katie hit him playfully on his chest, before putting her arm out to him. Harry shook his head.

"Oi, Bell, you are the worst. I should be the one to do that."

Katie blinked.

"Well. Do it then, you prat. Quick, before The Cat comes up to see what's taking us so long."

"That's where you're wrong, Katie. To see what was taking you so long. I was ready an hour before."

"So that's why you are already stinking, then? You do remember we'll have to dance on that ball-floor, don't you?"

And off they went through the portrait, out of the Common Room's view.

Fred and George looked at one another and got on a table in the middle of the Common Room.

"Alright folks, the odds have changed. We're accepting new bets on Harry and Katie now–remember: we only allow bets from the third-years and up."

And then chaos was back on display.

"Six galleons that they kiss today."

"Eight galleons here."

"Put three galleons for me."

"These odds are just too high–I'll put a little something on it not being today."

"Hahaha. Really? Well, okay. Your loss mate."

Ah, what a delight it was to be in Hogwarts. Let's see what await us on that night, shall we?


Harry and Katie were making their way down to the Great Hall, both of them with their cheeks red and their mouths shut when Katie suddenly saw something that almost sent her sprawling ahead. There in the hem of Harry's suit was an object that she hadn't thought about in a long time, and that left her gut in a twist.

Harry noticed her looking and fiddle with the Golden Snitch pin on his robes.

"Someone gifted this to me at the end of my First Year–I liked it so much then that I couldn't stop wearing the thing. But then I thought I might lost it so I kept it in my trunk. But I thought it looked so nice I decided to bring it with me today. What do you think?"

Katie looked at the well-polished pin on his robes and felt something strange on her chest.

"I think it looks very nice, Harry," she said, while looking at the pin on his vest. She then suddenly remembered something she always kept on herself.

She pulled a necklace with a particular Golden Snitch on it. It tended to stay calm for most of the day, but while Katie took it out it seemed to come back to life, trying to spring out, its wings beating as fast as Katie's heart, stopping only when Harry put his hands around it before it could even start to try and free itself from her neck.

And it became a gentle thing back on his hands. Harry moved it to her hand and she let it settle on her chest on their trek through the corridors and stairs.

"We match," said Harry pointing to the pin and to the Golden Snitch he'd once again managed to catch.

Katie smiled sweetly at him.

"We do, don't we?"

And at that both of their faces flared up again.

But, strange, none of them bothered to flee–if anything they seemed to be walking even more slowly.

Katie understood most of what she felt by now, if if saying it aloud was apparently the most difficult task in the world, somehow. She exchanged once again a smile with her pair.

But she would get there.


Luna was absolutely amazing in a dress that seemed to imitate a board of Wizard's chess, full of black and white squares. Harry and Luna kicked each other in the beginning of the dance, but Luna quickly solved it for them both and got up onto Harry's shoes. They remained on this dance all the way through the main dance, even as Harry twirled her around and around.

But when the feast was finally over and the lights seemed to dim a little, all the tension was melting down, and Harry found he liked very much to dance–even if he was a complete disaster with the whole thing. All that highbrow waltz gave place to the quick rhythm of the The Weird Sisters and there was a giant smile on Harry's face.

Harry danced with Hermione. Ron danced with Katie. Krum danced with Fleur. The Cod danced with Ginny. Justin danced with Luna. Neville danced with Daphne. Everyone went all around and had their fun.

Katie had just gone out to for a moment to have something to drink, when Luna and Leanne joined her. Leanne was amazing on that day, with a pink and ornate fleece dress. Harry was currently dancing with Daphne, while Ron … wait, was that right?

Ron's face was half-filled with wonder and half-filled with fright as he was dancing side by side with Viktor Krum and some of the Durmstrang lads in an amateurish but very fun hopak, kicking the air and falling to the ground, and getting up and shoving each other around.

Katie saw Fleur dancing with Cho and even saw Astoria Greengrass dancing with the fourth-year that had invited her. She wanted to give that little girl a piece of her mind, but held it back especially after Daphne told her about the blood disease that run in the family and that would make the girl blind in but a few years.

Some things were just not worth the hassle. For now, Katie and the whole castle just chose to have fun.

But that doesn't mean that we would run away from drama.

Katie felt her belly-senses tingling and looked across the hall to see Daphne Greengrass commingling a bit too much with Harry. In that moment, Katie called her faithful companion to her side–The Cod was instantly on her hide, taking Daphne for a dance. It was good that the fish could be disarming when he wanted to.

She, however, hadn't told him to kiss the girl before the night was through, but that's what happened anyway–much to Leanne's dismay.

But our girl hadn't even noticed that until the next day–she was too much busy, snogging Ron away.

The images were kind of blurry after that, as Katie would only deal with the aftermath of that night on the next chapter. She thought she'd seen Hermione dancing just a little bit too close to Justin, and noticed that Neville and Luna seemed to disappear from the place at some point.

Emotions were heavy in the air–Katie had to dodge many boys that had thought they would make a nice pair. That was fair for them, and Katie made sure to let them down easily. There was only one guy that she thought was nice–a John Swords, from Ravenclaw, that served detention with The Cod on the Hospital Wing. Katie couldn't pinpoint why he was different–perhaps it was easy smile, that stayed affixed to his face while they danced a particularly slow song.

But today, Katie had another in sight. Harry was just finishing a dance with Fleur–one that he was much too close to her, in Katie's opinion–when the final dance was announced. Harry quickly grabbed her hand and they went to the middle of the room to finally have an end to that great day.

"Are you okay, Katie?" asked Harry as they slowly twirled around.

"Super. What about you?"

"I'm alright."

"So, do you often come here?"

Katie laughed at him.

"Nah, I'm trying my best to steer clear of certain guy."

"What did he do?" said Harry, his tone suddenly serious.

Katie blinked.

"It's you, you prat. I'm just joking with you. But if anything, you were the one who flew away today."

"I had to settle things with quite many girls tonight. I don't know if you read the papers, but apparently I'm a master in the art of breaking a girl's heart."

"Really? Could've fooled me–those girls don't seem very bright."

"Oh, they were alright. There was one in particular I was very eager to meet–a Catherine Bell. She seemed so sweet. Have you seen her around?"

"I have not. But if you want to say anything to her, I can pass on the message . I've been looking for someone, too. A dude named Hadrian Potter–you haven't seen him around, have you?"

"No, but that is really strange name–I don't like at all the sound of it."

"What about Harrison, or Harold–"

"Neither those, nor Hadrianus, or Harfang, or Henry–though this last one isn't that bad, I suppose."

"At least now you know what I go through. It's never only Katie–they always have to invent some kind of new name."

And they continued their silly game, while the world went on round and around them. And it was only our favourite rare-pair in that moment, their eyes locked in other's stare. The music swelled up and Katie that this was it. She swallowed the rest of her anxiety with a big gulp and prepared herself for the music to end.

But the end never came, for in that moment someone crashed quite forcefully in the middle of the ball-floor, sending many to the ground, including Harry and Katie.

It was Vincent Rosier, who promptly got up and sent a spell back around–to Derwent, his closest friend.

Professor Flitwick who was the first to get to the crowd promptly broke the fight, taking the culprits to his office.

Harry tried to get near Katie again, but things seemed to lose their momentum–the night was already over.

And to top it all off, because Neville had apparently absconded with Luna, Harry took both Ginny and Katie away, making their way up to the tower.

Katie had quite a sour face as they finally ended that day.

Things were just perfect then, even after Astoria tried to fray it all–but it was not yet the time.

And so it–finally–ended the Hogwarts 1994 Yule Ball.


They all had a week to breathe but soon it was the new year–and 1995 had come to absolutely wreck them all. Katie didn't even had the time to think too much about the Ball because frankly they were all ran to the ground.

Harry had found the room Dobby had talked about and stepped up his training once and for all. You almost couldn't see him nowadays, since he tended to lock himself into that room and practice–from dawn to dusk, and from there, well into the night, now that Professor Dumbledore began to give Harry private lessons to help in the fight against Voldemort.

Harry and Katie still had, when they could, their walks around the lake. But even that was put on a break, as Katie had to train the team so they would win against Hufflepuff on the next game. They had been focusing on their defence, so she prepared especial drills to aim and to shoot. And Ginny was absolutely phenomenal although one could tell that it really wasn't her thing being a Seeker–her performance on the position clearly still a bit weaker than if she were a Chaser.

But there were good news, too.

Voldemort had fled away. To where, nobody knew, but Harry told Katie that Dumbledore thought that even though he escaped, his form was so decrepit and pathetic that perhaps they would have some more time to prepare before he finally returned as the feared You-Know-Who. He was like a serpent, coiling for now, undoubtedly planning a way to come back somehow, but not one that would involve Harry in any way.

Harry had talked about the plan Voldemort had made to whisker him away on the day of the Third Task. It was a good thing Tonks was able to unmask that Death Eater–how the man managed to fool Professor Dumbledore, nobody knew; but it certainly spoke of the man's talented mind.

The Ministry was put in a very awkward position. Cornelius Fudge only remained as the Minister for Magic because he'd learned to be quiet and delegate whatever he could to some kind of distant commission. Rita Skeeter was sharp these days, and was looking for any weak spot she could use to raze it all to the ground.

Cedric, Fleur and Viktor apparently reached an agreement between them. They would help Harry on the condition that Harry didn't help the other three. Harry didn't find it fair, but that deal wasn't something he had to agree.

Cedric just mentioned lackadaisically one day to take the Golden Egg on a bathtub and hear what it would say–Harry thought Cedric had gone absolutely cray-cray on him. Fleur approached Harry near Hagrid's Hut the other day and showed him how to get the Bubble-Head charm the right way. Krum approached Harry and tried to show him how to a half-way transfiguration.

Harry appreciated what they were doing but thought that behind it all there was a great deal of condescension. He was working double the amount of time just to show it to them that–even if he was on the tournament against his will–he was still trouble. He had been juggling some ideas around with Hermione, Neville and Sirius–and he made sure this time to research all of the side effects of every spell and method.

Harry would try to transfigure an ice armour around himself and use a combination of spells to walk on the lake's floor–the other champions couldn't even imagine what he had in store; he would use Gillyweed as backup if that didn't work. The thought of having gills reminded him too much of The Cod and that thought would just irk him to no end–even if The Cod was his friend.

Love was in the air, with many of our friends combining themselves into different kinds of pair. But because this chapter is already immense, we shall let discuss this over the next chapter–this one is already too dense.

Quidditch came–they won the game–hooray–Ginny once more saves the day. Gryffindor was winning, but not by a comfortable margin, but then Ginny came like a lightning bolt on the Firebolt and caught the Snitch in Hufflepuff's side of the pitch.

Katie knew she should not let these things affect her too much, especially after that near-miss on the Ball, but seeing Harry commemorate her wonderful catch so close to the red-haired girl … it seemed there was a wall between she and Harry.

A wall that I must say was only that tall because of Katie's damn stubborn way! But don't tell her I told you that, okay?

Anyway, things were nice and sh**, but one day before the task, she was called upon the Headmaster's office. It didn't sit right with Katie that she was Krum's hostage, or that they had chosen Fleur's little sister to be one, too. But she trusted Professor Dumbledore to solve anything in case things became … not cool.

And besides, Harry was training day and night for the thing–there wasn't a way he would get out of that lake if he wasn't sure they would all be safe. She bet he would take them all if they didn't showed up.


And Katie was right once again. She wrapped herself closer in her warm towel and clapped loudly as Harry walked out of the lake, one of his hands holding onto Luna's own, while the other harm carried Fleur's little sister, who seemed to be chilled to the bone. His face was hard, almost like set in stone, an expression with colour and undertone very unusual to our favourite wizard.

Katie saw Fleur running to get her sister from Harry's side, and became wide-eyed, together with the whole crowd, when Fleur planted a mighty kiss on Harry's cheek.

But different from the other stories you already know, Fleur, perhaps on a quick whim, only kissed him on the cheek this time because he had a rather unfortunate change in the position of his head. Both Fleur and Harry became quite red as the crowd cheered overhead and all around.

Would Fleur be a new challenge for our rare-pair or was that just a on-the-spot decision she had made there?

Don't miss the snitch like Harry did, and stay tuned for the answers of that and many other forgotten or really silly questions on the next chapter of The Seeker and the Golden Witch!


Notes:

Thank you for reading. I appreciate any and all feedback.